A/N: Thanks to Aly, as usual! Quicker update this time! :] Here's the catch: I'm updating this from the Birmingham airport, which is special. You get this chapter, but there will most likely be a stretch between this and the next chapter. It is nearing the end, and I'm trying to catch up on writing so I can start posting the third part right away. I'm off to catch a plane; Enjoy!
The flight was silent, and the lights were dim. It was, as Jenny had remarked under her breath, a 'hell of a private jet'. It was small, relatively comfortable, and furnished with a few nice leather chairs, bolted down tables, and a small room separate from the main area. They'd been on the plane for about five hours now, with two more to go before they landed in Calais. It was dark outside, wherever they were now, and Leroy Jethro Gibbs was watching his partner from a chair opposite her.
Jenny had a small lamp flipped on and was sitting in her chair comfortably, her legs crossed, and her shoulders relaxed back into the leather. She'd put away her well-worn copy of a favorite novel about half an hour ago and pulled out a magazine, which she was currently reading rather intently—or appeared to be.
She kept flicking her eyes up at him every so often and either smirking, lifting an eyebrow, or laughing quietly. She'd asked him what his birthstone was a few minutes ago, mildly, without explaining why. It was because of that damn magazine. She was reading Cosmopolitan to entertain herself.
He'd resorted to glaring firmly at her, after closely reading the titles of the articles the magazine advertised and deciding she was torturing him.
"Jethro," she asked lightly, turning a page in the magazine slowly. He grunted at her. "What's your sign?"
"Virgo," he answered suspiciously.
She fell silent, and after a moment, performed her increasingly annoying glance through the eyelashes at him and smirked.
"Is there something you'd like to share, Jen?" he growled pointedly.
"No," she answered sweetly, shrugging her shoulders. She returned to reading her magazine non-chalantly.
He glared at her bent head moodily. He had lost his fascination with watching her read when she'd switched from the book to the magazine. Decker was closed off in the room behind them; either sleeping or brooding, he didn't now. Jenny had spent some time talking quietly with him at first, but Decker was just a little too shutdown right now to indulge her.
Jenny flicked her eyes up at him again and watched him over the edge of her magazine, finally tilting her head fetchingly to the side and closing it. She set it down on the table next to her with the lamp and reached up to her hair, pulling it gently out of its ponytail and shaking it haphazardly over her shoulders.
She scooted forward in her chair and glanced behind him to the back of the plane, standing up and stretching gracefully. Jethro watched her muscles flex as she did, taking note of the fact that she didn't hold herself as gingerly anymore. Her ribs were starting to heal.
She walked across the small area in front of her and sat down in the seat next to his, lifting up the arm rest resolutely and cuddling up to his side. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and smiled. He put his hand on the back of her head suspiciously, running his fingers carefully through her hair.
She ran her wandering hand from his shoulder down his chest to the button on his jeans, running her fingers over the button lightly. She worked it undone as nonchalantly as if she were tying a tie for him and toyed with the zipper, dragging it up and down, dangerously, in his opinion. It was making him nervous.
"Jen," he warned, and she left the zipper undone, slipping her hand under his shirt and drawing her manicured nails along the skin on his abdomen teasingly. She crossed her legs and pressed her leg into his, running the tip of her close-toed heel up and down the back of his shin lightly.
Through his shirt, she kissed his chest, holding her lips against the material lingeringly so he could feel her warmth. Distracted, he looked straight ahead at the locked pilot's door and tried to make his mind work. She pressed her hand against his abdomen and slipped it lower, sending shivers up his spine.
"I read my training file, Jethro," she said casually, while she introduced him to the sensation her filed and perfected nails could create. He tried to focus on what she was saying to keep quiet. Training file? What was that?
"Most of it pissed me off," she admitted, sounding lightly amused, and he smirked. "Then I noticed it said I'd passed my autopsy sit-through," she brushed her lips against his neck, placing light kisses against his carotid artery.
"Yeah," he growled, running his fingers through her hair roughly and pulling it, tilting his head back against the seat and lifting his eyes heavenward. Her voice was enough to drive him crazy, particularly when she was playing coy.
"You lied," she whispered in his ear wickedly, slowing the motion of her hand to a torturous crawl, as if taunting an animal. She scraped her teeth along his ear gently. "What made you do it, Jethro?"
"Jen," he whined, moaning quietly in the back of his throat at her. She smirked and shifted her hand, listening to his change in breathing, wrapping the foot pressing against his shin around his leg and pressing closer, wincing as he jerked at her hair.
