Author's Note: My first NCIS fiction! I have yet to see more than disjointed reruns, so I hope my characterization is not so wildly off as to make you all groan and hide your faces. I am a huge Gibbs/Abby fan, so of course, that's where this is going. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I had a sexy Goth and a stern Marine in my possession, do you think I would be writing? Um, no.
"Gibbs!" Abby's usual enthusiastic greeting bubbled up through her lips as he walked through the lab's doorway. He fought back his usual smile; failed, as usual. The corners of his eyes crinkled up as he held out to her the enormous cup in his hand.
"What do you have for me, Abby?"
She accepted the cup and frowned, the light on her face dimming. "Nothing yet, actually. The fingerprints you sent me weren't in AFIS, and I'm still waiting on the GC/MS to cough something up for me on the paint scrapings. Sorry."
Gibbs sighed. He had long ago learned to accept that even Abby's terrifying machines could not keep up with his impatience. "Just let me know when you've got something," he said gently, and turned to go.
"Gibbs!"
He turned back, one eyebrow lifted. "Yeah?"
She hefted the Caf-Pow he had delivered up in one hand. "You know this will be, like, my sixth today, right?"
Gibbs stepped closer. "Your sixth, huh?"
Abby's eyes went a little wide, and she cradled the cup to her chest. "Uh, yeah, but no worries. I'll drink it slow. I'll nurse it, Gibbs, like it was a really fine Scotch or maybe a bourbon, though I've never had bourbon and maybe it's the sort of thing you can't nurse, you just got to suck it down like a shot of tequila and—"
He just held out his hand, his eyes narrowed, lips tight but turned up at the corners. "Give it, Abbs."
"Oh, no, no, no, please!" Abby wrapped both her arms around the cup, holding it tightly against the black tee shirt she wore under her open lab coat. "Come on, Gibbs. It was a gift. You can't take a gift back. It's totally evil and tragic."
"You're babbling. Even if you drink it slowly, something will get broken by you bouncing off the walls. Give it."
Putting on her saddest face, Abby stepped really close, tilting her head up so that her dark-rimmed eyes met his. Gibbs felt even the small smile fade from his face as her proximity sent little warning bells off in his head. Trying to cover his instinctive reaction to her closeness, he reached out and plucked the Caf-Pow from her cradling arms, careful not to brush against her chest or even her arms. Her face twisted up, shifting from pathetic and pleading to annoyed.
"Give it to me, Gibbs," she demanded, her hands falling to her hips and her eyes narrowing in demand. He watched her dark red lips form the words, heard them echo around the room, tried to keep his head screwed on correctly. It was probably time to leave Abby's domain now.
Abby tilted her head slightly, and he realized that as he fought to keep himself professional, a very odd look must have passed over his face. "Gibbs?" she asked softly, her voice inquisitive. "Is everything okay?"
Gibbs nodded and backed up a step. "I'm just going to keep this on my desk for safekeeping," he said with a very impassive face. He nearly swallowed his tongue when Abby matched him step for step, hers slightly longer so as to carry her practically into his arms. He felt heat and smelled the faintest hint of gunpowder and something that vaguely reminded him of sandalwood.
"Give it to me, Gibbs," Abby repeated, something he refused to recognize sparking in her eyes. Her voice was soft, husky, and thick with implications. He pursed his lips just a tiny bit and shook his head.
"No, Abby."
"Give it to me," she repeated again, clearly enjoying herself too much. Her fishnet-clad knee brushed against his thigh, and he twitched a little. "Seriously, Gibbs."
"Seriously, no," he said firmly, and stepped back again. "You need to focus on your work, and you won't do that with this—" he shook the cup slightly— "as a distraction."
"I like distractions," she said teasingly, one hand straying up to toy with the lapel of his sports coat. And that was enough. He set the cup down on her table with a sigh.
"Suit yourself," he said roughly, and turned and stalked out.
Gibbs was almost in the elevator when the thunk of Abby's platform heels finally caught up with him. He stepped into the elevator, and she pushed her way in with him, slamming the emergency stop button as soon as the doors closed.
"I'm not going out for more caffeine, Abby," he said mildly. "So there's no use in stalking me."
"I don't want more caffeine," Abby retorted. "I probably won't even drink the one you brought me, 'cause you weren't wrong about the whole bouncing off walls thing. I just want to know what your problem is, Gibbs."
"I don't have a problem," he replied coolly, his eyes trained on the numbers above the doors, as if they might light up even in their unmoving state.
"Look at me," she said softly, and there was something in her voice that made him turn to her. He studied her for a long moment: the thick smudges of eyeliner about her eyes, the befuddling length of her eyelashes, the slick redness of her mouth contrasting with her smooth, pale skin. He refused to look below her face, having memorized today's outfit the second he walked into the lab anyway: tight plain black tee shirt, short pleated crimson skirt, fishnet stockings, three inch bright red platform wedges. The collar she wore had one single thick ring in the front. She was Abby, young and Goth and brilliant and addicted to caffeine and just a little bit crazy, and he had no idea what it was that drew him to her so inexplicably. She was just—Abby.
"What do you see when you look at me?" Gibbs was startled by the vulnerability in her tone, and he leaned back against the elevator wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I see a brilliant forensic scientist hopped up on Caf-Pows," he said easily.
