The Pleasure of Distraction

Kensi's a big reader.

It's one of those things the team's aware of in a passive sense. She reads enough that she is speedier when it comes to reading through reports and information and she does it with a surprising thoroughness.

But it isn't until he actually sees her reading a book that he realizes how sexy it is.

She's intense when she's reading and she knows it. She gets lost in fantasylands and she loves every second. It makes her happy because it's someone else playing a role, dealing with the issues, battling the villains.

She's not sure when sitting on her couch with him became normal. He cleans his gun every week like clockwork, and that's separate from the times he cleans his gun because he's been forced to actually fire a shot. But while he cleans his gun, she reads, because she knows and trusts her gun to work. She cleans it, she's careful with it, but she's long-ago guessed that he's had enough close calls to make him paranoid. Of course, it could also just be his general paranoia.

It's endearing sometimes, how utterly vigilant he is about safety, but the one thing he does every week is clean his gun. Every Thursday night, whenever he gets home. About a month ago – after his two months undercover - his visits became a more constant ritual so, she guesses, it must have been around a month ago that her sitting there, reading, is normal. After her less subtle welcoming..

Usually she's paying enough passive attention to see when he finishes cleaning the firearm, but the book is just so good. It happens, more often then people normally believe, that she gets lost in other worlds. And that's the only reason she doesn't noticed when he puts his gun back together. Usually, she likes to watch because his hands are so competent and sure, but she has to be paying attention to catch it.

She's not.

He takes advantage.

Well, advantage is a generous word because she actually lets out a sound of displeasure as his fingers stroke across her ankle bone. She kicks at him lightly, sending a glare, but her eyes are glazed from reading, her mind hasn't cleared from the words on the page, so she's completely oblivious to his intentions.

He grins. There's nothing he likes more than distracting her.

His heart actually swells at the thought. Her little note's had him thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking, analyzing and trying to determine what step comes next. He doesn't like the thought of going on without her, without this, without the two of them on her couch on Thursday nights. She's changed him in a lot of ways, pushed him into caring about her more than he probably should, more than he thought he was capable of. As someone who grew up shuffling from foster home to foster home, he hasn't exactly had the most stable examples of relationships.

But with Kensi, that's the only thing it can be.

They still don't really talk about it, and there's a part of him that knows they have to. They can't go on without explicit words, without labels, because as it stands they're both really just going with the flow, wherever the emotions take them. The only problem is that the emotions are taking them serious places which means they have to make sure they're both clear on the consequences. Plain and simple, he can't lose her, won't risk it, so if he's going to, he wants to know.

If he can claim her as his, he wants to know that too.

It's kind of mind-boggling actually, because he's so broken. Yeah, so is she, because to do the work they do, to toe the line between morality and immorality in the name of the law takes some twisted pieces. But he's so broken that there is a part of him in absolute awe that she's here with him, wants to be here with him. She knows she's got her own insecurities about what they're doing, how far they've come, how deep this goes, but out of the two of them, he's the one people are going to be questioning.

His fingers trail further up her leg, feather light. She twitches again, the muscles tensing and releasing beneath his hand and he smiles to himself. By this point, he knows what he does to her, knows what touches make her twitch, moan, writhe, scream. This is slow seduction because he wants to shock a response out of her. He wants her to be almost desperate by the time she realizes what's going on.

He can do it too, Callen knows. He knows the focus on her face, knows she's so deep in the story now that it's not only going to take time to get her out of the book but to get her mind to clear, her brain to work and thus, for her to realize exactly what's going on. He strokes the back of her knee and sees a flicker in her eyes. It goes as quickly as it streaks through though because her eyes are moving rapidly across the page. Then he slides his hand away.

She looks up for a moment when he shuffles over, when he slides her legs over his lap, but then it's straight back to the book, right back to almost pretending he doesn't exist. Good. That's exactly what he wants. Lull her into a false sense of security with innocence he doesn't possess. There's nothing innocent about what he's thinking. Kensi's focus is almost as legendary as her ability to slide seamlessly into a role and he's going to take advantage of it.

Because by the time he's done, he'll have all one-hundred percent of that focus on him and what he can do to her.

How hot he can make her.

She's wearing sweat pants, yoga pants, whatever. They're black, they're tight and they're thin enough that he knows she can feel his fingers. At least her nerve endings can. Callen smirks when her legs widen at the touch of his fingers on the outside of her thigh, takes his time moving them inward, paying attention to her breathing and her trembling skin for the exact moment. He slides his fingers between her legs when the moment hits and she jerks, her head coming up as her back bows.

She's hotter than he thought.

He grins as he watches her eyes try to focus, her brain try and process what's going on. He doesn't let up though, just pushes, pushes, pushes until her hands drop, her eyes close and he hears the dull 'thud' of the book hitting the floor.

