December 21, 2012
He shows up at her apartment. They haven't made actual plans, not since their discussion last night and he hasn't made any plans independently of her. If he's honest, he's unsure. They're on the same page, he knows that much. There's no more 'simplicity', it's no longer about 'no pressure'. Not that there is pressure per se just – forward.
Together.
Her smile is absolutely brilliant when she pulls open the door. He's surprised there's no fear, not even in the back of her gaze and she looks all the better for it. All the more beautiful. It's refreshing and silences the little voices in the back of his mind still whispering that she can do better, that he doesn't deserve her.
"Hey."
He arches an eyebrow at that scintillating opener. "Hi."
She laughs a little, then steps back. He takes the invitation. He doesn't realize he's reaching for her until his hand is already gripping her hip, pulling her in. She comes willingly, even eagerly, tilting her head for his kiss. A kiss he gives willingly.
"Okay," she says when she pulls away. Her chest is heaving and her lips are swollen. "So I have to wrap."
His eyebrow wings up again. His hands are moving too, sliding beneath the tshirt she wears. Her skin is warm beneath the rough pads of his fingers. She arches, just a little, and he wants to grin. Now that he knows – they know – he can enjoy just how damn responsive she is. He's never noticed before.
He's noticing now.
"Okay," she repeats, eyes glazing. They're dark when they meet his, dark and bottomless. "Seriously. Wrapping."
Except he's having fun. This is new, this power he seems to hold over her. Or, again, maybe it's just something he hasn't noticed before. He doesn't really care. "I can't wrap."
She snorts. "Everyone can wrap. It's a fundamental life skill."
His fingers have wrapped around her hips again, thumbs against her hipbones. He has a new and growing affection for low-rise jeans as he rubs tiny circles over her skin. "I missed that day. Might have been too busy pulling apart a sniper rifle."
Kensi makes a noise, a weird laugh-groan thing, but leans in again. Her kiss is aggressive and his fingers tighten where they're gripping her hips. She hums when she releases his mouth, stepping back deliberately. "Why did we wait so long for that?"
He just laughs, a choked sound, but she's already turned back to her mess of a living room. It's a big of déjà vu, actually. He's flashing back to the chaos of decorating her tree. Their tree, he immediately corrects when his eyes drift over the two little stars, sharing a branch.
"There's so many," he says, unable to stop his hand reaching out for her. He gets her tshirt, her back, her hip as she shifts. He cannot seem to stop touching her. It's a new heady feeling, the pull and draw of having her near. It's not a surprise, per se, but with how long they've worked together, he's a little stunned that it hasn't come up. That the pull hasn't made him collapse long before now. It just feels simple.
"I know," she's blushing. "I kind of went overboard with the presents. First Christmas."
"And now you have to wrap them all."
She sends him a sly look, one that clenches in his stomach. It's a pleasant clench. "Not by myself."
He laughs, he can't help it, and slides his fingers between hers when she reaches for his hand. She sits close, knee against his. Two boxes are already wrapped, one a dark green and one a bright shimmering red. Happy Christmas colours. They make him smile as he reaches for one.
Only to get his hand slapped away.
His eyes light up. It's the most childish looks he's ever seen on his face. "You're my Secret Santa."
"Because I won't let you shake the presents I've so carefully wrapped?" She rolls her eyes, but he can see it, just a touch of mischief in the back of her gaze. He cannot stop grinning. She's totally his Secret Santa. "Maybe they're just fragile."
No. He knows. He can tell. He can definitely tell. He knows his smirk gives him away. Completely. She's turned back to meticulously cutting paper, but she glances up, flushing when she meets his gaze. "Shut up."
He cannot help it and he leans over to smack a kiss to her head. Her flush deepens and he can feel the heat infusing his own face. Because they don't do this. They are not adorable or domestic, not by nature and not without need. They are Excellent First Daters, the type who go out with the knowledge that if there's an itch to scratch, they can find someone to help without attachment. They can become anyone in the blink of an eye, anyone they want to be or anyone someone else wants them to be. Except, that skill, that shape-shifter ability, is not necessary here. It may even be unwelcome.
There is nothing pretend about the way he wants to touch her, the humming beneath his skin for the feel of hers. There's nothing fake about the pleasure he gets from the surprised spark in her eyes whenever her brushes against her, accidentally or on purpose. And he definitely does both.
At first, it is entirely accidental. He hadn't been lying when he'd told her he'd never wrapped a present in his life. He lives in LA, there's always someone to wrap a gift for him. She tries to teach him at first, but it seems to be the one thing he just cannot seem to get. Her folds are crisp, precise and his are a wrinkled mess. The only thing that keeps him from getting frustrated is the quiet laugh she releases at the stubborn look on his face and the gentle touch of her hands as she removes the present from his grip to fix it herself. Not that Eric is going to care about a few wrinkled folds.
