God bless Tupperware, John Casey thought desperately as he loomed over Ellie Bartowski.

It was the third time this weekend she'd put them in this position, and the only thing that stayed him from crossing this last of the clearly delineated lines between them was the press of that plastic container against his solar plexus.

The first time had been happenstance. She was just being playful when she accidentally pulled him down into the snowbank on top of her.

The second time had to have been a coincidence. She'd mistaken an amnestic for Advil while intoxicated and had come on to him with all the subtlety of a Fourth of July fireworks finale.

This latest incident, however, had him thinking that her subconscious and his were in a motherfucking conspiracy with God and all His saints and angels.

Oh yeah, those sick bastards were all having one helluva a good laugh at the expense of their former altar boy as they threw him and his dream girl together over and over and watched the sparks ignite. Like it was one big cosmic, comedic science experiment. Some joke.

One of his hands was braced flat against the door of the fridge, the other was gripping her by the nape of her neck, but she was utterly fearless as she held her ground and his gaze, daring him to give up his control and give into their chemistry. He was blocking her escape, about to break every promise he'd ever made to his commanding officers, his country, and himself, but she was the one holding him captive.

John felt the fingers of her left hand form a fist in the fabric of his shirt as she stared at him, and the soft scrape of one of her nails against his nipple made him slam his eyes shut and shudder. He inclined his forehead towards hers, and grit his teeth as he tried to keep his voice from coming out as a snarl. "Don't."

"Don't what?" she asked, her hand unclenching slowly as her fingertips spanned out to splay against his chest.

John sucked in his breath and held it as her palm glided up his shoulder. It's not real if I don't open my eyes, he told himself, but he couldn't help but shiver as her hand, soft and cool, ghosted up the side of his neck and came to rest against the grim line of his jaw. His words were gruff as he ground them out. "Ellie, for the love of God, tell me to leave!"

Her voice was heavy with tenderness and longing as she smoothed the silky pad of her thumb from the rough scar on his cheek to the corner of his mouth. "No."

John opened his eyes and looked into hers. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to go," she admitted without fear or hesitation as she let her left hand drift down his chest to come to rest at her side.

Sweet Jesus, what could he say to that? He was seconds away from ripping her clothes off and doing her right here on the kitchen floor, and she looked like she welcomed the prospect. He swallowed his panic and made a last-ditch attempt at a Nerd Herd-style Hail Mary. "I'm not a monk, I'm a man. And I'm way too short on self-control right now. If you touch me..."

"If I touch you?" she prompted, her smile playful as she lolled her head against the wrist that was attached to the hand that was gripping her skull.

"Oh," he muttered, blushing as he realized the disparity between his words and his actions.

"Yeah," she murmured, biting her bottom lip and looking up at him through her lashes.

He closed his eyes and swallowed – hard – as he released her neck and groped between them for the Tupperware. "Ellie…."

"What?" she whispered.

Oh, God, both of her hands were on him again. This time they were resting on the crests of his hips. "Please."

"'Please' what?" she urged.

His stomach jumped as he felt her slide her thumbs into his belt. "Please don't do this to me."

"Do 'what' to you?" she responded.

He easily had a hundred pounds on her, but it didn't matter one fucking bit as she pushed aside the hand he was using to hold the plastic container, pulled his body up against hers, and treated him to yet another reminder of just how perfectly they fit together.

Oh no. Gotta get out of here – right fucking now – don't need to explain – just GO! – oh holy fucking Jesus Christ….

Too late.

She kissed him.

In the bar, it had been quick, swift, stolen and over in a second.

In the bathroom, it had been hot, fierce, forbidden and forgotten in the morning.

This time, when she kissed him, it was so very different. It was light, loving, and languid, and her lips were lingering against his like she never wanted it to end. Roan Montgomery would have reached for a gin-slopped cocktail napkin to dab at his tears of pride and joy had he been there to witness it.

John sighed in surrender as he felt the last of his control slip away like the leftovers he let fall to the floor.

Game over.

Ellie responded by winding her arms around his neck and pressing the entire expanse of her body into his as she made a soft, satisfied sound of conquest.

Game on.

Definitely erasing the tapes from tonight, he promised himself as he growled low in his throat before pressing her up against the cool door of the refrigerator and pressing his lips against that hot spot on her neck that drove her insane.

"Ohhh!"

One simple syllable – not even worthy of being called a word – was all it took for him to move his mouth back onto hers and pick her up.

Her brain might not remember the position, but her body definitely did. Her legs were up and locked around his waist in a flash as he pivoted them to the counter in front of the breakfast bar. It shifted their height differential, and now she was the one towering above him, a gorgeous, glorious goddess in that garnet babydoll top of hers that made her breasts look even more spectacular than they already were, and those skin-tight jeans that made him drool like a high school student with a raging hard-on.

If he had his way, those jeans were coming off in the next five minutes, tops, and he was going to have her for dessert.

She seemed more than willing to entertain the notion as she slid her hands into his hair while she locked her lips on his and moaned into his mouth.

