Got Your Back by glacis. (NCIS-LA, G/Sam,
NC17) A case puts Callen and Sam into a…
compromising position. Originally written for the Small Fandom Fest
06, Jan. 2010.
If it hadn’t
been for one brave man, who knew how much might have been lost?
One man
refused to give in to blackmail, refused to deny who he was, and refused to
take the arguably easy way out. Because
of that, two previously unrelated suicides, a psychotic break, and an
intelligence leak were all tied together.
Because one
man decided if anyone was going to destroy his life, it would be himself, on
his own terms, and without turning traitor.
‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ too often meant ‘Shame and Discharge’ and all
that denial could end up in tragedy.
G Callen
stared at Lieutenant Colonel Mark Stratten, and
thought there was more than one way to define a hero.
“When were
you first approached?” Nate’s voice was
gentle.
Stratten
sat across from him in the interview room, back straight, eyes staring directly
ahead. He was pale, with bags under his
eyes and lines of stress bracketing his mouth, but his determined expression
never wavered.
“It was the
first time I went to the bar…”
“Ganymede’s,”
Nate prompted, glancing at his notes.
“Yes.” Stratten swallowed
harshly, eyes flickering over to G, standing still along the wall, before
returning to Nate. The story that
followed was more common than many would like to believe. Long-time officer, career Marine, proud patriot,
and closeted gay man. His family knew,
but he’d been exceptionally careful on duty, and never been involved with
anyone in the services, not wanting to risk his career. For sex, he did a recon of any town he went
TDY, and if he found a place (and there was always someplace) discreet
(expensive) and private (until this one), he would indulge in a one night
stand, before returning to a life of duty.
Ganymede’s
only looked good on the surface.
Beneath, it was a web, and he was caught in it.
“There were
rooms upstairs. There are, in places
like that, not like the bath houses or some of the wilder places, where guys
just… wherever they’re at… this is better.”
“Less
chance of anyone seeing you who shouldn’t,” G slid in quietly.
Stratten
looked at him again, and nodded this time.
“I always knew there was the chance, but I did everything I could to
minimize the risk. But I’m human. Sometimes…”
His voice trailed off, and he looked down. He kept his eyes on his hands as he continued, his voice soft but as determined as his manner.
“He did a
damned good impression of a sailor. Sold me completely.
We went upstairs and had sex.
After I left I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. That’s how it works.”
“Except
this time it didn’t,” Nate said.
“It
didn’t. Three days later a manila
envelope came to my desk through the mail.
In it were some stills. Of me, and the guy. In the room. Having sex. Along
with it was a phone number.”
A glance at
the file in Nate’s hands, and a brief nod from Nate confirmed that they had the
number and had tracked it. G would
follow up with Eric after the interview.
“As soon as
I got off duty I called. The voice on
the other end sounded distorted, but still understandable. I thought they wanted money. That would have been bad enough.” He took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t have paid them. I would have brought it to you guys even
then. But it wasn’t money. He wanted intel.”
Secrets. Whoever the scumbag was, he knew enough about
Stratten to be dangerous. Knew what projects he was working on, what
weapons systems and situational contingencies he was responsible for in his
work at NAS Lemoore. Maybe they just got
lucky. Or maybe it was a targeted sting,
which it smelled like to G, and maybe they had a mole on their hands.
Only one way to find out. If they went
directly into Lemoore, they might spook the mole further undercover, and lose
their chance to find out. But if they
went in through the other end, through the bar, then used the blackmailer to
smoke out the mole, they could bag them both.
Close up a hole in security, and stop a scumbag from destroying more
good men who just happened to be gay men.
“We will
find them, and we will stop them,” Nate assured Stratten.
G leaned
forward. “Thank you for coming to
us. Are you willing to work with us on
this case?”
Nate gave
him a sharp glance, but Stratten nodded his
head. “I’m in.” He knew this would result in his discharge,
but he would still do what was right.
