I take no responsibility for what is about to happen. Blame randy plot bunny, not me. Or blame it on the strain of putting up 2 installments of this and 2 installments of Slipping Through My Fingers in one day. See, I listen to everyone who keeps asking for more.
No matter how hard he craned his neck around, it was useless – Marty simply couldn't see his butt. "You're not joking? Having me on?"
"No, I'm not joking. I wouldn't joke about something like that." Kensi reached out both her hands. "Come on, let me help you up and we'll get you into the bedroom and see… " She had been going to say "how bad it is", but thought better of it. "And we'll see," she said, rather lamely.
"I don't really have a choice, do I?" Staggering up, Marty was only too aware of the pounding his body had taken in the accident, as it seemed like every muscle in his body was protesting at the movement. He grabbed onto Kensi's hand and let her guide him into the bedroom.
"No, you don't." She knelt down on the floor and helped him take off his shoes. "How about you lie down and I'll go and get the bag with all the dressing the hospital gave you?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Or I could call Callen and Sam and get them to come over?" One of them could sit on you, while the other surveyed the damage and stitched you back together again.
"I guess I'll stick with you." Add to the ritual humiliation – I don't think so. Why not just invite Hetty too and make a party out of it?
"You want to, err… get ready?" Kensi didn't wait for an answer, but beat a hasty retreat. This is so weird. Not that long ago, we couldn't keep our hands – or our lips – off each other and now we're both getting embarrassed about me seeing his butt.
Struggling out of the sweater and scrub-shirt, Marty flopped down face-first on the bed and fumbled with the drawstring tie of the pants.
At least she had the subtlety to shut the door behind her. I must have been really, really bad in a former life, because all my sins are coming back to haunt me. Here I am, alone with a hot girl and she's going to be looking at my bleeding butt. My bruised, stitched together butt. Talk about an instant passion killer. She's never going to look at me in the same way again, not after this. That's it. It's over. I can't work with Kensi after this. I'm demanding an immediate transfer back to LAPD. Or maybe up to Alaska? No, wait a minute, Sarah Palin's up there. I'd be arrested ten minutes after I landed, even if shooting her is actually a benefit to humanity.
"Okay. Come on in and do your worst." Marty buried his face in his folded arms. Yup, I'm hiding. Very mature. But who could blame me?
Kensi looked at the smooth expanse of his tanned back, and felt another twinge of guilt as she surveyed the bruises that marred what should have been perfection. All this is because of me and my stupid pride. Marty pushed me out of the way, took the hit from the car instead of me and what did I do? I shot him in the butt. Way to go, Kensi. Nothing says "I love you" like shooting a guy in the ass.
"Okay. Can you just lift up your hips?" Her fingers felt cold as she eased the pants down. "I'm just going to take off the dressing. It might pull a bit." Kensi took Marty's muffled grunt as being one of approval. "It doesn't look too bad," she said consolingly. It's actually a lot smaller than I thought it would be. The wound, I mean. His butt's just the perfect size.
"Really? You're not just having me on?"
"Really. The stitches are all still holding. There's just been a bit of bleeding, but it's stopped now. I can get a mirror so you can see, if you want?"
"No thanks. I don't like stitches. Period. I especially don't like stitches in me. And I really don't want to see them." You want to see a grown man pass out while he's lying down? Then just make me look at those stitches. Marty reached down to pull the scrubs back up.
"Not so fast. Let me just clean it up and put a fresh dressing on." I wish you'd let me kiss it better. I wish you'd let me kiss you all over. Do you have any idea about how turned on I am right now, with you lying there, all helpless and hurting and just being so flipping vulnerable? And if you just gave me the slightest bit of encouragement, I don't know what I wouldn't do. But I do know where I'd like to start.
"You don't have to." Just let me die now, please God. She's never going to be able to look at me again without laughing. Maybe I should move to Hawaii? There's good surf there, after all.
"Just let me help you. For once in your life, would you just let me do something for you?" Kensi sat down beside him placed her hand tenderly on the undamaged side of his butt and slapped it gently. "Okay, Marty? You lie still and be a good boy now." She slapped him again, not quite so gently this time and smiled as he jerked upwards.
"That hurt." Marty looked at her with a mixture of surprise and anticipation.
Sure enough, when she looked, there was a handprint, the mark standing out red against the white skin of his butt. "Don't mess with me, then." Kensi softened the remark with a smile. "Just lie still and do what you're told."
Marty dropped his head back down again. "You're worse than the nurses." This feels like it could be going somewhere. But it can't be – can it?
From the sound of his voice he was smirking, Kensi thought. "You'd better believe it." She delved into the bag and found an antiseptic wipe. "This might be cold."
"Yowch! It's more than cold – it's freezing. And you could have told me it would sting."
"How was I supposed to know that?" she asked reasonably. "And lie still or I'll smack you again."
"Promises, promises." What on earth is going on here? Maybe I hit my head when I fell and this is all some hallucination? Because in the name of all that's holy, there is no way that I'm actually lying here, letting Kensi clean up one side of my butt and slap the other – and enjoying it? This is so wrong, on so many levels. This can't be happening – can it?
Like I said - I REALLY don't know what happened there, or where the slapping came from. Most peculiar. But Deeks seems to like it...