"Tell me," she demanded, slowing her hand again.
He closed his eyes. How the hell was he supposed to remember that while she had her hand below his belt when he could barely remember how to breathe?
"You were pretty," he tried in a mumble. Jenny snorted and he knew she was raising an expectant eyebrow. She knew he'd never give someone a break just for their looks. He scowled at the ceiling and tried to string his thoughts together, a difficult feat at the moment in time.
"Instinct," he choked out finally, under her warning hand, "you were better than," he sucked in his breath sharply and she grinned against his neck, nuzzling her nose against him and wrinkling it like a bunny, "better than that mark on your record."
Jenny hummed thoughtfully, slowly picking up the pace of her hand again. She kissed him chastely under his ear and squeezed her leg around his like a hug; he felt her nod with satisfaction. It was probably complete bullshit, now that he sort of thought about it. He probably had passed her on autopsy because he wanted to see her naked. He grinned at the thought; he'd never say that out loud.
Jenny's ministrations slowed and she trailed her hand upwards until she reached his abdomen again. He opened his eyes and pulled her hair in protest, drawing a squeal from her.
"Jen!" he protested, growling. Jenny laughed softly and reached up to touch his face, tilting his head down closer. She put her mouth close to his ear, so her lips touched it as she spoke.
"Ever had sex on a plane?"
He nodded. Jenny lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head, running her leg up his seductively.
"I haven't," she invited quietly.
He nearly dragged her out of her seat. She stifled another surprised squeal and grabbed his shirt collar, laughing silently as she pulled him towards the leather couch with her and tumbled down on it with him. His hand went straight for the button on her beige slacks and she tilted her head up for a kiss, watching over his shoulder fleetingly.
"The pilot," she warned.
"Decker," he mumbled back, pointing out the second way in which they could be caught.
She squeezed his shoulder and slipped her arms to his side, wrapping one leg around his waist. There was something about the knowledge that they could be caught in seconds that made this that much better. She kept her mouth against his the whole time, keeping as quiet as possible, stopping only to gasp a quick breath and kiss him again.
When she sat on the floor leaning against the couch a few minutes later, with Jethro rubbing one of her shoulders firmly in a massage, she tilted her head back against his side and closed her eyes, suddenly tired. All the sleepless nights and minimal shut-eye was finally catching up with her, it seemed. Jethro stretched out on the couch, his legs crossed at the ankle, staring up at the ceiling of the plane himself.
Jenny considered asking about their mission, but Jethro had already said most of it was Leon Vance's problem. They were just there for back up, or lookout, whichever he needed. It seemed odd to Jenny, that they were going back just to sit and watch, but Jethro had said they'd be given something new next.
She was rubbing her wrist at the pulse point absentmindedly when she heard the click of a door opening and peeked open one eye. Decker had finally emerged from the room at the back, looking a little better and a little less pale than earlier. Maybe he'd finally gotten some sleep, or maybe he'd finally had enough time to come to terms with what had happened. Jenny gave him a small smile as she opened the other eye and he returned it.
She wondered vaguely without worrying about it what they looked like to him, she sitting with her head at Jethro's side and his hand on her shoulder. It didn't bother her much because she knew partners got close, especially when in close quarters together for a long time. Sometimes as close as family, though she and Jethro had developed a relationship drastically different from the familial.
Decker yawned and sat down in the chair Jethro had vacated earlier, crossing his legs and slouching back as he rubbed his face. He placed the reading material in his hand on his lap, something Jenny recognized as a case-file—or at least something like it—and glanced out the window and at Jenny's chair (where the Cosmopolitan magazine had been discarded) and then at both of them dully.
Jenny smiled at him again and he gave her a small smirk.
"How long have you two been sleeping together?" he asked lightly, and she knew the moment he said it it was just Decker being Decker, and it was meant to be a joke.
She didn't react as obviously as she had when Ducky had called them out, but she laughed quietly and Jethro stilled the movements of his hand on her shoulder. She should have come back with a snappier comment, or rolled her eyes, or done something. Decker, in the silence, glanced from her to Jethro, his smile fading a little and his eyes widening just slightly.
"Son of a bitch," he murmured, looking back at her, "you are sleeping together!"
He stared at Jenny. She looked back at him, and finally lifted an eyebrow. He looked like he was waiting for some kind of confirmation or explanation.
