This story contains BDSM themes. If that offends you, stop reading.
You may recognize the character of Lady Heather from CSI, but this is NOT a CSI crossover. I just thought she and Gibbs might get along well, given her fondness for intelligent silver haired men, and his fondness for bold redheads. Her character's future was left hanging in CSI, so in my world, she's moved to DC and is doing what Heather does best. While there is some Gibbs and Heather flirting in the first chapter, this is very much a Gibbs/Abby story, and you won't see much of Heather outside of the first chapter or so. She's just there to set the stage.
Heather reclined in her chair, the heels of her leather boots propped leisurely up on her desk, smiling at the silver haired man sitting across from her. "Sorry you didn't find what you're looking for, Jethro, but I didn't think you would find it here."
Gibbs shrugged. "Neither did I, but we had to check out all the clubs. DiNozzo and Ziva would have stuck out like sore thumbs, and McGee would've been hopeless at a place like this."
Heather cocked her head at him. "Everyone who comes through the door here comes through me and with excellent references. Your people wouldn't have gotten past the doorman, and anyone on the floor would know that the instant they saw them." She glanced through the one-way glass down at the people mingling leisurely below. "You could be a regular...You used to be."
"It's been a long time, Heather."
"I'm sure you haven't forgotten anything." She smiled, running her fingers along the riding crop resting on her desk, her red hair falling over her shoulder.
Gibbs shrugged "Probably not."
"You're here. Stay a while. Socialize. Play if you like." She took in his burgundy silk shirt, leather pants, and boots, looking him up and down. "You're well aware you'll have no difficulty finding someone to play with. Or several someones if you like. I'm sure you remember the rules." She stood and walked around the desk, the ease of her movement surprising given the steel boned corset she wore.
He took Heather's arm as they walked toward the door. "I'm sure they haven't changed. Downstairs is for socializing only, second floor is for public play or watching, private rooms on the third floor, and of course, the usual safe, sane, and consensual."
She ran the tip of her crop under his chin. "You were always such a quick study. We could have so much fun together."
Her eyes widened as his hand closed tightly around her wrist. "But we both like to be on the same end of the crop."
She shrugged as he released her hand. "Pity. Shall we?" She guided him down the gilded hall and lush carpets to the elevator.
As they waited for the car, she slipped a ribbon off her wrist and pressed it into his hand. He looked down and found a golden key hanging from it. "In case someone strikes your fancy. My private room at the end of the hall on the third floor. I won't be needing it this evening. I believe Allison was wanting help with some homework."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll probably just enjoy your hospitality on the first floor and make it an early evening." They stepped into the elevator car for the quick trip downstairs.
Heather took the key from his hand and slipped it deep into the front pocket of his pants. "Hang on to it anyway in case you change your mind."
He turned, pinning her between his body and the wall of the elevator, her hand still inside his pocket, his breath hot against her ear. "Don't start with me, Heather. You may find yourself chained to my bed." He sunk his teeth sharply into her earlobe.
She gasped. "Keep that up and I may let you." She shifted her hip and he found himself off balance, pressed against the other wall, her hands like iron around his wrists, whispering "and then you'll find yourself chained to mine while I purple your ass with my crop for your presumption."
"But you'd have enjoyed yourself first." Gibbs grinned.
Heather released his hands and stepped back, laughing. "Probably. So would you."
"Probably."
The elevator doors slid open to the ground floor of the club. It didn't have a name. It didn't need one. It was an invitation only club for individuals with sexual desires that ran to the darker side of normal, very quiet, discreet, unknown to anyone but its members and their guests, and, were it not for the dead congressman, would have remained one hundred percent under the radar. Finding no connection between this club and the congressman's death, Gibbs would ensure it remained so as a favor to Heather, a longtime friend he'd been introduced to shortly after Shannon first brought him into the lifestyle.
Heather walked him up to the bar and beckoned the bartender with a crook of her finger. "Jamie, this is Lee." She motioned to Gibbs, using the name he preferred for locations such as these. "See that he's well taken care of this evening. On the house."
The bartender nodded "Yes, Lady Heather. What'll it be, Sir?"
"Bourbon."
Heather shook her head. "Still drinking that swill, I see." Gibbs shrugged and looked around the club, taking in the people milling around. It was spacious, classically decorated, and while there were probably over a hundred people, didn't feel crowded.
"Look around, mingle, play if you wish... Everyone here has been thoroughly background checked and their discretion is assured. If you wish an introduction, simply let Jamie or myself know, and we will arrange it." Gibbs let his eyes drift from person to person, until they landed on one extraordinary form at the other end of the bar. His breath caught in his throat and Heather smiled. "Oh, I see... Always had excellent taste, didn't you. I'm not sure if you'll get far with that one, though. She's lovely. Comes to socialize almost every week, but I've never seen anyone strike her fancy."
Gibbs couldn't take his eyes off her. Her dark hair was piled elegantly on her head in soft curls, secured with a jeweled clip, her throat bare, her waist an hourglass silhouetted by a deep red leather corset, her flowing gauzy black skirt ended just above her knee, and her patent leather heels tied with ribbons around her ankles. Though her ensemble left her more covered than most prom dresses, to Gibbs she was sex personified. And as she turned as the bartender handed her a glass of red wine, he saw beneath her ear a spiderweb tattoo.
Heather cocked an eyebrow at him as he choked on his bourbon. "Problem?"
"I've got to get out of here."
"No. You've got to go talk to that beautiful lady who just completely short circuited your brain." She tugged at his hand. "I haven't seen that look on your face in a very, very long time."
"Heather, you don't understand. She's-"
She silenced him with her finger on his lips. "I know exactly who she is. I am wondering, though, if you have forgotten who you are. Now, are you going to slip out the back door and not be able to meet her eyes on Monday morning, or are you going to go ask the lovely one for a dance?"
He took a deep breath, his shoulders squared, and he set his drink firmly on the counter. Heather smiled and ran a hand down his arm. "Now there is the man who threatened to chain me to a bed, and made me consider it...if only for a moment." She squeezed his hand. "Have a pleasant evening, and don't stay away so long next time."
She turned and walked back to the elevator, leaving Gibbs behind to take one more gulp of liquid courage.
Reviews are very much appreciated! Thank you fore reading. Next chapter up shortly.