"No," Abby said sharply, and then she was so close again, gunpowder and sandalwood flooding his nose, the heat of her hands braced on either side of his shoulders burning into his skin through three layers of clothing. "What do you see, Gibbs?"
"I don't know what you're asking me, Abby," he replied honestly. She huffed in frustration and jerked away.
"It's just—I know what I see when I look at you, Gibbs," she said quickly, beginning to pace around the small space and making gestures with her hands. "I see the guy I trust most in the world, and the guy who hates computers and probably wouldn't get half the things that I do when I'm not at work and would be freaked out by the other half, but kisses me on the cheek anyway and totally makes me melt. And I see the guy who clearly wants things but won't talk about them, and won't talk about anything, and why won't you talk to me, Gibbs? 'Cause I always talk to you, and it's getting a little unfair."
"Stop, Abby," he said gently, and she stopped pacing and looked at him with the expression that always undid him.
"I can't stop," she whispered. "You've got me so fucked up, Gibbs."
His chest hurt with her words. "How do I fuck you up, Abby?"
She groaned and slapped her palm against the wall, hard. "Never in the ways I want you to."
Gibbs let his eyes drift up to the ceiling, grateful for once that there were no security cameras in the elevator. There should be, he mused, but there weren't.
"I need to get back up there," he said quietly. "Can we talk about this later?"
"I don't want to let you go," she said softly, and he heard a million things behind her words that made his head spin and ache.
"I'm not asking you to let me go," he replied, unsure of what he even meant. "Just go back to the lab for a little bit, and I'll come see you later." He smiled faintly. "Maybe when you've got some results for me."
Abby sighed heavily. "Yeah. Okay. You're right; I don't know what my problem is." She smiled beautifully. "Sorry, Gibbs. Way too much caffeine. Jittery mouth. I'll get right back on that…stuff you brought me."
"Good," he said, smiling in approval, and watched her release the emergency stop and walk out of the elevator. When she had disappeared from sight, he let the doors slide closed and hit the emergency stop again, slumping back into the wall and rubbing his hand over his face.
Two hours later, well into the evening, Gibbs made his way back down the hall to Abby's lab, pausing in the doorway to watch her at work. She had shed her lab coat and was currently sprawled across her chair, her legs parted just a little too far to be decent, her customary pigtails having been yanked out, probably in a fit of frustration at something technological that he wouldn't begin to understand. The thick fall of her jet-black hair nearly obscured the tattoo snaking over her neck, and he was almost overcome by an urge to push the hair away and press his lips to it, right over the spider. He shook his head and strode in just as she pulled a report from the printer.
"What do you have for me, Abbs?" he asked loudly, and she jumped.
"Geez, Gibbs," she groaned, pressing her free hand to her chest. "You scared the crap out of me."
"Report, Abby?" Gibbs nodded to the paper in her hand.
She glanced down at it, and then cast her eyes back up to his. "Oh. Nuh uh. You can't have it until we have the talk you promised me."
"I didn't promise you anything," he protested. "I just told you I would come see you later."
"And you asked if we could talk about things later, and this is later, because you're here, seeing me. So no report until we talk."
"Abby." His voice became stern. "Work first, personal discussions later."
"No, Gibbs," Abby replied gently. "In anticipation of this, I have been emailing copies of everything up to Tony for the last two hours. If there's anything important, he can take care of it while we have our little tête-à-tête." She beamed.
Gibbs scowled and turned around. "You know, Abby, you're really pushing it today." He started for the door, intending to get the information he needed from DiNozzo, if that was what it took to move ahead on this case while Abby went a little nuts.
Abby moved with a speed he rarely saw and darted out in front of him, her hands pressing hard on his chest. "What am I really pushing?"
He glared down at her hands. "Currently, me."
She shoved a little harder, making him step back a few paces. "You're going to talk to me, Gibbs. No ifs ands or buts. I need you to talk to me."
"And what exactly is it you would like me to say?" He felt anger, warm and red, rising in his chest.
"Anything you like, as long as it's the truth." She folded her arms over her stomach, just under her breasts, and ever so briefly he let his gaze flit down her body.
"Don't look at me like that," Abby said in a low voice, one hand reaching out to jab at his chest again.
Gibbs dragged his eyes much more slowly down her body, taking in every inch of too short, too tight clothing and exposed skin. "Like what, Abigail?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft. He watched her flinch at the use of her full name, her body trembling slightly before she reached for her defiance.
"Like you want something from me besides lab results, Jethro," she tossed back.
He stepped closer, the heat of his anger melting and shifting into something that was mostly just heat. "Oh, I do, Abby," he murmured before he could stop himself, and her eyes widened. Her breath sped up, just a little, and he reached out and toyed with the single silver ring on the front of her black leather collar. "There are a lot of things I want."
"Gibbs," she breathed out, taking her own step closer. Her knee brushed his thigh again, and he reached down and wrapped his fingers around it, dragging it up to waist level with a firm grip. Abby placed her hands on his shoulders to keep from falling over at the swift movement, her eyes very huge and dark, the green almost edged out by the black dilation of her pupils.
"Do you do that on purpose?" he ground out, his thumb beginning to stroke the inside of her thigh just above the knee without much thought.
"Do—do what?" Abby stammered out.
"Touch me," Gibbs growled. "Like you just did."
