My place is your place

AN: This is an accompanying piece to "At my place, with you", which was, according to some reviews, a necessity, so who am I to object? This piece is written from Deeks' POV and starts where I left them together. In the show, the next day was a normal working day. In my story, it's the weekend, just so they have some more hours to spend together. It's smutty, but not so much. Although…no, it turned out just as smutty. Note to self: never write an Author's Note before finishing the story.

Spoilers: Set at the end of episode 5.19 "Recovery" and right after my other story "At my place, with you."

Disclaimer: I don't want to own Kensi, I want to BE Kensi. Then I would have Deeks. But I'm not and I don't. Doesn't mean I can't write about them.

A pale moon is creeping through your window, but sleeping is not the first thing on your mind. Instead, there's this mesmerizing starfish like figurine spread royally across your chest, producing the most lovely snort-snoring sounds (you missed those) and completely pinning you down on your mattress.

Which is fine by you, really.

To tell the truth, you've been waiting for a long time for this to happen and almost lost all hope that one day it would. Until it did, last night.

And if it wasn't for the fact that she's still here, beautiful in her uninterrupted, deep sleep, you still wouldn't have believed it. A huge smile gracing your face, you lean back against the pillows and allow last night's events to invade your mind.

The soft, hesitant confession at the restaurant and the most frightening moments right after, moments during which you were sure you had lost her forever; that the words you just blurted out were the ultimate deal breaker.

But then she had stood up from her seat and indicated you should follow her. In a trance, you did as she silently asked.

The car ride over was hot and heavy and you still wonder how in the hell you managed to get the two of you safely back home with a raging boner, one hand on the steering wheel and your other stroking the wet heat of your partner's no longer private parts.

Oh how wet she was! How scorching hot against your fingers and tongue. How great she tasted! How incredible was that one moment where she came undone, twice, because of you? Because she allowed herself to surrender to you? You guess it's the greatness of that gift that told you, more than words could ever do, how far you've come as partners in every sense of the word.

She gave you herself last night and it's not something you take very lightly. Kensi doesn't trust easily and you could tell how much courage it took her to let her ever important control slip away. It's up to you now to nurture the love entrusted to your care. And you will.

The exotic creature in your embrace stirs and mumbles something, but doesn't wake up. You think she might have said something sounding like 'mine', and yeah, you agree wholeheartedly, so you go with that.

Because truth is, you've been hers and hers alone from the moment you met her, even when you were still Jason Wyler and she was Tracy and neither knew (for sure) the other one was undercover. Yet, even then, she was unmistakably yours and you were, wholeheartedly and voluntarily hers.

Since then, it's been a constant game of give and take, push and pull, sometimes fun, a lot of times frustrating. A few weeks ago, it became too frustrating for you and you kissed her.

Speeding off on her motorcycle did not promise too much for the future, though in her defense, she was just doing her job, but even then a little stubborn brain cell kept hoping that at least it would make her think about what you were offering. But that of course, was before your life was ripped to pieces and you ended up in too much agony and stress and the endless cycle of nightmares and hallucinations to even think about taking whatever step next.

Day after day, sleepless night after sleepless night, you fought your way back to the surface, coming to the inevitable conclusion that you needed her right there next to you just to be able to close your eyes for even a moment without the unwanted images assailing you from all sides.

You just never figured it would actually really happen. Until it did. And it was just…wow.

She stirs a little and you tighten your grip around her, smelling the intoxicating scent which is an odd mixture of her perfume, her shampoo, the tangy essence she so generously provided for you and your combined sweat. You couldn't care less about the stickiness that comes with it.

Who in his right mind would complain about being plastered to the likes of Kensi Blye?

Truth is, you were actually kind of mad when she admitted to never have been truly made love to. Mad at whatever lover she had in the past (not that you really want to know who they were and how many there have been; she's hardly a nun after all) because apparently they didn't see how special she was and never treated her as such. And mad at her, for settling so easily for so much less than she deserved in your loving eyes at least.

You always treat a lady like a lady and a b*tch like a b*tch. Though in the bedroom, even women in the last category deserve some modicum of respect.

So yeah, you're a gentleman between the sheets.

Growing up from boy to teenager to man, you never had a positive male role model. Whatever there was to learn about the female anatomy, you learned from school and the secret stash of Playboys from your friends (of more likely their fathers), but there was no man teaching you how you were supposed to handle a real girl once your none too subtle flirting started to pay off.

Girls, as it turned out, were more than a living 3D model of the pictures you perused. They mostly came with a mind of their own and your actions, when not choreographed to perfection, could be hurtful and just plain nasty. And, like your peers, girls talked among each other too and there were certain reputations you did not want to have in high school.

One word about an alleged STD or an unwanted pregnancy you were (half) responsible for and you were done with. Your merely blossoming career as a lover was over with just a few whispered words.

Girls could be mean sometimes and you were a lot better of by treating them right.

