A/N: This is a sort of, er, follow up to the drabble 'Blow' that went up a few days ago. The difference being that this is the real deal.
This exists because I thought I'd be a smart ass and joke about writing it and then Liz, Skyler, and Mateja bullied me into. They are responsible for the eternal damnation of my soul.
He shouldn't have pushed her. He shouldn't have teased her. He shouldn't have scoffed at her. He definitely should not have had the audacity to write her off when she swore if he doubted her one more time she would make him eat his words.
And to think, it had all started because he'd mocked her in an off-hand moment with the casual observation that she had not been such a prude back when she was a field agent.
Her lascivious, torturous stunt with the damn Blow Pop in MTAC had been the height of cruelty, and he'd had to sit silently, suffering, and endure it—just as the couple other male agents who focused intently on averting their eyes from her had.
Though he did find solace in the knowledge that none of those guys were having the, ah, hard, consequences of Jennifer Shepard's torture taken care of by the wicked woman herself.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs leaned forward slowly, pressing his forehead into his palm, and shoving his fingers tensely into his own hair. He moved his hand stiffly over the leather-padded arm of the Director's desk chair and his knuckles brushed under her desk as he fumbled to slip it into her neatly pinned hair.
He tangled his fingers into strands of her hair, deliberately reminding himself to stroke his fingers back so he wouldn't shove her down on him and hurt her. Her nails travelled over his navel, keeping his abdomen tight and the arousal in his muscles aching.
She grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand away, reprimanding him. She pushed his hand up his thigh and the metal of his unfastened belt dug into his thumb; her other hand, she lowered and gripped his knee.
Gibbs groaned, the noise escaping his teeth against his will, and he fought to plunge his hand back into her hair. She held his hand in hers and changed pace; she slowed down, and he clenched his fist, bracing it against his forehead.
"Jen," he ground out huskily, his breathing ragged. He struggled to keep his eyes open, staring down at the calendar spread out over her desk. He yanked his hand out of her grasp, drawing it up to cover his mouth. He bit his thumb briefly; Jenny ran her hands up his thighs roughly.
She moaned, and the sound and the sensation combined enough to rattle his control just a little too much.
"Son of a bitch," he swore, reaching down to thrust his hand into her hair again. He stopped her from moving her head, forcing her to take a break. "Damn, Jenny, you want a warning or not?" Gibbs asked, his hand shaking.
She brought her head up under his firm grip.
She arched an eyebrow at him, biting her lower lip seductively. His redhead lifted one shoulder and tilted her head to the side and looked at him through her thick, mascara-coated eyelashes, her expression brazen.
"You know I'm going to swallow," she said provocatively.
She smirked, and primly reached up to push his hand out of her hair again, placing a brief kiss on the pad of his thumb, and lowered her mouth to him again. Gibbs let his eyes slide closed, leaning back for a moment.
He sat forward quickly, his shoulders slumping, and dropped his forehead to Jenny's desk, gripping the back of his hair tightly again. Gibbs set his jaw and ground his teeth together, thinking in a vague, smug way that some gum-filled sucker somewhere was wishing Jenny's mouth gave it head this good. He was gloating over an inanimate object.
Gibbs dug his nails into his thigh and then reached for the back of her neck, managing to be somewhat gentle when he pushed her mouth down hard.
"Jen," he groaned weakly, gritting his teeth.
She fought his grip mildly, stroking his thigh to let him know she was okay with the rough pressure. He shuddered and shifted forward in her chair, wincing when he heard her head knock against the desk. He forced a shout into a muffled groan and his eyes flew open; she pulled his hand from her hair roughly and pressed his fingers agains her throat-so he felt her swallow.
A second later the sudden, loud bang of her metal office door against the wall jarred him back to the risky reality of abusing her office this way and Gibbs bolted into a sitting position, jerking his knee up into her desk and cursing silently. He heard a very quiet, very muffled cry of pain and swallowed hard, ignoring the harsh rhythm his heart was slamming against his ribs.
He blinked sharply, his face an expressionless, talented mask of coldness, and fixed a vicious glare on Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.