"I almost never touch you by accident," she said slowly. "I like touching you."
He dropped her leg abruptly, and she stumbled, falling against him. He smelled sandalwood and eucalyptus in her hair, and almost groaned aloud. "Are you going to give me the report, Abbs?"
"No," she murmured, glancing at the paper she had laid down on her table. "You owe me some conversation."
"We've talked," he said shortly. "I'll go see DiNozzo to get what I need."
He was almost out of the room when she called after him. He flinched at her words.
"Tony can't give you what you need, Gibbs. You know that. You know I can." Her voice rose on each sentence as he got further and further away.
He whirled about and almost ran back into the room, his strides fast and long. "Don't smart off to me, Abby."
"What are you going to do about it?" Abby asked, her face and voice an odd blend of defiant and provocative.
He narrowed his eyes and reached out for the ring on the front of her collar again, curling his finger around it. Suddenly, he dragged her to him by it, not with enough force to hurt her, but with enough to make her move toward him. A flush rose on her pale cheeks as she collided with him for the second time in five minutes.
"Stop it, Abby," he ground out. "I don't need this right now."
Her eyes bright and wide in her face, she slid a hand between them and against his chest, her palm heating his skin through his dark green polo. "You don't know what you need, Gibbs. That's your main problem right there."
Heat spiraled down his spine and settled low in his body, causing her face to swim before his eyes with the sudden force of his desire. "I know what I need," he tossed back, forcing his eyes to be cold, his face to be stern. "I need you to stop touching me."
Abby smiled sweetly. "Stop touching me first."
He growled and released her. "What has gotten into you today?"
Her sweet smile only widened. "Not what I want to have, that's for sure."
"Okay, enough. Give me the report."
Relenting, she held out the piece of paper. He scanned it briefly. "Everything else is with DiNozzo?"
Abby sighed. "Yeah."
"Good." Gibbs turned, started for the door for what felt like the hundredth time that day. Feeling vengeful, he turned back just as Abby bent over her computer with a frown on her face. He leaned over and lightly swatted her crimson-skirted ass with his hand.
Abby shrieked and jumped. "Gibbs!"
"Told you it wouldn't be the back of your head," he said shortly, and left the lab while she stared.
2230. Gibbs sighed and glared at the offending wall clock. Abby should have left already, giving him some peace and quiet in the deserted building to try and gather his thoughts and process through the surreal nature of the day's events. But even though he had maintained a surreptitious eye on the elevators since he had last gone down to the lab four hours previously, the Goth girl had yet to appear.
Tightening his eyes in annoyance, he got up, shoving his chair back just a little too hard. He stalked over to the elevator and hit the down button, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the car to arrive. Inside, he pushed the button for the lab floor viciously and glared at the doors as they slid closed.
When they reopened, Abby was standing outside the elevator, her finger poised over the up button. "Gibbs," she said quietly, with a brief nod, and started to slip past him. He caught her wrist and spun her around, pulling her after him into her lab.
"Whoa, Gibbs, slow down," she protested, but he yanked her in front of him as he skidded to a stop and pushed her down in her chair.
"You wanted to talk," he said breathlessly, chest heaving. "So talk."
She stared at him. "I wanted you to talk, Gibbs. What's wrong with you?"
"Tell me what to say," he demanded. Her eyes widened even further.
"What? Gibbs, you're acting crazy."
He slammed his hand down on her table, making valuable electronics shake. "You've been acting crazy all day."
"Hey!" Abby's face crumpled. "I thought we were just having fun."
"Did I look like I was having fun?" Gibbs growled. Her expression fell even further.
"I—I guess not. I'm sorry."
"So tell me what you want me to say." His blue eyes bored into hers. "So that we don't ever have a repeat of today, ever again."
"What don't you want to have happen again?" she demanded, starting to rise. He lightly pushed one of her shoulders, and she tumbled back to the chair again, her face flushing. "What, Gibbs? The touching, or the flirting, or maybe you dragging me around the room by my collar or slapping my ass or—"
"Don't, Abby," he said in a warning voice.
"Oh, god, stop it," she snapped, and it was a voice he had never heard from her before. "Just knock it off, Gibbs. You liked every second of everything that happened between us today, just like you like every moment you ever spend with me. Your only problem is that you don't want to admit it, because you don't know what the hell to do about it."
Something in him snapped. "Get up," he said thickly. For the first time, the slightest touch of fear danced across Abby's lovely face.
"Gibbs—"
"Now, Abigail," he hissed out, and she got up without further argument. He reached down, laced his fingers through hers, and led her out of the lab, flicking off the lights as they went.
Gibbs led her out of the building, out to his car, where he unlocked it with a too-chipper chirp and opened the passenger door. "Get in," he said quietly.
"Gibbs, if you're going to take me somewhere to off me, can I at least say goodbye to Ducky?" Abby asked pleadingly.
He wanted to smile, or maybe kiss her, but instead he just scowled. "Get in," he repeated coolly.
She scrambled into the seat and he closed the door hard, making his way around to the driver's side and sliding in beside her. They drove in silence for at least twenty minutes as Gibbs tried to decide what the hell he was doing, and where exactly he planned on taking her.
Finally, "Gibbs?"
He sighed. He hadn't expected her to remain silent even this long.
"Yeah, Abby?"
"Where are you taking me?"
