Work Header

Your Rock and Roll

Work Text:

Detective Marty Deeks didn't know what was making him more uncomfortable -- having to sit back and watch an op unfold or having to do it next to Special Agent Sam Hanna.

Deeks was used to being the one on the inside, undercover and in control. He’s good at it. OK, who was he kidding? He's fantastic at it.

But this surveillance gig? Totally not his style. Especially not when the job was to watch his partner drape herself all over Supervisory Special Agent G. Callen and nibble on his neck. Not that he was jealous or anything. He just…

Dear Lord, Callen just slid his hand up her leg to cup her ass.

Deeks could feel Sam's gaze on him and suppressed the urge to squirm. He would not give Sam the satisfaction of showing that this was getting to him. Because it wasn’t like he was jealous. Obviously. Special Agent Kensi Blye was just his partner. She was one of the best partners he’d ever had, but nothing more than that.

Sam was not Deeks' favorite person at NCIS' Office of Special Projects. It wasn't that he disliked him, exactly… He just felt the strong need sometimes to do the opposite of whatever Sam wanted him to do. Just because.

Sam was big on rules (except when he felt like breaking them), teamwork, respect and everything that, quite honestly, made Deeks a less-than-ideal cop. Not to mention how the clean-cut ex-Navy SEAL simply reeked of the military -- orders, structure, regulations, close shaves -- everything that made the skin of a born-on-the-beach surfer rat crawl.

And Deeks had a secret suspicion that Sam disapproved of him just as much as he did of him -- just like every other straight-and-narrow cop Deeks had ever met did. But Sam was finally warming up to Deeks. It probably had a little to do with how well Deeks could take being the butt of a joke. They would never be best buds -- let alone partners -- but they were learning to work together with a minimum of irritation.

Like now.

Except for the part where Sam could tell just how uncomfortable Deeks felt watching Kensi and Callen. Deeks didn’t appreciate that. He didn’t like being an open book -- that sort of thing could get a man in his line of work killed.

Most days, Special Agent Kensi Blye loved her job. How many other jobs would let her play spy girl, hit bad guys as hard as she wanted, occasionally maim gorgeous cars (without paying for the damage) and frequently dress up in designer clothes (on a government salary)?

But being the only “girl” on her team definitely had its drawbacks. When female distraction or seduction was needed, she was the go-to girl. Because she was, well, the only girl.

Frankly, it was demeaning to have to dress in up a sexy dress and flirt with scumbags. (OK, so maybe that was an average Saturday night for Kensi -- but at least those weren’t the kind of scumbags who trafficked drugs, killed people for money or sold military secrets. Well, she was pretty sure they weren’t, but you never knew in L.A.)

Kensi couldn’t wait for the next time they needed someone to go undercover as a male stripper again. Sam oiled up and dressed in not much more than a jaunty sailor hat? That had been a positively terrific op.

Unlike this one. It was always a little weird to make out with one of her co-workers.

But Kensi knew she was lucky that Sam and Callen never let this color their perception of her. It was just part of the job to them, and they didn’t let her sexy act fool them into thinking it made her any less of a capable agent. But Deeks, well... He was Deeks. She could almost feel his gaze burning a hole in her.

Kensi was almost dreading what he would have to say later about this. His teasing could be incessant. But she also knew he hadn’t liked this op, not one bit, even though he never said a word to her.

But she and Callen had danced this samba enough times to be comfortable with it -- something that helped sell the act. She knew his scent, his taste and his touch. There were no surprises, not even when she felt the heat of his fingers trail up her leg so he could mold her more firmly to him -- she and Callen had a rhythm that made them look like they belonged together.

Which -- considering she was posing as the somewhat trashy girlfriend of a ruthless arms dealer -- was definitely a plus. Not that she was judging. There was absolutely nothing wrong with making out with a gorgeous guy in a darkened corner of a bar. She knew of women who would kill -- literally -- to be able to lay kisses up and down Callen’s neck.

As Kensi flicked her tongue against his pulse point, a tiny smile crossed her face when she felt his breath quicken. OK, so maybe this could be considered a perk of her job. But Kensi would never, ever admit it -- this being so demeaning and all, you know.

The worst part was, Deeks had no idea what to say to her. And Marty Deeks was never tongue-tied around women.

"Ugh," Kensi said from the passenger seat. "I need a shower."

Unwillingly, Deeks thought of Callen's hands all over her and privately, violently agreed. But maybe he just needed a shower -- a shower in his brain, maybe with bleach, to wash away the memory of his partner nestled in Callen's lap like she belonged there.

"C'mon, Deeks. Now's when you make some smart-ass remark about joining me in the shower."

He made the mistake of taking his eyes off the road and glancing at her instead of answering. She was studying him with concern, a frown crossing her face. He yanked his eyes away from her, feeling as if he had given something important away.

"OK, now you're freaking me out," she continued in that purposely light tone. "You haven't even made one inappropriate remark about this ridiculous dress."

Deeks knew he shouldn't rise to the bait, but he couldn't help but shoot her another look. And he was instantly sorry -- she was leaning toward him and fluttering her eyelashes at him while that wisp of a dress did interesting things with her cleavage.

"Dammit, Kensi," he nearly yelled as he slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road.

Her could hear her laughing at him as he dropped his head onto the top of the steering wheel and swore under his breath.


"Sorry," she said, the laughter still in her voice making it abundantly clear she wasn't in the least bit apologetic.

"Don't you have a coat or something?" he asked her irritably.

Because this so wasn't funny. But that stopped her mid-laugh, all right.

"Seriously?" she said incredulously. She glanced down at herself and he could feel her frowning. "It's not like you haven't seen me in dresses like this before, Deeks."

Deeks didn't answer that observation. He just banged his head against the steering wheel and wondered why he couldn't just get over it. Because she was right.

"It's nothing," he said, sounding unconvincing even to his ears.

"Talk to me, Deeks," she finally said. "Something's been bugging you all day."

Deeks lifted his head and looked at her, really looked at her. OK, there was the dress; he hoped she never wore it again. And she had made out with Callen; but only because, tonight, that had been her job.

But she was still his Kensi -- mussed hair and annoyed with him, as usual. His Kensi, and not Callen's. His partner.

Deeks quirked his mouth up and went for broke. "Well," he said seriously. "I guess you probably could use my help washing your back. Women swoon for that, you know."

He sighed in relief as she just rolled her eyes and openly grinned when she smacked him on the arm.

"Oww," he protested, ruining the effect by laughing.

Kensi just smiled at him, and, after a long moment, he smiled back and started up the car.

So what if Callen got to kiss her? Deeks got to drive her home, and that had to count for something.

Didn't it?