Title: All Yours
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Little one for Ravenous.
Summary: Set post-Ravenous – Gibbs makes it up to Abby for missing her pre-birthday dinner…
Author's Note: Written for Cassy's birthday – sorry it's late, sweetie! -hugs- This is a birthday fic and a D/s fic and a collaring fic. And PWP abounds! If it's not your thing, then avert ye eyes!
Abby fastens the simple black collar around her neck and eyes herself critically in the mirror. It's the night before her birthday, and Gibbs should be here any second. It's become tradition for him to take her out to dinner, and he's never failed to uphold it. Well, except that one time he didn't show up, but that time…
He left the lab with a grin as she ran into her office, lifted the lid off the box lying on her desk. What was inside shocked her: a pair of heavy-duty wrist cuffs, complete with a short, detachable chain that could bind the two together. And a short note, tucked into one of the cuffs.
Tonight, your place, 9pm. Wear these.
Gasping with disbelief and trying to ignore the images that assaulted her mind, she made a dash for the elevator, hoping to catch him, to grab his hands and ask him if this was truly what she thought it was. But he was gone.
For the rest of the day she operated on autopilot, her eyes flicking over to her desk every now and then, her mind whirling with thoughts of what might be. She rescheduled her plans for the night, saying she had to work, and watched the minutes tick by.
At six o'clock on the dot, she shut down the lab and went home. She took a long, luxurious bath and styled her hair just right, clipping scarlet hairpieces into her pigtails. Then she spent an hour trying on different outfits, trying to find a balance between provocative and casual, just in case she was assuming too much.
She fastened the cuffs around her wrists, leaving the chain on the coffee table, just as the doorbell rang. Smiling at the weight of them, she ran to the door and threw it open.
The look in Gibbs' eyes captivated her from the moment she met them, and the words of greeting she had planned fled her lips. For long seconds, he was silent, looking her over, his eyes going to the cuffs on her wrists first. Then he nodded, stepped over her threshold and shut the door behind him.
And then he kissed her, not asking for an invitation, seeing the longing etched clearly into her face. With that kiss, he drove the thoughts from her head and the strength from her limbs. Trembling, she stood on tiptoe to press herself closer, and his arms closed tightly around her, crushing their bodies together.
When they broke for air she smiled up at him, letting him know that he was exactly what she wanted for her birthday, and always had been. "Happy birthday, Abbs," he told her, and joyously she kissed him again, revelling in the affirmation that this was real.
His fingers brushed over the cuffs she'd only just had the time to put on, and when he spoke again she knew a dramatic shift in their relationship was beginning. "You know what these signify?"
It was a formality. They both knew exactly what was happening. The first step on a very interesting path had just been taken, and Abby was looking forward to the journey. "Yes, sir," she whispered, a thrill running through her at the words.
"Tell me."
"They mean I'm yours, sir."
He nodded approvingly. "They do. Not my property, not yet. But you're my girl now. One day there'll be a collar to match these cuffs, but not for a while. I'm not rushing you into this."
His girl… He'd used the phrase before, a couple times, but never with such intensity, such sincerity. She let the words leave their signature on her soul, finally allowing herself to believe. And to be his slave one day, to be owned, to be his property…
He read the wonder and excitement on her face and smiled. "Are you still with me, little tease?"
She grinned, realising she'd been miles away. "Yes, sir!" She accompanied the words with a left-handed salute, knowing it amused him.
"Do you want dinner?" he asked, alluding to her disappointment that their usual tradition had been thwarted.
She shook her head mutely. Food was the last thing on her mind. With a chuckle, he took her hand and led her into her living room, his eyes falling on the chain she hadn't attached to the cuffs. "Arms over your head, little tease," he instructed, and she did as he asked, a little bewildered.
He pulled her shirt up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. She bit her lip as his hands unclasped her bra in one practiced movement, and she let the garment slip from her arms, closing her eyes to keep a hold on the urge to fall into his arms again.
A shock went through her as something cold brushed her breasts, and she gasped as she realised it was the cuff-chain. Her nipples hardened, partly from the chill and partly from the touch, and she gasped out when the cool of the metal was replaced by his warm mouth, his tongue teasing each peak for a fraction of a second before he stood straight again.