"Figures," he snorted, leaning back in his chair. "More power to you," he muttered, shooting a glance at Jethro. Jenny lifted her head and tilted it at Decker, smiling slightly. He stretched his legs out onto Jenny's previous chair and crossed them, crinkling her magazine in the process. Jenny winced, hoping he wouldn't notice what magazine it was exactly. He didn't; the angle was too awkward.
"How long until Calais?" he asked, still looking intently at them.
"Hour and a half," Gibbs mumbled in response. Jenny glanced at him from her peripheral vision. He still had his eyes closed. Either he was ignoring what Decker had said previously or he actually hadn't heard it.
Jethro wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger absently. She smiled slightly. He always wanted to be touching her hair.
"Then I've got three more," muttered Decker, disgruntled. He sighed and ran a hand over his face again, slouching down in his chair a little more. He stared darkly across the plane from himself. Jenny felt sorry for him. He was being sent off alone, without even a partner to keep him company. She didn't think she'd want his position.
Jethro continued to rub her shoulder gently and she leaned her head back against him again, starting a casual conversation with Decker about nothing in particular. She deflected a few snarky comments from the other agent concerning her and Jethro, but he might have quieted those because she suspected Jethro was glaring at him over her shoulder.
She thought time passed rather slowly. It was dark and, in her opinion, freezing when they landed at the airfield. There was a car waiting for them, empty, and unexplained, probably the doing of Morrow or Leon Vance. Without a word, Jethro disappeared in the direction of the car while Jenny said a polite goodbye to Decker. When she reached him finally, he was leaning against the car swinging the keys.
"Where did you get those?" she asked, stifling a yawn. Jethro smirked at her and tilted his head to the passenger side of the car. She looked at him balefully for a minute, reluctant to go to sleep and debating the merits of trying to force him to let her drive. She decided against it finally and settled herself in the passenger seat, watching him get in and draw his seatbelt on.
She reached down and slipped off her shoes, curling her toes and relaxing into the seat for a long, boring car drive.
"Cold?" Jethro asked. She nodded. He gestured to her and she scooted over in her seat towards him, letting him wrap on arm around her and trusting him to drive safely with one hand. She stared out the front windshield at the sites and then swallowed and wet her lips, breathing in deeply.
"What's your favorite color?" she asked.
Jethro stayed quiet for a moment, his focus on the road.
"Blue," he answered. Jenny shifted her head on his shoulder. She smiled to herself. She'd half expected him to say red. She thought about her next question and then spoke again:
"What about food?"
"Steak," he answered hesitantly, glancing down at her. "Are you luring me into a false sense of security with meaningless questions until I'm not ready when you spring something important one me?"
Jenny giggled quietly.
"Jesus, Jethro, two wives have really made you paranoid," she commented, resting her hand on his leg lightly. She shook her head a little, and shrugged. "Just curious," she answered, chewing on the inside of her lip.
She didn't know if he'd be up for answering questions. They were simple, frivolous questions, but Jethro had so many issues with intimacy that showed themselves in different and weird ways she didn't know where his boundaries were. She didn't want to push.
"Green," he said gruffly. Jenny furrowed her brow.
"What?"
"Your favorite color. Green," he repeated matter-of-factly. Jenny smiled softly. He would know that.
"Jethro," she signed, snuggling into his warmth. "You never cease to surprise me."
Jenny fell asleep against her will halfway through the car ride, leaving Jethro to sit in silence and contemplate his thoughts. It was interesting that she wanted to know things about him like that. He hadn't even had an answer to the color question for a minute, but his first thought had been of Kelly's shining blue eyes and then that had been the first thing out of his mouth.
His ears were filled with the sound of the car's engine and Jenny's occasional incoherent mumbling for the rest of the drive. It started to sprinkle rain lightly at the last end of the journey, and that pretty much drowned out Jenny's consistent sleep talking. He was finally navigating through the crowded streets of Paris back to their original safe house when Jenny, quite clearly, stated:
"SecNav," and then whimpered, "Jethro."
"Shhhh," he shushed automatically, squeezing her shoulder out of habit. He glanced down at her again, his brow furrowing. He hadn't asked her why Morrow had asked her to stay after and speak privately with SecNav, mainly because he knew instinctively she'd refuse to tell him and it would result in a fight.
That didn't mean he hadn't thought about it. He knew SecNav pretty well, thought he was a decent guy, but he didn't know what business he would have with Jenny and Jenny alone. It wasn't often Director Morrow just introduced agents to his boss.
