first section is a flashback
x
God, she's insane.
That's the only viable explanation she has for why she's on her back under Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
Insanity, she's pleading insanity to angels in heaven and devils in hell. Pre-marital sex means she'll probably join them down there anyway, but Gibbs has just eaten her out like it's going out of fashion. Save me a seat, Satan. So, so worth it.
He groans from above her before kissing her again. It's furious, slopping. He's kissing her like the only air he can breathe is the air he steals from Kate Todd.
"Please," she gasps as they separate again. Her hips thrust lightly, brushing along the length of him without drawing him in. "Come on," she encourages, and cerulean blue eyes alight with humor when she bites her lip – devious little wench. She's taunting and teasing and oh so wet, he doesn't stand a chance.
She scratches a steady five-finger print down the muscles of his back, broad and marine-trained despite his age. He's the epitome of sexy and she's wanted him since Air Force One. She silently sends a blessing to Abby, without her and her annual ball, this would have never happened.
Well…maybe one day, but she has gravel marks on her back from when Gibbs hoisted her again the wall outside the ballroom and took her with his fingers.
She has a bruise on her hip already forming from where he pushed her against the door face first and stole her panties.
If she wasn't in love with him before then, she is now.
"Kate," he growls when she runs her hands along his chest before coming back to her own to tease her nipples, stiff and aching with her need. Gibbs resists her long enough to ask for a condom, and that's a stroke of luck in itself.
He's wanted this woman, so soft, so enticingly wonderful with a smell to match, in his bed – on his desk, in his elevator – for as long as he can remember.
A free supply of bourbon and a black dress that stops before the knees and dips low into a cleavage and he's a goner. She's a goner.
They're goners together.
With more strength than he gives her credit for (or maybe it's the chauvinist in him that wants to keep her safe and make sure she's never injured or taken from him, that doesn't acknowledge just how damn good she is), Kate flips him on to his back, looming over him with a self-conscious grin, thumbing the condom.
"Kate," he growls again, and his agent relishes in the intimacy, the playfulness. Finally she rolls the protection down the length of him with a well-practiced ease that makes his teeth itch, and moves to sit up. "You're so beautiful," he mutters, and Kate looks for a blush that never appears. The charmer.
"Are you sure?" she asks.
Seriousness assumes his face and for a second she believes he'll say no. Instead he caresses her cheek with a calloused hand and smirks. "I'm sure."
He's a savior with blue eyes like the ocean and hands that are holding her like she's a child. She could fall in love with his man.
The sober and mortified while indignant side of her knows she already is. The side that fantasizes about coming home from work with her boss after a hard day and being held in bed… by her boss – the ideal world where rule #12 doesn't exist and they don't turn away like lightning when their gazes linger for a beat too long.
"Are you?" he asks, and she snaps out of her reverie to realize she's been dripping on his stomach with a dazed look on her face. "Yes," her tone is soft, feminine.
He cups her breasts and she swears he likes this side of her. Tight stomach, generous breasts – thighs that could kill a man and love him simultaneously.
Hazel eyes with flecks of gold through green that could hypnotize a lesser man. Gibbs is no lesser man but he's raptured all the same.
From her perch of thighs aside his hips, she reaches down and grips him at the base, pumping him once and then twice before reaching down to spread herself.
He hisses through clenched teeth when she barely presses inside, the tip of him engulfed by wet heat, and Kate can't hold back the gasp of pain as she lowers herself down the girth she isn't quite sure she can take comfortably. "So tight, Kate," he grunts. "So fucking tight."
She doesn't stop until she's balls-deep, and then she takes a second to relax and become accustomed to the fullness, delightful and satisfying.
Gibbs sits up without jostling her, his lips on hers a mere whisper of contact, a tease that he pulls away from when she moves in for. "Gibbs," she laughs, and he imagines the same sound under sunny skies and grassy mountains. Oh, what this woman does. What started off furious and rapid is now something slow, tender.
Her hips start to roll gently, as languid as their kisses, little gives and takes. She lowers and he rises, their joining mirroring the slickness of tongues adjoining.
"So good, so good," she gasps, and she bites her lip as her eyes roll back when he thrusts up hard, just once, with a chuckle and a gleam in his eyes.
"How good?" he inquires, and kisses her again before letting her answer. The smack of lips mimic the squish of wetness that he'd thought she'd blush at, but every time she looks down she goes a bit faster, and he thinks maybe Caitlin enjoys sex a bit more than she lets on.
Maybe she just doesn't want DiNozzo to learn that snippet of pleasure-inducing knowledge.
"So full," he's reducing her to little sobs of panting with every thrust, his forearm holding her back to press her against his chest, her nipples grazing on his hair. He smiles indulgently (he's not ashamed to admit he didn't know he had it in him) when she murmurs indiscernibly. "So deep, so good, yes Gibbs, baby, yes."
Her unintentional slip is enough to make his balls tighten and he thinks for a terrifying second that he's coming.
She smiles and tugs his lip like she knows exactly that.
Sweat is accumulating thickly between them, creating a slap of skin that choruses quite nicely with the rhythmic smack of headboard on wall. He grunts with every thrust and grabs her ass when she doesn't take him down to base. Her responding flush makes him thrust harder. The pressure in her stomach says, "Yes, more."