Tony stared back at him, a confused look on his face. He looked around the (un)locked office he'd just barged into in a very Gibbs-like style and frowned at Gibbs, remaining silent.
The two men stared at each other, Gibbs sitting stiffly at Jenny's desk, DiNozzo standing awkwardly by the door, and the Director personally nowhere to be found in her own office.
Beneath the desk, Jenny pressed her hand against his knee and sat back on her heels; She lowered her head and her hair brushed his knee.
Tony cleared his throat. He shifted his weight, glancing at Cynthia's office, and then tilted his head up bravely.
"Where's the Director?" he asked.
"She's," began Gibbs hoarsely, his voice still low, spoken from the back of his throat. He swallowed again. "She's out," he growled.
DiNozzo hesitated. He pointed at Cynthia's office.
"Cynthia said she was in here," he said slowly.
"You see the Director in here, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked gruffly, giving the younger agent an annoyed glare.
"Uh," DiNozzo said. "No. No, I don't see her…" he said, trailing off.
He looked at the desk. He cleared his throat again and flushed slightly, reaching up to pull at his collar. He started to smirk, thought better of it, and composed his features, looking at Gibbs.
"You sure, Boss?" DiNozzo pressed brashly. "Can't find her anywhere else," he said slowly, deadpan. "She didn't drop something under the desk, did she?"
"DiNozzo," Gibbs barked volume. "Get out."
Jenny was tapping him urgently now, shaking his leg. His head was pounding, he could hear his blood in his ears, he was dizzy and he couldn't breathe very well, and he was beginning to think his knee hadn't hit the desk, but instead that it had hit Jenny.
DiNozzo shot a look at Jenny's desk, and it was too long and too lewd of a look for Gibbs to think the senior agent was fooled. He shot an arched-eyebrow, smug look at Gibbs and slunk out of the office, closing the door loudly.
After a tense, silent-as-the-grave split second, Gibbs shoved Jenny's chair back from her desk and looked down at her. She gasped loudly, a pained, quiet cry escaping her lips. His eyes widened and he reached for her hand, helping her up.
She perched gingerly on the edge of her desk, cupping her bloody nose protectively. The blood leaked over her fingers and stained her mouth and chin, giving her a distinctly roughed-up look.
Gibbs sat up straight and zipped up, leaning forward with concern etched on his face.
"Jesus Christ," he hissed, reaching to pull her hands gently away from her nose. He winced when he saw the messy damage, guilt flooding his features.
She shook back her hair, making a face. She took a shaky, deep breath and pressed her lips together, parting them only as much as she had to when she spoke:
"I'm okay," she managed thickly. "Jethro, I think my nose is broken," she said with a grimace.
He gave her a grim look, shaking his head.
"Tilt your head back," he ordered, standing up. He stepped forward in between her legs and examined the injury, unable to tell. He swore under his breath again and leaned sharply to the side, picking up the scarf she'd worn to work today.
"It's Hermes," she moaned, protesting weekly—but he was already trying to clean her up with it. He gave her a look to indicate that he didn't care and tried to stop the blood flow, guilt washing over him again.
"You didn't lock the damn door, Jen," he accused under his breath.
"Who's the prude now?" she fired back, her voice congested. "Get Ducky up here," she pleaded in a resigned way. She touched his wrist gently. "It hurts like hell, Jethro," she said, her eyes watering with the sting.
Gibbs frowned, touching her cheek lightly. She swallowed, her throat rippling sensually, and then drew in a slow breath, closing her eyes.
"God," she whimpered. "I think I'm going to be sick."
He looked at her sharply.
"They don't mix," she said distastefully, thwarting his attempts to keep the blood from flowing.
He gave her a quizzical look.
"Blood and sem—"
He gave her a somewhat pained, horrified look. She broke off, wincing.
"Ducky," she said again.
Jenny reached forward and gripped his belt for support, sitting with her head still titled back slightly. He watched her carefully, his brow knit together in frustrated disbelief.
"Tell Duck what, Jen?" he asked. "When he asks what happened? That you gave me a blow job?"
"No," she fired back at him. "Tell him you gave me a nose job."
I don't know about you, but I wouldn't mind if Gibbs broke my nose... :D