G gave him
a brief, sincere smile, then turned and left the room. Behind him, he could hear Nate take the
questioning back up, wringing every possible detail from him. This kind of case was right up Nate’s alley,
with all the hidden truths and obfuscations, questions of character and subtle
pressures. G was more direct. Not as direct as Sam, but still, his gut
worked on a different wavelength than Nate, and it was telling him they didn’t
have a lot of time.
Running up
the steps to meet the rest of the team in the situation room, he was already parsing
out tasks. Nate would work with Stratten, Eric would work on cracking the electronics
around the bar, Kensi and Dom would work on ties between the base and the bar,
and Sam would be his wingman in Ganymede’s.
“Any luck
on the phone number?” he asked Eric as soon as he got in the room.
“No, it was
a prepaid disposable.” His ‘of course’
was silent, but G heard it, and gave him a Look. Eric looked abashed and turned to his
keyboard. “Not having any luck at the
club, either. I’ve been working it since
the victim came in, and no luck. Looks like they use an internal LAN, hardwired, even. Obsolete!
But pretty secure. Since it’s not
using wireless, even with phones, I can’t slide in and hijack or even block
anything.”
Well, that
wasn’t good. G looked at Sam, then over
at Kensi. So, shuffle on the tasks.
“Kensi,” he
said quietly, “You’re going undercover with Stratten
back to work tomorrow. Hetty set it up
with the CO. Watch his back, and keep us
apprised. If they try anything with him,
call it in and track them, but stay under the radar.”
She nodded,
heading down for uniform fitting. “Least
this time I won’t have to flash my boobs,” she muttered.
Eric
snickered. “Wouldn’t do you much good
with this crowd,” he cracked, then blushed and shut up when G upped the Look to
‘promising pain.’
“Eric,”
Hetty’s voice made all of them start except G, who
simply looked over his shoulder at her, “I have the falsified records for both
Mr. Callen and Mr. Hanna. I have
inserted them into the requisite databases for the spy to find and forward on
to the blackmailers, so that our agents will be targeted.”
“Bait,”
Eric nodded.
“Indeed,”
Hetty agreed. “This will enable you to
trace the electronic trail from accessing the files as well as hopefully tie the
spy to the blackmailer.”
Clearing
his throat, Dom broke in. “Am I with
Eric?”
“No,” Sam
said, “You’ll be on the perimeter of the club.”
Dom’s eyes widened, and G continued where Sam
left off.
“Sam’s
going to have my back inside the club.
Since Eric can’t hack the system directly,” he ignored Eric’s irritated
huff and went on, “you’ll need to be on the ground to find the transmission
center.”
“Can’t G do
that? Like you did with that strip club
a few weeks ago, when we got Saffar?”
“If I can’t
disrupt the signal, he won’t be able to get away,” Eric pointed out.
“True,” Dom said, “but how about Sam?
He’ll already be on site.”
“Am I
detecting a reluctance to participate in this investigation, Mr. Vail?” Hetty
asked, her tone colder than they were used to hearing.
“No!” Dom
quickly denied, “but I don’t understand why we need me
at the club.”
G stared at
him as he repeated, “Sam will have my back in the club. We don’t have a sex worker on the inside to
help us get in this time, like Katya did. So I’m bringing my own partner.”
Dom made an
interesting noise, and Sam asked, “Something going on with you, Dom?”
“No, it’s
just… partner? I mean, I know he’s your
partner, but he’s… it’s a gay bar… and they’ve been taping people, I mean guys,
doing… partner?”
Hetty
sighed and patted Dom’s arm. “Yes, Mr.
Callen and Mr. Hanna are going undercover as gay men, in a gay bar, to find out
who’s targeting vulnerable intelligence assets and
blackmailing them. I ask once more,
Dominic, do you have issues with this case?”
The pat was closer to a vice grip by now and G raised an eyebrow.
