Title: Trouble Focusing
Rating: Ohhh so NC-17!
Summary: There's only so much punishment one girl can take...

Author's Note: Written as an NFA Hangman prize for headslapdiva. :) And this is really, really PWP. Don't say I didn't warn you!

My hands won't stop shaking. Sooner or later I'm gonna break someth–

"Damnit!" I yell as the test-tube hits the floor, splintering into a million pieces.

"You okay?" Gibbs asks, halting a few feet away. In that moment, I hate him.

I want to yell at him, you know this is all your fault, right?! But that's only going to make my situation worse. If I act bratty, he'll just stretch this out for longer. Grabbing the dustpan and brush from the corner, I kneel to begin sweeping up the mess. "Yeah. I'm fine, sir."

He reads the unspoken accusation in my voice and frowns. "Leave that for a second." I do, standing up and looking up into his face. "What's the problem, little tease?"

I draw in a shaky breath at his mode of address, the annoying spark of desire that's been bugging me all day fanning into a burning flame. "It's been four days, sir."

He leans against my workbench, nodding. "Four days and sixteen hours, if my count is right."

"And twenty-seven minutes," I grumble. Every second has been torture. I can't take this any more! The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite down on them. If I beg, he might give in. Then again, he might decide to extend my punishment. "I'm having trouble focusing."

"Hmm," he says, sounding unimpressed as he hands me the brush. I take the hint and crouch, beginning to sweep up the broken glass and wondering if he's enjoying the view of my ass.

Which only makes me more turned-on. Damnit!

"Have you learned your lesson?" he asks as I empty a shovelful of glass into the trash. Hardly daring to hope that this is over, I turn to face him, nodding. "Are you gonna be able to keep it together until we get home?"

I begin to nod, and then change my mind, reminding myself that lying to him is what got me into this mess in the first place. "I don't think so, sir."

"Ballistics lab," he says tersely, and my stomach lurches excitedly as I comply, walking through my office and into the room furthest from the elevators. We've played this game a million times, and I already know what he wants. Without being told I stand in the corner, behind the door, out of visual range of visitors and cameras alike.

Gibbs' stare bores into me, and I fidget, nervous. "You need me to scratch that itch, little tease?"

"Please, sir," I say softly.

He slips a hand up under my skirt. As he instructed when he called to wake me at six this morning, I'm not wearing any underwear, and his hand zeros straight in on my clit. For the first time in almost five days, I'm getting the stimulation I've been craving, and the flame of desire roars into an inferno. I cry out, thrusting my hips forward, but he drops his hand back down to his side almost instantly.

I can't help my disappointed whimper, and I know it amuses him. "Oh, you want more?"

Frustrated, I nod, my eyes on his fingers.

"What am I punishing you for, Abby?"

It's a struggle to think past this distracting, throbbing ache of want. "I lied to you, sir."

There is no more warmth in his voice than there was when he first learned of my deceit. "What about?"

"I… I told you I was sick and couldn't come back into work one night." I'd shut up the lab at around seven and gone home, positive that the night to follow was going to be one of the best I'd ever have. Ever. Gibbs had called two hours later, when I was putting the finishing touches to my makeup, and childishly I'd lied to him, told him I was throwing up, and could he get one of the other departments' forensics guys to fill in for me?

"You weren't sick, though, were you?" Before I can answer, he carries on, "What were you really doing?" He already knows, of course. He just wants to make me say it.

"I was at a Plastic Death concert…" I whisper the words, ashamed. At the time, I only felt a little guilty at deceiving my Dom. After all, I worked long hours anyway, I'd earned a little break, and if I didn't get to that gig then I'd have a year to wait until they were in DC again.

Four days, sixteen hours and thirty-three minutes of torment have seen to it that now I see how grave a slip-up that was. I bite my lip, filled with genuine regret at my actions. I should never have done it.

"What was your punishment?" Gibbs asks, still showing no trace of warming up to me.

I swallow back tears, sensing his disappointment in me and hating it. "You said you wouldn't touch me, or hug me, or kiss me, or let me touch myself, for as long as you saw fit, sir."

As if that isn't torture enough, he's been calling me every few hours, breathing into my ear everything he's going to do to me once my disciplinary period is over, keeping me on edge the entire time. Part of me is terrified that he's going to just walk out of the lab now, and that this is just another part of my punishment.