God, could it be even better than last night? he wondered as he went for that place on her throat that made her writhe like she was burning from the inside out. She made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a whimper as she squeezed her thighs around his torso and wriggled her hips in a manner that implored him to escalate the situation. Well now, we'd have to be classify that as a "Hells, yes!"

He trailed his lips down the line of her neck to the slope of her shoulder and nipped at her skin as he pushed aside her sleeve. She hummed with delight as she tilted her head back to give him easier access and he groaned against her collarbone. He knew all of her moans and that one had to be one of his favorites, that high-pitched sigh that told him that she was moments away from orgasm. Goddamn! He hadn't even gotten to the good stuff yet and she was nearly there.

The animal in him wanted more than anything to mark her as his, but the part of his mind that was still capable of logical reasoning knew that the likelihood of whatever this was between them continuing beyond tonight was slim to none.

Everyone who knew Eleanor Fay Bartowski knew that she was responsible, levelheaded, sensible, sane. Chuck had even reminded him of the fact right before John had willingly chosen to involve himself in this Olympic-level, gold-medal goatfuck the likes of which God had never seen.

He knew he was nothing more than a distraction to her, and this intense, hot, mind-blowing make-out session was probably the last of a series of brief and rebellious pit-stops on her personal highway to staid respectability. The best he could hope for was to minimize the damage he was going to inflict on her, and that meant no bruises, bite marks, or exchanges of body fluid. But how was he going to get out of there without eating her up like she was a fresh pecan pie and he was fiending something fierce for a sugar fix?

Then again, who the fuck could think about leaving with her grabbing the back of his head and rolling her body against his while he let his mouth follow the trajectory of her neckline as his fingers dragged her sleeves and bra straps to the general vicinity of her elbows?

He pulled back slightly, just to make sure last night's hasty recon of her breasts was still accurate.

Fuck yeah, absolutely fucking perfect, he noted before he bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth.

He'd done his homework. He was not ashamed to say he'd been diligent about viewing every single one of the tapes from the Bartowski apartment in his downtime, and he knew exactly how she liked to be handled. Steady on the lapping, easy on the teeth, with just enough pressure and suction to tease the fuck out of her and drive her out of her goddamn mind.

Confirmation of his technical proficiency was the sharp, shuddering breath she took as she sunk her nails into his skin and then moaned loud enough to wake the entire apartment complex.

Jesus Christ, he didn't think he could get any harder, but the thought of what she would sound like when he finally got to work on her below the waist shot that opinion straight to hell. Outwardly she was all sweetness and innocence, but inside of her lurked a wicked little wildcat with an insatiable sexual appetite that was more than capable of swallowing him whole. And he was more than willing to risk suffocation, a broken neck, hell, any kind of injury she might unwittingly inflict when he finally got the chance to satisfy her in all the ways he'd been fantasizing about since he'd first met her.

God, he'd wanted her since that first day she'd opened her door and let him into her life. She smelled like summer, tasted like sunshine, felt like salvation, and the base, animal side of him wanted to dive into her and drown in her. But if he did….

Fuck it all to hell, if he did they would both be damned: him, for getting involved with an innocent civilian; her, for betraying her commitment to her fiancé.

Could he, in good conscience, destroy her life for a moment of lust?

"No, no, holy fuck, no!" he seethed, hugging her face to his shoulder with one hand as he brought the other down in a clenched fist on the breakfast bar.

Pain is your friend, he reminded himself, relishing the sting as he tried to pull away. Your ally. It will tell you when you are seriously injured, it will keep you awake and angry, and remind you to finish the job and get the hell home. And that's where you need to be right fucking now. At home. Alone.

But Ellie wouldn't let him detach from her, mentally or physically.

Her hands were steady as they smoothed up and down his back. He breathed deep as he felt the pads of her fingers tracing the scars that mapped the landscape of his skin. For a moment he let himself go there, let himself imagine what it would feel like to be lying tangled up with her in the afterglow, feeling her hands soothing him like they were now.

Jesus fucking Christ, he wanted to cry.

"What is it?" she asked as she tenderly scratched the skin that spanned his shoulderblades.

He shook his head as he hung onto the edge of the counter for dear life.

If he opened his mouth, he was certain that he'd break cover.

Even worse, it horrified him to realize that in that very moment, he just didn't give a shit about maintaining it anymore.

Fuck the mission. Fuck my career. Fuck the United States of America. All I wanna to do is f–

"Greetings and salutations, lovebirds! I heartily apologize for the untimely interruption, but Chuck said he was chosen to review Rise of the Argonauts and it's ten days before the release date and someone – anyone – has to get some game play in so we can give honest, open feedback to the many who will be dropping in to get their Ancient Greece fix. You know how it is – ever since 300 came out, we've had a run on anything and everything with spears, shields, and many steps and columns. Anywho, found it right here on his desk, so I'll heading back the way I came, through the Morgan-door, having made absolutely no attempts to see anything because I am madly, passionately in love with 'my little China doll,' though, as you may guess, she never says 'stop'….and I definitely said too much. My deepest apologies! You two enjoy the rest of your night! As you are wont to say, sir, I hope it's awesome!"

