A/N: I blame this entirely on MioneAlterEgo (who was also so wonderful to beta this and has been all around fantastically supportive). And listening to "Faster" by Matt Nathanson on repeat for the last four days. I've been struggling with some writer's block on my other story and she suggested I try writing some short drabbles to get the ideas flowing. The end of last week's episode was just too tempting. That turned into ten words, ten things Deeks might either come across in Kensi's laundry or in the pockets of her clothes. I purposefully kept these short and decided to challenge myself by writing first person from Deeks' POV, something I've never done. These are fairly tame, mostly just suggestive, hence the "T" rating. At this point I'll probably post one a day until all ten are done. I hope you enjoy! And I'd love to hear what you think :)
At first I had mixed feelings about being Kensi's indentured laundry servant. I'm a guy, so doing laundry isn't really at the top of my Favorite Pastimes List. It's down there somewhere with doing dishes and filling out my timesheet. It's also why most of my clothes don't require much care beyond the simple wash and dry. And truthfully, one of the perks of becoming an undercover cop was not having to wear a uniform on the streets while patrolling or a suit and tie as a detective in the office.
Working where we do and seeing what she wears everyday I figured Kensi for a pretty casual straightforward dresser. But when I decided to go along with Kensi's "condition" that I do her laundry for a month in exchange for the pleasure of her company for an evening I'm pretty sure she thought I wouldn't follow through.
Which is why when she showed up that Friday morning after the Stephanie Walters case with a bag full of dirty clothes and a smirk on her face I just grinned and promised to have her clean clothes back to her by Monday. I like to keep my partner on her toes. She tried to cover up the startled blink of her eyes by launching into five minutes worth of instructions about how to handle her clothing but I stopped listening sometime after her water temperature demands. I'm not an idiot, I can read the tags on clothes, even if Kensi's clothes apparently have very high standards.
I tried not to be disappointed when a close inspection of Kensi's clothes confirmed that she had indeed left her innerwear out of the bag. My disappointment was quickly turned around as I separated the whites from the colors and the slightly silky softness of a white camisole slid across my fingers.
I don't think most women realize this, but camisoles are better than tank tops and almost as good as a bra. Seeing them on a woman, I mean. They're stretchy, sometimes lacy, and usually have some kind of smooth fabric blend that hugs in all the right places and is almost as soft as skin to the touch.
Kensi usually wears tank tops when she layers her shirts. And those are always nice to catch glimpses of. But camisoles aren't usually meant to be seen under whatever layer they're under. I held it up by the thin straps and imagined those straps on her shoulders, stretched tightly across the defined jut of her collarbone and over her shoulder blade. And I could almost see the taut fabric over her stomach and back, the indent of her spine hollowing the fabric in on her back.
Thinking I'd probably never see her in just that camisole I locked that visualization into the vault of my imagination and continued with Kensi's laundry. Imagine my surprise when one day the next week I went looking for Kensi in the gym and passing near the changing rooms I found her exiting while pulling a long sleeve shirt over that same camisole. And it was both satisfying and aggravating to realize that my imagination still isn't as good as the real thing.
And the rest of the day all I could imagine was what that smooth and silky fabric would feel like over her warmed skin.
Next: Lip Balm