TITLE: Nothing More

AUTHOR: Kat/krazykitkat
RATING: M – language, sexual themes
DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of Shane Brennan Productions, CBS Television Studios and Belisarius Productions. No copyright infringement is intended.
THANKS: To Rinkle, Jess, Jen and Pix for betaing and thoughts.

Her body practically hums with the energy flooding through her blood vessels and sparking every nerve ending. She can't sit still, can't relax. There's no way she's sleeping tonight.

She needs to chase down suspects or get into a good shoot-out (though her sniper aim would be less than stellar right now). But work's not cooperating. Eight days of nothing but paperwork and training and the very occasional interview. Today's brief undercover op hadn't been enough to deal with any of her frustrations. If anything, she's even more on edge.

Punching a bag or one of the guys isn't helping and she's pounded so many miles of pavement over the last week she's going to need new runners. The shooting range is the one place she's able to center herself, but Hetty kicked her out an hour ago, threatening to ration her ammunition and targets.

She turns on her favourite going-out-of-her-mind song, but it's nowhere near loud enough. There's only one thing that's going to stop her crawling out of her skin.

She feels the muscles in her shoulders begin to unknot as soon as she walks into the club. The techno-beat vibrates through her body and she heads straight for the dance floor. Closing her eyes, she lets the music flow over and through her.

The drawback to letting go is that the males around her think she's easy game. She's pulled out of her descent into something resembling sanity by a hand at her waist. With a deep sigh, she opens her eyes and fixes a tight smile to her lips.

He's kinda cute and not too hinky, so she dances with him until he gets gropey. When he ignores her pulling his hand away from her ass, she turns and digs her heel into his foot. She uses his moment of redirected focus to melt into the crowd.

She spends the next hour or two dancing with multiple partners. The overly familiar ones discover the joys of pressure points or stilettos. She takes satisfaction from the names she's called as she walks away. Others leave on their own accord when they realise she's actually there to dance.

From the number of scruffy, sun (or otherwise) bleached blondes who hit on her, she thinks there must be a two for one special for surfers on weeknights. They all call her 'babe' or 'hon'. The sun has obviously fried their imaginations, though she finds she's developed a liking for their sea cologne.

Dispatching the latest groper with a kick to the shin, she swallows hard as she meets a pair of too familiar blue eyes. But the hair is red and, judging by the fairness of his skin, she doubts he's a surfer unless he only hits the waves at midnight. He smiles and the resultant flutter in her belly has her moving towards him. Until a blonde (definitely from a bottle) kisses him hard on the lips, recapturing his attention. The flutter has its wings pulled off.

She abandons the dance floor for the bar and orders a vodka and orange juice, her first and only drink of the night. Work tomorrow is going to be challenging enough with the lack of sleep without adding a hangover to the mix. Sam and Callen have already passed more than a few comments on her antsy state, she doesn't need to give them any more openings. As for her partner – how the hell did she get stuck with the one male who's touchy feely, at least when it comes to trying to get her to spill her guts? Her firing range ban is his fault. She was drowning out his inane chatter, which had been particularly aggravating after the afternoon's op.

Fuck.

The tension she'd managed to dissipate on the dance floor creeps back into her body. She needs him out of her head. Maybe a hangover's required. But he might take that as a sign–

Shut up, Kensi.

Listen to the music. Find someone to dance with.

STOP THINKING!

She scans the crowd in the bar area, passing over those with company or too obviously leering. She stops on a man near the far wall, nursing a scotch and surveying the dancers. Dark hair, olive skin, clean-shaven, he stands out as a business type.

Draining her glass and placing it on the bar, she adjusts her skirt and makes a beeline for him. Halfway there she catches his dark brown gaze and unleashes her high-wattage smile. And internally winces as she realises she's treating him like a mark in an op. Sometimes she doesn't know where agent Kensi ends and actual Kensi begins, or whether she even exists outside the job anymore.

Just ask the good-looking guy to dance before he realizes you're an idiot.

He holds his hand out in greeting. "Jon."

"Emily," she replies. His hand is warm with a firm but comfortable grip. "You waiting for someone?"

Jon gestures out to the dance floor with the glass. "Just blowing off some steam with colleagues." He pauses to take a drink. "Only fun we've had after three days of mind and butt numbing seminars. Flying back to Baltimore in the morning."

She laughs, slipping into her best flirty persona. No harm in having some fun when there are absolutely no strings attached. "What business are you in?"

"Corporate insurance." He drinks the last of his scotch and looks for a place to put it down. "It's more interesting than it sounds. Though the conference organizers were doing their best to convince us otherwise."

"All jobs have their good and bad points." She grimaces, thinking of the last week.

A passing staff member takes the empty glass and Jon focuses fully on her. "What do you do?"

"Just teaching." Keep it simple. "Elementary school."

"And all the little boys want to marry you." He shakes his head, grimacing. "I'm sorry, that sounded like a cheap pick-up line."