She keens softly when her hand feeds down between them and rubs her clit, a sharp blue vein running up her forearm that reminds her of flowing blood and pressure and the accompanying burn she associates with Gibbs' grunts. It's good, so good, and she rubs harder. Wants harder. "Come on, come on," Gibbs chants.
"I'm co – I'm coming," she gasps as loud as she's been all evening before latching on to his shoulder and biting through her orgasm, stopping only when she tastes blood. With a groan he snaps up and pounds and gives and offers blow after blow through tightness before he freezes, coming inside her while she's pinnacled.
"ffffffuck," he smothers, breathless as Kate flops boneless against his chest. She feels so thoroughly, thoroughly satisfied, beaming when he looks the same.
Warmth settles inside her and she shifts as he looks down to grip the condom at the base. He halts with a start, brows creased with fear.
"Kate," he whispers, as if what he's about to say is the biggest secret in the world.
She looks down to see him, still hard but rapidly softening with the condom, broken and slit. "Oh," she muses, though her face is faux-passive. She can't resist.
"I…" he starts, and she's never seen him speechless. His pupils threaten the blue irises, wide with alcohol and sex, but they're undeniably alight with fear. "It's…"
"Did you come inside me?" she asks, her voice a lilt as head cocks to the side like the concept is unfathomable.
He nods like a reprimanded school boy.
Her face is passive for a second, two seconds longer before her face breaks out in a smile; deep dimples on show and teeth no match for the sparkle in her eyes.
"I'm on the pill." His jaw drops as she puts the condom in the bin beside her bed, and he avoids the urge to look if there's any more in there.
The possessive side of him hopes not. Gibbs' jaw clenches at the mere thought.
He slaps her ass hard when she resettles, and her joyful shriek gives him happiness he hasn't felt in years. Kate Todd feels oh so good in his arms and on his chest.
x
I'm on the pill my ass.
She's on the floor more like; hugging the toilet bowl like it's her best friend.
She did a psychology course in college, and though she learned a lot, she doesn't need to refer to it to know that the mind is a powerful thing.
Mind; body. Mind awareness=body awareness.
The previous week she learned she was pregnant, and this morning she's ragged from bed at 4:00 am with the urge to vomit like never before.
Baby Gibbs hates her. She knows it. He (she has a feeling it's a he, meh) didn't want her to know about him housing up in her womb like he owns the place, and now his evil plan has failed and she does know, he's torturing her.
She leans back against the bath when she's mercifully allowed to gather her breath.
The last week has been the most stressful one of her life.
She avoids Gibbs harder than ever now, afraid despite logically knowing she there's no reason for it that he's going to get a whiff of their baby and just know.
Her father calls daily but she's petrified her evil spawn (she affectionately refers to him) is going to scream, "hey grandpa, yep, you're gonna kill my daddy when you know who it is" down the phone, and her father's going to find out she slept with a man twenty or so years older than her.
World war 3 sounds nicer than that conversation.
Her mother doesn't call, period. After their divorce she was the only one of her siblings that went to live with her father, and her mother hasn't quite forgiven her.
In bitter words and tongue lashings the battle-axe declares Kate only went with her father because he was the one with the money, never mind her father dutifully supports them all to this day.
Granted, her trust fund allows her to want for absolutely nothing, but that's not the reason.
She wonders for a minute whether her baby will ever feel so estranged from her as she does her own, and another round of nausea ends that particular thought.
x
"Kate, you're with me. Ziva, you and DiNozzo check out the warehouse. McGee, I want every phone call made in the last month."
A chorus of "On it Boss" rings out, and Kate heaves herself up with a sigh that Gibbs pretends not to hear.
She's exhausted, nauseous and was under the impression she could sleep on Bert the Hippo all day, lord knows why.
Gibbs grunts when she slams into his back, and only then does she realize that he's stopped for the elevator. The sound sends shivers down her spine and she tries with every ounce of vehemence in her body to stop herself recalling the night she heard it in her ear like it was a choir of perfection.
"You okay?" he asks, all nonchalant like he doesn't give a damn, but even he can see the exhaustion etched on her face.
And well, he couldn't care more for this woman if he tried.
"Mm," she gets out through a yawn. "Sorry, Gibbs." She smiles. "I didn't get much sleep." Your offspring kept my head down the toilet.
The fuck? Gibbs barely conceals the death-glare he sends after he realizes he's shooting her one. And before he remembers why he shouldn't at all be bothered by the fact something (or more infuriatingly, someone) has kept her up all night.
His look makes her realize what she said, and though technically it isn't a lie, a huge part of her wants nothing more than to correct herself. She doesn't want him to think their oh-so-meaningful sex (in her mind she says love-making) was anything but meaningful. But she doesn't want to tell him either.
She stays quiet. The elevator dings but the sound of Gibbs' teeth grinding is more apparent.
"Is your lack of sleep going to affect your job, Agent Todd?" he bites, and Kate flinches.
"Has it ever?" she quips, but his steely eyes in her direction silences anything further. He looks older and the world looks harsher when they're not a unity of sorts.
They're part of a whole team and they'd die for each and every one of them, but there are only two of them.
There's only one of them for the other.
"Keys?" he says gruffly, though she doesn't flinch this time. "I'm driving."
She fishes in her pocket for the silver bunch, and when she hands them over, his thumb brushes hers for a split second.
And maybe, she muses, all is not lost.
x