Hetty
didn’t like discrimination. Especially from her agents.
She considered it beneath them.
“No,
ma’am,” Dom whispered, looking stricken.
“Because if you do, get over them now, before they place your fellow
agents in danger.” The warning in her voice would have frozen
open flames.
Dom
swallowed, nodded, straightened practically to attention, and said, “No
problems, ma’am.”
“Good. Sometimes I forget how young you are,” Hetty
murmured before she nodded at G and, finally releasing Dom, turned to make her
way downstairs. She paused at the
entrance to the room and gave them one last glance.
“I despise
leeches, gentlemen. Those who profit
from the pain of others, and place our national security at risk because of the
unenlightened attitudes of a few, and the fear of others, must be taken down,
and taken down hard.”
“We’ll do
it, Hetty,” G assured her. She smiled at
him.
“I have
every faith you will.”
The echo of
her footsteps died away before G said, “The only reason Kensi is at the base
and you’re at the bar is because a woman hanging out in the parking lot of a
gay bar catering solely to men would look suspicious. I’m trusting you to
back us up here, Dom.”
“I will,”
Dom promised him, looking a little embarrassed.
G looked
over at Sam, who gave him a half-smile.
“So, I got your back, huh?” Sam said.
“Wouldn’t
have it any other way,” G told him, ignoring the gulping sound coming from Eric
and the determined silence from Dom.
The next
evening, they were ready. Or as ready as
they’d ever be, G thought, staring at the full length mirror as Hetty fussed
with his leather pants.
Leather
pants.
Felt like
they were strangling him.
“Are you
sure I can’t wear jeans?” It was a
reasonable question. He refused to admit
he whined.
“Your cover
is that of a man looking for a ‘hook-up’, Mr. Callen, not a day laborer
wandering in off the street. If you are
‘looking for action’ you must look the part.”
Those words just sounded strange coming from Hetty.
He looked
down at her, then looked over his shoulder, checking
out his ass in the mirror. Dark brown
leather hugged every inch. It was easy
to see he was going commando, not like he could do anything else with pants
that were painted on. They were topped
with a dark blue shirt opened at the neck, tails trailing around his hips,
showing his ass with every movement he made.
“Well, if anything says ‘take me now’ this would do it.”
That got a
glimpse of a smile out of her.
“You think
you got it bad,” Sam definitely whined.
G looked
over at his partner, then, after a long moment, remembered to close his mouth
before the drool escaped. Damn, but Sam
looked fine.
“You look
fine, Sam,” Hetty reassured him.
G didn’t
think her definition of ‘fine’ was quite the same as his, since hers meant
‘covered’ while his meant more along the line of ‘fuckable.’ Sam was dressed in black, from his shined
black boots to his deep black slacks to his black silk shirt. He looked dangerous, if you ignored the pout
on his face. G grinned.
“Yeah. Fine.”
He knew the
difference in his meaning came through in his tone, because Hetty gave a very
ladylike snort and walked away, while Sam glared at him.
“Enjoy yourselves,
gentlemen, but not too much.”
“Hetty!”
Sam protested.
G
snickered. “Come on, wingman, let’s go
catch us a scumbag.”
“Fine, my
ass,” Sam grumbled.
Yeah, G
thought, very fine. He looked back to
notice that Sam wasn’t pouting anymore.
He was
staring at G’s ass.
Okay. This assignment just got a whole lot more
entertaining.
~~
In the
three years Sam Hanna worked for NCIS, he’d been in some strange
situations. Since hooking up with G
Callen, the weirdness multiplied, because G was a weird-magnet.
None of
those situations had ever been quite as strange as this one.
Staring
through his beer glass at the guy sitting way too close to him at the bar, Sam
bit back a sigh and forced himself not to move.
They were after a blackmailer, and maybe a traitor, or maybe just a
pipeline, but any way you looked at it, it had to be shut down. Unfortunately for him, the scene of the
action was a fancy place called Ganymede’s.
