Author's Note: I was trying to keep this fic alternating between Nell and Callen POV with every chapter, but sometimes content demands one or the other. Plus, I originally had this chapter later, but it turned out fitting in here.

Oh, right. WARNING: ALLUSIONS TO MATURE SUBJECT MATTER


G Callen ordered a whiskey, took a sip, feeling the pleasant burn of it coating his throat as he swallowed, and then casually turned towards the young woman perched on the stool at the bar beside him.

"Excuse me, miss," he said. She turned, giving him a curious look with hazel eyes that shone almost green, like the emerald satin dress that clung to her glorious curves. "Do you know how to make a pixie moan?"

A smile tugged at the corner of her pink lips at the odd pick-up line.

"No," she said. "I don't know. How do you make a pixie moan?"

"You tink 'er bell."

He'd been wanting to use that line since two weeks ago when Kensi and Deeks were discussing terrible pick-up lines, and he and Sam had joined in... and then a Smartphone was involved, and it had degraded into peels of laughter that echoed around the Mission until Eric had whistled them up for a case.

The young woman laughed now, ironically a sound like merrily ringing bells. She continued to smile at him, with more than a little seduction in the curve of her lips, and in the tone of her voice when she spoke.

"Tinker Bell is a fairy. Not a pixie."

He raised an eyebrow in question, but the fact that she'd taken the time to issue the correction was only an invitation for more conversation, which was a good sign she was interested in flirting a little... and maybe a little more.

"I do believe in fairies. I do. I do." She clapped her hands lightly, apparently for good measure in illustrating her point.

He felt his lips twitch with amusement over her vehement rendition. Whatever she was drinking, it must be good.

"Point conceded," he said. "But I can tell that you're a pixie."

"Oh really?" she was fighting a smile, and failing. Oh, she was definitely into him, leaning forward, placing a delicate hand on his arm. He didn't think she was drunk... yet. Just happy and buzzed enough to take the edge off any social anxiety. "How's that?"

"The mischievous glint in your eye."

"So that's the difference between fairies and pixies," she said, eyes sparkling at him.

"One of them, yes." Her open, smiling face just begged for more. Okay, then. He liked this whole flirting game. And he had been getting a bit rusty, could use the exercise. "I've also heard that pixies have talented tongues."

She snorted in amusement. Too much? Maybe. But the young woman appeared to be having as much fun as Callen was, so he pushed the point. Besides, she was gorgeous.

"Care to help me find out?" he asked, giving her his most charming smile, the one that said 'I know this is ridiculous but aren't you enjoying it as much as I am?'

"There's several ways I can think of..." he was slowly leaning in towards her, his face getting ever closer to hers, the heat of her drawing him further, until he finally pressed his lips against hers. They were soft and warm, and she did not pull away or make any sort objection, so he placed a hand on her flushed cheek, cradling her face. As he suspected, she leaned into his palm, the angle of her mouth shifting just so... He parted her lips with his tongue and reveled in the intoxicating taste of her. Quite literally intoxicating. She tasted like quality scotch, smooth and complex, a delicious complement to the remnants of the harsher whiskey burning in the back of his throat. A classy and unexpected drink for a woman so young.

He kissed her for a full minute, exploring her mouth with his tongue, feeling her eager response in the playful movements of her own tongue against his, in the way her hand grasped the back of his neck and her nails bit into his skin ever so slightly.

Finally, the embrace tapered to a natural break, and he turned back to the counter, to down the rest of his whiskey, willing it to wash away (or burn off) the fantasy that had stormed through his brain as he kissed the young woman with his tongue, the heat and aroma of her overwhelming his senses. It was hard to shake the conjured vision of her, lying naked on her back upon his living room floor, those large breasts of hers jiggling from the rhythm of his hips thrusting into her, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her throat a taut curve, her stiff nipples pointing toward the ceiling, her lovely round ass... oh, she'd be grateful for that fleshy bottom cushioning her spine as he pounded her into the floor like a nail-

Callen ordered another whiskey and downed half of the glass in one gulp, before he turned back to the pretty girl in the green dress who kissed like a seductress.

"What was that about?" she asked, a ginger eyebrow arched in perfect amused inquiry.

"You're irresistible in that dress." The eyebrow did not lower. The lips merely twitched. God, he should've called her Mrs. Darling instead of Tinker Bell, because damned if she didn't have a perpetually teasing Kiss hidden in the corner of that delectable mouth. He never could seem to catch it. His eyes wandered down from the taunting Kiss that winked at him from the corner of her pink mouth, and landed -okay, lingered- on the ample cleavage revealed by the plunging neckline. What somehow would seem trashy on many a woman came across as classy sex appeal. A case of a perfectly matched dress and woman. "Why haven't I seen you in this before?"

"You know Hetty doesn't lend out her formal wear willy-nilly, G," Nell Jones said, following his gaze downward, and with a sudden flare of shame, tugging at the bodice in a futile attempt to reduce the amount of alluring round, plump breast on display. He grabbed her hand to stop her useless -and in his opinion, unnecessary- fussing.

"I don't think she'd appreciate your ripping the stitching out of it, either," he said gently, raising her hand to his lips to kiss the back of her fingers. He glanced over her shoulder, feeling a little wave of smugness at the now vacant stool just a couple feet away. Nell caught the direction of his eyes, tugged her hand free and pinned him with one of her sterner stares.

"You were marking your territory," she said stonily.

"What?"

"That whole pretending to be picking me up and sticking your tongue in my mouth thing... You were just marking your territory."

