a/n: by anonymous request. (i wish this wasn't story #250, but my other one is still being beta'd!)
She prowled around the skeletal mass of wood with a sharp eye, pushing her long, silky red-gold hair back and letting it fall down her back. She hadn't been in the basement before tonight – she hadn't seen this myth – and truth be told, though she knew it was a boat, that didn't exactly explain what she was seeing. She came to a stop where she'd first started, her back to the woodwork. She looked at him, her head cocked at an angle, and then she lifted both shoulders.
"Why?" she asked simply.
Her lips turned up at the corner.
He grinned, and threw his keys on the counter; they slid until they hit a mason jar and then clattered to a stop. He'd come down the basement stairs behind her, watching her take it in. He leaned against the counter and shrugged, folding his arms – that was always the question – why – and he always came up with a different answer, something deadpan and, if he was lucky, witty.
He said –
"Breaks the ice."
She smiled brilliantly and waltzed forward, leaning on the counter. She straightened her legs, bending at the waist attractively, and rested her weightt on her elbows.
"Jay," she drawled slowly, shooting him a patronizing look through her light lashes, "if you've got a woman in your basement, don't you think you've already broken the ice?"
He shrugged, giving her a serious look.
"Seals the deal," he told her.
She snorted, biting her tongue wryly.
"How do you figure?" she challenged.
He unfolded his arms, reaching behind him to brace them on the counter, and looked at the bare bones of his project for a moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He cut his eyes to her smugly, and smirked.
"You know what can do with my hands."
Rebecca arched her eyebrows – and laughed appreciatively, a slow, saccharine sound that was as languid as her speaking voice. She licked her lips, and gave him a sort of nod that seemed to cede victory.
He looked at her intently for a moment, and then he pushed away from the counter and reached for the bourbon on one of the shelves, callously dumping nuts and bolts from a mug and a mason jar, and placing them before him.
"Don't have any rum," he drawled. "You want me to get you a beer?"
She shook her head, her bottom lip caught in her teeth.
"I don't like beer," she said mildly. "Liquor, I can handle anything."
He smirked, and nodded, pouring her an amount equal to his before her put the cap back on the bottle and replacing it on its shelf. He slid the mug over to her, using enough careful force so that it nudged her knuckles at it came to a slow stop.
He turned back around, and wasted no time knocking back his first drink.
She took a smooth, delicate sip of bourbon, inhaling it; enjoying the whiskey slowly. Gibbs watched her subtly, his eyes cut sideways, focusing on how her throat moved as she swallowed.
Rebecca swirled the amber liquid in her mug, studying it, and then she tipped nearly all of it into her mouth, straightening slowly and turning around to match his stance.
She let out a slow breath as she swirled the tiny amount of remaining bourbon in her mug, and he saw her lips compress a little, as if she were amused.
"So here's my question," she began slyly, toasting the boat with her mug wryly and then finishing her bourbon.
She slid the mug away, and turned towards him, moving into his personal space, toe to toe, her arms trapping him. She gripped the counter, and cocked one eyebrow.
"If this boat seals the deal with the women you bring home," she said huskily, "and I've already slept with you," she licked her lips, "what purpose does it serve for me?"
She lowered her eyes for a moment, studying his lips, and then she looked at him intently, smirked, and stepped back gracefully. He watched her, interested; she sat down on a wooden plank of the boat, lifting one of her arms and resting her hand lazily against one of the arches.
"Is there some kind of – aquatic version of the mile high club I'm about to be initiated into?"
He lifted his eyebrows slightly. He set his mason jar aside and just looked at her, letting the charged silence hang. Then, he grinned, and moved towards her, sliding his hands over her waist and up to her ribs.
She caught her breath; eyes on his while his hands drifted up higher, brushed her breasts lightly, ran over her shoulders, and rested on her neck. He shook his head a little, and leaned in, his lips near hers.
"It's not very comfortable," he growled.