What's she waiting for?

John had counted to ten-Mississippi six times since he'd heard the window shut, but Ellie still hadn't moved from the position in which she'd frozen when they'd both realized that there was someone else in the apartment. Her warm, sleek arms were still wrapped around his neck, and her warm, bare chest was still pressed against the dark blue broadcloth button-down he'd decided to wear at the last minute before heading over to her place.

He'd worn the damn thing for her tonight, along with a hint of the cologne she'd told him made him smell amazing the seventh Sunday he'd dined at her table, because she'd told him a long time ago that it was her favorite of his shirts.

He didn't give a shit if it made him a sentimental pussy. He'd have done anything to make her happy in those final minutes they had to be alone together, and this fucked-up, feeble version of a "good-bye" present composed entirely of sensory input was the best he could come up with at a moment's notice. Damn if it was worth it just to see the way she'd smiled at him when she'd opened her door to him earlier that evening, giggling and grinning as she looked him up and down, like a girl about to go on a first date with her high school crush.

Well she wasn't ever going to look at him like that again.

Not after what he'd just done to her.

Just man up and get it over with, Major, he ordered himself as he averted his gaze and took his hands off of her.

Try as he might to move slowly and carefully out of her space, he couldn't stop his words from rushing out and tripping over themselves as he tried to unravel himself from her limbs. "I'm so fuckin' sorry – I – I can't – I have to get out of here –"

"Shhh, it's okay," she broke in, her voice calm and compassionate as she pulled her straps and sleeves back up to her shoulders to cover herself. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I don't know how you can say that after I just – after we…."

Her unemotional voice cut through his as she levered herself off the breakfast bar. "It's my fault. I'm the one who led you on. And I'm pretty sure I've been doing it the whole weekend. Oh God, you must think I'm –"

"I think you're amazing," he confessed.

There.

He'd said it.

While they were both stone-cold sober.

Now she could finally friend-zone him and he could go back to his apartment, go back on duty, and go back to the man he used to be before he fell in love with the most wonderful woman he'd ever met.

"That's funny," she said, a miserable smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I think the same about you."

Fucking hell.

Why couldn't anything ever go as planned with her?

And the way she was looking at him right then – like she was a surgeon intent on slicing through many, many layers of bluster and bullshit to get at the heart of man he'd locked away twenty years ago – it was freaking him out.

"I should go," he blurted out, frantic to escape the invasive intimacy of her gaze.

"John," she pleaded, "we need to talk about this."

Talk?

He'd rather sever his left nut.

"Can I take a raincheck?" he requested brusquely as he bent to retrieve the leftovers. "I've gotta get up early tomorrow."

"No," she said. "Not until you tell me what just happened here."

"It was a mistake," he asserted. "And I'm so fuckin' sorry if I hurt you or scared you. That's the last thing I would ever want to do."

"Wait, wait, hold on a minute," she said, grabbing for the container. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the way I touched you. It was completely inappropriate," he acknowledged, shame filling him from the bottom of his stomach on up. He met her eyes and was surprised to find confusion stamped on her face. "That's what you meant, right?"

"Yes. I mean, no!" she scowled as her cheeks turned pinker.

God, she is so fuckin' pretty when she blushes, he thought, and then he mentally slapped himself upside the head. "If not, then what?"

"I meant we should talk about this thing, whatever it is, that's happening between us. I don't know about you, but it's got me all tangled up," she admitted. "You tell me, am I the only one feeling it?"

It was the perfect set-up. He could lie and say it was completely one-sided on her part, and get the hell out of there. But damn it all, he'd never been able to successfully lie to her, and it didn't look like he'd be able to start now.

Fuck it.

"No, you're not alone," he admitted. "It's got me, too."

She raised her right hand to push her hair behind her ear, then turned her head to plant her mouth in her palm for a moment. "What are we going to do?"

"Simple," he said, finally meeting her eyes. "We're going to get over it."

And you're going to get married.

She was quiet for a good long while as she looked up at him. Then she said, "I don't know if I can."

"Jesus, Ellie."

"John," she entreated, putting a hand up to keep him from continuing, "I need to speak my piece and I need you to listen. Will you do that for me? Please?"

He stood there, silent and stock-still, for the better part of ten seconds before he answered. "I'd do anything for you. You know that."

Her eyes went soft. "I do. And that's part of the problem."

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Why don't you give me those leftovers so I can put them in the fridge, and we'll talk in the living room?"

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

He was a man of action, but she was a woman of words. He knew from personal experience that nothing good or useful in his life had ever come from talking, but after all that they'd been through, he owed it to her to hear her out. So even though it went against everything in his nature, he willingly did the one thing no one – not his superiors, nor his teammates, nor his partners – would ever believe he would have ever done in a situation like this.

He stayed.