She smiles, maybe even blushes a little. "That's the nicest thing I've heard today." Holding out her hand palm-up, she asks, "Would you like to dance?"

Jon proves himself an adept dancer and a thorough gentleman, keeping his hands at her waist. She relaxes into the music and him. Looping her arms around his neck, she pulls him closer. His gaze drops down to her mouth and another sort of tension altogether unfurls deep in her abdomen.

You came here to dance, she reminds herself.

But the switch has been flicked. She sees the matching lust in his eyes and leans in to catch his lips with her own. He slides his fingers under the hem of her halter-top and strokes the skin at the small of her back. Leaving one arm hooked around his neck, she trails the other hand over his shoulder and down his back, coming to rest on his ass.

It's been far too long since she's had anything but her hand or vibrator between her thighs. And they definitely aren't going to be enough tonight. It's purely a physical need. Nothing more.

She's leaning back against the wall of his hotel room, fully dressed. Except for her panties on the floor and her skirt hiked up around her waist. Her heels are somewhere near the door. She may be able to run after suspects in stilettos, but they're a hazard in this position.

Gripping the edge of the dresser for support, she moans and arches as his tongue pushes into her – once, twice, thrice – before returning to her clit. He alternates between soft and firm, slow and fast, responding to (and sometimes anticipating) her reactions. A sudden want for the scratch of facial scruff distracts her, until his fingers curling within her drowns out anything beyond pure sensation as she lets go.

She doesn't react to the foreign name he's whispering in her ear. His body pressing her against the wall brings her back. Opening her eyes, it takes more than a few moments to regain her bearings.

"You okay?" he asks, as he notices her disorientation.

"Yeah. Just–" Expecting someone else. She smiles to reassure him. "I'm fine. Better than fine."

She slides her arms around his torso and kisses him, focusing on the here and now.

Jon's tongue in her mouth. Pulling up his shirt and running one hand over his muscular back while the other unzips his pants. His hands cupping her ass. The rub of her bra contracting her nipples to almost painful points. His cock hardening against her thigh as she slides her foot…

It's too familiar.

She breaks off the kiss, needing to catch her breath. Jon trails his lips down her jaw line to her neck. She tenses as he nears a particularly sensitive spot.

He stops and lifts his head to look at her. "Emily?"

The way he says not-her-name, the implicit concern – she doesn't want it. She's supposed to be losing herself in mindless sex. She should have chosen one of the multitude who were only interested in her body. This is about the physical. Nothing more.

Placing her hands on Jon's chest, she pushes him back towards the bed.

And takes control.

She sits on the edge of the bed with the sheet draped over her lap, hooking her bra as she looks for her skirt. She hopes it's within reach, not really wanting to stand and search for it. It's beyond ridiculous that she's feeling self-conscious about being bottomless considering he'd gone down on her. Her thought processes really make no sense at times.

"You could stay," Jon says, running his fingertips up and down her lower spine. "I have to check out early, should give you time to go home before school."

She's tempted by the offer, especially when he moves behind her, unhooks her bra and presses kisses from one shoulder to the other. The sex has been good, actually more like great. In her experience, one-night stands have typically been about the guy's needs rather than hers. Quick fucks that usually ended with her hand between her legs while the self-proclaimed stud snoozed beside her. She hasn't had to take care of herself tonight.

The arousal stirs again as she starts to relax against him. He shifts her hair to give better access to her neck, his fingers brushing across that spot…

She can't do this. Staying would be about wanting, needing something more. And she can't–doesn't need.

Trying to let him down easy, she sighs and pulls away reluctantly while re-hooking her bra. "I'd love to. But–" She searches for a believable excuse and finds her skirt. "My dog hates being left alone and my neighbours aren't going to be happy about the howling. I hadn't planned on being out all night."

"Okay." There's a hint of disappointment in his voice as he watches her stand, zip up her skirt, and retrieve her top from the floor. "What kind of dog?"

She pulls her top on over her head. "He's a shaggy rescue mutt of undetermined parentage." Grabbing her panties and heels from near the door, she makes the mistake of facing him as she finishes dressing.

It's the second time today she's been the subject of that particular look and she doesn't deserve it. She can't reciprocate, not now and maybe never. Just as well she managed to pick the guy in the room that wasn't local, otherwise she could be in big trouble.

Put back together, at least clothing-wise, she struggles to find her exit line. What do you say? So long and thanks for the sex? There's a reason for leaving while they're asleep.

"It was good to meet you, Emily." Jon smiles and holds out his hand. "Thanks for asking me to dance."

"Thanks for accepting," she replies softly, taking his hand for just long enough to be considered polite.

She turns and walks away.

They finally catch a case.

She's cool, calm, and collected, able to focus after burning off the excess adrenaline and getting just enough sleep. Until she finds herself stuck in the car watching a witness's house with an oddly subdued Deeks.

She's often wished for quiet, but this is plain unsettling. Then he starts drumming his fingers on the door. She grits her teeth, holding out for five minutes before snapping, "Do you want to keep those fingers?"

