a/n: so - just something i came up with while trying to brainstorm/choreograph a different smut scene for a different story; a little parody homage to all of us using that 'Gibbs knew that one spot she had always liked from Paris' trope ! :)
sloth: reluctance to work or make an effort; laziness / deadly sin.
He gloated silently as Jenny pulled him down onto her bed, smirking into a kiss, and careful not to let all his weight slam into her at once. He had known this was where it would end up; she had known this was where it would end up – things like no off the job and don't make this difficult may have been said, but the truth of the matter was something felt: animal magnetism.
It was one thing to talk the talk of non-fraternization; it was another thing to attempt to realistically deny the attraction that had been born in Paris and had, quite simply, never died.
So – he gloated and smirked, and she pinched his elbow hard before running her hand down his side and around to his back pocket.
"Wipe that look off your face," she mumbled into the kiss.
He grinned – sort of obeying her command, then, and rolled over, pulling her on top of him. He pushed her hips into the cradle of his and groaned with satisfaction at that familiar feel of her where he had missed her all these years – she straddled him easily, like it was a habit: muscle memory.
There was a nostalgic rush in his blood, a rhythm in his fingertips that he understood, that was easy to recall; this would be good in ways he didn't have to dream about or imagine because he already knew – he knew her body, knew her sounds, knew her touches – he knew her, and he didn't have to think about it twice.
She pushed her fingers through his cropped hair like she used to, her nails brushing his scalp just lightly, and she flattened her body against him while he ran his hands down her back and pulled her shirt up and off, tossing it to the floor. He anticipated the manner in which she sat back languidly against his knees and unbuttoned and unzipped him – and though he knew she'd slip her hand right onto him without much adieu, he still thrust his head back – it had been a long time.
She shifted teasingly and leaned forward – he reached up to tangle his hands in her hair and pull her in for a kiss – flashed back to Serbia, or Paris – or anywhere, really, sleeping with her was such a part of his memory. His hands moved down her back, to her slacks, and his lips moved to her jaw, to the one part of her neck he knew was sensitive – the key place for him to lavish attention on while his hands slipped between her legs –
She abruptly moved to the side and lifted her head a little. Her hands pressed on his lower abdomen and she tugged at his wrist. She made a small, noncommittal noise in the back of her throat and shook her head a little.
He froze, taken aback – what the - ?
"Mm-mm," she murmured, shaking her head again. She licked her lips. "I don't like that anymore," she warned.
He stared at her. His temple twitched slightly.
"What?" he grunted, looking at her like she wasn't speaking English.
She shrugged a little. She licked her lips.
"It doesn't work anymore. I don't like it," she said, shrugging. "I want you to try something else."
She pushed his hand away from her groin and laced her fingers into his, kissing his knuckles before she nodded – as if the conversation was over, and bent forward to kiss his clavicle. He still didn't move, and after a moment, she lifted her head back up and arched a brow at him.
The look on his face clearly indicated he didn't understand what was happening.
"Jethro," she laughed quietly. "It isn't a reflection on you. The move got – overused."
"It was my move," he protested.
She gave him an odd look.
"It's pretty standard for men," she told him bluntly, "and it chafes."
He gave her an outraged, annoyed look, and then clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. She let her hair fall forward a little, giving him a look through her lashes.
"We always start like this," he whined.
"It's been six years," she pointed out.
"I know what you like," he continued, stubborn as ever.
"I changed my mind," she soothed, pressing her lips to his throat. "Jethro," she murmured, trying to get him to move past it. "I can pace better if you don't start with that – "
He made a growling noise.
"Other men can't make you come twice if they start that way," he murmured defensively – he didn't like that comment about it being standard; he thought he was a one of a kind sort of guy.
She wrinkled her nose in a laugh and lifted her head. She licked her lips.
"You'll have to try something else," she coaxed sultrily.
She started to lean forward again, and caught the look on his face and frowned, sitting back.
"You don't want to try anything else," she guessed, narrowing her eyes.
He didn't say anything, but he gave her a look – they knew what they had always done got results, why teach an old dog new tricks? She glared at him, and he shrugged a little, lifting his hand and wiggling his fingers.
"I know what I'm doin'," he tried huskily.
She slapped his hand away.
"Dammit, Jethro," she swore, sighing. "You're just – that's just fucking lazy."
She pushed her hair back and shook it; she seemed to make a decision, and crawled back over him – nose to nose, chin to chin, lips to lips.
"You want to do it the same way as always, and end up the same way we did?" she asked quietly.
He thought about that, and then he tilted his head, smirking a little. She returned the look, and he decided – what the hell; sloth was never a virtue.
note though - i'm not making fun of anyone / knocking anyone who uses the familiarity trope! i do it all the time! it's A+++ :)
-Alexandra
story#213