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "Where should I take you?"
"Well, there's a really cool cemetery near her," she said hesitantly. He frowned.
"You want me to take you to a graveyard?"
"Some of the stones are surprisingly beautiful," Abby said earnestly, leaning forward a bit. "And the trees are really old and thick and twisted, and it's very peaceful, 'cause it's kind of away from the road and stuff. And I just thought—if you wanted to talk, maybe, it would be quiet and sort of neutral ground. And if you wanted to kill me for being such a brat, it would kind of be a convenient place."
He smiled in spite of himself. "All right," he said grudgingly. "Tell me where to go."
She directed him in low tones to the cemetery, and he followed the winding paths until they were deep in the sprawling graveyard, at least a quarter mile from the road. Parking the car off to the side, he got out and walked around it to the passenger side. At least Abby, despite her youth and alternative notions to just about everything, was willing to wait until he came around to open her door for her.
Or maybe she was just too terrified to get out of the car.
"Come on," he said, his voice just a little gentler than previously, and laced his fingers through hers again. They walked slowly down the dirt paths, Abby occasionally lifting a finger to point out an especially beautiful headstone or one of her favorite trees.
When they reached a small stone bench, he released her hand and sat down slowly, patting the stone beside him. She perched gingerly on the edge, her eyes firmly on the ground.
"Why are we here, Gibbs?" Abby asked in a very small voice. Not trusting his voice, he tapped her shoulder until she looked up.
Easier this way, he signed.
Oh. Why are we here, Gibbs?
What is going on with you today, Abby?
Same thing as every other day, she signed slowly.
No. He shook his head. Things were different today.
I don't know what you mean.
Give it to me, Gibbs, he signed. She flushed.
I was only playing. We play around all the time.
It felt different today, Abby.
"I'm sorry," she said aloud. "Can this all just go away now?"
Do you want it to? His eyes were very intense.
"I'd rather not discuss what I want," Abby murmured. "I've made it pretty clear, Gibbs. How about what you want?"
I want a lot of things, Abby. Doesn't mean I can have them.
"You can have me," she said slowly, distinctly. "Any time, anywhere, any way you want, Gibbs. You can have me."
His hands fell to his sides, gripped the edge of the stone bench. Something inside him was breaking with the honesty she was refusing to hold back, and he wasn't sure he could survive it. Her hand came up suddenly to touch his face.
"Gibbs."
He turned to look at her. She lifted her hand slowly, extending first her pinkie. I. Then her thumb and index finger. L. Finally, her thumb and pinkie. Y. Lifting her index finger again, she let her hand form the hand shape for I love you. The movements were slow, deliberate, and her face was very still, her eyes locked to his.
"Abby." His voice sounded strange in the stillness, a little rough and hoarse. She smiled slightly at him, her eyes glistening.
Gibbs took in a deep breath and trailed off her name on his fingers. Abigail. She inhaled sharply, swallowing hard. Abby. Her hand fell to his knee, and his jaw clenched. My Abby.
She flung herself toward him, catching the hand spelling out her name and clutching it to her chest, between the warmth of her breasts. She pressed her lips to his cheek, and he felt the slight dampness of an escaped tear against his cheekbone. He caught at her shoulders and dragged her to him, almost tugging her into his lap, and slid his free hand under her chin. Then, without letting himself think any further, he kissed her.
She gasped against his mouth, and he fought the urge to deepen the kiss as far as she would let him, choosing instead to keep his lips pressed to hers, relishing the warmth of them. If it were possible, he thought, she tasted like caffeine. He felt her hands, strong and a little restless, grasp at his shoulders, and before he could react she was arranging herself in his lap, chest pressed to his, knees on either side of his thighs. He could feel the warmth of her body against his hips, and realized with a start and a jolt of lust that her skirt had probably ridden up entirely too far with that move.
"Abby," he murmured, gently using his own hands on her shoulders to end the kiss and push her back far enough that he could look into her eyes. "Abby, we probably shouldn't—"
"No," she agreed, a little breathless. "But we're going to, anyway."
We are?
She grinned. "Oh, absolutely," she said aloud. Gibbs was privately grateful that she had yet to mock him for signing out what he found it too hard to say.
And why is that?
"Because you want it just as badly as I do," Abby said archly, grinding her hips down against his. He almost groaned aloud when her movement caused the slight arousal he was trying to hide from her to increase.
Abby, we are in public.
"Haven't you always wanted to do it in public?" she asked mischievously. "Besides, this is very private public. It's a graveyard in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. We're more likely to get haunted than disturbed."
Maybe, he signed. But I'd rather not have sex in a cemetery.
"Why not?"
Because I don't want our first time to be on a cold stone bench surrounded by graves.
She blinked at him. He went back over the signs in his head and frowned again. Abby, forget it. I can't even sign what I mean to say.
"Where would you like our first time to be?" she asked him softly.
Gibbs sighed. We can't do this.
She lifted her hands, apparently finally emotional enough to need to resort to signing as well. I want to. You want to. Why not?
The rules say no, Abby.
She rested her hand over his chest briefly. And what does the magnificent heart of Gibbs say?
He grinned slightly. "Can't listen to that, Abbs."