He's got her attention now, that's for sure.

She chokes on a moan, stutters out a gasp, then shatters with the careful press and rub of his fingers against her center.

He chuckles as she relaxes, stroking his hands up and down her calves now. Soothing.

It doesn't help though because her eyes are blazing when they open and meet his. She dives for him and he has a split second to catch her, steady her, before she's straddling his lap, her mouth at his ear.

"You made me lose my page."

He laughs as his lips dance over her neck making her shiver. "I thought it was time for a… distraction."

She moans into his ear and he shifts, falling back across the cushions of her couch so she's still on top of him. His hand slides under her tank top, brushing up and down her spine, letting her take control of the kiss. She slows the kiss and sighs before pulling away. "How do you do this to me?"

He blinks, but his hand doesn't stop on her back. She can't honestly be thinking of having this conversation, let alone having it now, when the whole length of her is pressed against him. He's in no place to be having a conversation of the magnitude she wants.

"I didn't know my ankle was an erogenous zone," she whispers, sliding her tongue just behind his earlobe. His hips jerk against hers as his hands tighten on her hipbones. What he does is nothing compared to what she does to him.

"And the back of my knee?" She shudders, actually shudders, and his breath is coming faster and faster in his lungs. "God, G, the minute you touched me…"

He's going to do it again. Right now. He shifts his hips, hitting her just right because she gasps against his mouth and her eyes flutter closed. He takes her mouth in a thorough kiss as he pushes her against the hard length of him. The layers of clothing don't seem to matter because she's mewling, shifting and he's holding her hips to keep her from moving away from the delicious friction. When her body jerks, loses rhythm, he slows the movement, holds her arching body still just on the edge of orgasm number two. She pants down at him and he sees in her eyes that there is nothing in the world right now but this. But them.

This is what he wants, even if he doesn't think he deserves it.

She takes the opportunity to reach for his shirt, a t-shirt he's left here often enough that it doesn't even smell like him when he puts it on. It smells like her, like her detergent and softener and Kensi. Maybe that's the reason he was so gung-ho to jump her bones.

It doesn't matter though when her shirt goes the same way as his, her front-clasp bra following. She's tossing clothes here, there and everywhere, trying to get to heated skin and she lets out a sound of satisfaction when she can get her hands on his chest. Her fingers dance between his scars endlessly amused by the play of sensitive skin and scar tissue. He doesn't feel her every touch, but it's like torture, the split second his fingers ghost over the bullet wounds. He lets her take her time getting to the band of his sweats – it's another piece of clothing that's somehow migrated to her place and that is definitely something he's going to avoid talking about for a lot longer – and he lifts with her so she can slide them over his hips.

He's not wearing boxes, so she takes him in her hand when she frees him, licking her lips.

Oh Jesus.

She applies mouth, tongue and fingers to the task in front of him, taking one broad lick up his shaft, making sure her tongue presses just under the ridge, before sliding her mouth over him completely. She knows the minute he just lets himself feel because his hand wraps in her hair, guiding her deliriously. She sees the signs in his body, the tensing of his fingers and takes a page from his book, slowing her movements. This time, it's his eyes that are glazed as he looks down at her, part of him actually pleading. She moves up, pressing kisses in a line as she goes, pulling the hand from his hair to slide his fingers just under the edge of her elastic waistband.

He takes the hint, working with her to shimmy them down her hips until he can catch a foot in the crotch and push them down completely. Her panties have gone with them and they lay naked, necking, aware of the heat and press and friction… He slides his hands into her hair to pull her back, to take her in absorb the feeling of her above and over him. She allows it, though only really long enough to reach for his steel length. She takes her time sinking onto him, moving with him, working together to find that right rhythm. It's slow and languid this time, neither of them rushing, taking pleasure in each other.

His hand is first, starting by cupping a breast, tweaking at her stiff nipple before trailing down the center of her body. He turns it as he reaches her belly button, deliving his middle finger between her curls. She jerks when he finds her, then begins moving in earnest, taking them away from slow into a heated slide that makes him want to lose his mind.

She does that to him.

It never ceases to shock him.

But it's an invisible shock now, one he'd thought he'd get used to feeling. The awe might be on his face, the surprise at her response is not. She leans her head forward, hands braced on his pecs and he starts thrusting in time with her, pushing her higher and higher before watching her fall over that edge. She collapses against him and takes a few minutes to recover her faculties before pushing herself up again. This time, her grin is entirely sultry as she picks up a rhythm so much faster than their previous one. She leans down when she does, applying her mouth to his neck, rougher than usual. His body likes it and his thrusts become less and less rhythmic and more and more sporadic.

