A/N: I wrote this before I watched season two episode six ('Standoff') and discovered that Callen had actually owned a dog in the past. I doubt that fact will bother anyone but me, since it's not hugely relevant, but thought I'd mention it anyway. :P Just pretend it's set before Sam learns about 'Buddy'. Other than that, this is my third Sam/G fic but my first time ever writing m/m smut, so I hope it works. And entertains. ;)
"Dogs," Sam said flatly. He slid his sidearm and cuffs into their usual drawer in the dresser and closed it. "You managed to gain the trust of a violent criminal mastermind by talking to him about dogs."
"That's right," Callen replied. He was already sprawled barefoot on Sam's couch, having helped himself to a cold beer from the fridge first, and he looked worn but overall quite pleased with himself. The team had closed a major case earlier that day, and before the bust the partners hadn't seen each other since Callen went undercover a week earlier.
Sam wandered into the adjoining kitchen to fix himself a bourbon. "You don't even like dogs," he called.
"Sure I do."
"Since when? You've never had a pet. I'd be surprised if you can even tell one end of a dog from the other."
"Au contraire, Sam," Callen said. "I was able to bond with Gomez thanks to my own fondness of a beloved pet."
Sam came back into the room with his drink and leaned in the doorway looking down at Callen's recumbent form. "Okay, I'll bite. What exactly did you come up with?"
"Well, I knew from the surveillance footage that Gomez spends a lot of time with his dogs. He's a German Shepherd guy, owns three of them. It seemed like as good an 'in' as any, and I wanted to get his guard down before I brought up business. And man, once we got talking, I learned all about those dogs. I think he loves them more than his kids. They're his spoilt 'babies' – his word, not mine – but they're still serious guard dogs, trained to rip the throat out of any intruder. Along with the human guards, it's no wonder he had that villa locked down so tight."
Since Callen was taking up the whole couch, Sam crossed the room and lowered himself onto the floor by the opposite wall, his back against the plaster and elbows propped on his knees.
"Okay... So before meeting Gomez, I was thinking about that angle. And I realised I did have something in common with him after all," Callen replied. He propped himself up on one elbow and met Sam's gaze, and despite his tiredness there was mischief in his eyes. Sam cocked a cynical eyebrow. He was starting to have an idea where Callen was going with this, and he wasn't sure he was going to like it.
"Your pet," he said.
"That's right." Callen took a long drink from his bottle before setting it down on the wooden chest beside the couch. He sat up and planted his feet on the floor. Eyes fixed on Sam's, he leaned forward, that same wicked humour now playing at the edges of his mouth. "I told him all about my big, black Rottweiler."
The last word rolled off his tongue like a term of endearment.
Sam narrowed his eyes at G. He took a swig of his bourbon and let the liquid heat slowly flood his palate before swallowing. "I'm not going to ask if this Rottweiler has a name," he said at last.
Callen had made little jokes for Sam's benefit – or at his expense – when planning undercover aliases in the past; inventing a girlfriend called Samantha, for example, or a daughter named Hannah. Trust him to find something even more demeaning.
"Of course he has a name," Callen said. "He comes whenever I call it."
Sam shook his head and stared back. Normally he would throw some banter back at Callen, bat words back and forth as they always did, but he was worn out from the case. He never slept well when Callen was undercover, and now, relieved to have his partner returned in one piece, he had wanted to come home and enjoy a nice, quiet reunion. Had looked forward to just holding his partner and making love before falling peacefully asleep beside him. But he should know by now that Callen rarely went along with anyone's plans but his own.
Sam knew he only had to ask; he could call a time out and G would back off. And yet he didn't. There was some strange curiosity holding his tongue. It was probably just the buzz from the liquor messing with him. Or something about the way G's eyes were glued to him as though he wanted to play. It was hypnotic, and made his heart pound.
"So as I told Gomez," Callen said, "This Rottweiler is hard work. For starters, he eats like a horse. And he needs a lot of exercise. Man, he has me running round half the city after him. And he tends to get into fights with other dogs, too." His eyes went to the bruises on Sam's left cheekbone, courtesy of a scuffle with one of Gomez's guards. He smiled. "Although he usually wins, because he's such a badass.
"I'm crazy about him, though," he went on. "He may have a nasty bark, and a worse bite, but when he turns those big, soulful brown eyes on me, I just can't stay mad at him."
Sam lips quirked into a smile. Despite Callen's degrading tactics – or maybe because of them – he could feel himself being seduced. More than just the bourbon was making his skin tingle, and the increasingly explicit images flashing through his mind were making his cock stiffen in his jeans.
There was a low sound as Sam set his glass down on the wooden floor. If Callen was going to toy with him like this, then he would at least make sure G had to struggle to keep control too. He got up on his knees, never taking his eyes off Callen, and slowly peeled off his shirt, making a big show of stretching then relaxing the muscles in his arms and chest. He bunched the shirt up and tossed it into a corner, then waited, watching Callen taking in the sight of him. G's eyes roamed hungrily over his body, from his face down over his torso to the telltale bulge against his thigh. Sam knew his lover's face well enough to tell that the frown lines and pinched lower lip meant he was fighting some powerful urges.
Callen didn't snap, though. Instead he looked Sam in the eye once more and beckoned to him.
"Come here, boy," he said softly.