Jenny's sleep talking said a lot about what was on her mind. She mumbled about things that were bothering her, when she wasn't having good dreams. It was how he learned how her mind worked and how to get a feel for her moods. It was why she couldn't figure out how he knew so much about her; she refused to acknowledge she talked in her sleep.
Jenny resumed incoherent mumbling, not saying anything clearly again. She fell silent and shifted, turning her face into his neck. He breathed in her scent and ran his hand up and down her shoulder as he parked the car on the road outside the safe house, turning off the ignition and looking up at the place darkly.
His last memories of being here weren't pleasant. She had been hurt.
"Jenny," he said gruffly, shaking her.
"Shut-up," she responded sleepily. Jethro smirked. He disentangled himself from her simply and got out of the car, locking the door with her inside. Jenny sat up and looked at him through the window and retreated back into her seat fully, glaring at him darkly. She raised her hand and tapped pointedly on the window. He unlocked the car, and Jenny got out grudgingly, slamming the door with more force than necessary. She glared at him hard as he came around to meet her.
She pushed around him and stalked up the steps, reaching behind her to grab the key from Jethro as he held it out. She didn't know how he came to be in possession of all the keys suddenly, but she was glad. She let them inside, locked the door behind her, and turned to look at him.
"This feels different," she said apprehensively. It was foreboding to her, being without Ducky, and after all that had happened. It was weird. She and Jethro. Living together. In a house. Alone. She shook her head, thinking she was tired and her thoughts were running wild.
"Let's go to bed, Jen," he said hoarsely, jerking his head and starting up the stairs. She followed him with a nod and, just for the hell of it, didn't bother shutting the door to their bedroom. They did not have to worry about anyone interrupting them now.
He turned around and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug. Jenny held him around his waist and pushed him back until his knees hit the bed and he sat down, pulling her down on top of him. She kissed him, trying to get closer still.
Jenny had just pulled her hair out of its towel and shaken it wildly over her shoulders, preparing to dry it after a long, hot shower, when she picked up the hairdryer, about to flick it on, and the bathroom was suddenly shrouded in complete darkness.
Confused, she flicked the hairdryer furiously, thinking she'd shorted a circuit, and finally put it down and felt her way to the door, opening it. The bedroom was pitch black as well, and she could see no lights in the hallway through the open door.
"Jethro?" she called, not exactly sure where he was. She carefully picked her way to the bedroom door and flicked the light switch a few times, ascertaining that the power was down and it wasn't her or the hairdryer's fault.
"Jethro!" she shouted, trying to get him to respond. She looked around her, squinting to try and adjust in the dark, and grabbed the wall, feeling her way out of the bedroom. She could barely see the outline of the stairs and started forward, intent on finding the railing, when she collided with a shadowy black mass.
With a piercing shriek, she leapt back and stumbled on the edge of the stairs, grasping at Jethro (for the black mass was, in fact, Jethro) as she fell to try and keep her balance. She landed on the top stair painfully on her butt and knocked Jethro's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling with a grunt next to her, half on the landing and half down the stairs.
She gasped, trying to catch her breath from the scare, and drew a knee up to her chest.
"JETHRO!" she shouted, half-angry and half-relieved that it was he.
"Watch where you're going," he growled at her.
"I can't see anything," she snapped, "the power's out, in case you hadn't noticed!"
"Doesn't mean you should go around crashing into things," he retorted shortly, shifting towards her. His arm bumped against her shoulder and she pushed him for good measure, her behind still smarting from the fall.
"Dammit," he cursed, moving to rub his hand over his knee.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, leaning towards him concerned.
"Fine," he grumbled back, drawing his hand back and reaching toward her. She felt his hand on her side, ghosting over her ribs gently and then pressing. "You all right?" he asked gruffly, worried about her still-healing injuries.
Jenny nodded, answering out loud when she remembered he probably couldn't see her. Jethro moved his hand down to brace his arm against the stairs and then stopped when he hit bare thigh instead of cotton shorts or pajama pants. He rubbed his hand interestedly over her skin and up to her stomach again.
"What are you wearing?" he asked curiously, and she could practically hear his eyebrows going up.
"I just got out of the show—"
"Are you naked?" he interrupted, sounding even more intrigued.
"No, I'm—"
His hand collided with delicately made lace and ran exploring over her breast, stopping her midsentence as she caught her breath in her throat. His head tilted up towards her and he traced the outline of her lingerie with his fingers, running along the strap and under it. He turned towards her, snaking an arm across her middle and worming a leg between hers.