Aching for his touch, she waited. Gibbs took one wrist, clipping one end of the chain to the cuff, and then repeated the motion with the other, restraining her hands behind her back. She couldn't help but give a tug at the cuffs, testing the solidness of the binding.
He circled behind her, and it took all of her willpower not to turn her head to follow his movements. His knuckles brushed her side as he unfastened her skirt, and it puddled to the floor at her feet, leaving her wearing only a collar, thong, stockings and fetish-heels.
Once more Gibbs circled her, and she could feel his appreciative gaze heat her skin. "I should make you come to work like this," he said idly.
Oh god, oh god, oh god… She shivered lightly at the thought, the pleasurable ache between her thighs intensifying, and tried to hold still. But if there was a hotter scenario in the world, she couldn't find it.
"Make you give me evidence reports while I push aside that thong and finger-fuck you until you can't stand…"
Did she just think there was no hotter scenario? She was wrong. Biting back the urge to beg for his touch, she squirmed a little, squeezing her thighs together to try and ease the tingle of her burning flesh.
Gibbs slapped her ass lightly as a reprimand, barely hard enough to sting, and she tried to relax. "I'm sorry, sir," she whispered.
"Since it's your birthday, I'm gonna go easy on you for that, little tease," he said, but as she met his eyes she saw that he wasn't expecting as much control as the words implied. At least, not tonight.
"Thank you, sir," she replied softly.
He smiled, stepped behind her again, and she heard clothing rustle as he stripped off his shirt. When his chest pressed into the bare flesh of her back, she almost fell back against him.
His arms encircled her waist and pulled her body in line with his, her bound hands pressing against his obvious arousal. She closed her eyes as his fingers began to trace back and forth over her abdomen, travelling lower with each pass. His measured breath against the side of her neck was driving her insane. For what seemed like an eternity, she waited.
One fingertip finally brushed across her clit, and she couldn't help but cry out. The touch was gone as quickly as it came, his hand moving lower, exploring the soaking flesh below. When his finger returned a second time, she clenched her hands into fists reflexively, pushing them back against Gibbs. His breathing caught, and he began to work on her in earnest, two fingers plunging inside her, his thumb bearing down on her clit at the same time.
Shaking now, she tried to concentrate on keeping upright, involuntarily pushing down on his fingers, unable to keep from gasping out incomplete phrases of encouragement: oh my… oh, yeah… more, please, you have no idea what this… ah! Just like that, just a little more, oh god, I'm so… And all the while his fingers kept moving, a third added as she moaned unrestrainedly. The only things keeping her from collapsing were his free arm wrapped around her waist and her own willpower.
"And DiNozzo… McGee… Ziva… Ducky… and the Director… If they all walked in to find you there, hanging in my arms, trying to remember what a fingerprint match is while I have three fingers buried inside you… I wouldn't stop. I'd let them watch the show, let them see that you're mine."
It was too much. She could hardly stand it. She'd thought she couldn't get any more turned on, but his words lit a fire in her mind that burned all the way down her body, and she found herself on the verge of climax without warning. "Permission to come, sir?" she whispered desperately, terrified that she wouldn't be able to hold on for his assent.
For a long second, he drew out her torment, and she felt herself beginning to tip. Mortification dawned in her mind as she realised she was going to disappoint him, and it was enough to pull her back from the edge for an extra split-second, long enough for him to growl in her ear, "Come for me, little tease. Let me hear you…"
His palm grinding down on her clit was all it took. She cried out wordlessly, riding wave after rhythmic wave of pent-up pleasure as it ebbed from her muscles. He withdrew his fingers, holding her up as she sagged against him, trying to regain awareness of where she was. "Thank you, sir," she murmured, as soon as she could remember how to talk.
That was two years ago, the night of her thirtieth birthday. Since then, her submission to him has gradually deepened, growing outside of the boundaries of bedroom play. She wears what he instructs, seeks his consent before making plans to see friends, and orgasms when – and only when – he allows it. When she transgresses, he punishes her, purging her of the sin and the guilt it carries. When she completes a task he has set her, he rewards her with cheek-kisses and Caf-Pow! in public, and with his body in private.
Last year, they reinstated the usual tradition: dinner the night before her birthday. And what happened after the dinner… well, that's between them.