Abby moved her hips in a slow circle against his, keeping her eyes locked on his face. He knew she could see the instant his arousal sparked into something he had to fight to contain, and watched the slow delight of triumph spread across her features. Her slim fingers flew through the signs. What about this, Gibbs? Can you listen to this?
Before he could stop himself, his hands circled her waist and pressed her down on him harder, relishing in the heat radiating from between her thighs onto his. She bit her lip to stifle a moan. Please, Gibbs.
His eyes fluttered closed, and he raised his hands just enough to flick a few signs at her. Say it out loud.
"Please, Gibbs." Her voice was breathy and sweet in the darkness, and he succumbed.
"Not here," he maintained, his voice a hoarse growl. "Back to the car. I'll take you home."
Abby wrapped her hands around his neck. "Take me to your place," she said.
"Why?"
"Bet you have a bigger bed," she pointed out, and he smiled.
"Good point." He watched her get up, catching a glimpse of hot pink panties beneath her skirt, and clenched his fists as his hands itched to swat her beautiful ass again. What the hell was she doing to him?
They walked back to the car, their strides significantly quicker and lengthier now. He drove in tense silence to his house, his brain picking through every reason he needed to turn around and drive Abby home—and leave her there. But when her black-nailed hand fell lightly to his thigh and stayed there, rubbing gently in small circles that crept ever higher, he found the tiny shreds of resolve he was reaching for crumbling.
She got out of the car before he could walk around and open her door for her this time, and he found himself mildly irritated. He caught her forearm as she started to walk past him toward the house, pulling her back against him, her back against his chest.
"Abby," he murmured in her ear.
"Gibbs?" She leaned her head back against his shoulder to look into his eyes.
"You wait for me to open your door for you, understand?"
She smiled. "Yes, sir."
A flicker of desire sparked low in his belly. "Don't let me catch you doing it again."
"I won't," she agreed quickly. He rubbed a hand gently over her hip.
"Good," he replied, and gave her a gentle push toward his door again. He watched her walk, admiring her as he followed a few paces behind.
Once inside, Abby began examining the details of his home as if she had never seen it before, peering closely at pictures on the walls, fingering knickknacks, running her fingertips over the spines of books. Gibbs watched her, leaning lazily against the wall, until his impatience took over. "Going to check out everything in my house, Abbs?"
"Maybe," she said playfully. "Got any secret places I should comb through? Porn stash at the back of the closet? Drawer full of naughties in the nightstand?"
"As if I would tell you," he said sternly, crossing the room to her. Despite the desire dancing its way through his body, he was rethinking everything. He was an ex-Marine, a damn good agent, and nearly twice Abby's age. He could put a stop to the madness that this day had become. He needed to.
Maybe we should just watch a movie, he signed, knowing she would be upset enough to use the cowardly way of letting her down.
Got anything good? she signed back. I don't mind anything, even girl on girl.
He flinched, sure he was misreading her signs. What?
She grinned. Girl on girl. He narrowed his eyes, and she finger spelled out, Lesbian porn, Gibbs.
Gibbs nearly choked. I didn't mean that kind of movie, Abby.
Now her face darkened, and he prepared for the oncoming storm. "No way, Gibbs!" Abby exclaimed. "You can't do this to me."
"Abby," he said gently, taking her hands in his. "Look, I won't pretend that there is nothing here. I'm just saying, it doesn't matter."
"Like hell it doesn't!" She was genuinely angry now, and he felt a little intimidated by the wrath in her eyes. "You kissed me!"
"I kiss you all the time," he offered mildly, but she only grew angrier.
"Not on the lips, Gibbs! It was different, and you know it. Everything is different now. You can't bring me here, all the way here, just to kick me out."
"I'm not kicking you out. I'm suggesting alternative entertainment."
Abby shocked him by sliding her hand between his thighs and cupping him intimately. "There's only one kind of entertainment I'm interested in tonight, Gibbs, and it's not in your DVD collection."
He wrapped his hand around her wrist. "Stop it, Abby."
She rubbed her palm against him, and he fought back a groan. "No way, Gibbs."
"Abigail."
And there it was—her unusual reaction to his use of her full name. Her hand fell away, and she licked her lips. "Please don't do this, Gibbs."
He stepped closer, his curiosity getting the best of him. "What is it about your name?"
Her eyes dropped to the floor. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, every time I use it you react…oddly."
"You say my name all the time."
"Not your full name," he countered. He lifted her chin up with his fingers. What is it about your name? He finger spelled it slowly. Abigail.
"It's the way you say it," she murmured, then lifted her hands and repeated the words. It's the way you say it.
How do I say it?
Like you own me, she signed carefully. Like I'm yours.
Heat swam through him, and any semblance of control shattered. He groaned aloud for the first time, wrapping his arm around her waist and dragging her into his body. His mind raced back through the day, through every strange encounter and unexpected conversation, and settled on one perfect phrase.
"I'm going to fuck you up, Abby," he growled into her dark hair, his other hand coming up to cup the back of her head underneath the thick inky strands, his thumb stroking over her pulse point. "In every way you want me to."
She moaned softly, her head falling forward to his shoulder, and he gently stepped them backward until she was pressed against a wall, caught between its solidity and the strong warmth of his body.
"Look at me," he whispered, and she lifted her eyes—lovely green cat eyes, filled with overwhelming emotion. He stroked his thumb over her throat again, applying just the slightest hint of pressure. Her eyes fell closed, lips parting slightly, and he bent his head and kissed her hard.
