For anonymous, who requested "some densi smut interrupted by the team"
"Ow, shit!"
His 'sorry' is muffled in the kisses he's trailing along her shoulder. His lips reach her neck and she wriggles, resulting in a sharp prick to her exposed back.
"Move over," she says, tugging on his belt loops to get his attention, "there's something poking me."
His voice is gravelly, vibrating against her skin. "That would be me."
"In addition to you."
He makes a sound of protest, but does as instructed, grabbing her waist and spinning them until they come in contact with the adjacent wall.
She lets out a soft oof when her back hits the smooth surface. "Better."
His hand is sliding into her jeans. "Much."
She tangles her fingers in his hair and drags his face up for a kiss. She can't see anything in the darkness of the small room, but she knows the way their bodies align and their lips meet perfectly.
"Yo, Kens!"
They freeze. Footsteps echo through the hallway outside the storage closet door and her brain starts reciting expletives in every language she can think of.
She's made it to merde when she realizes Deeks' hand is still in her pants. She slaps his arm.
"Fuck," he yanks it out, "fuck, shit, fuck."
"Kensi?"
They fumble in the darkness and her fingers snag her cotton t-shirt, Deeks' cussing coming louder after some sort of altercation with a shelving unit.
She cringes as she tosses her shirt over her head. No way Callen didn't hear that.
"Smooth," she hisses.
Deeks whimpers. "I've been impaled!"
"Kens?" Callen calls again, the handle of the door wiggling, "you in there?"
"Yeah," she says in her best 'I definitely wasn't having sex in the workplace' voice. "Just had to grab some -" a ream of printer paper hits her in the chest "- paper."
She clutches her thin excuse with one hand and uses her other to try and smooth her hair.
"With a locked door?"
"Is it locked? Huh."
She reaches for the door and cracks it open, doing her best to slip out without revealing Deeks, who is most likely trying to locate his pants without the luxury of sight.
She steps into the hallway, blinking against the light as the door clicks behind her. She holds up the package and smiles. "Got some."
"Good," Callen says, smirking. "It's good that you got some."
She tells herself that it's only a double entendre to her. He couldn't have meant it as one.
She clears her throat. "Did you…?"
"Your turn to pick the lunch truck."
"Oh! Okay, yeah, right. Let me just," she lifts up the ream of paper, "get this into the printer and then I'll head out. Any requests?"
"Not me, no," he gestures toward the door behind her, "but I imagine Deeks would request you give him back his shirt."
She looks down and, sure enough, she's wearing her partner's favorite black vneck.
His smirk has morphed into a full on grin. "He doesn't quite have the boobs to fill out yours."