This year…?
She fastens the cuffs around her wrists as she hears the scrape of his key in the lock, and heads out to the living room. Gibbs walks in just as she falls into position, kneeling on the floor, thighs apart, palms upturned on her knees, head held high, eyes lowered. As he trained her.
He stands in front of her; her eyes fix on his shoes, concentrating on the minute details of them to resist the urge to look up at him.
"As you were, little tease," he says softly, and she gets to her feet gracefully, smiling up at him in greeting.
In his hands he holds a box, the twin to the one he gave her two years ago, the one containing the cuffs she wears. She tries not to stare at it, knowing he'll give it to her if and when he chooses.
Gibbs holds it out to her. "Open it."
She expected he'd draw it out for longer than this, make her work for it. Curiously, she sits on the couch, putting the box on the coffee table, and pulls off the lid.
Inside is a slave collar, black leather to match her cuffs, adorned with studs and a thick steel ring for clipping a leash to. Her breath catches at the sight as she remembers his words two years ago: One day there'll be a collar to match these cuffs.
"Sir?" she asks softly, looking up at him, terrified that she has the wrong idea, that there's no symbolism behind the gift.
"You're my slave in everything but name, little tease," he says, his gaze intense and affectionate all at once. "Are you ready to wear my collar?"
She can't help it. A good slave should be restrained, but when she's been waiting years to hear these words… She jumps up from the couch and throws her arms around his neck, rocking him backward with the force of her hug. "Yes!"
When his arms tighten around her and she realises just how forcefully she's hugging him, she bites her lip, trying to get her excitement under control. "I mean, yes, sir. If it's what you want."
He kisses her and she melts against him, basking in her Dom's love. Drawing back, he tells her, "Go to the bedroom. Get undressed – everything but the cuffs – and wait for me."
Without further discussion, she does as he asks, her fingers made clumsy by anticipation as she draws off her clothing and piles it in the corner. Dropping into position again, she waits.
It's at least ten minutes before he joins her. She resists the urge to fidget, feeling her nervous expectancy fade to calm acceptance. It's what will happen, because it's what was always meant to happen. And she's waited so long for this.
He enters the room, stands in front of her, says, "Look at me, little tease."
She does, drinking in the sight of him as her eyes travel up to meet his. He holds the collar in both hands, and there's a piece of paper on the edge of the bed.
"What does this collar signify?" he asks.
Her mind scrambles for the answer. "It means that I'm not a free woman, sir. It means I belong to you."
He nods. "And what will that mean for you?"
She doesn't even have to think. She's played this scene out in her head so many times that the answers come to her instinctively. "I will own nothing, sir. Everything I have will be yours. I'll hand over every aspect of my life to you, and trust that your judgement is right."
"And you understand that you'll become my property, to use or discard as I decide?"
It sounds callous. It is callous. But she trusts him completely, and she knows that everything he does, he does for her. "Yes, sir," she says, meeting his eyes with the tiniest of smiles, letting him see her elation that this is actually happening.
"Do you consent to become my slave?" The words are as formal as any wedding vow, and she gets goosebumps as she replies.
"I do, sir."
He takes the paper from the edge of the bed, holding it out to her. A slave contract, stating in writing all the things that she's just verbally agreed to, something tangible to cement the new status of their relationship. She reads it and signs it with a flourish, her devotion flowing onto the paper in the form of ink.
And then she hands it back to him, with a steady hand. He takes it, studies it, puts it aside. "Stand up, little tease," he says, and she gets to her feet, her skin humming as she waits for what comes next.
He unfastens the collar and circles behind her, placing the leather strip around her throat and dragging the strap through the buckle. When his hands drop away and the collar settles around her neck, a little weightier than the ones she usually wears – or does she just think it is? – her newfound status finally hits home.
As he gently turns her to face him, she feels her eyes filling up with tears. She's not actually crying with happiness, but she's close.
Gibbs looks into her face, a small smile on his lips. "My slave," he says, kissing her forehead and enfolding her in his arms, squeezing tight. "My beautiful little tease."
"Yours, sir," Abby whispers against his shoulder. "All yours."
From now on, it'll feel like every day is her birthday, because this is a gift she'll carry with her always.