AUTHOR'S NOTE - This is a companion piece, of sorts, to Marzia's (MarciaRebafan) drabble White Noise. Except, it isn't. It's just a one shot written to her prompt "If you want to keep that arm, you better get it off my husband." It's first of (hopefully) many stories we'll write on each other's prompts. I took the liberties on the prompt. Sorry, love.
The usuals apply - don't own it, not beta'd, English not my mother tongue...
Oh, and the summary quote belongs to T.S. Eliot.
ENJOY!
NO RISK, NO GAIN
Jenny Shepard couldn't take her eyes off her husband even as she talked to the Secretary of the Navy. Or to be more precise, Jenny Shepard couldn't take her eyes of the redhead who had been talking to her husband for the last fifteen minutes, with her right hand on his left arm and her eyes insistently boring into his.
The woman was wearing a short black dress with red stilettos and a matching lipstick. Her dark red hair was falling down her back in subtle curls, through which she kept running the fingers of her free hand. She laughed at something apparently funny, not at all bothered by a platinum ring on the left ring finger of her companion.
And to say that Leroy Jethro Gibbs was enjoying her company would have been an understatement of the century; his smile was broad and his eyes were fixed on the woman's red hair.
Jenny unconsciously touched the ends of her shoulder-length hair, wondering why she ever cut it, before she turned back to the man in front of her.
"Sir, would you excuse me for a moment?" – She said, smiling politely, and then turned to leave, not waiting for an answer.
She purposefully crossed the room, coming to the bar and standing right behind her husband's back.
"Bourbon. Neat."
Gibbs's back went rigid and he immediately pulled his arm from under his companion's grip.
"Enjoying yourself, Leroy?" – Jenny asked with a forced smile.
"Leroy?" – The woman asked with a quirked eyebrow, while Gibbs took his glass of Bourbon in a firm grip.
He knew he set himself up for what was to come and, if being honest, he knew he did it on purpose.
"Oh yes. Did you not introduce yourself to the lovely lady, Leroy?" – Jenny asked, looking at Gibbs, before moving her eyes back to the woman who was standing on the other side of her husband. "His name is, in fact, Leroy Jethro."
The woman took in Jenny's long, nude coloured, strapless dress and, obviously dismissing it, turned her eyes back to Gibbs and smiled.
"Care to introduce us, Jethro?"
Gibbs winced at the way his name rolled off her tongue even before Jenny's elbow collided with his ribs.
"Director," – he began tentatively, pointing at the other woman. "Meet Angela Johnson, Senator Brown's personal assistant."
"Oh, so you are Peter's secretary?" – Jenny asked, making a point of not taking Angela's hand.
"Personal assistant. And you are?" – Angela replied, putting her right hand back on Gibbs's left arm.
It was obvious from her overprotective, possessive stance that the woman felt as if Jenny was treading on her territory.
"NCIS Director Jenny Shepard," – Jenny felt the need to stress her title before adding the final blow. "His wife."
Angela's face went white and her eyes widened.
"Wife?"
"Yes," – Jenny confirmed, putting her left hand on Gibbs's shoulder, both the diamond-encrusted ring and the simpler, platinum one shining in the light of the room. "And I suggest you get that arm off my husband if you want to keep it."
Three sets of eyes fell on the spot on Gibbs's arm where the finely manicured hand was squeezing, before its owner pulled it off and behind her back, as if fearing Jenny would really rip it off.
She met Jenny's eyes, returned her fake smile and left quickly.
The silence stretched uncomfortably long as Gibbs looked down at his drink and Jenny slowly sat on the stool next to his.
"Jen –"
"Don't. Not here. We're leaving in fifteen minutes."
With that, Jenny tossed back the rest of her drink, plastered a fake smile on her face and went about saying goodbye.
Gibbs looked after her, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Let's have it, Jen," – Gibbs said the moment the door was firmly locked behind them.
Jenny hasn't said a single word to him since she left him at the bar, and he knew this would be resolved in one of two ways: either she would explode, there would be a big fight and he would sleep on the couch; or she would explode, shove him against the wall and they would have mind-blowing, jealousy-induced sex.
It was hard for him to keep the smile off his face when his back collided with the hard wall behind him, but Jenny did a good job at busying his lips otherwise.
"Is this what you wanted?" – She asked, panting, when she removed her mouth from his some minutes later.
"Don't know what you're talking about," – Gibbs claimed, trying hard to keep his composure as his head fell back, hitting the wall and Jenny's lips descended slowly down his neck, her deft fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt.
"You wanted to make me jealous, is that it?" – Jenny whispered, her fingers running down Gibbs's now exposed chest. "Wanted to get me all riled up?"
She undid his belt, and opened his trousers, her hand skimming over him ever so slightly.
Gibbs gasped.
"Wanted me to stake my claim, huh?" – Her hand was in his briefs now and skin-to-skin contact made a shiver run through Gibbs's body, his hands gripping Jenny's shoulders. "Does that turn you on?"
Upon his silence, Jenny stopped moving her hand, gripping him just shy of too hard and running her tongue up his neck before biting his earlobe.
"Does that turn you on?" – She repeated her question.
"Yes," – he gasped. "God, yes."
"And if it, say, pissed me off, instead?" – Jenny asked, amused by how easily she could wind him up.
"No risk, no gain," – Gibbs replied, a cocky smirk on his face.
"Well," – she planted a wet, loud kiss on his lips, extracting her hand from his underwear. "I hope the couch is good enough gain for you."
And with that she walked up the stairs, leaving her husband somewhere between amused laughter and frustrated tears.
- THE END -
On the side note, I do realise I enjoy Jenny torturing Gibbs a bit too much. :)