"Come on, G," she whispers hotly in his ear. "Come."

And good God, he does.

His vision blurs as he strains against her, pressing his hand hard to her lower back to keep her in place. She doesn't seem to mind in the slightest and lets him ride the wave. When he comes back to himself she's drawing random patters on the shoulder her head isn't resting on, dozing in and out of wakefulness. He sighs, completely and utterly unwilling to move. Instead, he reaches back for the afghan over the couch, draping it over their naked, cooling skin.

"S'your go-bag here?"

Change of clothes, toiletries, things they need if they get caught up in a case. They can't always steal the costumes from Hetty's proverbial closet.

"No," he admits lazily. Shit. That means he has to get up early. Not that he sleeps much, just that the endorphins and emotions rattling through him make the idea absolutely abhorrent. He sighs and reaches out and she mewls, tightening her hold on him. He chuckles, smoothing a hand down her back to calm her. "Phone," he tells her. "Need to set my alarm."

"Good," she sighs back, settling tighter against him. "Don't want you to go. Stay."

"I'll stay," he answers.

Her eyelids are fluttering. She's already half-asleep. Still, she says, "You should just leave stuff here."

He freezes, knows what that is, and looks down. She's still got her eyes closed, and there's nothing pretend about the smooth lines of her face. "Kensi."

There must be something in his voice because she forces her eyes open. "What is it?"

"You said I should leave stuff here."

She blinks, blushes, and he can see the insecurity rising up. "Oh."

Callen thinks for a minute, watching her slight embarrassment. "Did you mean to say it?"

"Huh?"

"You're half asleep," he explains and though he should be too the implications are racing through his body and despite the hormones, are suddenly keeping him revved. "Did you mean to tell me to leave stuff here?"

Her eyes take a few seconds to clear, a few seconds to take in, absorb, process and he waits. It takes patience he doesn't really feel like he has. Finally, she lifts a hand, sliding it under her chin so the bone doesn't dig into his chest. But she doesn't move.

"You've already got a pair of sweats and a couple of t-shirts here."

"You've stolen a couple of t-shirts," he shoots back and can't help the twitch of his lips when she blushes.

She watches him for a moment, waiting, and when his eyes meet hers, his hand sliding through the hair just above her ear, she sees the want there. She wonders if he knows how much he's giving away, wonders if it's something he's giving to her and her alone. "I want you to stay," she says softly. "You shouldn't have to get up early to go change."

She wants him to stay. The words reverberate in his brain, make him think of lazy Sunday mornings he's never had, the terrifying notion that she wants those too. Morning coffee, breakfast, the paper… And it's not like he doesn't already have a key. The team exchanged them long ago for emergencies, and he's been using his for things other than that. Though sometimes he wonders if how much he wants her counts as an emergency.

"I could probably bring a bag next time."

The smile that blossoms over her face is worth the fear in his gut. She kisses him soundly, and he gives back every emotion she's pouring into it. Then she's pushing herself up and holding out her hand.

"Come on," she says softly, and there's so much affection and emotion in her voice that his chest tightens. "Let's go to bed."

In the morning, he wakes in his sweats with her curled up against him in his discarded shirt – he remembers a very hot three am shower – and actually smiles. He wants this, he realizes with startling clarity. He likes this feeling.

He pulls another one of his t-shirts, one of the stolen ones, off of the clean laundry pile on her dresser, and with a gentle kiss to her forehead, cheeks, lips, heads home. He beats her into the office, though it's no surprise, but she sees the extra black bag under her desk when she slides her chair out to sit. When Eric calls them up for a case, they hang back, allowing Sam and Deeks to bicker their way up the stairs first.

"Are you coming with the bag?" she murmurs over her shoulder as he climbs behind her, just slightly closer than he should be. She's not sure it would matter though, with the volume Deeks is using to try and convince Sam he once jumped off a twelve story building onto an awning to get away from a drug dealer.

"Is that an invitation?" he murmurs back, watching the little hairs on her neck bristle into goosebumps.

She stops him with a brief hand on her arm, just outside of ops. "It's always an invitation."

Then she saunters into the room and he shakes his head as he follows. He's leaving a bag at her place. He's going to stay the night more often.

All of this out of his simple need to distract her from a book.

This is his new reality and much to his own surprise, he finds he really, really likes it.


These updates should so not be coming this fast. Really, they shouldn't.

I've had some questions about Christmas, 'cause I'm a big fan. And I have a Christmas idea for this series that's kind of wedged itself in the back of my brain. It involves a Christmas palm and Christmas lights and shadows…. Tee hee hee!

This is another one that took on a life of it's own though. And I really need to stop getting ideas in odd places. This one whacked me over the head while sitting in a Second Cup just down the street from my house. Yeesh.

Please review!