Yes, Abby and McGee are having a lot of sex in this story. I figure they're due. ;-P

"It's weird."

They'd been…whatever they were (dating sounded too cute, sleeping together sounded too impersonal, and she had yet to come up with a better term) for only a couple of weeks, and were still in the mildly crazy stage where they couldn't keep their hands off one another.

Not that they tried much, outside of work.

"What's weird?" McGee asked absently, obviously more focused on getting her necklace off. Anything with spikes, hooks, or potential for stabbing was generally his first priority. It was mildly annoying – what did he think she was going to do, slice him open with one of her cuffs? Okay, there'd been that one time, back when they were first together, but it had barely broken the skin – but also kind of endearing, since it was so stereotypically McGee. Safety first, even when they'd been more than ready to jump one another the second the door to her apartment closed.

"You," she said, working on his shirt buttons while he disentangled the clasp on the inch-long silver fang she'd been wearing all day. He frowned as he dropped the necklace on the table next to them, and she laughed. "Not you," she elaborated, leaning in to kiss his neck as he began on the braids in her hair. "This." She poked him in the stomach. "I mean, obviously we've had sex before."

"Obviously," he said dryly. He ran his fingers through her now-loose hair and then tugged at the hem of her t-shirt, and she stopped with his buttons long enough for him to pull it over her head. He slid his hands across her back, tracing the edges of her bra and the lines of her cross tattoo and they were both sidetracked for a minute. "You were saying?" he asked eventually, moving to the buckles on her plaid kilt.

Attempting to hold a conversation while they undressed one another was distracting, but Abby liked a challenge. "Being with you is…it's not the same, because it's been a long time, but I know you. I know how we are together," she tried to explain, finally dealing with the last of his buttons and pushing his shirt off his shoulders. She stepped closer and slid her arms around him, enjoying that first electric thrill at the feel of his skin against hers. "But your body is completely different. So it's kind of like having sex with someone who's had one of those brain transplants, like in the Twilight Zone or something."

McGee stopped kissing her shoulder and leaned back against the wall of her bedroom to stare at her. "You are probably the only person in the entire world, possibly the universe, who would come up with that comparison," he informed her.

His hands had stilled on her hips, so she undid the last buckle on her kilt herself and dumped it on top of his shirt. "Well, I'm the only person who's had sex with you two separate times in a seven year period." It had been more than thirty seconds since he last kissed her, which she decided was a problem, so she rectified the situation. Then a thought occurred to her, and she pulled back for a second. "That I know of," she added, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

McGee rolled his eyes. "Yes," he confirmed, kissing her again. "You would definitely be the only one." A fact which pleased her. "So," he said between kisses, sounding a bit uncertain, "is it good weird, or bad weird?"

Part of her kind of missed what she thought of as the teddy bear version of McGee…but she knew he didn't, and this version wasn't exactly a letdown. Abby leaned into him, pressing her lips to his collarbone and feeling the way their bodies fit together – familiar in a way, but not, because even though she'd hugged him hundreds of times over the years, this was different. "I don't think it's either," she said thoughtfully. "We were always good together." She brushed her fingers along his ribs, and from his slight flinch and the moment of suppressed laughter determined that he was still ticklish there, which was good to know. "We're still good together." He smiled at that and kissed her deeply, and her hands, usually so steady, fumbled and slipped on his belt buckle for a moment. "It's just different is all," she said, breathless.

She turned, tugging at his arm, and started to pull him away from their discarded clothes and towards her coffin. But he caught her from behind and pulled her back against him, wrapping his arms around her waist. He brushed her hair to one side and kissed the spider web on her neck, and there was no reason a little sweet moment like that should make her go all soft inside, or weak at the knees. Because this was McGee, and she saw him every day and it wasn't like they'd never slept together before – as she'd pointed out – and she'd known him forever.

But it did. So much so that when she tried to take a step forward, she tripped and took McGee down with her. Fortunately they landed on her rug, the one McGee had told her several times looked like she'd gone out and skinned a Goth Muppet. At least it was soft enough to break their fall, though between the landing and their laughter, the wind was knocked out of them.

"You're just the same," he told her when they'd gotten their breath back. Which was either flattery or the result of him looking at her while blinded by sex – even though seven years didn't show as much on her as they did on him, they did show a little – but was still nice to hear. "You are still," he brushed his lips across the top of her breast, just where black lace faded into white skin, "like some sort of dream girl come to life."

Abby snorted. "Liar. You like blondes. With the occasional redhead." Not that she would ever admit that it stung a little whenever she saw him go all glassy-eyed over one of those girls who was basically the antithesis of her.

"The blondes don't like my job, or at least the hours, and the redheads tend to be trying to kill me," McGee reminded her. Now she wished she'd just taken the compliment, because she hated it when he looked sad. She kissed him – the best distraction she knew – and was happy to see him smile again. "I like you," he said, and there it was again, that sweetness that always caught her a bit off-guard, though it shouldn't.

Abby wound her arms around his neck. "I like you, too," she told him, and then they didn't talk again for a while.

#

"Stay," she mumbled sleepily, when she felt him getting up to leave.

They'd rarely spent the night together the last time – a couple times when McGee was still living up in Norfolk and needed a place to stay, but hardly ever – since she usually preferred her own space. But more and more she wanted to stay with him, or have him stay with her. There was something comforting about reaching out and knowing that he would be there.

And because she'd asked, McGee lay back down with her and stayed, even though it meant getting up ridiculously early to go back to his place and get ready for work. They slept snuggled together in her coffin, nearly guaranteed to give him a backache, but to him, it was apparently worth the pain, and to her, it was worth listening to him complain about it.