The Beginning of Christmas
Kensi doesn't hate Christmas. Okay, sure, it's not her favourite holiday, but she doesn't boycott it and turn in to the Grinch. Especially not the way her team celebrates. Decorating a palm tree still seems inherently blasphemous, but it's one of the things that makes Christmas easier to celebrate.
The team knows now why Christmas sucks. It's not the first time any of them have revealed something so personal for a case. But it doesn't overshadow the entire holiday. She's long ago learned how to separate Jack's departure and the holiday season. Plus, she doesn't like being the one to drag everyone's spirits down.
More importantly, she thinks maybe she's really ready to celebrate.
So when the team starts tossing around ideas for Christmas, she offers her apartment as Party Central. It snowballs from there.
Hetty gives them the afternoon off to decorate Kensi's place. An hour later, Sam and Callen show up at her door with a palm tree that brushes her ceiling. Sam's brought leftover lights from his place and Kensi lovingly pulls her own ornaments out for the first time in almost a decade. Both of the men recognize the significance and while Sam's squeezing her shoulder, Callen's got his eyes locked on hers, warm with meaning.
They're interrupted when Deeks knocks, bringing eggnog and that stupid fireplace DVD. Nell and Eric aren't far behind – and yes, of course the team takes more than a few minutes to rib them about their simultaneous arrival – bringing more general decorations. By the time they finish it looks little like Santa's Village threw up in Kensi's living room. Hetty, it seems, is bringing food.
They have an obviously good time, if the disaster of her living room is anything to go by. Eventually, though, they start clearing out. Hetty first, just after Nell and Eric get caught under the mistletoe for the fourth time. They're the next ones to leave, Nell clinging to Eric because she and Deeks had an eggnog shooting contest and while she whooped his ass, she's now more than a little intoxicated. Sam leaves after that, claiming his delivery of the palm excepts him from clean up. She walks Deeks to the door half an hour later.
"You sure you don't need help?" he asks, charming grin on his face. But Kensi's entirely immune to it by this point.
"I'm sure," she replies. It's not like she's going to be cleaning up on her own anyway.
Then Deeks surprises her, darting in to press a kiss to her cheek. "Mistletoe," he says and she completely misses the look he shoots Callen over her shoulder. To her, he offers a wink and by the time she gets over the fact that Deeks just kissed her cheek and that Deeks just kissed her cheek, he's already half way down her front walk.
She shakes her head affectionately as she closes the door and feels Callen's hands at her hips.
"He knows," Callen says, then presses his mouth to hers. She smiles into the kiss.
"He does not," she denies as he pushes her back against the door. It's gentle though and there's only an undercurrent of possession, the type that speaks to knowing that Kensi's merely flattered and entertained by Deeks' balls. She's not going anywhere.
"He does," Callen shoots back, his hand slipping from her hip to turn the lock on the door. His hand comes back to her hip, sliding his thumb beneath her blouse to touch her skin. "He was challenging me."
She laughs into their next kiss, one hand coming up to palm his cheek. She's not really romantic by nature, but sometimes it wells up in her and she can't help herself. "It's Deeks."
"Trust me," he murmurs against her mouth. "Deeks knows." It's a guy thing, he thinks. He knows the look Kensi's partner shot him. He lets the thought slide out of his head in the face of the moment of her mouth under his. He tugs her back, aiming for her bedroom. She stops them in front of the Christmas palm, slipping out of his hands.
She's smiling, a secretive tilt of her lips. She's letting that smile play around her mouth, full of mysteries. She has reason to be playing coy. It's the first time she's hidden a surprise for him beneath the green satin of her blouse and black jeans. It's the first time in a long time she's deliberately bought lingerie specifically as a surprise for a guy when he strips her down. She has a drawer of go-tos, but not something newly bought for this specific purpose.
Callen watches her as her fingers trail up the buttons on the front of her blouse. He can tell she's in a really playful mood, probably because they've had a really good night with friends. Honestly, he's really glad for it. He know Christmas is not the easiest of holidays for her.
He's shocked by the surge of anger and jealousy that wells up in him at the thought. She has a difficult time at Christmas because her fiancée ran out on her. On Kensi. At this point… Callen can't believe it. He cannot fathom walking away, especially since he's so damaged and yet she's here with him. She chooses to be here. He knows he's in deep with her. Really deep.
His eyes go to her fingers, to the slow release of buttons, the way each disk slides through each hole in the blouse. There's no doubt he wants her. Being in a social situation with her, without anything to distract him, is begging him to make a move. And the mistletoe?
He sees the red in between her breasts first as his fingers itch to help her with the buttons. Instead, he stalks towards her, raising his hands to rest over hers when she reaches up to slide the blouse from her shoulders. Their eyes lock as they slide the shirt down together. His hands fall to her waist, sliding up to brush against he lace of her bra. His thumbs slide in, brushing her underwire and the delicate skin beneath. Her chest expands and contracts with the touch, her fingertips coming up to brush against his chest.
"Shirt," she says quietly. Then she steps away. Callen's hands fly to the buttons of his shirt, surprisingly steady considering the fact that he's watching a half-naked woman – his half-naked woman – back away. He figures it out when she flicks off the overhead light. There's a beam coming from the kitchen, but otherwise the room is only illuminated by the Christmas palm and the fireplace still playing on the TV.