Sometimes, Nell Jones was difficult to read. This was, unfortunately, one of those times. He wanted to believe that there was still a playful glint in her eyes that denoted amusement rather than just the mere ire her tone seemed to imply. But, she did perhaps have legitimate cause to be angry with him. He'd seen the way nearly every single man in the bar, not to mention the rest of the high-end restaurant had stared at Nell, his Nell. He supposed he couldn't really blame them. The dress Hetty had picked out for her seemed to be made for the young woman's quite shapely, petite body. It hugged everything it should without appearing too tight, and revealed just enough skin to tease the most erotic fantasies from onlookers... or was it just him? No, the way that Burned-Out-Lawyer Barfly Guy had been trying to hit on her at the bar was undeniable evidence that Nell was one sexy woman in more than just G Callen's eyes.

He blamed the breasts, really. There was no way for the men who ogled her to know the reason such a petite woman had such a substantial, non-artificially-enhanced rack was because she was a nursing mother. And if they did, would they have backed off even then? Not that anyone besides Burned-Out-Lawyer Barfly Guy had done anything more than stare at her. Even the half-drunk man hadn't gotten very far. And never would have. In fact, Callen had probably done him a favor, putting on the display he'd had with Nell. The show was more than the man was ever going to get, and was arousing enough as it was, which explained why the man had hastily fled the scene, likely to the bathroom to jerk off. Because, god, the noises Nell made when Callen had been kissing her. He was certain she hadn't even realized the soft moans she was making in the back of her throat, or she would've been mortified over the exhibition. Neither of them were much for public displays of affection. Which brought him back to conceding the point to Nell. He had purposely falsely hit on her in order to make public his claim on the young woman. It wasn't that he didn't trust her. He knew she only had interest in going home with one man (and how lucky was he to be that man?!). It was the rest of the world he didn't trust.

He looked down into her hazel eyes, finding her patient expectation for his excuse. But he wasn't going to try one. It was Hetty's birthday. She'd dressed them all in her finest stock of wardrobe and taken them out to a fancy restaurant. Nell's sister, who had moved to town a few months ago (supposedly because her company had offered her a great position in their LA branch, but more likely to be close to her younger sister and her new niece), had taken Amelia for the night. The last thing he wanted was to be in trouble with Nell on a Date Night. Well, sort of 'Date Night'. They'd never really had official dates, so it was a strange concept to them, he supposed. And attending Hetty's birthday party wasn't really a 'date' sort of thing to do, either, was it? Oh well. They certainly weren't normal people.

"Well?" she said, finally growing sick of his chosen response of silence.

"You're right," Callen said, leaning in so close that his lips brushed her ear. "I got a little territorial. You attracted more attention than Kensi when you walked in here. I could see it in every man's eyes how they wished you'd be in their bed tonight. And I wanted them to know that I'm the only who gets to part your thighs and-"

"G! We're in public." The alarm in her voice silenced him and he straightened, to see her hazel eyes wide, her pupils deliciously dilated, and a pink flush coloring her face and neck, and, oh yes, all the way down to her breasts. He just loved her fair complexion at times like these. It definitely made certain of her moods easier to read.

"We don't have to be." He placed a hand on the curve of her hip. "Let's get out of here."

Nell seemed temporary entranced, as enraptured as he currently felt by her proximity. And then she somehow shook it off, her eyes focusing once more, the hard set returning to her mouth, as her parted lips pressed into a thin line.

"We've barely visited with Hetty, yet," she said. "And she'll be very disappointed if we break proper social protocol."

Callen sighed. The pixie had a point. But he really just wanted to get her naked... or just a little bit more naked, but definitely hot and bothered.

"Besides..." She gave him one of those mischievous grins of hers. "You promised me a dance."

"Okay. First, we'll dance-"

"A proper dance," Nell corrected. Callen narrowed his eyes at her, as if he would shirk on his promise.

"First, we'll dance. Then we'll chat with Hetty. And then we can call it an early night."

"Deal." Nell stuck out her hand. Callen took it, but rather than shake it as if sealing a deal, he pulled it into the crook of his elbow, and helped her down off the stool with his other hand on her waist.

Shortly, he discovered that Nell had not been lying when she'd told him last week, upon announcement of this little soiree, that she could dance the salsa. By no means would she ever win any competitions. And neither would he, for that matter. But they maintained a good rhythm, had a little bit of flair, if he did say so himself, and the heat between them was enough to make their time out on the floor an exceptional experience, if only for the two of them, which was all they were doing it for anyway. After the music stopped and they vacated the floor, he collapsed with Nell in his lap (in yet another unprecedented display of closeness among the company that generally comprised their coworkers) at the table where Henrietta Lange was seated, lording (or ladying, as it were) over the entire restaurant, not with pomp but a distinguished air that garnered every single person's respect.

"Well done, Mr. Callen, Miss Jones," she said, giving them a genuinely amused smile and a clap of her hands. She leaned closer to the pair, talking in a lower tone. "Perhaps the two of you could give Miss Blye and Mr. Deeks some pointers."

Hetty took a sip of the amber liquid in her glass, closing her eyes and savoring what he knew must be extremely expensive scotch. And then a small epiphany hit him smack in the forehead. Of course. That must be where Nell had developed the taste for the alcohol. Hetty's matronly influence. The old spy swallowed and then slowly opened her eyes, bestowing a smile upon them.

"So, I see parenthood is treating you both well," she said, in that unreadable way of hers. Callen knew the old woman adored the now six month old baby that she visited on a weekly basis, but he had never been able to tell if Henrietta Lange actually approved of his and Nell's relationship. She cared about them, he knew. But they were also assets in her little (and not so little) games. And Callen effectively had removed Nell from being able to be used in a number gambits. Or so he thought, until he heard what the old woman he respected and cared for deeply said next.

"So, Miss Jones, when will you be returning to us?"


A/N: Uh-oh. How is territorial Callen going to feel about Nell going back to work? It's not like she's a field agent, though, right…? Stay Tuned…