A gay bar. Of course.
Sam was the
advanced scout. G would be the one doing
the heavy lifting. G could do the big
eyed, sensitive mark with no trouble whatsoever. Kensi was with the original mark, Eric was on
the wires, Dom was on the perimeter just outside range of the parking lot
cameras, and Sam was inside. When G got
into it, Sam would have his back, and together they would bring down the bad
guys.
His
thoughts shifted to the briefing, while his situational awareness remained
high, specifically regarding the creepy dude shifting close enough to him to fall
off his bar stool. The blackmailer
behind this glitzy façade was taping men in key intel
positions doing nasty things with people they picked up in the bar, then using
those tapes to extort those men into giving up information, which was then sold
to the highest bidder. The fact that the
main buyer seemed to be the Chinese and not Al Qaida didn’t change the fact
that it had to be stopped.
A man who
refused to back down or give in brought NCIS into the case. Then they found that the roots went deep. A couple men had killed themselves. More, they didn’t know how many, had caved in
to the pressure. Kensi was on the trail
of the mole on the Navy side, and he and G would take out the trash on this
side.
Like Hetty,
Sam hated leeches. People
who preyed on others, and victims too weak, or too scared, to fight back. Sometimes they gave in, turned traitor. Sometimes they refused, were outed, their lives ripped apart. Sometimes they took the only other route, and
took their own lives. In the end, good
men were destroyed, and enemies learned things they shouldn’t know. Sam would do whatever it took to bring the
scumbag down.
Even if
‘what it took’ was hauling G off to a back room and getting taped ‘simulating
sexual intercourse’ with him. Sometimes
their briefings made Sam twitch. This
had been one of those briefings.
Looking at
G in skin-tight leather and a shirt that turned his eyes electric blue, well,
that made him twitch, too.
Hetty and
Eric had done a good job with the set-up.
They’d liaised with NCISRA for details, and made G a nice juicy target,
complete with a false dossier from NATEC for the mole to find. G went in, wired but seemingly alone, and
established his cover: Naval intelligence, up from NAS Lemoore, closeted and
lonely, out for a good time but slow to get started. Sam came in later, also wired, setting up his
cover as a Marine weapons instructor out from
So here
they were. G was at a table, making
himself look vulnerable (hell of an actor, his partner was), subtly inviting
then suitably fending off the hired hands sent over by the blackmailer to lure
him into the setup. Sam was at the bar,
trying not to get hit on by the hopeful creep now not very far from crawling
into Sam’s lap.
At exactly
the right moment, G gave him the signal, the creepy dude shifted an inch too
far, and Sam slid off his stool in the opposite direction. Creepy whacked himself on Sam’s empty stool,
Sam gave him a cool smirk over his shoulder, and half a dozen steps later, he was
tapping the guy crowding G on the shoulder.
“You
bothering my friend,” Sam told him.
G gave a
convincing performance of a man saved by a complete stranger (who was
compellingly attractive) from a complete stranger (who was not). His eyes lit up, he flashed a little smile, he practically bounced like a puppy in his chair, his whole
body saying ‘save me!’ G nearly rolled
his eyes, but held himself to another smirk.
The hired
hand tried to look intimidating. Sam
glared and flexed his biceps, and the guy fled.
It was kind of funny, even under the circumstances. He sat down next to G and gave him his best
flirtatious look.
“So help me
God, if you say ‘come here often?’ I’m gonna dump my
drink on your head,” G growled in an undertone, not losing his smile for a
moment.
Sam bit his
lip to keep from laughing, and shook his head.
“Would I do that to you?”
“In a
heartbeat,” G told him, then leaned a little closer. “They’re watching us.”
“Showtime,”
Sam told him, reaching out to draw one fingertip along G’s lower lip.
