The Scariest of Steps
They're at an impasse.
After the fight over Deeks and the miss, things have gone back to a sort of quiet status quo. They know the r-word is a real relaitionship and they know that what they're doing is a relationship. They're not really hiding behind those pretenses anymore. But that's as far as they've gotten. They don't talk about it – won't talk about it – and that leaves them floating.
Because talking makes it real.
Kensi knows this. She's ridiculously aware of this. So is Callen. But neither of them can stop. Neither of them want to stop and that's the part they've established. It's the emotion so obviously under the surface that they won't touch.
Then he goes under.
It's part of the job and Kensi knows that. She's never had a problem with it before. They've established that they can't make this about the job, that them and the job are two entirely different things. The decisions they make on the job can't be affected by what they do off the job or they're both sunk. She knows that.
Logically.
Irrationally, she's a mess. It's stupid and irritating as hell because it's a weakness she doesn't usually tolerate. Sure, she gets worried when it's Sam and oh yeah she gets worried when it's Deeks, but this is something even more than that. This is a constant knowledge that Callen may not be coming back. And that is entirely unacceptable for an agent like her.
Hetty knows. It's so obvious and it's all Kensi's fault too. She's been staying late, even later than normal and though Deeks and Sam have essentially chalked it up to something personal – though Kensi hadn't been happy with the little glint in Sam's eye – Hetty checks up on her. She's even been on the phone with Callen during a check in while Kensi was sitting in front of her desk. It's the only word she's gotten from him since he's gone under.
She's not begrudging that. If she wants him to come back alive, she has to understand that he can't have any contact with her. It's beyond dangerous for him and potentially fatal. She's not going to risk that, not to assuage an irrational need. She's been shoving it down for weeks – and spending a lot more time cleaning her gun and working out at the gym – but she knows she's fraying.
And she hates herself for it.
She flips over in bed for the millionth time with a sigh. She hasn't been sleeping properly either and the idea of not being able to sleep because Callen's not there drives her nuts. She's not a dependent person. She's forced herself to be independent which means she should totally be able to sleep just fine while Callen's out on an op.
What it does mean, however, is that she's awake when she hears the quiet 'snick' of the lock in her door. She's got her hand on her gun in a second, sliding the weapon to the edge of her pillow. There is definitely someone in her apartment. Someone courteous enough to close the door. And lock it again.
Damnit. If she has to run she doesn't want to smash a window to do it.
But then the air shifts around her and she relaxes.
Completely.
"You're not supposed to be here."
He says nothing, just steps to the bed. She hears a jacket hit the floor and him dealing with his shoes before the bed dips behind her. There's still shifting and it takes her a confused minute to realize he's dealing with his socks.
When she turns, he's there, looking at her with intense eyes.
"I couldn't stay away."
Oh.
Oh.
She bites down on her lip and thanks the darkness that's likely hiding her blush. It's so girly to feel the warmth that infuses her bloodstream because he's here, because he couldn't stay away. She watches him as he slips under the covers.
"This could be dangerous," she says, even as she reaches out for him. "For both of us."
"Kens," he says as he tugs on her hand, forcing her to shuffle close. "Shut the hell up."
When his mouth takes hers she responds immediately with all of her pent up concern and worry. All of the angst, the agonizing… And how can she really be mad at him? He's here, isn't he? When he totally shouldn't be and that's giving her something. She needs to give back. She does with her mouth, with her body, with everything she has at her disposal.
She slides her hand down his side, along the waistband of his pants. Button and zipper are dealt with in record time and she's slipping them over his hips. There's a part of her, the preservational agent, that wants to get her out of her apartment as fast as possible, knowing that the faster he leaves the less likely he is to get caught and put them both in danger. But after she's removed his pants, he grips her wrists, wraps her arms around his neck and pulls her flush to his body.
"Callen," she says against his mouth. "You need to go."
