The Change in Reality

He's lost count of the number of times they've done this.

It's a reflection in itself, both of who they are and what they look for. What they need. Instant gratification, a moment out of time that lets them pretend that they're not robots. It helps them see that there are people under the agents, that they're human. Sure, they can become anyone at will but that's not what this is about.

This, must to his surprise, is about G and Kensi.

As if that's not a mindfuck in itself.

They're so different, really. Beyond being obviously different. She's the type that ties herself down, that wants to tie herself down someday, despite the danger, despite what they do. Because their job is going to hunt them long after they've gotten out of the game. That's what happens when you make enemies. They'll have to move to the boonies, avoid neighbours and friendships… He knows that's not what she wants.

Conversely, he'd be okay with that. He's not always a big fan of people, he's pretty isolationist by nature. He learned young that relationships are a burden. More importantly, relationship can hurt. Badly. It hurt like a bitch when they lost Dom. So he avoids making attachments. It's a survival instinct honed over years and cases. Though really, just years. He's been on his own for so long that he's pretty sure being alone for a little bit longer won't kill him. It hasn't yet.

And at the same time he's so far from alone. He's got Sam on the job, nagging him, pestering him. Sure he battles back but it's self-preservation. Okay, and a lot of fun. Now, he thinks as he lets himself into Kensi's apartment – lets himself in – he's got Kensi here. Off the job, where she doesn't nag him but cuddles up to his side. He's never thought he's really needed to be wrapped up in humanity but she does that for him. He never thought he'd hate being alone, but she doesn't make him feel like that.

If anything, they're alone together.

He's locked the door and dropped his keys on the little table beside it when he finally registers the shower running. It's not a unique experience. Kensi showers twice, once in the morning and once at night. He's learned the night ones are about washing away the job. He'd try it, but he finds running so much more cathartic.

Or this.

Because he slips through her bathroom door easily. She doesn't lock it, not that he blames her and she knows he's there. She doesn't react though, doesn't step out from beneath the spray. But she doesn't protest either when he strips down and steps in with her.

Her hair is almost black from the water and she's got her head tilted back so the spray hits her neck. Has he ever really noticed how beautiful she is? She's all lean lines and subtle curves and now that he's seen her naked too many times to count he finds himself thinking the same thing in ops. On the job. Whenever she's within eyesight. And hell, even when she's not because somewhere along the way, he's developed some twisted radar.

She lets him slide his hands up her sides, from the flare of her hips until he can slide around to cup her breasts. She moans her approval, low and raspy and he leans forward to press his lips to the bare skin of her shoulder. She's the one that reaches up and moves her hair out of the way while his fingers dance across sensitive skin. And he's not one to disappoint her. He follows the bare skin of her neck with his tongue until he can get to that spot just behind her ear. It makes her knees shake and he chuckles darkly into the skin.

She's having none of it though.

In a blink she's got him pushed up against the other wall, her mouth fused to his. She wants him and it's a shock. It's invisible, for all intents and purposes. They're paid to act, and they do it so well that the team has absolutely no idea about them. About what they do together, here, in their after hours. They're both glad for it if only because there's so much wrong with what they're doing.

But that's not the point of this particular exercise. It always takes him a moment to catch up to the game she wants to play. Sometimes, he goes along with it. Why not, when the end result is the same whether they do it his way or hers? Sometimes he's dead set against what she wants. It's funny though, because those are the days she doesn't fight him so hard. In the playful dark, they 'take turns', trying to see who'll break first, but when he just really doesn't want to do it her way, the fight is shorter.

He refuses to say she knows what he needs.

He catches her elbows when she starts to trail her mouth down his neck. He knows what she's aiming for and he has plans of his own. He didn't come here to get, he came to give. It's an overwhelming and disturbing concept, really because he is not used to giving. At all. Well, it's a sweeping generalization but the point still stands. He's independent, isolated, and he chose that. But here he is, with his mouth against her neck and his hands on her ass, keeping her hips flush to his. Keeping her immobile.

She fights, kind of, wriggling against him and it does nothing but force a moan from his throat. He digs his teeth into the skin of her pulse point, reveling in the mewl that she releases. The sounds that come out of her when they're like this are absolutely nothing like the headstrong agent he's used to. It's a shocking thrill to know that she's letting him hear them.

"Stop."