G’s breath caught,
and his eyes sparkled. Sam wondered how
he did that, then one side of G’s mouth curled up, and the tip of his tongue
darted out, and licked Sam’s finger.
Sam
froze. “You licked me.” He sounded a little breathy.
The other
side of G’s mouth curled up, and he whispered, “Roll with it.”
So he did.
The next
half hour was stranger than usual, even for an undercover op, much more G’s
forte than Sam’s. Given his physical
type, Sam often played the same sort of role – muscle of some variety – while G
was the chameleon. However, in the
current situation, Sam fit the profile of a particular hypermasculine
stereotype of gay man (according to Nate), while G was a ‘cub’, or a ‘bear’ in
the making, an inexperienced bottom who, from what Sam could figure out, was a
little furry.
It was all
a little fuzzy, really. It often was
when Nate got on a roll, especially when he started in on subtypes and military
men being on the ‘down low’ because they wanted to avoid being discharged, not
to hide from their wives. Sam had caught
the gist of most of it, while G zoned out, Dom tried to hide behind the
computer banks, Eric blushed hard enough to combust and Kensi took notes.
All the
briefings for this case had been weird.
Still, here
he was, playing with G’s collar and getting in his space. And there G was, flirting like a mad thing
and making those leather pants look hot instead of ridiculous, not something
Sam thought possible when he’d seen them on the rack.
And he
couldn’t even blame it on the drinks, ‘cause he was
sticking to bubbly water.
Over an
hour after he first entered the bar, about forty minutes after he ‘rescued’ G,
Sam had one arm around his partner’s waist, three fingers dipping down the back
of his waistband, and he was nuzzling the side of G’s neck. G tasted surprisingly good, or maybe the salt
just made him hungry. G had one hand
wrapped around a beer he wasn’t drinking, and one hand tracing patterns on
Sam’s thigh.
It was
fucking distracting. His jeans were
tailored to fit, and his boxers were getting a little tight. Trailing his lips down to G’s throat, Sam
took a peek in G’s lap and was at least gratified to find he wasn’t the only
one getting a little revved up with all the touchy-feely stuff.
G made that
leather look damned good in the front, too.
A little
crackle in his ear made him still, and he felt G still beneath his arm as well.
“Callen’s
file has been accessed,” Eric’s voice came through the ear bud. “Kensi’s on it at the base. I’ve got a trace from the club to the base. The mouse has taken the cheese. Which might explain why Sam’s nibbling on
Callen,” Eric snickered. “Showtime! Say
cheese!”
“I will
kill you when we get back,” Sam whispered in G’s ear, and Eric’s snicker died
abruptly.
“Time to take this upstairs,” Sam mock-ordered G, who gave him a bashful
smile with a hungry edge to it, completely in character.
Ignoring the charge that went straight to his groin at the sight of it,
Sam gently herded G off his stool and guided him toward the stairs. He walked a little behind and to the side of
G, making sure whoever was watching got a good look at his hand cupping G’s
ass.
Got to sell
it, Sam thought, and smirked, squeezing just a little. G jumped and looked over his shoulder, eyes wide,
smile wider. ‘Ravish me’ was written all
over his face.
Sam wasn’t
sure whether to laugh out loud or jump him on the stairs, so he stayed with the
plan, and crowded him up to the next floor.
The not-particularly-subtle direction from the bouncer made it clear
which room to go into. As Sam used his
body to push G into the room, Eric’s voice crowed in their ear again.
“Gotcha! I’ve managed to hack into the line they’re
using to record. Can’t jam the blasted
thing, but I have you on visual. Grk.”
The last
sound was no doubt in reaction to Sam shoving his hand down the back of G’s
pants and using a firm grip on his ass to pull G up to him. G made a huffy little noise and buried his
face in Sam’s neck, his arms going around Sam’s waist, clutching at his shirt.
Face hidden
from any camera that might be locked on them, G whispered, “Where are the eyes
in here, Eric?”