"And have you touched yourself?"

I look him in the eye, desperate to prove to him that I haven't disobeyed. "I swear I haven't, sir."

"And are you sorry?" he continues, passing over my words with no reaction.

If he orders it, I'll never listen to Plastic Death again. I can take a lot of things, but having Gibbs angry with me… it makes me scared and sick and shaky, and I never want to disappoint him like this again. "I am, sir. I'm sorry."

"Good girl." For the first time in too long, there's affection in his voice, and I gasp with relief. "Don't let this happen again."

He pulls me into a hug, his arms wonderfully tight around me, and I blink away tears. Not being able to hug him was almost worse than not being allowed to come. "I won't, sir. I promise."

Gibbs draws back a little to kiss me, and I lose awareness of myself, the lab, my transgressions, everything but him. And as his hand reaches down between us, his fingers seeking out my clit again, I clutch at his shoulder, my head falling onto his chest as my knees threaten to give out and spill me to the floor. "That's my good girl," he murmurs into my hair. "Wait for my permission…"

I feel him growing hard against me, and know this is affecting him. He loves me this way – out of control, thinking only of his devious fingers and the sensations they bring… "Please, sir!" I gasp, every one of my muscles tightly wound, waiting for the command to release.

"Are you close, little tease?" he asks roughly, his fingers swirling across my saturated entrance, dipping in a little way, then returning to my clit, granting me only a momentary respite.

"Oh, god… you know I am... Please, sir, please," I moan, the words breathy and desperate.

He takes his hand away, and I almost scream with frustration. For a brief second I'm disoriented, not knowing what just happened, but then I realise his urgent hand is at his waistband, undoing his pants. I shoot him a feral smile, letting him know without words how much I want him inside me, and he wastes no time, pushing me back up against the wall and slamming into me, hard.

Oh, yeah… Just… like… that… The words don't make it to my lips as he begins to take me, each thrust a rough frenzy that drives me further into madness. It's been too long, way too long, and I've missed him so much…

"You want to come, little tease?" he grinds out, the words hot against my neck.

For the third time since he walked into the lab, I'm on the brink of losing it, my hands twisted in his hair, my hips surging forward to meet his. I try to answer, but I don't remember how, balanced precariously on the edge of oblivion and seeking that last little push over into the abyss…

He stops moving altogether. "Who do your orgasms belong to, Abby?"

Oh, god. The use of my name in the middle of a scene means I'm in trouble, and I flush, ashamed, trying to get hold of my thoughts again. "You, sir… I'm sorry, you just feel so-"

He cuts off my words with another kiss – possessive, aggressive. "You want to come?" he asks again when he pulls back, one finger resting over my clit so lightly that I can hardly feel it.

"Please, sir," I beg, knowing he wants it too, reading in his eyes the toll that depriving us both of this has taken on him.

It should be enough, but it isn't. "Yeah?" he asks, raising an eyebrow as he twitches his finger, then stills it again. The gesture, combined with the amused arrogance in his face, is almost enough to finish me off.

"Yeah," I whisper back, not daring to move, breathe or utter one syllable more than is absolutely necessary.

He begins to move within me again, coaxing my most primal impulses back into life, hitting that critical spot with every thrust until I'm shaking uncontrollably. His thumb circles my clit, teasing me, staying a fraction of an inch from where I need to feel him until the pent-up tension is almost painful. Unable to keep silent any longer, I gasp, "Sir…", and then realise that it's what he's been waiting for all along.

"Go on, little tease. Come for me."

His thumb grinds down on my clit, and within two seconds I'm crying out wordlessly, knowing nothing, feeling everything. Gibbs' free hand digs into my shoulder as my intense orgasm triggers his, and I smile into his shirt, glad I've made him happy. "Thank you, sir…"

For a couple of minutes, neither of us can move, and I muzzily wonder what would happen if someone came down to the lab right now. Finally, he pulls me away from the wall, and we begin the usual task of composing ourselves, re-arranging clothing, neatening our hair.

Gibbs kisses me one last time, smoothing away the last traces of my shame at letting him down. We smile at each other, as Dominant and submissive, as 'sir' and 'little tease', as 'silver-haired fox' and 'Abbs', as Gibbs and Abby. As colleagues, friends, lovers.

My hands aren't shaking any more.