She tilted her chin up brazenly.
"Speaking from experience?"
He shrugged a little; he smirked.
She reached for his waist, slipping her fingers under his jeans near the button, her other hand still resting languidly against the arches of the boat. She kissed him lightly, her lips lingering, and then leaned in and committed.
He liked how the bourbon tasted in her mouth, but he missed her unique rum flavor.
Rebecca was always impatient; she had him unbuttoned and unzipped in a second, her hand pushing at his jeans and boxers. He pressed her back against the boat harder, his hands slipping back down to her breasts, inching her blouse up slowly.
She tilted her head up, and he kissed her neck, his teeth grazing her collar gently. She slipped out of her shoes and gripped the arch of the boat hard, hopping up to sit on the plank. He rested his hands on her thighs, stepping closer to her.
"You were thinking about this the whole way home," she gasped huskily, her lips moving against his as she held his hard cock in her hand, her fingers moving expertly around him.
He nodded once, boldly – why deny it? He knew she'd take one look at it and be game. That was Rebecca - try anything once, and most things twice.
She wrapped one leg around him and sighed against his lips, kissing harder. She let her hand fall from the ribs of the boat and started sliding her own skirt up her thighs, pulling one of his hands insistently. He shook his head, pulled back a little, and gave her a mischievous look. She gasped, catching her breath a moment, and pursed her lips, curious. He slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her effortlessly from her perch, and turned her around, bending her over the flat part.
Her palms slapped the sturdy wood and she moaned softly, lifting her head. She glanced back at him, and then pushed one hand through her hair, gripping tightly, supporting herself with her elbows.
He nudged her legs apart with one knee, pushed her skirt up high around her thighs, and reached for his jeans, taking a moment to stroke her with one hand for just a brief tease.
"Jay," she pleaded, arching her back.
He grasped her thigh with one hand, maneuvering carefully so he wouldn't hurt her – or miss his mark – and thrust into her hard. Rebecca gasped; he closed his eyes with a groan and rested his arm lightly against the ribs of the boat, still for a moment.
He opened his eyes, and looked at Rebecca's hand in her hair a moment. He moved his, dragged his fingers through her soft hair gently, and then pressed his palm back against her hips, using his hand and the boat as leverage as he fucked her.
She cried out a few times – trying to catch her breath, and bowed her head, letting her arm fall. She pressed her palm hard against the boat again, and he did the same with his – though on the rib.
"Yes – God, yes, Jay," she encouraged throatily. "Harder, Jay, Harder – yes, yes – oh – God – I'm coming – ! "
She broke off, gasping again, and she shuddered, her shoulders shaking. She was always so vocal; he never had to ask, and he liked that about her, it took a lot of pressure off of him.
He sensed her relax – he rested his hand on her lower back and then reached for her hair, pullin gently while he reached down and gripped her thigh hard, slamming into her heard one more time.
He groaned and leaned over her a moment, his jaw grit tightly, his vision flashing white.
He pressed his lips to her shoulder warmly, and straightened up, running his hand affectionately over her spine as he eased back. He ran his hand over his jaw and rubbed his brow, lifting one arm to lean heavily against the boat.
She straightened up after a moment, leaning back against him while she straightened her skirt, and then turned around, slipping her arm around his waist. He moved closer to her, trapping her between his body and the boat, and moved his head down to kiss her, grinning smugly.
She shivered again, catching her breath.
"Best splinter I've ever gotten," she said huskily.
He pressed his lips to hers again, catching her eye. She smirked into his kiss, and wrapped her other arm around him, sitting on the edge of the boat – she'd let him catch his bearings, but Rebecca – she wasn't finished with him and this little basement project of his.
i haven't written pwp in a while and i don't like anything about this except like 4 lines at the beginning. also ... i mean in case i'm being TOO vague with my dumb prose ... splinter = wood = slang for penis = getting pounded, idk. ;)
-alexandra
story #250