"Sorry." But he doesn't stay still for long.

She punches him in the arm.

"Ow." He pouts. "I thought you were in a better mood today."

"I was," she growls. "Then you regressed to a fidgety five-year-old."

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'll be good."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

He mostly succeeds over the next fifteen minutes and she relaxes a little. Then he goes and ruins it by blurting out, "We need to talk about yesterday."

She nearly plays dumb, but he's not going to drop it, so she might as well get it over and done with. Keeping her eyes on the target house, she says, "We did what the job required, Deeks. There's nothing to talk about."

"Really?" She sees him shake his head in her peripheral vision. "That went past–"

She cuts him off. "Hate to break it to you, Deeks, but I'm not a virgin."

"It was our first time," he says in a too serious tone.

She can't help it, she laughs at him. "You do realize we didn't have sex?" She turns her head in time to catch the flash of embarrassment that crosses his face.

By the time he speaks again, it's been replaced by annoyance with an undertow of anger. "I apologise for trying to be considerate of your feelings."

"Deeks." She nearly reaches out to touch his arm but stops herself. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. But honestly, I wasn't offended. It…happens sometimes, it's just a biological response. It doesn't mean anything." She thinks she sees him flinch.

Now it's him staring at the target house. "Still shouldn't have happened. Completely unprofessional."

She'd expected some level of awkwardness between them after yesterday, but she's a little taken aback by how much this is bothering him. He's never been slow to compliment her (no matter how much she's tried to dissuade him), and she's felt his appreciative gaze sweep over her body more than a few times.

What can she say to make him feel better? It's not as though she felt a very unprofessional thrill when he shoved her against the wall. She didn't need to bite her lip to keep herself from moaning out loud when his lips found that spot on her neck. And the press of his erection against her thigh definitely didn't make her wet in record time.

She shakes her head, grateful he isn't seeing her cheeks flush. If she'd reacted at all, and she's not saying she did, it was nothing more than a physical response. Combination of too much frustration with work, too long without sex, and too tight jeans. A complete stranger could turn her on, she'd proved that last night. It had absolutely nothing to do with him.

But watching him, seeing the tightness in his shoulders and the hard set of his mouth, she knows that she's the one who has to fix this. And fast.

She reaches out and squeezes his forearm to get his attention. Waiting until he meets her eyes, she says, "Deeks, I trust you. That's all that matters. I know you weren't trying to take advantage of me."

For too many moments he just looks at her (it's an effort not to squirm, not to worry that he's searching for something more), before finally accepting her words with a nod. "It won't happen again, Kens."

"You can't promise that." At his raised eyebrows, she explains, "You're male."

That triggers a small smile. "And you're just so hot that we can't resist you?"

"You saying I'm not?"

Deeks shakes his head. "There's no safe way to answer that, is there?"

"You're learning, partner." They're back on safe ground: the give and take, the light-hearted teasing. And she needs to keep them there. They'll be prepared for the next time. Well, she will be at least.

She reaches down the side of her seat and pulls out a wrapped candy, earning her a full grin as she hands it to him.

"Peanut Butter Cup. How did you know?" He holds it to his chest for a moment in a mock embrace before ripping the package open and demolishing it in seconds.

She retrieves two for herself, smiling sweetly at him as she pops one in her mouth. She savours it a little too loudly.

He holds out his hand, unleashing his best lost puppy face on her.

She quickly swallows the second, licking her lips before saying, "Sorry, last one."

"Don't believe you." He tries to lean over her.

She places her hands on his chest to stop him. "Trust me."

"When it comes to food?" Deeks shakes his head. "Don't think so."

She can't help but smile, which draws his attention to her lips, and in turn, hers to the warmth and firmness of his body against her palms. Last night may've been a big mistake. Instead of getting it out of her system, it may have just reminded her libido what it's been missing.

It's nothing more than physical. Push him back.

She doesn't.

Deeks clears his throat and pulls away, settling back into his seat. She drops her hands into her lap and they both stare out the window.

"I think–"

She tries to cut him off with a sharp, "Don't."

"–that's our witness," he finishes, already halfway out of the car.

She has to wait for two cars to pass before opening her door and only catches up to Deeks on the pavement outside the house, where their target is ascending the front steps.

They pull out their badges as they enter the property, Deeks calling, "Greg Tanner?"

Greg Tanner reacts by vaulting the railing and disappearing around the side of the house.

"Witness my ass," Deeks growls.

The chase is on and she's back in her element. The thud of her feet against the ground, the useful adrenaline surging through her body. She can't see her partner every moment, but she knows and trusts he'll be where he needs to be.

They find Tanner hiding in the yard of the house behind. He takes a swing at Deeks and she brings him down with a kick to the back of the knee. Cuffing Tanner on the ground, she glances up and asks, "You okay, partner?"

"He missed." Deeks hauls Tanner to his feet and then smiles at her. "That felt good."

She grins back. "Sure did."

This is what they do best.

Nothing more.