Spoilers/Warnings: Set post-season 3 on Bones, with no timeline for NCIS. This is crossover femslash, enter at your own risk.
Pairing: Abby (NCIS) / Brennan (Bones)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or the rights to them. No copyright infringement, profit, or harm is intended.
Author's Notes: Thanks to 4ensicbones over on LJ for the uber-speedy and wonderful beta on this story. It's been through four complete re-writes and was originally intended as an entry for the International Day of Femslash… but I failed at that because I'm horrible about deadlines and my world got a little nuts…
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It would have gone better if I hadn't listened to Angela's advice. Granted, if I had been a little more honest about exactly who I was going out with, she might have advised me differently.
I hadn't had a date in nearly a year. Work and my father's trial had kept me exceedingly busy and I hadn't had the time to devote to finding a sexual partner. And of course, there was Booth. He'd increasingly been invading my personal time ever since his involvement with my family's troubles, so even when someone showed an interest in me, his protective nature had quickly scared them off.
But Abby had slipped in under his radar, merely by coincidence, and mine too.
I'd been asked to consult on a set of remains that was being investigated by NCIS and she had been in charge of processing the evidence in the case. At first I'd been wary of her manner of dress, but her enthusiasm and skill in her work had quickly allayed the fears that had been inspired by her dyed black hair, short skirts, and the tattoos that peaked out from beneath her clothing. I even grew accustomed to her habit of anthropomorphizing her lab equipment and her quick, affectionate nature that lead to eager hugs and victorious dancing in place.
When she'd asked me out to drinks, I'd been slightly taken aback, having not really considered her in that light, but I quickly agreed. Her decidedly sly grin was accompanied by her arms being slung around my neck in a bouncing embrace and I was instantly glad I had accepted. While I'd never been with a woman, I'd never considered it outside the realm of possibility and certainly she was an attractive woman whose company I'd come to enjoy. In the moment, with her body so near to my own and her lips nearly making contact with my ear as she thanked me, I couldn't deny that it felt good.
However, once I was home, I found myself suddenly uncertain about the situation. I'd called Angela and asked her to help me. Of course, she'd immediately tried to extract information about my mystery date, but I refused to give her any details, not quite sure how my friend would react. Despite my reluctance to share, she agreed to help me get ready.
The next afternoon, we drove out to Georgetown and she first took me to a boutique, and, after a little prodding, got me to admit that my date had once said I looked good in darker colors. Angela had quickly selected a form-fitting black dress with dark red edging.
Next, she wrestled me into a salon, insisting that I get a full manicure. I'd resisted, noting that the acrylic nails would hamper my work. She'd put her hands on her hips and leveled me with glare. "Sweetie, you asked me for advice. And this is your first date in what? A year? Trust me on this. Get the manicure. Or let me do something with your hair…"
We settled on the manicure and soon the technician was applying artificial tips to my nails. I felt entirely foolish and had nearly backed out, but Angela kept one firm hand on my shoulder as the woman worked. I was surprised to find that between the paraffin treatment and acrylics, my hands indeed did look nice and thanked Angela as we left.
I went home then to get dressed and several hours later I was silently thanking Angela once again as a grin spread across Abby's lips at the sight of me as I approached her outside of The Palace of Wonders, which she'd proclaimed to be her favorite bar. While her short black skirt and velvet crimson and black top were not far from her usual attire, her loose and softly curling hair and the pattern of her fishnet tights effectively erased my uncertainty regarding whether or not I was interested.
Tossing me a crooked smile, she'd drawn me inside, silently paying my cover charge as we entered the main bar area. I was surprised to find the room well lit and centered around the stage on the left wall. The space was already crowded with groups huddled around short tables and she wove us through them to an empty table in the back.
The conversation focused on work as the room grew increasingly crowded and I wondered precisely what kind of show we were here to see. As we talked, her hand had drifted from my own to my shoulder, running along the narrow strap there, as we'd been forced to scoot our chairs closer together to accommodate newcomers.
We'd already had two drinks when the lights dimmed and the night's show began. Our conversation faltered, but I could feel her shifting to sit close to me, whispering in my ear about each of the burlesque dancers as I leaned on my elbows to watch. My eyes were glued to the stage, the music varying widely as each woman came to the stage. With each new song, the women seemed to be wearing less and less clothing and I was transfixed by their overtly sexual behavior. Each time I glanced back at Abby, she gave me an encouraging grin.
By the time my sixth drink arrived, I could feel Abby's lips against my ear, whispering questions about the action on stage as her fingers had made their way to my back. She wanted to know what I thought of their legs, their hair, their breasts, and even the poses they struck. I answered back, slightly breathless, making her laugh when I pointed out their structural anomalies and my own awe at some of the dancers' flexibility. Then her questions took a turn, now asking me what I thought of the way the two women on stage were touching one another, her voice lingering on the syllables of my first name in a way that dragged heat through my chest.