He gets it, like she knew he would. She's not kicking him out, she's worried about him, worried about him doing something so uncharacteristically reckless and stupid. So instead of parting from her, he pulls her closer, sliding his hand lower and lower until it slips beneath the boxers she wears. She's bare beneath them so it's no real surprise when his fingers find her easily but she gasps into his mouth regardless. His touch is sure, like it should be by now, but gentle because this is entirely unexpected. He takes his time working her, rubbing around, using her own moisture as it spills out to increase pressure. She's a slave to the sensations he evokes in her, she always is and lets go of his neck to slide her hands beneath his shirt.
He releases her to sit up, to remove the rest of their clothing quickly. She moves to straddle him, but he knocks her to the bed, turning and shifting her until they're on their sides again, facing each other.
It's an entirely new form of intimacy.
Sure, they've shared eye contact during sex, but there's something about this that's more intense. Maybe it's the look in his eyes, maybe it's the illicit feeling of the moment, the knowledge that he shouldn't be here, that she shouldn't be letting him stay, but there's an underlying electricity that makes her burn hotter. He's not immune to it either because he's panting into their every kiss and there's a desperateness just under his gentle touch.
"G," she whispers against his mouth as his fingers delve between her thighs again, pushing her higher and higher, keeping her on the brink of climax. "Jackass."
He chuckles, low and dark and raspy and just the way she likes it. It's almost enough to send her over, but he slides his fingers out of her folds and down her outer thigh. He hikes the limb around his hip, sliding her other leg between his. It takes some maneuvering, but when he finally slides in her it's magic. She pushes her hips forward, grinding against him and cannot believe the way his eyes flutter.
Not that she's faring much better.
The grinding is sending her higher until she shatters around him. His mouth is on her neck and he's still to let her come down from that high before moving in earnest. It's not really a thrust, it's the same circular grinding that she'd started and she feels her breath back up in her lungs. His mouth is still moving on her neck, her ear, her cheek, her shoulder, whatever he can reach until she wraps her fingers around his ears and tugs his mouth to hers.
Pleasure and heat rise between them, the fine sheen of sweat coating their bodies as they push each other towards climax. She's now used to getting more than one when they're together, but this one sneaks up on her. She almost literally chokes on air as it sweeps her away, digging her nails into his shoulders. When she comes back to herself he's still hard inside her, still moving and she drags her nails gently down his back. She gets a response she didn't expect when he arches into his climax.
They fall asleep entwined like that.
Hours later, Kensi wakes, thirsty, sticky and they end up meeting again in the shower. He takes a few more minutes – it's been a long time since he's been able to have a real one, rather than an eight minute Marine shower – and it gives her enough time to slide her own version of his white rose into his jeans' pocket.
He finds it a week later, still deep undercover, as he's clearing out his pockets for laundry.
Come home soon.
When he does, three weeks after discovering her 'rose', he finds her in his house, back to him as stands at the kitchen counter. He can't help himself. He's behind her in an instant, spinning and lifting and she's laughing as she wraps her arms around his neck. It's domestic and right and her eyes are so relieved to see him again.
She leans in, kisses him, knowing that while he may have taken the first symbolic step with the rose, she's about to take a bigger one with words. Still, she makes sure she meets those intense blues before she speaks. She needs him to see as much as she needs him to hear.
"Welcome home."
So, I could end it here. I know it's been listed complete the whole time (because it's true, each one of them kind of makes it complete because they're all little stories in their own right) but there's more I want to play with. I have this neat scene with Kensi and a book that I want to have a chance to work at, and really, they still have more to say. For all intents and purposes this is breaking through that first barrier and actually really expressing what's going on.
This is also the shortest one of the bunch, I think. Huh.
So I'm thinking I'll keep playing. We'll see. This one's like an obsession right now, which is brutal because I've also started in on my annual Christmas fic and I really shouldn't be dallying in other places. Silly Callen and Kensi!
