A/N: This was supposed to be a brief distraction, not one that kidnapped my imagination entirely (and honestly, spawned other Nell/Callen fics now currently in the works). Oh well, Here we are…

WARNING: As per usual (at least for this fic), smut… And since I find erotica profuse with biological jargon or slang either too much like a technical manual or too crude, I'm afraid my tendency is towards melodramatic, sappy and likely cheesy. You have been duly warned.

This had been a mistake. A terrible, wonderful mistake. G. Callen had never felt anything quite like this. Well, at least, not in a very long time. And honestly, probably not ever. It was beyond pleasurable. But it was also beyond terrifying. It wasn't easy for him to relinquish control. And he never let his guard down completely. But somehow, Nell Jones had gotten through his barriers, leaving him exposed to the very core.

And he could not tell what her intentions were. Was she simply gazing upon his pathetic, crippled soul? Was she planning on stealing away with it? Or was she just poking it with a stick to see what the reaction would be? He didn't know. Worse, he couldn't tell if she had any idea what she was doing to him. And he didn't even know how she had laid the soul of him bare as she'd done. Was it from hearing her speak his name, rather than some made-up alias, as he touched her and she him? Was it from looking into her expressive eyes as he slid into her body with the sensation of finally coming home? Or was it something else entirely, something he'd never figure out no matter how long he tried?

And did she feel the same?

His brain seemed to latch onto the question, burned with it. What was Nell feeling? Judging by the noises emanating from her throat, she was feeling the intense pleasure that was likewise surging through his nervous system as she sat straddling his hips and riding him hard. He felt the tension building, building in her and he gritted his teeth against the pull of her orgasm, because he just wasn't done with her yet, not until he knew she felt the same.

He took in the sight of the young woman in ecstasy atop him, knowing it was inarguably the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her tensed muscles defined elegant lines beneath pale skin that glowed in the soft light of the bedside lamp. Her back was arched, her head thrown back, lips parted and eyes closed. She had cried out but was silent in this moment of synaptic overload. The expanse of her throat was exposed, enticingly vulnerable. He followed the line of it down her body, past round breasts that were thrust prominently forward for the dramatic curve of her spine, down over the arch of her ribcage and along the inward slope of her belly, lingering on the adorable depression of her navel, continuing all the way down, over where deep inside her belly a womb as ripe as fruit still on the vine lay safely nestled, to where her vulnerable flesh was covered by a thatch of ginger-colored curls. Curls that mingled with his own much darker pubic hair.

Nell was beautiful, like a Grecian statue, a work of art. But so much better; warm and alive. But those ancient artisans truly could capture the drama of the moment, the emotion of the subject. And Nell's pose would please them to no end. The beauty of her curves accentuated by the tension in her muscles. The nip in of her waist, the flare of her hips. The placement of her hands as if searching to find purchase in the world against the wave of blinding pleasure. One arm stretched out behind her to grip his upper thigh for support. The fingers of the other digging into the flesh of one breast, the stiff nipple peeking out between those slender fingers. And the expression of transcendent ecstasy on her upturned face.

She was perfect. Better than perfect, because she was a real, human, flawed person as well. And Callen needed her to feel more than the endorphin rush of a well-earned orgasm.

Her body relaxed within seconds of its climax, providing him just enough time to carve the tableau of the orgasmic angel into his memory. And then she seemed to melt against him, and he pulled her down onto his chest. She sighed heavily, and then made a startled outcry as he rolled them so that he lay atop her. The unexpected friction of their shifting, entwined flesh made him gasp. And he was forced to take a moment to regain control of himself. Because he wasn't done with Nell Jones just yet.

"Why didn't you finish?" she asked, breathless.

The only response he gave her was to withdraw almost completely from her body and then to proceed to penetrate her as slowly as he could will himself to do. Nell's fingers dug into his shoulders, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. In fact, he wasn't sure she had looked him directly in the eyes since he'd first drove himself into her tender flesh, when he'd been captivated by her hazel eyes and very aware of that flicker of pain, of panic, and he had shifted their position so that she could control the speed and intensity of their encounter.

She whimpered as he continued to thrust agonizingly slowly into her, always pushing just a little harder, a little deeper.

"Please." It was almost a plea. "Please, just finish."

He checked the upward thrust of her hips with a firm hand that held her lower body down. Apparently, she wanted to help him along, put an end to the prolonged, drawn out encounter but he wouldn't let her get out of it that easily. He needed her to feel what he was feeling. Namely, out of control, exposed, entirely at the mercy of another (and uncertain whether it was as bad a thing as he always thought it'd be).

Cupping her face with one hand, he stroked her soft, flushed cheek with his thumb, and urged her to hear him, to respond to him, to give him what he needed.

"Nell, look at me."

She turned her face into the palm of his hand. Her fingers dug deeper into his shoulders as his dug into her hip and he drove deeper into her. Maybe if he could just reach the core of her, he'd discover her soul just as she touched his. But he needed her to... "Open your eyes."

It was more forceful, a growl accompanying the demand. She responded tremulously, and he'd have felt bad but he didn't think her shaken response was from displeasure or dislike. Perhaps discomfort and fear, but not from him. Rather, fear of something inside herself.

"I-I can't. Please, just finish. I need you to finish this."

"I won't." Thrust. A small whimper from Nell. "Not until you look at me."

She opened her eyes, blinked against the lamplight and focused on his face.

God. Oh, god.

The pupils of her gorgeous hazel eyes were so dilated they were nearly entirely black. And there was sufficient light in the room that they should've contracted significantly when she'd opened them. No, it was other stimulus that had her eyes so dark and receptive. And the impact of staring into them was immense. They were like the abyss, sucking him inexorably in. But they were also vast, containing an entire universe within themselves. And utterly captivating.

"Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what it feels like."

Instead of the normal female platitudes of 'you feel so hard' and "oh. you're so big', Nell gave him what he really wanted, the truth of how she felt at that moment. And it was so very Nell.

"I feel like a taut string," she whispered. "vibrating with a persistent, continual frequency that's threatening to shake every molecule in my body apart. And waiting for that moment when every atom of my being disperses. And terrified of it. And needing it."

So, what Nell Jones was feeling was different than what Callen was experiencing. Different, yet entirely the same. His opposite, yet his completion.

"Please, G."

He readily obliged her request, grabbing her hips hard and driving her home with several forceful thrusts, finally feeling that last bit of resistance deep within her give way, and his release quickly following with an incredible rush of sensation that threatened to sweep him away entirely and left him clinging to the only thing anchoring him to reality, the very thing that pulled him away from it…

Nell. Nell Jones. His perfect opposite.


A/N: Or is it? Okay, it is the end to this fic. But I am considering a Nell-centric sequel to this one, since it's already in my head.