Eventually, she just hands him the scissors with the shyest smile he's ever seen on her face. They develop a rhythm after that. He cuts with military precision as she wraps. And every once in a while, he leans over her, or around her, to help with tape or ribbons. He brushes against her when he does. Her arm, her back, her thigh, her hip. If asked, he knows he wouldn't be able to say whether they were genuinely accidental or about that damn itch and this need to touch.
Kensi doesn't seem to mind in the slightest. Her knee stays pressed against his and she's even leaning into some of the brushes of his hand or arm. She rests her hand on his thigh to get his attention, knocks her shoulder against his just because. It's heady as the anticipation builds and he's utterly vibrating by the time she tucks the last meticulously wrapped gift beneath the tree.
Then he's reaching for her. She comes willingly, moving into him as her mouth crashes into his. Her arms come around his neck and his wrap tightly around her waist.
They explode.
He stumbles as he backs up, over scissors, tape, wrapping, and lands with a pretty undignified 'oof' on her couch. She giggles – a freaking giggle, like she's a school girl – but he cuts her off as he drags her in. She has no choice but to straddle his lap, to move into him, and he splays one hand at the bottom of her spine to keep her there. Not that she's really moving. Not at all. The opposite. She relaxes against his body, mouth meeting hers in a clash of lips and tongues that has his free hand clenching around the elastic of her ponytail.
She releases a squeak as he tugs, angling her head. He must do something right because her fingers dig into his shoulders and he feels the way her thighs tense beneath his palms. He slides them up the denim, fingers gripping. Her hips push down and his hands shoot to her hips to keep her there. Hers scrabble down his chest until she can grip the edges of his t-shirt. It's over his head before he can blink and with his mouth free from hers he can see her face, the heat in her eyes.
He does that to her.
He doesn't even remember reaching for her shirt. What he does know is that she's naked to the waist and while he's seen her half-naked before – sports bras, work outs, hell even her bikini costumes as federal agents – but never like this. Never on his lap with an absolutely beautiful flush spreading over her collar bones.
The itch is back, his fingers twitching, brushing against her waist, her stomach. They slide to her back, up her spine until he's got the back of her neck.
"Kens."
Her forehead drops and lands against his. They're huffing, puffing. Everything stops, slows, and her hands slide gently down his chest. She sucks in a breath. "Okay."
He holds her close when she tries to push back.
"Callen," she whispers, pressing her forehead against his again. Her eyes flutter closed, her hands cup his face. "Callen, we can't."
"Kens."
She lets him press his lips to hers but she holds his face.
"No," she murmurs against his mouth. It comes out without malice, gentle. "I'm saying no."
His hands tighten once, then release her completely, his head dropping back. He expects her to move off of him, to pick up her shirt and move away. Instead, she makes a whimpering noise and grasps his hands.
"Okay, no, Callen." She makes a huffing noise. "I just – Sex complicates things."
He blinks at her, not entirely sure. As serial daters, pros at the one night stand, he's not entirely sure what she means.
She sighs, sensing or maybe sensing his frustration and confusion. "Sex – Look, everything is still new and – and complicated. We still work together, we've just –"
Oh. He's starting to get it.
"It – Those are already enough complications without adding sex to the mix." She shifts again, pressing against him. "Because it's definitely not that I don't want to."
His hands come back to her hips, the bare skin of her back. He's shocked by her decision, if he's honest, but he can't deny the thrill, even if he should. Because it tells him this is important to her, they are important to her, and she doesn't want to risk it by adding sex to the equation. Yet.
And he wants it to work too.
He leans forward, pressing his mouth almost gently to hers. It's a careful kiss, slow and languid and he cannot help the dark thrill that races through him when she melts against him. It takes the entirety of his self-control to keep his hands still. From the way her fingers clench and release on his shoulders, against his skull, it's not easy for her either.
The kiss comes to a natural end and she releases a sigh that sends a warm spike of contentment through his chest. Her eyes flutter open and she smiles.
"Charlie Brown Christmas is on," she murmurs. "Stay?"
He ignores the nervous tremor in her voice, and picks up her t-shirt. "Put this on first."
Her responding smile is blinding.
I was going to wait until Tuesday, 'cause it's premiere day, duh, but I cannot. Because I'm excited about this chapter.
For one thing, they're making out. As a Callen/Kensi shipper, how can I not be excited about having them make out? Yeah. Not happening. And, for the record, it's important to me in terms of the Christmas story, to keep it not rated M. And I do think that sex, in the basic definition sense, would be easy for Kensi and Callen but a) I want it to be more than that as the writer and b) it wouldn't be the same. It just wouldn't.
A memory just didn't fit. It just… didn't fit. There was nothing that would effectively match what the actual chapter was about, so… no memory. I'm not sure the next one will either. These are getting tough because everything's getting so much more emotional rather than just about all the memories and traditions.
My love to all of you. Seriously. Each and every one of you because this is so overdue and you're all with me and it is honestly the greatest.
Oh. And you know. My mistakes. ALL MINE. Kthxbai