This time, he deepened the kiss almost immediately, the firm pressure of his tongue against her lips guiding her mouth open. She seemed lost for a moment, almost sinking into him, allowing him to support her with his hand on the back of her neck and the weight of his body holding her against the wall. But then she came alive in his arms, her hands slipping around his waist and tugging his dark green shirt from his khakis. At the first touch of her warm hands against his skin, he groaned into her mouth and tugged his lips from hers.
"Against the wall, Abby?" he said roughly, his voice holding a hint of teasing. "I thought we came to my place for the bigger bed."
"Beds are overrated," she panted. "Walls are useful."
"How so?" he asked with a lifted eyebrow. She pulled back a little further to cast him a disbelieving look.
"Gibbs. Don't tell me that with four wives and god knows how many redheads in between, you've never done it up against a wall."
"Of course I have," he purred, tugging a strand of black hair gently. She inhaled. "Just wanted to hear your ideas."
"Oh, my ideas," Abby scoffed. "I don't talk about my ideas. I put them into action. You should know that by now."
"Then do it, Abby," Gibbs said, his words made harsh by desire. She dropped her head, her hands still tracing warm circles on his back. He lifted his eyebrows. "Abby?"
She pulled her hands away from his skin. Call me Abigail.
He started. Why?
What do you mean, why? Were you paying attention before?
He nodded slowly. Abby, I don't really…play the sorts of games you do.
She locked her eyes with his. With you, it's never a game to me.
Still, he signed, hesitating. Are you going to want me to—He could not remember the sign for what he wanted to say, was not even sure he had ever learned it. He resorted to finger spelling. Dominate you? Tell you what to do?
You tell me what to do all the time, she signed back with a tiny smirk.
That's different.
Fine. Start by calling me Abigail. We'll just see what comes naturally. I bet you're bossier in bed than you realize.
Gibbs pursed his lips slightly. "Show me, Abby," he said quietly.
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her lips. The kiss was heated, passionate, full of pent-up desire, and he found himself becoming the one lost, especially when Abby pressed one stocking-clad thigh between his legs.
"You're an amazing kisser, Gibbs," she whispered against his lips. "Better even than I imagined."
"You imagined kissing me?" he ground out, his hands moving restlessly over her ribs. He wanted to slide them up to cup her breasts, or slide them down over her stomach to the source of all that delicious heat that had tortured him in the cemetery, but he felt paralyzed by an odd mixture of desire and fear.
"Oh, yes," Abby said fervently, flicking her tongue against his bottom lip. "You don't even know how many times you've made me come already, Gibbs, without ever even touching me."
And he officially reached the end of his endurance. With a low growl, he grabbed her shoulders and turned them so his back was the one pressed to the wall. His hands caught the hem of her black tee shirt and yanked it upward, exposing a hot pink bra that he immediately knew was a match to the panties he had caught a glimpse of before. He smiled, a hot, dark smile, and pulled the shirt over her head, flinging it across the room. He was glad her hair was already down, tumbled about her shoulders. It would save him some time.
Hooking his finger in the ring on the front of her collar again, he tugged her flush up against him, sliding his foot up against hers to gently nudge her legs further apart. His hand slid between her legs, encountering heat and damp cotton. He pressed his fingers against her, rubbing in a slow circle, relishing her desperate moan.
"Take off your bra," he whispered in her ear, flicking his tongue against her earlobe. She moaned again, softly, as he continued running his fingers over her underneath her skirt.
"Please, Gibbs," she pleaded, and he nipped her earlobe, deciding to try and give her what she wanted.
"Do it, Abigail," he ordered, and her head fell back. Her eyes were closed, her face beautiful in its pleasure. He watched her fingers nimbly unfasten the clasps behind her back, and the instant they finished, he pulled his hands away from her collar and her wetness and drew the straps down her pale shoulders, letting the bra fall to the floor. His jaw clenched at the sight of her breasts, full and tipped in rose.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, cupping her breasts in his hands, brushing his thumbs over her nipples. Abby moaned and opened her eyes, meeting his with a gaze of molten fire.
"I want to see you too, you know," she said softly. He smiled gently.
"When I'm ready, Abbs," he replied. "Shoes. Now."
She grinned wickedly and turned her back on him, bending over slowly to undo the buckles around her ankles. Gibbs was instantly enticed by the way her skirt rode up over the top of her stockings, revealing that they were thigh-highs and supported by lovely black garter belts. As she undid and kicked off her platforms, making herself a good three inches shorter, he ran his fingers up and down the backs of her thighs, just above the fishnet. He could hear her breathing quickening, and she spun on him quickly when her shoes were discarded.
"Like the fishnets?" she demanded breathlessly.
"Love them," he replied shortly, yanking her close to him again, this time by the waistband of her skirt. "You are delightfully unexpected."
She smiled softly. "Ready yet?"
Gibbs shook his head. "Skirt," he ordered. She cocked her head to one side, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Take off your skirt, Abigail."
Abby moaned softly and dragged down the zipper on the left side of the skirt, hooking her thumbs under the waistband and sliding the pleated crimson fabric free of her hips. It pooled on the floor, and she stepped out of it, left standing before him in hot pink panties and fishnet stockings. He groaned.