She does. Dead, panting in his ear, fingers tensing reflexively around the back of his neck. The control washes over him in a wave of arousal and he hitches her leg around his hip as best he can. Really, her knee ends up braced on the wall, but it's not important. What is important is the trail of his fingers around the leg-meets-buttocks seam, sliding against damp curls. He brushes a finger into her folds, testing, waiting and grins when he discovers that the slick heat isn't entirely from the shower.

She moans and buries her face in his shoulder. Her hips move of their own accord, thrusting against the length of him. She's hot for him, hot enough that his fingers are sliding easily through her folds. He knows that the shower is one of her favourite places – something about the heat and steam he's pretty sure – but this?

He licks her collarbone and asks, "How long have you been thinking about this?"

The question startles her. Either that, or his voice is lower than he thought. A low rasp is one of her things too. Low rasp in the shower? Yeah, she's pretty much gone. But she was gone before he stepped in, before she knew he was going to do this. And he knows he's nowhere near that predictable.

Her hands move, and she's trying to distract him. Too bad he knows better. He catches her wrists, surprised at the whimper she releases when his fingers leave her center. A haze passes over his vision because she really wants this. Has he ever seen her this worked up before they've even started foreplay?

"How long?"

There's a wicked gleam in her eye as she searches his face, then she's leaning into his ear. "All day."

Dear God.

"See, I had this dream last night," she goes on, her hips undulating against his. He'd make her stop but that would require releasing her arms, and her hands can be more devastating than the slick heat she's rubbing against him. "And I've been…" She gives a deliberate thrust this time, and he wonders if she's trying to get him inside without help. "So hot since then."

All day. All freaking day. And he calls himself observant.

"You have no idea how many times I thought of just… taking care of it." She manages, despite his grip on her hands, to get to his ear. A sharp little nip and it's his turn to jerk against her. "But this seemed like so much more fun."

She's going to kill him.

He's going to think about the implications of that another day because the want coursing through his system is new. And specific.

Her.

He spins them and her back hits the wall with enough strength to force the air from her lungs. She's laughing into their next kiss, but it turns to a deep moan when he hitches her leg all the way around his hip. He doesn't worry about protection because she's on birth control – for reasons other than protection, he was surprised and a little disgusted to discover – and slides into that wet heat in a delicious thrust.

She releases a sigh. A goddamned sigh that says yes and finally at the same time. Sure, she's not quiet when they're together but this? This is something he hears so rarely. She really wants this, really wants him and he ruthlessly shoves back the panic he can feel at the bottom of his spine. Then she moves and he realizes that maybe that wasn't panic. It's tension, heat, arousal and her wrapped up in some insatiable need.

He's so screwed.

Figuratively, definitely, and in a few minutes literally too.

So he focuses on the literal, cupping and supporting her ass while they work on finding a rhythm that works for both of them. It takes them a few false starts because shower sex, they both know, can be dangerous but they find it quickly enough. It only takes a few thrusts before she's moaning with every move, sensitive and overheated and he cannot believe what her need does to his. In those few thrusts he's on the edge with her, recounting information on his aliases to try and keep himself from letting go first. Her hand comes up to cup her breast, to squeeze the nipple and he takes his cue to go for the other one.

With just a little pressure of his teeth, she's screaming her release.

Actually screaming.

It's such an ego boost that he follows her without realizing it, startling himself with the timing and intensity. Her legs slide from his waist as she comes down looking like the cat that ate the canary and sighing in contentment.

"We need to think of a better system," she says when her eyes meet his, languid heat still in them.

He simply arches an eyebrow.

She mirrors the gesture. "I wasn't kidding when I said 'all day', Callen."

It's a matter-of-fact statement, not that he expects anything else coming from her when they're talking about sex, but it's enough to feel like she's punched him in the gut regardless. This goes way beyond scratching an itch and there's a part of him panicking about how he let this get so out of hand.

It shouldn't be this way.

But then she's kissing him again, slowly, thoroughly and his hands are back around her waist. They're not ready for round two and he recognizes this as a sort of thank you. It does the job though and wipes his brain of anything but this. He's not thinking of his feelings, or hers, just them, like this, in her shower, enjoying each other.

She smooths a thumb over his cheek when she pulls away. "Chinese or pizza?"

"Indian or Mexican," he counters.

She grins. "I'll surprise you."

She always does.


This is another one of those 'I have no idea where this came from' things. Because I legitimately have no idea where this came from. One second, I was brushing my teeth, the next I was jotting down the first couple of paragraphs of this. And I actually really like it. The confusion, the pull, the panic, all there and it is so bloody rare that I'm truly happy about what I write. In the actual, I would change nothing kind of way.

Please review! Thankies!