That wasn't the only reason you were always respectful, though. Somehow, you were always a little offended on their behalf by the brazen way some of your friends described their bedroom actions. Most of it was just boasting of course, pretending to be all alpha male while not ready to be one fulltime, but the manner in which they talked about their dates like they were nothing more than a quick lay…no. Show some dignity, some honor, some respect. If the girl is a slut for wanting to make out with you, what does that make you? You never saw the career prospects of a pimp, really.

That's the way your sperm donor (that beast doesn't deserve to be called a father) thought of women all his life, including your mom. Oh, she always thought you never knew, but you're not crazy. Whatever Gordon Brandel wanted, he took, including your mom. You were no son of his, you were collateral damage, an unwanted result of a drunken rape. Too bad your mother never considered it as such, she was married to the man and just doing her duty as his wife. She actually believed it too. Such a shame.

Sometimes you wonder if your mom was the only one he ever did this too. Seems unlikely, but could that mean you have a bunch of half-siblings walking around without evenb knowing it? And would you even want to know if you did?

You know one thing though: whether in a marriage or not, sex should never be considered a duty or worse, an assault. It's too beautiful for that. It should always be consensual and at least a bit considerate toward your bed partner.

It's a promise you made yourself from the very moment you became sexually active (at fifteen, with the two year older and very well…developed Ashley Morone from down the street) and you've held it ever since. As soon as the initial clumsiness faded and you grew more secure of your abilities, you have never (deliberately) hurt a woman during sexual intercourse.

Not even Max Gentry could really be a beast in bed.

Looking at the peacefully sleeping creature in your arms, you wonder if you still treated Kensi differently than the women who came and went before her.

Truth is, you did. Not merely because she deserved extra special treatment and always will, but because all the while you were kissing her, tasting her, stroking her, you had this deeper sense of belonging. Of coming home. She wasn't the first by a long shot, perhaps not even the best when it came to the more eh…let's say gymnastic aspects of lovemaking (you slept with a contortionist once, the things she could do...), but she was perfect in every single sense of the word.

She's Kensi. Your best, last and only lover from now on. And where you expected this realization to cause a panic attack, it does the opposite.

Never before have you been more sure about anything in your life as you are right now.

This is your love story. Not quite a conventional one, perhaps not a long lasting one (you're going to love her till your last breath leaves your body; you're just not sure when that will happen), but it's yours and it suits you just fine.

You saw in her eyes that it suits her too.

Oh yeah, your generosity surely paid off. Not that you minded going down on her in the least. In fact, you quite enjoyed it, seeing and feeling her surrender to the pleasure you were giving her twice in short succession was really rewarding, as was the unique taste of her essence on your tongue.

But then…your cock twitches as the memory comes back to how her sweet, plumps lips felt as she wrapped them around the tip, sinking further and further until you were sure you were certain you were going insane from the pleasure.

And that was before you came home. Found your destiny as she straddled you and guided you inside her warm, wet tunnel. Oh the heat! The delicious tightness and the way her inner muscles contracted against the paper thin skin. You would testify in court in front of a judge and jury that nothing, absolutely nothing has ever felt that good.

You asked her if she felt the same way, can still almost recite your little post-coital conversation, which wasn't half as scary as you always feared it would be.

"You okay, Princess?" .

"Yeah, I'm good. Real, real good."

"We do work well together, don't we partner?"

"Yes, yes we do."

"Kensi, I…I hope you're not afraid anymore. Or question my motives."

"I don't."

"Good, because I want this. You and me. Partners, friends, lovers. I'm greedy that way. I want it all. Forever. With you."

"I know. So do I."

"You and me, love. Let's do this."

You kissed after that, a sweet gesture filled with all the love you could pour into it. It left her cross-eyed and breathless and she allowed you to snuggle up to her and hold her tight. You never figured she would be a snuggler, but you guess all it takes it the right person.

You're insanely proud that that's you. And, thanks to this little trip down recent memory lane, ready for another round.

But, damn it, Kensi's sleeping so peacefully and didn't you just say you were a gentleman?

What to do?

Well, you can always try to rouse her. Rouse and arouse her at the same time. Perhaps…

You wriggle in the bed until you're spooning her, then let your hand travel softly from her awesome breasts (really, they're magnificent), down her taut tummy to the small patch of curls she leaves there. To be honest, you like it that she still has some pubes left; every time you had sex with a Brazilian waxed girl you felt a little pedophilic and wanted to ask for some ID, just to be on the safe side. You've seen thirteen year olds walking the dark LA streets at night, acting and sometimes even looking like adults, until you arrested them for solicitation and in the harsh reality illuminated by your flashlight, watched them turn back into the insecure, jaded kids they were in front of your very eyes. They should be at home, in a warm bed with only their latest crush or even Justin freaking Bieber on their minds and in their dreams.

Ever since those days, a completely hairless girl is kind of a buzz kill to you.

But, back to the task at hand, before the mere thought of Bieber is enough to effectively put your dick out of commission for at least the night.

One look at the soft, moonlit form of your one true love and you're back in the game. You guide your hand a little bit further between her legs and she sighs in her sleep, instinctively shifting her legs apart to accommodate you.