"You're so fucking hot," he ground out, in complete contrast to his reverent claim of her beauty moments before. He was losing control, not only of himself, but of the situation and maybe his entire life. In the moment, all he could think of was Abby. All he wanted was her.
She bit her lip at his uncharacteristic exclamation, and reached for him, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt. "Ready yet, Gibbs?"
He pushed her hands away. "Stop asking me that."
"But I want to see you," she whimpered, and he gave in to the sweet, desperate sound.
He shrugged off his coat, tossing it onto the nearby couch, and yanked off his polo in one swift move. Abby was watching him with intensity, her fingers dancing in sign letters at her sides. He squinted, trying to follow them, but her movements were too jerky, too quick, and all the letters were half-formed. He paused, white tee shirt and khakis still in place, his silver hair slightly mussed.
If you have something to say, say it, he signed. Her eyes widened.
Sorry. Nervous habit.
What were you spelling?
She twisted her lips slightly, and then lifted her hand and finger spelled slowly, so he could follow her letters. Oh my god oh my god oh my god…
He could not suppress the half chuckle that escaped his throat. Seriously?
Oh, yes. An emphatic nod accompanied her hands.
Gibbs gripped the hem of his tee shirt, feeling a strange reluctance wash over him. He knew Abby enjoyed her time with a lot of men, and he had no doubts that he was significantly older than many—or most—of them. Raking his eyes over her pale skin, her lovely breasts, the slight swell of her hips, he wondered if she could possibly find him as irresistible as he did her.
"Gibbs." Abby's hand slid into the one clutching his shirt. "Want me to do it?"
He sucked in a breath. "Abby—"
"Please, Gibbs," she whispered. "I am dying to look at you. If you don't do it, or let me do it, I swear to god I'll just tackle you and rip everything off. And I bet you like those pants."
He smiled despite himself. "Why don't you do it, then? Minus the tackling and ripping."
She pushed away the hand wrapped around hers and brought the other one up, slowly drawing the white shirt up over his stomach, his chest. He lifted his arms briefly to let her tug it the rest of the way off, and then she was dropping it to the floor, her tongue darting out over her lips.
His eyes tightened. "Abby."
"Shhh," she whispered. "You're interrupting my incredibly inappropriate thoughts, Gibbs."
So he stood there, letting her eyes and then her hands drift over him. "I can't believe this is happening," she said softly, reverently, trailing her fingers down his stomach. "Do you have any idea how hot you are, Agent Gibbs?"
"Show me," he murmured, wrapping his hands around her elbows and drawing her into his body again. The first contact of skin against skin made them both moan aloud, and he swallowed her breathy pants in a deep and lingering kiss.
As he took her mouth slowly, thoroughly, she toyed with the buckle of his belt, slowly undoing it and then working her way through the button and the zipper. His breath grew harsh when her hand grazed against the skin just above his boxer-briefs.
"I knew it," she said against his mouth, her tongue skating across his lips. "I knew you'd go with support and style."
"You didn't know anything," he retorted, pinching her nipple between his thumb and index finger. The gasp of his name from her still-red mouth made everything just below her wandering hand ache.
"I'm going to show you what walls are really great for," Abby declared quietly, and before he could say or do anything, she had sunk to her knees in front of him, her nimble fingers dragging down his khakis and boxer-briefs in one swift motion. As they came to rest around his ankles, an equally swift and graceful motion found his cock sliding along her tongue and deep into her mouth. His fingers dug into the wall.
"Goddamnit, Abby," he groaned, fighting the urge to press his hips against her mouth with one violent thrust. She drew her mouth back slowly, sucking hard, until just the tip remained on her tongue. She opened her mouth a little and ran her tongue around it, swirling slowly.
"Don't be scared, Gibbs," she said teasingly, letting him slide off her tongue and hover, slick and wet, just in front of her face. "I seriously doubt you can hurt me. I've got some practice."
"Don't smart off to me," Gibbs warned her, still trying to calm his breathing and dispel the urge to fuck her mouth until he came. "I might just test that theory."
"You want to hurt me, Gibbs?" Her lower lip pouted forward, and she faked a hurt look, but something hidden and full of longing lingered just below the surface. "How bad?"
But he had not been kidding when he told her he did not really play those sorts of games, and he crouched down to her level, where she still knelt before him. "Abby. Whatever else happens, you have to know—I would never want to hurt you."
"Gibbs." She touched his cheek, rubbing her thumb against his jaw. "I didn't mean like that, you know. I meant—"
"I know what you meant," he said quickly. "And Abby, I will always give you what you need, whatever that might be. But to me, it's different. It's different than hurting you."
"Oh," she whispered, and her eyes were glistening again. "How do you always know what to say?"
Only to you, he signed.
She sighed deeply and reached out, wrapping her hand around him. He sank from the crouch to his knees, arching into her hand. "Kinda ruined my plans, Gibbs."
"You still want me to stand up?" He lazily slid a hand up her thigh, curling a finger under the wet fabric between her thighs. She moaned softly.
"Oh, never mind," she said lightly.
He kicked away the pants entangling his legs and shifted forward to kneel between hers, gently tugging her panties, garters and stockings down with one slow, sensual movement. Abby never took her eyes from his face, and the desire warring with something softer in her expression made him ache. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her knee, eliciting a giggle that ended in a moan.