“Uh, bad
news, guys,” Eric answered, sounding a little strangled as Sam rotated his hips
and rubbed up against G’s front. G
wriggled closer in response.
“Looks like
a multi-eye set-up. No dead spots. Any talking you do to me will have to be
fully masked.”
“So we sell
it,” Sam said into G’s ear. G
shivered. Huh. Must be a sensitive spot.
“How are
you coming with the track, Dom?” G asked, sounding like he was talking about
the weather. Damn, he’s good, thought
Sam.
“No luck so
far,” Dom said shortly.
“Signals
are masked and I’m working on it!” Eric put in.
“Get a move
on, guys, or this could be quite a show,” G whispered against Sam’s throat, and
it was Sam’s turn to shiver.
Turned out
it was one, and Sam had nothing but appreciation for the depths G would go to
in order to sell a character.
~~
Eric was working
as fast as he could, as was Kensi on her end at the base, but he kept hitting
walls. Not only was security a bitch at
Ganymede’s, but whoever the mole was knew his or her way around the system.
“Looks like
the only way we’re going to find him is to follow the
trail from the club,” Kensi groaned. “I
am having NO luck here. He’s too damned
good.”
“Have to
be, to be doing it this long without getting caught,” Eric admitted. “Okay, guys, I hate to say this, but we’re
going to have to let the show go on long enough for the blackmailer to transmit
images to the mole. That’s the only way
we’re going to flush him out.”
Somebody
moaned, either Sam or G, but he couldn’t tell.
“Guess
we’ll have to give him something to see, then,” G whispered over the line. Eric looked up from the coding on his monitor
to see what was happening in the club, then found he
couldn’t stop staring.
He’d always
considered himself mainly straight, but was self-aware enough to know he could
get turned on by anything, and he was sometimes bi-curious, especially around
G. Sam and Kensi were intimidating,
each in their own way, and Dom was kind of like his brother. He could have gone for Abby, but she hadn’t
really responded… okay, at all. But
there was something about G that gave Eric the impression that, under the right
circumstances, anything might happen.
From the
look of the action on the screen, undercover in a gay club with his partner met
the criteria.
Sam was
sitting on the edge of the bed, with G straddling him. Eric had tapped six cameras focusing on the
room, so he had a panoramic view of the action.
Sam had one hand clamped on G’s ass, looked like he was kneading it, and
G was moving on top of him like a snake.
Did he even have any bones? Eric,
distracted by wondering what sex would be like with a guy who could bend like
Gumby, nearly missed it when Sam’s other hand came up to cup G’s head and pull
him down into a scorching kiss.
Hm. Maybe G stood for Gumby, after all. How else could he manage to get Sam’s shirt
off without peeling their bodies away from one another?
Sam had the
easier task. He ran his hand down from
G’s neck to the collar of his shirt, then down his back, peeling the shirt away
with it. Then he swept his hand back up,
slowly, lingering over the bullet scars.
Eric looked over at another angle, where he could see their faces, and
was caught up in how they were looking at each other.
Like there
was nothing else in the world.
G’s hands
were moving over Sam’s chest, tracing the muscles, ghosting over the nipples,
then up to his shoulders, his neck, framing his face. G bent over closer, bringing their faces
together in a kiss that made Eric’s glasses steam.
If this
didn’t scream ‘BINGO’ to the blackmailer, he wasn’t sure what would.
But, so far, no ping from the connection.
G’s kisses
went from Sam’s mouth… eventually… down to the side of his neck.
“Any sign
of a transmission?” G asked.
Eric
wondered how he could possibly not be out of breath, but he sounded perfectly
normal. Eric had to clear his throat
before he could answer.
“Not yet.”
“Fuck,” Sam
muttered. It could be taken by the
blackmailer watching as a reaction to G’s movements, though Eric thought it was
more irritation that it was taking so long.
“May have
to,” Eric responded absently.