"You smell good," he murmured, burying his nose in her neck. His hand drifted down to her hip and he availed himself of the lingerie there too, his fingers brushing the inside of her thigh. "What color is this?" he asked huskily, sensing she was about to speak.
Jenny swallowed and closed her eyes, reaching down to take his hand firmly.
"Blue," she answered slowly, catching her breath, "Jethro, go check the circuit box—"
"It's not the circuits," he mumbled, trying to shake off her defensive hand. She gripped his fingers tightly and he frowned at her.
"How do you know?"
"Lights on the whole block are down," he retorted impatiently, wriggling his fingers. "Blue," he repeated, pinching whatever part of her hand he could reach so she let go in outrage and he could go back to imagining the material.
"What the hell is wrong with the power, then?" Jenny asked, disgruntled.
"Blackout," murmured Jethro, pushing wet hair off of her forehead and kissing her neck.
"Jethro," Jenny admonished impatiently, pushing on his shoulder. She squirmed. "Are you at all concerned about this?"
"Noooo," he drawled, his hand creeping back up to her lace covered breasts again. Jenny rolled her eyes and lifted her knee, trying to maneuver it cleverly enough to jab him in the ribs. He tactfully avoided her.
"We have no heat without electricity," she whined, thinking about how ridiculously cold it was outside in late November Paris.
"I can keep you warm," Jethro suggested. Jenny had very little doubt of that. She rested a hand on Jethro's shoulder and smirked, only half disappointed he couldn't actually see the blue lace she was dressed up in. She squealed in protest as she found herself pulled closer to him on the stairs and finally managed to block his groin with her knee, earning a warning growl from him in her ear.
"Jethro," she breathed, justifying her actions, "this is uncomfortable."
With a grumble, Jethro pulled back, careful to remove himself from the line of fire of her kneecap, and let her shift back to a sitting position, rubbing the back of her neck. She tilted her head and let her hair fall over one shoulder, looking at him as best she could in the dark.
"Let's have some fun," she suggested ominously. Jethro scowled.
"What do you think I was trying to do?" he asked pointedly.
"Fun that doesn't involve sex—"
"I don't understand," Jethro interrupted immaturely. Jenny rolled her eyes and continued as if he hadn't.
"Completely."
Jethro remained quiet. She reached out and tried to find some part of him to touch comfortingly, to prove she wasn't deliberately trying to torture him. He snatched her hand away and she giggled softly, unaware she'd been blindly reaching for that part of his anatomy.
"Tease," he accused in a low voice.
"You think so?" she asked lightly, and he sensed a challenge there. Jenny shifted and sat up on the landing, drawing her leg up his suggestively and cocking her head at him. "I want to play a game," she informed him musingly, watching him.
Jethro crawled up the stairs towards her, unfairly running a manipulating hand up from her smooth ankle to her thigh, pressing his warm hand against her skin nonchalantly. He waited for her to continue, showing his peaked interest with a touch.
Jenny reached down and took his wandering hand, lacing her fingers through his and then bringing it up to feel the lace bra again under her restricting guide and back down over her stomach dangerously close to the matching panties.
"It's dark," she commented, running her fingers over his knuckles, "late," she added, as if tallying up her options. She guided his hand over her thigh and held it on her knee teasingly, clearly making her decision. "Hide and seek," she said with a wicked smirk.
Jethro muttered something under his breath and she slid her hand up his arm, digging her nails lightly into his bicep where his bare skin met his t-shirt and leaving five soft, half-moon marks.
"If you find me, I take something off," she coaxed.
He was acutely aware she wasn't wearing that much at all.
"You want to play hide and seek, with stakes like that," Gibbs stated slowly, lifting an eyebrow, "with a marine."
Jenny nodded slowly. She stood up, pulling him with her with a gentle tug, and tapped his hand with her finger, looking at him as best she could in the immovable darkness. She lifted her hand and twirled it in a circle for him to turn around.
"Stand against the wall," she ordered, "and count."
"How high?"
"Can you make it to ten on your own?" she asked sweetly.
"I've got the advantage. I'll give you twenty," Jethro retorted, glaring at the comment.
Jenny smirked and shook her head.
"I only need ten," she gloated, sidestepping him and sauntering down the stairs. He was so busy trying to catch a glimpse of her beyond a shadowy outline that he forgot to count for a minute.
