hannah blye

Quick Fic inspired by the golf overrun 😂


She shifts against him, legs tangled with his as they lay beneath the soft, leopard print blanket that Deeks inexplicably had conveniently folded on the back of his couch. It feels like home, she thinks - the warmth between their bodies, the way her head fits tucked neatly under his chin, the way his heart beats steady as a drum beneath her palm. She splays her fingers, letting each of them take in the smoothness of his chest, his toned muscles strong and masculine, yet quivering beneath her touch.

(Wait, when had her hand snaked its way under the fabric of his shirt?

…Not important. She likes it there and he’s not complaining.)

He says her name again, a low rumble that sifts through her hair just as easily as his fingers. “Kens…”

She yawns; God, it feels so good, her body against his like this, just the two of them. In that moment, there’s no one else in the world. Phones off and in the other room, they’re entirely unplugged.

Except for the tv. And it seems that’s what’s causing Deeks’ confusion. “Do we like golf?”

It’s a good question, Kensi thinks - after all, the movie they’d been watching (well, the movie they’d mostly missed because their mouths kept finding each other, stolen kisses on a lazy Sunday afternoon. “I … I’ve never really thought about it?” She murmurs, furrowing her brow.

“Because we’re watching golf, and I don’t know how long we’ve been watching golf,” he replies. Kensi’s sleepy mind can’t find an answer in the comfortable fog she’s lost within before her fiancé continues. “And have you ever noticed how many sports are really just grown men playing with balls?”

It’s such a Deeks question that Kensi can’t help but snort. “You grown men do like playing with your balls, don’t you?” She smirks.

Deeks grins. “Touché, Kensalina. Touché.”

It’s another five, ten, twenty minutes, hell maybe it’s an hour before the question resurfaces, this time from Kensi’s lips. “So…do we actually like golf?”

“I really don’t think so…”

Kensi hums, as if it makes the most sense in the world. “So why are we watching it?”

Pure Deeks. “Because the remote is all the way over there,” he says, pointing arbitrarily. “And you’re trapping me with your body.”

She can hear the grin in his words and she stops herself just before whispering that there’s a part of him she’d like to trap somewhere. It’s clever and very much worth a touché, but it would also make him far too cocky.

Instead, she says nothing just yet. Maybe he’s not willing to move, but she is. A devilish sparkle in her eyes, she shifts atop him, rising to straddle him. The look in his eyes as she meets his gaze is momentarily surprised, but it’s quickly overtaken by desire, desire that quickly pools in the part of him between her toned thighs.

She smirks down at him, touching first her forehead to his, then bumping his nose with hers. “Just because the remote is all the way over there doesn’t mean we have to watch golf…”

God, he loves the way her mind works as she covers his mouth with hers, a slow, seductive kiss that steadily stokes the fire, heating him from the inside out as her hands begin to roam.

And his are not motionless; with a quick motion, he’s got her out of her shirt (well, his, really), naked from the waist up. “God, I love you,” he murmurs against her lips as they reclaim his.

It’s not long before nothing separates them; the blanket covers them loosely as her hips grind with his; his hands gather her hair, skimming through, tousling it as she kisses him, shifting her core just exactly where it needs to be, but not quite there yet. Deeks moans softly, the heat of her against him making him throb, desperate to slip inside of her.

And then she lifts her hips, hovering but for a moment before slowly sliding him home, where she needs him most. “I think you just scored a hole-in-one,” she teases, shivering as he reaches the deepest parts of her.

He can barely laugh; God, it’s so terrible yet so clever at the same time. “Touché, baby. Touché.”