Sam's face twitched at the command, and for a moment he didn't move. Callen's gall got his mind and body even more riled up. It was their familiar power struggle all over again, Sam caught between the urge to assert himself as the stronger partner, and the dark, seductive longing to give in and let Callen have his wicked way.
Before his pride could talk him out of it, Sam planted his fists on the ground and prowled across the floor towards G. He stopped a little way from the couch and sat back on his heels, just close enough to tempt Callen to reach out and touch him.
"That dog is a thing of beauty." G's eyes burned into Sam. "Distinctive markings," he said as he eyed the tattoos that decorated Sam's arms. "All muscle." He reached out and ran the tip of one finger slowly down over the hard mound of Sam's pectorals and onto his stomach. "You should see him in action. He's fast. And strong. He'll be on you before you know it, and once he's got you – you don't stand a chance." His fingers roamed lower over Sam's belly, teasing down toward the waistband of his jeans.
"Sounds dangerous," Sam said. His voice was husky with longing.
"Oh yeah, he's lethal," G replied. "Lucky for me, he's also incredibly loyal." He hooked his forefinger around the leather of Sam's belt and pulled. Sam inched forward on his knees until he was up against the couch, kneeling between Callen's thighs. He leaned in to close the distance between their faces, but Callen stopped him with a single fingertip against Sam's breastbone. Sam didn't push, just waited, his breathing slow and deep, lips parted.
"He's very obedient," Callen said with a lazy smile. "And I've got him well trained. He knows exactly how far he's allowed to go."
Letting his left hand linger on Sam's belt, Callen ran the fingers of his right up to his lover's neck, where he toyed with the chunky chain Sam always wore. G tugged at the necklace, pulling Sam's head back to expose more of his throat. The movement was slow and firm at first, but then a quick twist of his hand tightened the chain sharply. Sam clamped his teeth together and let out a sound that was part anger, part desire. It came out as a growl.
"Then again, with all that strength, I think he could do with a tougher collar." He moved his hand, first relaxing, then tightening the chain around Sam's neck, repeating the motion rhythmically. "After all, however devoted he may be," he whispered, "He is still an animal."
In a blur of motion, Sam snatched both of G's wrists away and shoved him back roughly into the couch. He grabbed for Callen's shirt and practically tore it from his body before going for his belt. In a few short motions, Sam had stripped his lover naked and was poised over him with fire in his eyes. G reached for Sam's shoulders to drag him closer, his hard cock aching for attention, but Sam pulled back, leaving what felt like an unbearable distance between them. His gaze travelled over Callen's body until G was on the verge of begging.
Sam ran his broad hands along Callen's thighs, spreading them wider, and lowered his face to a ridge of muscle just inches from G's groin. Callen shivered as lips brushed against his thigh, but then instead of planting a kiss, Sam opened his mouth and bit down. Hard. Not enough to break the skin; certainly enough to leave a very distinctive bruise. G gasped at the pain, his body arching off the couch. Sam gripped G's legs to keep him in place, and looked up into his eyes, savouring the hot combination of shock and lust there.
"Just marking my territory," he growled, and ran his hot tongue over the spot he'd bitten.
"Son of a bitch," Callen said hoarsely. He grasped Sam's shoulders, digging his fingers impatiently into the muscles there as Sam worked his lips and hands languidly along G's thighs.
Sam glanced up at him, eyes dark and dangerous, then stroked his tongue once up the shaft of G's cock.
"Oh, God." Callen twisted the chain around Sam's neck again as his hips writhed. He used the tight pressure around Sam's throat to pull the other man up towards him, desperate for full contact. Sam pressed his body into Callen's and kissed him deeply, revelling in the intensity of G's arousal. It was definitely worth playing along with G's little games if these sparks were the result. As they kissed, Sam wrapped his hand around Callen's erection and worked up and down its length, causing Callen to moan and falter as he fumbled with Sam's belt. He regained his composure enough to finish unbuckling and unzipping, and used his legs to help shrug Sam's jeans down over his hips.
As Sam felt his stiff cock brush against G's body he lost all control. He dragged Callen off the couch with him onto the floor and then wrestled him onto his front, face-first on the hardwood boards, arms pinned beside his body. He latched onto G's shoulder with his teeth and bit down again, gentler this time, but enough to send a sweet thrill of pain through Callen's body.
"What's it gonna be, G?" Sam breathed in Callen's ear. "On the bed, like a man? Or right here on the floor like an animal?"
"Fuck yes," Callen gasped in reply. "Here."
Sam didn't go easy on him, but easy wasn't what Callen wanted. There was no doubt that Sam's controlled, dependable nature was one of the things G loved most about him; he was the island of calm to which Callen could always safely return, no matter how stormy the seas. But sometimes, testing the limits of that self-control – and breaking them – was too enticing to resist. The power rush he felt from pushing Sam over his regular boundaries was G's guilty pleasure. More than that, knowing that he was the only one who could take Sam to that place proved how important he was in his partner's world. In a perverse kind of way, it made him feel loved.
Later they lay exhausted on the floorboards, the afterglow of all the fireworks still tingling through their bodies as the sweat cooled on their skin. Sam lay against Callen's back with an arm draped over him, sleep nuzzling at the edges of his mind.
"I missed you," he murmured in Callen's ear.
G heard the weary contentment in his lover's voice and smiled. Scratched, bitten, tired and sore, he had never felt so good. Or so adored.