Jenny smiled as she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked back up though there was no hope of seeing Jethro. She arched her eyebrow and casually stepped into Ducky's old room, leaning against the wall inside and evening out her breathing. Carefully, she felt around with her foot until she found the bookshelf that was in the room against the wall, and reached over to grasp any random object off of it. She picked up whatever it was, peeked covertly out of the door, and chucked it across the hall into the parlor. It made a loud bang, and she smirked.
Jethro would be successfully diverted.
It was only after a few moments that she realized she couldn't hear him moving. At all. There was no sound from upstairs or outside the room and it slowly began to psyche her out. She didn't know if it was okay to move and continue with her plan. She hadn't even heard the nearly unavoidable creak of the third the last stair.
Jenny widened her eyes in the pitch black, trying to force herself to see better, and slowly poked her nose around Ducky's doorway again, squinting this time. Jethro didn't appear to be standing in the hallway. Jenny inched into the hall with a small smile. Listening hard for a minute, she decided to throw caution to the wind and walked silently up the stairs, taking her time as if she didn't give a damn. She slipped into her rarely used bedroom and shut the door, wandering over to her closet.
Smirking, she slipped on a pair of heels that certainly didn't match, but it wouldn't be noticed in the eerie dark of the blackout. As impractical and ridiculous as it was to slide on heels for an adult-rated game of hide and seek, Jenny knew Jethro had a thing for them. She held up her foot admiringly and cocked her head at it, loving her shoes for a moment before she got down on her knees and crawled across the floor, rooting around for one of the shirts Jethro had left in here once.
She pulled it out from under the bed and pulled it on, unsure if it was inside out or not. She snuggled into it because she was cold running around in her virtually non-existent lingerie and Jethro would be outraged to discover she'd put clothing on. Smelling the collar happily, Jenny stretched out on her bed and waited, either for Jethro to find her or to get irritated and start yelling for her.
She ran her hand back through her tangled, drying hair and wrinkled her nose, shaking it to try and help relieve the dampness. She thought fleetingly of the utter ridiculousness of two federal agents playing hide and seek in a tax-payer purchased safe house, one of the agents into rather expensive eyelet lace lingerie, and then reminded herself it was definitely for the good of NCIS and therefore America: if she and Jethro didn't fool around and relax, they would be crushed by their demons and probably lose control of reality.
Jenny shrugged and shivered at the thought. It was unfortunately so true she didn't want to consider it. She was surprised Jethro had agreed to play instead of rolling his eyes and dragging her into bed. Maybe he had more of a wild side then she thought…
Her eyebrows went up as he breezed through the door in a classic Gibbs-entrance, throwing it open as if it was a twig. She sat up slowly and tilted her head at him, waiting for his eyes to adjust to seeing her form in the dark, and tried to get up. She made it three steps forward before he grabbed her and tossed her back on the bed, pouncing next to her and attacking her sides with his hands.
"Jethro!" she squealed, unaccustomed to being tickled. She giggled and tried valiantly to escape, attempting to knock his hands out of the way and impale his legs with her newly added heels. Jethro drew his hand forcefully down the shirt's opening, enough to rend the two buttons Jenny had fastened opened, and pushed if off of her shoulders, sliding his hands under her shoulders and pulling her closer to him.
"Putting more clothes on is cheating," he growled in her ear, trapping her between his legs. Jenny shook her head and arched her brow.
"It's not cheating," she said silkily, wriggling a hand out to run down his face, "it's a tactical manipulation of the established guidelines of the game."
Jenny smirked. She could sense his glare.
"Cheater," he informed her decisively, muttering the words against her lips as he nudged her chin up to mark her throat. Jenny closed her eyes briefly and let him have his fun, content to enjoy the savagery of his lips. Then she took his unsuspecting arms firmly and flipped him over, settling primly over his lap and shucking the shirt off of her shoulders. He was quick to reach up and yank it off by the sleeves, his hands immediately reaching around her back for the clasp of her bra.
"No," Jenny reprimanded loudly, slapping his hand. She crawled forward like a cat, touching her nose to his playfully. "I still want to play."
She pressed her nose into his and flicked a smooth hand dangerously below his waistline.
"Your turn to hide."
Jethro groaned, sounding frustrated. He darted a hand into her hair and pulled her mouth down onto his, hooking his leg around hers and attempting to roll her back over. Jenny planted a palm firmly in his shoulder and pushed, fighting him down. She traced the outline of his bottom lip with her tongue and smiled, affecting a pout that he'd just be able to make out in the shadowy dark.