With a deep breath, I'd silently observed them for a few moments as the darker haired woman's hands seemed to grab possessively at the blonde's hips as she bent. "It's just a show to them," I explained, feeling Abby's hand drifting along the zipper at my back. "She's grabbing the other girl, but she's not looking at her. And when it happened, the girl didn't respond. It's mechanical for them because they're not actually seeking connection."
I leaned back from the table then, my eyes still focused on the stage as it went dark, signaling the beginning of another performance, and I brought one hand to her knee, giving in to the increasing need for contact. My fingers played over the rough diamond shaped created by her stockings, dipping into the spaces to feel her warm skin, earning me the touch of the sharp edge of her nail skimming quickly down the line of the zipper, sending shivers along my spine.
The music rose again with a low, sultry jazz beat as a woman dressed only in panties, a garter belt, and two small sticky scraps of fabric to cover her nipples came on stage. My throat went dry as the woman moved to sit in a chair in the middle of the stage, playing out a scene of her right half seducing her left.
Abby's fingers curled and arched, following the dancer's path on my skin. Light touches on my hand that wandered up my arm. She teasingly grazed her knuckles over my collarbone, then under my chin, turning my eyes away from the stage as her other hand found the inside of my knee and began tracing lines along my thigh that inched just under the hem of my dress. She rolled her thumb up from my chin and over my lower lip until I allowed my lips to part, then dragged it back down my chin, morphing into splayed fingers skimming up and down my throat, tilting my head back.
My heated response to her touch surprised even her and I knew there was a strong flush across my pale skin when her other hand rose to brush across my cheek. Our faces were nearly touching, her green eyes flickering even in the dim light. Her breath hitched, then restarted, curling warmth across my lips along with the sweet citrus scent of her drink.
The stage was completely forgotten then as my hand, of its own accord, drifted higher up on her thigh, playing at the edge of her short skirt. My gaze was drawn to her lips, parted and drawing nearer, then brushing against as mine as my eyes fell shut. The thickness of her lipstick made the first moments of contact sticky as it melded with its own, but it quickly dissipated as her tongue sought to explore the line of my lips. The kiss became slow and slick, sliding as our lips found new angles of connection. She tasted of lime and alcohol, the taste of sugar clinging to her lips as I allowed my tongue to glide along them.
Her head tilted as her jaw pressed her lips more firmly against mine, causing my fingers to curl urgently as they tried to skim to the inside of her thigh, but a sharp pain prevented their progress. I gasped against her in surprise and her tongue took full advantage, sweeping in to tease my own. Once again I attempted to move my hand and this time she felt my struggle, giving my lips a quick nip before completely breaking the kiss. We both glanced down to find that one of my nail tips was caught in the weave of her stockings and both burst into laughter.
A few patrons around us were tossing us dirty looks as she brought her hands into her lap and managed to carefully extract my entrapped finger, insisting that I hold still so she wouldn't end up ripping my nail out of its bed. I apologized when she finally freed my finger, earning us more shushes and comments. Abby rolled her eyes at our critics, but took my hand and suggested that perhaps it was time to go.
Once we made our way out of the bar and onto the sidewalk. We paused there, her hand still encircling my own. Perhaps it should have ended there; each of us retreating to our separate cars, headed towards our own apartments for the evening.
But instead I'd turned to her, my eyes drawn immediately to her full red lips. I wanted to kiss her once more, but those eyes were flicking up and down the street in search of something, so I drew her attention back by suggesting that we catch a cab to my place for the evening. She responded by telling me that she lived only a few blocks away and that perhaps we could go there. Her eyes met mine and her hand slid down my arm as she bit down on her lower lip teasingly, denying me their fullness.
I nodded my agreement to her plan as the hand on my arm slipped down to take hold of my hand, bringing it up to her face to examine it more closely, a rare frown creasing her soft features. Glancing from my fingertips to my face, she asked me suddenly, "Have you ever been with a woman before, Temperance?"
I told her I hadn't, shaking my head and averting my eyes to watch the passing cars as I asked if that was a problem. I watched the frown melt from the corner of my eyes as she giggled lightly, dropping the hand she'd been holding and squeezing the other one tight. "No, it's not a problem at all. I was just curious. Come on, let's get going."
She leaned in then, her now lipstick-free lips making warm, wet contact with mine for a brief kiss, before giving me a satisfied grin and leading me away from the bar.
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End Notes: Feedback is truly appreciated and cherished… and will prompt me to read your stories. I like feedback swapping.
I've had some pretty twisted thoughts lately… but I promise the snags will be resolved shortly. And before you ask, no, this was not inspired by recent actual events. Rather, by a near miss that left a rather hinky feeling on my spine…