Good girl.

Fingers hitting their intended target, you play gently with her folds, smiling to yourself as she moans softly and the first drops of moisture are coating your fingertips. Digging a little deeper, you spread her folds and slip one finger inside. Kensi snorts and her eyelids flutter.

Good, almost awake and nicely warming up.

Your thumb finds her clit and you start drawing slow circles around it, never quite hitting the quickly swelling nub itself. Kensi whimpers and a small flood of her juices coat you hand. You groan and push in a second finger, intent on heightening her pleasure.

Wide awake now, your lover wails and pushes back against your hand. Her pert little ass is rubbing against your now raging hard-on and you bite back a moan of your own. As usual, you want her to surrender first. Faster and faster you move your fingers and your thumb closes in on her throbbing clit.

"Marty, oh Marty, please…"

"You want to cum, Princess?"

"Yes, please, Marty. Please, make me cum."

Unable to deny her the sweet release any longer, you zero in on her engorged pearl and very gently flick your thumbnail over it. For one delicious moment, Kensi stiffens like a board in your arms, before she spasms wildly (that kick to the shin will leave a nice bruise) and lets go, shuddering and wailing as the waves consume her.

Before she can totally ride it out, you've found a condom and sheathe yourself. Then, straining erection poised at her entrance, you tilt her head back and give her a thorough, albeit a little sloppy kiss. From this angle, kissing smoothly is a bit hard, but you can't be bothered. It's still amazing.

"Kensi…are you ready?"

For a moment she gives you her patented 'are you kidding me' look and as an answer, she again rubs her now thoroughly drenched, still contracting folds over your aching dick.

Taking that as a positive answer, you slowly, ever so slowly guide yourself inside of her.

Oh blissful heat!

You gulp, count to twenty in every language you know and even try to picture Hetty nude (thank God your mind's eye refuses to conjure up that particular image), all in order not to let this be over way too soon.

You're quite okay again, when suddenly your lover decides she prefers a less submissive role and again starts grinding herself against you. You let out a very loud, not very masculine yelp and automatically thrust back. Sweet Jesus, this is so good. You feel like a teenager instead of a man in his mid-thirties, cause you swear you haven't been this aroused since High School, where all a pretty girl had to do was throw you a wink and a smile.

Of course, this is no ordinary girl. This is Kensi and you don't even need a wink and a smile from her to just get going.

The noises she's making don't help your rapidly dwindling resolve either, but you still don't forget to be a gentleman, with your fingers still gently pinching her sensitive, swollen clit.

She growls as you push back into her again and hit a particular sweet spot. Her skin is coated in a sheen of sweat and it glistens like silver in the pale light of the moon, casting her whole body in a mysterious glow.

So damn beautiful.

Her growling continues, than rises to a sweet crescendo as, with one more swipe of your finger against her pearl, she takes off, sobbing your name.

You're nearly there yourself, the contractions of her inner walls milking you and leaving you little space to push in and out. But still, with the much needed release just around the corner, you push on.

"M-Marty, let go, darling. Let go."

One more time, she pushes back, shifting one leg to allow you the deepest thrusts yet. One more push…

You're in Heaven, your cock twitching and gushing as you fill the condom. Somewhere in the distance, you hear Kensi mewl and you vaguely think she might have had another orgasm, but there's no way you can formulate the question. So you'll just have to remember to ask her later.

When you remember your own name, that is. Your mind is frighteningly empty, really, proving once again that there's not much going on in a man's brain other than sex.

A few moments (you think) later, you carefully disentangle yourself from her sticky body and make another trip to the bathroom to dispose of another full condom. Seeing Kensi lying motionless on the rumpled bed, except for her heavy breathing, you take pity on her and quickly wet a cloth to at least soothe her warm, sweat soaked skin. A shower would be better, but that'll have to wait until she shows the first signs of mobility again.

And yes, you are none too secretly proud of reducing Kick-Ass Kensi Blye to a smoldering boneless heap (after giving her five, maybe even six orgasms in one night and still counting), ignoring the fact she can do the same to you just by looking. At least you can still walk.

She sighs in gratitude as you wipe the salty, sticky moisture from her back, arms and legs, before gesturing for her to turn around, so you can wipe of her front side.


"Feels good?"

"Wonderful. But wasn't I supposed to give you a sponge bath?"

"Whenever you want to reciprocate, my dear."

At that, she takes the cloth from you, pulls herself off the bed and pads over to the bathroom, where she rinses out the cloth again and returns with a wicked smile on her face.

"Lie back, Marty."

You do as she asks and let her trail the cool material down your heated body. And though it does wonders for your skin, it sets off the fire in your blood again when she comes closer and closer to your cock, which reacts immediately.

Man, you really are sixteen again! This is almost embarrassing. You're so focused on keeping your breathing under control that you totally miss the wicked look on your partner's face.

The cloth falls on the floor, her hands wander off without it…

With a growl, you pull her flush on top of you.

Time to get sticky all over again.

And then some more.

You got all the time in the world.

At your place, which is now also her place.