"What?" she asked, mocking him. She lifted an eyebrow innocently and kissed the corner of his mouth, using her free hand to push his hair back sweetly, "Can't you," she paused, tilting her head, and lowered her voice, "rise to the occasion?"
Her voice was throaty, suggestive.
Jethro knocked her palm away fiercely and pulled her down under him, quite clearly affronted by the challenge to his ability to perform. Jenny laughed softly. She curled a leg around his waist lightly, making a soft indent in his back with the point of her heel. Slowly, she used the leverage of his hip to slip the shoe off and toss it across the room, performing the same maneuver with her other shoe.
"Hide," she ordered softly. She knew he didn't want to wait. She had him too revved up with her playfulness. She could see him debating it in his eyes; listen to her bidding or ignore her and get her panties off before she could blink. She lifted an eyebrow and felt him clench his fist on the bed beside her head in annoyance before reaching down to unwind her thigh from his waist and standing up.
Jenny followed, pulling up languidly and scooting to the edge of the bed. She crooked a come-hither finger at him and when he stepped forward, played with the button of his jeans before lifting his shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor.
"One," she said slowly, pressing her hand against the warm, taut, muscles of his abdomen and feeling as they tightened considerably. "Two," she continued pointedly, peeking open one eye.
She glared at him pointedly.
"Three," she stated silkily, and his warmth disappeared as he left.
Delicately, Jenny stood up, trying to steady her own heart rate and stop the room from spinning. She didn't plan on counting; she just planned on going after him. Maybe making him find her again if she decided she could wait. She leaned against the doorframe when she reached it, searching the dark hallway and top of the stairs, debating. Which way would Jethro have gone…?
She glanced casually down the hall towards his bedroom and opted for checking downstairs, resting her hand lightly on the banister as she waltzed down. It was chilly in the house without the heating, and she was starting to feel the cold; chill bumps were speckling her arms and legs.
Wired with adrenaline and on edge, half expecting Jethro to leap out of some dark corner and scare the living daylights out of her, she kept her listening sharp and her eyes open, wandering into the parlor. After a few seconds glancing around, she retreated back to the hallway, heading for the kitchen.
She had taken five steps in when he skin started to crawl and she caught her breath, almost positive there was someone behind her. Before she could make the decision to turn around and check, Jethro had grabbed her and spun her around, tucking an arm behind her back and pushing her against the counter, his warm torso pressed against her. She let out a strangled gasp and bit her lip. She thought he was going to take her right then for a moment, but instead he bent over her and pressed his lips to her ear gently.
"I win," he growled.
"I don't think you understand the rules of the game," she chided, relaxing a little. She hadn't expected to be so shaken by him jumping out at her, and she sensed he realized he'd scared her more than he meant to. He eased his hold a little and spun her back around, leaning into her so she felt all of him pressed against her, firm, fit against her curves like no one else ever had. Her knees suddenly felt too weak to support her.
"I understand, Jen," he informed her blithely, his hands easily undoing the claps of her lace bra and sliding the straps off her shoulders, pulling bare skin against bare skin. She felt him smirk arrogantly as his mouth lowered to her shoulder and he barely touched her skin with a kiss.
"I just cheated," he said bluntly, pushing her shoulder back and attacking her flesh with his mouth. Jenny laughed good-naturedly, amused that he'd straight up owned to cheating while she'd defended her clothing-replacing actions with fancy words.
Jenny pulled him forward at his hips, dropping her mouth to the dip between his collar bone and neck that she could reach, intoxicated with the taste of his skin. His hands left her shoulders and she felt him between them, fumbling with his button, pushing his jeans down, and reaching for the fragile lace of her scrap of lingerie with impatient fingers.
Jenny titled her head back with a gasp of anticipation as his rough hands brushed her thighs. Jethro pressed his forehead into her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her up and settling her effortlessly on the counter in front of him, hardly letting an inch of space come between them. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he gripped her thighs almost painfully as he buried himself in her.
"God," she whimpered breathlessly, her throat closing up.
Jethro slipped his hand up her back and rested it at the back of her head so she wouldn't hurt it against the cabinets behind her. He tangled his fingers in her hair and covered her mouth with his, holding her close. Jenny moaned desperately against his lips, her stomach stirring and tightening as she tried to pull him closer and closer with her legs. He deepened the kiss, letting lust fuel him, one hand slipping over her flat stomach caressingly. She arched toward him and he felt her tighten around him, her shoulders shivering; he broke the kiss in time to hear her gasp his name, moaning, because he wanted to push her over the edge.