Choked
noises came from Kensi and Dom both. On
the screen, Sam’s eyes got really wide.
G snickered.
“Sorry,”
Eric muttered
“Not quite
yet,” G said seductively, and Eric shivered in spite of himself.
Turning up
the volume on the tracer, waiting for the ping, he found himself watching Sam
and G like they were a porno flick.
Given the way they were moving on each other, it might as well have been
the establishing scene of one.
Then G
started unzipping Sam’s pants, and Sam threw an arm over his face (probably to
cover an uncontrollable ‘what the fuck?!’ expression) and G whispered, “Can you
see what I’m doing from any angle?”
Eric
swiftly checked all the cameras.
“Damn. Yes. The fourth camera is practically
bed-level. They’ll be able to tell if
you try to fake it. Sorry! Four cameras are at each corner of the bed,
from ceiling level to bed level, the fifth is side-on to the bed, about
eighteen inches up from bed level, and the last one is
coming from the ceiling, just center point of the bed.”
“Shit!”
said Sam, and G rolled his shoulders.
“Hang on, I
have an idea. Sam, we give ‘em veracity.”
Sam’s arm
flopped over to the bed and he stared down at G’s face. G nuzzled him through his boxers. Then he moved so that his mouth was hidden by
the bulk of Sam’s growing erection (which left Eric pretty speechless – Sam was
hung).
“I get you
wet, then you thigh-fuck me. It’ll look
real. If they don’t send that, I don’t
know what they’ll want.”
Sam growled. Actually growled.
G
apparently took that for consent, because he hooked his thumbs in Sam’s shorts,
slid them down past his knees, and swallowed Sam’s cock all the way down to the
root.
Eric had to
stuff his hand in his mouth to muffle his moan. That was insanely hot.
Sam must
have felt the same, because his hands shot out to wrap around G’s skull. This also had the effect of blocking some of
the camera angle to the expert blow job G was giving him.
“Guys,”
Eric hesitantly slipped in, “I can still see part of what’s happening, but the
hands mask most of it.”
“Okay,
yeah, okay,” Sam chanted. By now, G was
curled half on Sam’s lap, moving his hips lazily against Sam’s shin, for all
the world humping him and getting off on blowing him.
Eric grabbed
a bottle of water and chugged half of it without taking a breath. Then he cleared his throat again.
He could
see the base of Sam’s cock and the front curve of his balls. G’s mouth was moving just at the top range of
the view, mostly shielded by Sam’s hands.
It was an extremely convincing fake blow job. Except, of course, the shine of spit and
pre-ejaculate he could see on the other end of Sam’s hands, at the tip of his cock.
A strangled
sound behind him made Eric rip his eyes away from the screen long enough to see
Nate, eyes wide as dinner plates, standing behind him, staring at the
screen. Eric glared at him.
“Right,”
Nate choked out. “I’ll just go… make
sure nobody else… comes in.” He turned
and wandered out the door. Eric
half-expected him to run into the wall, but by the time that would have
happened, he was back to staring at the screen himself.
Monitoring. Yes. Monitoring. That’s
what he was doing.
Not perving.
Except now Sam
was pulling G up on the bed with him, peeling those sinful leather pants down
his thighs as he did, and they were sliding all over each other, and camera two
gave a clear view of their cocks rubbing against each other, and yes, Eric was
most definitely perving. G was almost as well-hung as Sam.
After
another scorching kiss, and some body wiggling that made Eric’s skin itch (not
to mention how tight his shorts were), G knelt on the bed on his hands and
knees, presenting his ass to Sam like a gift.
They were at a thirty-degree angle to the bed-side cameras, and Sam’s
head bent over covered some of the space between their bodies, but not all of
it.
“Eric, does
this look convincing?” Sam, at least,
was a little breathless. As he asked, he
guided his cock down and between G’s thighs.
G arched his back and moaned like he was taking it a little further up.