Then she's back in front of him, sliding her palms over his shoulders and taking his undone shirt downwith her as her fingers trail over his arms. He slides his back around her waist again, pulling her against him. She initiates the next kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing against him, skin to skin. He lets his fingers drift, lets them brush against lace, teasing at her bra straps and clasp before deciding to deal with her jeans. She shivers as the back of his fingers brush the skin under her belly button. His fingers grasp the open sides of her jeans when he tugs down her zipper, but she doesn't budge.
"Here," she says, wrapping her arms tighter. She smiles when his eyes widen and presses her mouth to his neck. She follows his neck to his shoulder, then down his chest. His hands tangle in her hair as she slips to her knees. Her lips continue down over his stomach, her fingers quick with his belt and pant fastenings. She tugs them and his boxers down far enough to slide her mouth over him. He groans, but lets her play. His hands are just there to give himself an anchor. She fights him when he tries to pull her away, intensifying her efforts.
"Kens-i!" He chokes on the last syllable as she slides him further down her throat than he ever remembers being. God, if she keeps this up….
Fuck!
She wants to smile because the feel of him spilling in her mouth is such a thrill. He falls to his knees, shocked and pleasantly surprised, cupping her face. He's not totally sure how he feels about tasting himself in her kiss, but it's the only way he can think to express what's going through his mind. She never takes it that far.
She slides to her ass and then starts to lean back, pulling him along with her, her hands against his cheeks. He supports himself with his knees and an arm as he uses the other hand, splayed against the bottom of her spine, to control her descent. She kisses him until she's lying back on the carpet. She shifts for comfort and when she settles he heads down her neck.
He pulls back when he hits her collarbone, tugging her jeans down her long legs. He stops to pull her socks off too, leaving her in the red lace bra-and-boyshort set she picked out with him in mind. He takes her in, the long lines of her, the red lace. He starts his fingertips at her knees, trails them up over her underwear. They trail along the lower edge of her bra and she arches her back so he can get at the clasp. He leans down to kiss her as they work together to slide the bra from her shoulders.
When he pulls away, he doesn't carefully and gently trail kisses down her neck and chest. Instead, he makes her choke on air when his mouth envelops a nipple. His tongue swipes over the pebbled tip. He sucks and her back bows in earnest. He waits until she actually whimpers then switches to the other at the same time he slides a knee between her thighs and puts pressure against her center.
"Callen," she moans, pushing against his leg in earnest, rocking her hips. His mouth stays active on her breast and nipple as he slides his hand inward. She's wet and hot through the lace and he knows her now, well enough to know exactly what buttons to press. She moves with his hand, against his hand, until he holds her hips down. He sends her over the edge in seconds, feeling her bow up against him, her hands clasping his head.
And releases the hottest sigh as she floats down.
She kisses him slowly when her breathing slows, feeling him semi-hard against her hip. She flips them and stands, unselfconsciously sliding her soaked panties down her legs and dropping them on top of her jeans. His eyes are that beautiful shade of cobalt she loves and –
Wait.
Loves?
Huh.
She covers her moment of shock at that thought by stretching, catlike, raising to her toes, gloriously naked. Then she arches an eyebrow at him and the self-satisfied smirk on his face. "Coming?"
She doesn't give him time to answer, just heads towards her bedroom, and the bathroom beyond. The bathroom is just steaming when she feels him come in, slide up behind her. He's naked now as he nudges her into the hot water. She turns with a happy smile, leaning into his kiss.
"In front of a Christmas palm tree?" he questions, getting his hands tangled in her half-damp hair.
She steps beneath the spray to soak the dark locks as his hand slide around her waist. His lips press against her throat. "I've been thinking."
"Mmhmm."
But she tugs on his head instead of just answering. There's something soft in her eyes. "I was thinking, maybe, we could celebrate Christmas."
He doesn't pretend to misunderstand her and there is a part of him that floods with warmth and honour. She wants to celebrate Christmas with him, a holiday neither of them are particularly fond of. She's hopeful, but not nervous about his lack of answer and she responds when he leans in for a kiss. The significance isn't lost on him.
She doesn't seem particularly offended when she hikes her leg around his waist instead of answering.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Turkey sandwiches," she suggests, even as her breath hitches with the first hot thrust. "Maybe a movie."
Nothing overly or overtly commercial or 'family-like'. A quiet night in, like they do so often. He adjusts the angle with his hands on her ass and leans his head against her shoulder as he tries to focus as much on her question as how hot, wet and tight she is around him.
"The Christmas palm." The last syllable ends with a gasp on a particularly rough thrust. He laughs against her shoulder and sets up a rhythm in earnest. Christmas. Christmas with her, with them, with this. She groans when he hitches her leg higher around his waist.
Yeah, he thinks to himself when she cries out her second release. He could do Christmas again. With her.
He follows her over, panting against his shoulder and they stay entwined like that until they catch their breath. He cleans her with gentle hands and she returns the favour. They towel off and he pulls on a pair of sweatpants from the drawer she cleared out for him while she goes to the living room to get his button down. Though they both know they'll roll away from each other in the night, he wraps her up against him as she cuddles close.
Then, just as her body starts relaxing, as she starts to doze off, he whispers. "Let's celebrate Christmas."
This is for those of you that asked whether or not I'd be doing something Christmas-related for NCIS LA. Potentially, this is only the first installment for the season. We'll see, as always.
Thanks for the reviews and support. You guys are awesome.