"Jen," he groaned, finding her smoky, enticing green eyes and pulling her tightly to him around her middle. She cried out and tilted her head back, exposing the perfect arch of her neck, and he leaned forward, pulling her hair as gently as possible, taking advantage of the exposed skin and scraping his teeth against her carotid artery. He sensed her break, felt her come apart in front of him, and pressed his mouth against her ear, brushing every curve with his lips:
"I love you," he told her huskily, gripping her waist tightly. He shuddered against her, coming seconds after she did, the only sensation left being the fevered beating of her heart against his, the warmth of her hot skin and the feel of her soft, small hands wrapping around his slumped shoulders and hugging him tightly, her breathless, ragged words an incoherent mantra into his hair.
The bathroom was cast in an eerie, flickering pale glow caused by the small flames of a few candles, the only light that was available in the Paris blackout. Jethro leaned back in the porcelain tub, submersed to the biceps in soapy, steaming water with Jenny held against his chest, her hair spread out over her shoulders and her eyes closed lightly. Both exhausted and satiated for the time being, after countless hours spent in the throes of passion, the scalding bubble bath was Jenny's welcome suggestion of a way for them to 'cool down', so to speak—relax.
She hadn't said a word in over half an hour, he, even longer; he'd hazard a guess that she'd fallen asleep if her breathing wasn't so alert and unsteady. He had his head leant back gingerly against the tile wall of the bathroom; hers was resting on his chest just below his shoulder, so he could look down and see the curve of her forehead and the fringe of her dark lashes. Her toes stuck out of the water at the end, rested against the edge of the tub, wriggling every once in a while if she started to feel pins and needles. He'd started off rubbing her shoulders gently in a soothing massage, and moved on to now leaving one hand protectively on the side of the bathtub and letting the other roam where he fancied.
He was currently feeling the healing ribs at her side, gently probing the points of fracture, though explicitly careful not to hurt her. In the silence and peace, and his silent, guilty examination of her lingering injury, his thoughts were wandering to the mission files tucked in the portfolio Morrow had given him. Files he hadn't at all truthfully discussed with Jenny.
He didn't know what was stopping him telling her what 'ending this' meant. She'd fleetingly asked about the mission, and he'd told her it was Vance's clean up, which was true to an extent. He was waiting on a mark from Vance to tell him it was clear to go…before he ended it with a few impeccably placed Sig Saur bullets, leaving Vance's cover in-tact and giving he and Jenny a clear out.
She didn't know. He hadn't told her this was, more or less, an assassination. Even a revenge assignment.
Director Morrow had asked him, quietly, if he thought Agent Shepard was ready to handle a sanctioned murder, and the emotional qualms that often came with it, and he'd said yes before he even thought about it. He had faith in Jenny to do her job; she always had. She loved it, she thrived in it, and she took it dead serious, but he knew how traumatic her first experience shooting someone point-blank had been, and he was unwilling to put her through it.
It frustrated him, the caring. If he'd been with anyone else, it wouldn't be a problem. Having her in the equation, not just as a partner whose back he had to have but also as a lover, who he cared fiercely about, made it hard to make a clear-cut decision. He knew, on some level, they never should have let their relationship go this far. They should have broken it clean when lust turned into love on them, even if it hurt them both like hell, because love was too damn dangerous of a factor to have in war games like these.
He was startled out of his thoughts by Jenny's soft touch on his arm. She stretched an arm out next to his on the tub and laced her fingers through his, squeezing his hand. She tilted her head back against his shoulder and cuddled back into him, pressing closer and sinking down into the water more. Her hair floated on the edge of the hot water like rose petals. She was sleepy; he knew from experience the sandalwood scent of her candles made her sleepy.
He lifted his head up and looked down at her, drawing himself out of the well of his thoughts. He ran his hand under the water over her thigh and she raised her knee, pressing her leg into his hand welcomingly. She sighed with contentment and settled her head again, her wet hair tickling him.
Caressing her leg absently, he let his eyes roam over her face, studying her soft skin, the small, faint lines that formed over her brow when she was almost asleep, the full, sexy pout of her lips and the strong beauty of her features.
He had the sudden, inexplicable, and wrenching feeling that he was going to lose her, and he leaned down to kiss her head, squeezing her hand tightly.
Jenny smiled faintly, brought his hand to her mouth, kissed it, and rested it against her breast, curving his arm around her. He tightened his grip just a little, determined to make her fight to get away if it ever came to that.