So beautiful, he signed, and she sighed happily. She dragged him down to her with her hands around his neck, kissing him deeply. Gibbs found himself nearly sprawled across her, his cock against her stomach, as Abby trailed her kisses down his neck and then gently bit his shoulder.
"Do you like it rough, Gibbs?" she murmured mischievously into his skin. He slipped his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his.
"I like you, Abby," he replied seriously.
"Oh, god," she whispered, and he drew back.
"What?"
"You're going to fuck me up so perfectly."
He groaned and wrapped his hands around her thighs, feeling the throb of her words all the way through his body, coming to rest in the erection pressing against her stomach. "Ask me nicely, Abigail," he ordered, and watched as her back arched beneath him and her head fell back against the floor, exposing the delicious length of her pale neck to him. He bent over and ran his tongue from the hollow of her throat to the edge of her jaw just in front of her ear, biting down on the juncture of neck and shoulder before lightly kissing her lips.
"Fuck me, Gibbs," she said into his mouth, and he pressed himself against her, teasing. She tried to arch her hips to take him into her, but he pulled back slightly. "Please," she panted, her hands sliding down his ribs to clutch at his waist. "Please, Gibbs."
He succumbed to the frantic pleading in her voice and drove his body forward, entering her smoothly but slowly, more slowly than he had imagined he would have to. Her eyes were very wide, very green against the white of her skin and the darkness of the liner around them, and she moaned his name as she writhed her hips in a slow circle, helping to ease him inside her. When his body was pressed tightly against hers at last, he leaned over her and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.
"Gibbs," Abby moaned, arching her hips up. "This is not what I asked so nicely for."
He smiled. "Give me a second, Abbs. I want to take my time with you."
"Oh."
There was still this easy intimacy between them that made his heart skip a beat in his chest. He kissed her forehead gently, feeling her smile against his chin and arch her hips again.
"Patience, Abigail," he purred, and she writhed against him in earnest.
"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs," she groaned, and he started to move, slowly at first, then with longer and harder strokes as she responded to him, matching his thrusts with sensual rolls of her hips. His name continued to fall from her lips in a rhythmic litany, until it was as natural a sound as the harshness of her breath or the slick sound of skin on skin.
Abby rested her hands against the floor, beside his hands, and nudged them lightly with her wrists. Gibbs looked down into her face, his movements slowing, and she gave him a small, encouraging smile.
"Please, Gibbs," she whispered, and he lifted one hand, then the other, replacing them around her wrists, bracing himself up over her body even as he pinned her as gently as he could to the floor. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her mantra of his name started tumbling from her lips once more.
He matched the rhythm of her moans with the driving of his hips, trying to resist the siren call of her heat and the tightness surrounding him by thinking of something, anything, other than the fact that he was fucking Abby. But it was useless, and when her eyes flew open wide and she almost screamed his name while her head tossed back and forth on the floor, he gave in to the yearning to spill himself inside her and fell forward, burying his head in her shoulder and panting out some incoherent syllables.
They lay there a long moment, his breath hot on her chest, her heavy exhalations stirring his hair. When Abby at last gently tugged her wrists from his hands, Gibbs collapsed onto her briefly before rolling away, coming to rest beside her and pulling her into his arms.
"So much for my bigger bed," he said softly, and Abby giggled. He stroked a hand over her thick dark hair. "And walls," he added.
"It doesn't matter where it is, Gibbs," she pointed out. "It only matters who you're with."
He smiled, stroking his thumb down her jaw. My girl.
"You fucked me up good, Gibbs," she murmured happily. He smiled briefly, but there was something behind his eyes that made Abby sit up and look down at him as he rolled over onto his back on the floor.
"What is it?"
"What?" he responded, tucking his hands behind his head. Abby toyed with the silver strands of hair falling over his forehead.
"You got this really pensive, haunted look on your face."
"I've fucked up a lot of things—and a lot of women—in my life, Abbs. Not sure I want to do that to you, too."
"Gibbs," she admonished sweetly, pouncing on him and straddling his hips. "I meant it only in the very best of scream-y orgasm-y ways. You should know that."
"Hmm," he replied softly, and she pressed her lips to his.
"This is the only way I've ever wanted you to fuck me up," Abby added. "And the only way you're going to, Gibbs."
"You don't know that," he murmured. She laid gentle hands on either side of his face.
"Yes, I do, Jethro," she said softly. "I trust you."
He stared up into her clear green eyes and smiled. "Thank you."
Curling up over him, Abby began laying tiny kisses along his collarbone and down his chest. Gibbs stirred and lifted his hands. Bed?
No. I like your floor.
He scowled. Bed, Abigail.
Abby grinned. Yes, sir.
He scowled. Don't call me sir.
I promise you'll like it, Gibbs.
He slid out from under her and tugged her to her feet. Drawing her down the hallway to his bedroom, he paused just before reaching the bed and signed, We'll see, Abby.
We sure will, she responded with a cheeky smile, and as she shrieked in dismay, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed.
Benefits of a bed, he signed, and sank onto the soft surface. Abby leaned over the edge and picked something up off the floor. Gibbs stared in slight dismay at a navy blue silk tie he had discarded there the week before.
Benefits of a bed, she signed back, trailing it over the headboard. He could not suppress a smile.
The adventure had, apparently, only begun.
FIN