Eric
coughed, peered closely, and reported, “Yes, I can’t tell from any of the
camera angles exactly where you are. It
looks just like you’re fucking him.”
Then he coughed again. “Er, I mean…”
“Perfect,”
G groaned. Eric thought G was talking to
him, but from the look he gave over his shoulder, he might have been talking to
Sam.
Then Eric’s
eyes narrowed. Man, G was good at
this. His face was at the perfect angle
for the lower left bed-side camera.
Between Sam’s hips, his head and hands almost covering the ‘entry
point,’ and G’s body language and facial expression, it was a perfect fake-out.
With a
muffled curse, G bent his arms so that his hips were up in Sam’s grasp, but his
shoulders were on the bed. He pillowed
his face with one hand and reached the other down to his crotch. A moment later, Sam straightened out more and
really started moving his hips. It
looked for all the world like Sam was banging the hell
out of G, who was moving his arm vigorously like he was jerking himself off in
time to Sam’s thrusts.
Eric had to
stuff his hand in his mouth again to keep from moaning out loud. Hot, hot, hot, hot, hot.
“Fuck,
fuck, fuck,” Sam chanted, more of a grunt than words.
G yelped,
and his whole body jerked. Sam growled,
loudly, then pushed in until his groin was flush with G’s ass and held tight,
his hips pumping a little before he stilled.
The alarm on the outgoing feed pinged.
Eric stopped
biting through his palm long enough to bark, “Must’ve been the money shot –
transmission outgoing!”
“Thank
god,” Sam groaned, and collapsed onto G’s back, bringing a muffled protest from
G as he collapsed under his partner.
After a
moment, Eric remembered he had a job to do, and got back to the coding flooding
his monitor.
When this
was all over, he was going to take a quality five minutes in the men’s
room. He needed it, after that show.
~~
A few
moments after the grand finale, Sam ‘pulled out’ and dropped lazy kisses down
G’s back, making sure he got every bullet hole scar along the way. G squirmed but let him do his thing before
rolling underneath him. Sam sprawled
out, mostly on top of G, and G wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, pulling
him into a deep kiss. Then it was Sam’s
turn to wander kisses down the side of G’s neck, as he asked, “We good?”
“Yeah,” G
breathed.
“Definitely!” Kensi chimed in. “We have our
mole hole!”
“For sure,”
Eric said at the same time. “Dom’s got
the map along the LAN now!”
There was a
rattling noise, then the sound of a thump.
“Got him,” came Dom’s satisfied voice.
G grinned
up at him, and Sam smiled back down. Now
all they needed to do was wrap it up.
And find
their pants.
~~
The rest of
the case was booking, interviewing, paperwork, exhaustion and
satisfaction. The
norm.
“Excellent
work, everyone,” Hetty told them a few hours later at the debriefing, a proud
note in her voice.
Sam, still
in his black hustler’s outfit, and G, back in his jeans, looked just exactly
the same as they always did. Dom looked
much more relaxed. Kensi looked a little
smug (she’d clocked the mole a good one as the guy tried to escape, and was
feeling proud of herself). Nate was
trying his damnedest for professional inscrutability. Eric was blushing and staring at his monitor,
trying not to look at anyone.
“Now go
home and get some rest.” Hetty gave them
one last approving look, then glanced over at Sam and
G. “We’ll talk about receipts in the
morning.”
Sam dropped
his head against his chest and sighed, while G gave Hetty a ‘who me?’
look. She rolled her eyes and headed
down to her desk.
For once, G
didn’t crash at headquarters. As he reached
for his bedroll, Sam took it and slung it over his own shoulder. G gave him a questioning look.
“I got your
back,” Sam reminded him softly.
G smiled, a
real smile for a change instead of a smirk, and followed his partner out the
door.
Wouldn’t be
the first time he went home with Sam. At
least there, he wouldn’t have to worry about camera angles.
FIN
