Rating: T, sexual situations.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Paramount, CBS and D. P. Bellisario etc.
Summary: KIBBS PWP. Bit of McAbby too.
A/N: This is my last story. Thanks again to all those who've took the time to read and especially give feedback.
Best decision she made in her life, best thing she ever did, was painting her bedroom. Kate rolls onto her back with a contented sigh and examines her newly-painted walls. She'd always hated the dull yellow of this room, ever since she'd moved in but had never gotten around to doing anything about it.
Then a month or so back, Abby had been sitting on her bed while she was fixing her hair in the adjacent bathroom before they went to the movies. She'd been lamenting her lack of love life when Abby had called out:
"How do you expect to attract the right man into your life, Kate, when your bedroom looks like a lemon?"
Kate had grimaced to herself in the mirror and called back: "This coming from a woman who sleeps in a coffin?"
Abby had appeared in the doorway with a self-satisfied grin: "Hey, say what you will, but I got laid three times last week -- how about you?"
Later that evening over post-movie coffees, Abby had come up with a solution to her problem -- a painting party.
"You lure them in with pizza and beer," she'd enthused: "put on some good music then put 'em all to work. In no time, you've got a funky new bedroom."
It had seemed like a ridiculous idea at the time, it had started out as a joke, it started as just McGee and Abby and had gradually grown.
She and Abby had conferred over color schemes every spare minute they had and finally she set the date for her painting party on a spring Saturday and hoped that a case wouldn't intervene.
She'd cleared out her bathroom the night before, having decided to do over it and the hall while she was at it. Abby and McGee had come around early the next morning, to move the furniture from her bedroom.
They showed up on her doorstep suspiciously flushed and glowing and each holding a pile of Abby's CDs for musical accompaniment to proceedings.
Tony showed up after all the heavy lifting had been done, made a bee-line for the kitchen and immediately began to partake of the snacks she hadn't yet laid out for her guests.
Her next-door neighbor, Maureen arrived soon after with her two young boys, in whom Tony found playmates of his maturity level, and began chasing them around her living room and tackling them on the sofa.
"Why do you always complain about him?" Maureen asked: "He seems sweet."
Kate had just smiled: "Wait till he finds out you're single."
By the time Gibbs showed up, and she was frankly surprised that he did, she had a place swarming with people, including two medical examiners, a heavily pregnant sister and a couple of buddies from the Secret Service, but no work had been attempted.
Gibbs approached the task like a drill sergeant – a drill sergeant in worn blue jeans and an old black t-shirt. Marching down the hallway and into her bedroom, he'd surveyed the space with a critical eye as she stood at his elbow, musing silently that she never thought she'd see the day that she finally got Gibbs into her bedroom.
To Ducky and Palmer, having the steadiest hands, he delegated the edges. After catching Abby and McGee kissing in the bathroom, he delegated them that room, saying they could do some work while they were at it. Tony and Maureen got the hallway to themselves. Eyeing the Secret Service men suspiciously, he said they could help in the bedroom. Her sister had given Kate a raised eyebrow at this bossiness but Kate had simply smiled and obeyed.
Sarah, who was relegated to light kitchen duties only, was wary of the man that Kate had told her so much of. Which was why, when they stopped to eat in the mid-afternoon, Kate was surprised to find them sitting at the kitchen table in friendly conversation as Gibbs held one of her neighbors' boys in his lap.
Despite how close knit the NCIS group were, they did not socialize much outside of work. So it was strange to see everyone in a casual setting, in their weekend clothes, in her apartment. But nice.
Nice to see Abby and McGee feeding each other ice cubes. Funny to see Ducky talking with her sister about her pregnancy, and Palmer debating the Secret Service over music. Surprising to see Tony carrying one of Maureen's sleepy boys out at the end of the day, like the sweet man she knew he had every capability of being.
Perhaps most unexpected was the single-minded determination with which Gibbs approached the redecoration of her home. She suspects that had she simply been throwing a party, he would never have come.
But give him something useful to do, something to occupy his hands and he was there. As the others gradually petered out the door, Gibbs remained, determined to outdo the Secret Service men, who finally left in the early evening with her thanks and directions to the nearest bar.
She places a hand behind her head and closes her eyes, remembering the previous evening. Maybe they'd had a few two many beers, because it's difficult now to recall who exactly jumped who.
All she remembers is that she'd been perched precariously on the step ladder, Gibbs standing beside her. They'd been close, her knee brushing his thigh, both gazing about at the finished result for a minute in silence.
He'd looked at her and smiled, pointing at a large smudge of green paint on her cheek. She'd smiled too and reached out to pick some flecks from his hair.
Then somehow both their shirts were off and they were on the floor, on each other, and both vying for control. It was so hot. So powerful, so uncontrollable, so inexplicable – and so hot, from first kiss to last.
She admits she hadn't been kissed in way too long and hadn't had sex in longer. But she'd never just jumped someone like that, never ripped off someone's clothes, never made love on the floor.
She'd always been the kind of girl that prefers the comfort of her own bed. Her sexual repertoire was not particularly daring and preferences not especially outgoing. She'd always just had nice boyfriends with whom she'd had enjoyable sex and generally experienced one satisfying orgasm.
Until Gibbs got his hands on her.
Sex with Gibbs, her mind giggles hysterically, apparently still experiencing aftereffects – the very idea was mind-bendingly satisfying.
She'd never known it could be like that. She'd never known what she was missing out on.
He brought out something more potent in her and she had not been content to let him lead. She'd never been so unrestrained with a man before, so demanding, so assertive. He expected more of her and she certainly did not disappoint.
At one stage, he'd paused and nearly stopped them, but she'd pushed her lips up against his and hastily guided his hands to where she wanted them. She'd asked for exactly what she'd always wanted from him and he'd given it to her. He'd given it to her sweet and hard and perfect.
After his initial hesitation, he seemed to become as absolutely immersed, as completely fascinated with her skin as she was with discovering his. He explored her enthusiastically, firstly with eyes, possessed and fiery, followed by hands, bold and hungry, and lastly with body, whole and powerful. His possessiveness had not surprised her but his gentleness had a little. His methodicalness had frustrated her but his thoroughness had, in the end, thrilled her. And as she came apart in his arms, she gave herself to him as she had never given herself to any man --and in that moment, she felt her most strong, her most happy and her most free.
He breathes deeply beside her, lying on his side, his back facing her. The sun streams in the curtain-less window, giving light to a room that hasn't had enough in so long. It splashes liberally and brilliantly across the carpet where they lie wrapped up in one big, white, paint-splattered sheet. She guesses from the direction and the feel of it that the morning is still relatively new. She has no intention of rising though. She has no desire to be anywhere else.
She glances across at the vast brown expanse of his back and notices the teeth marks that mar his shoulder, feeling at once embarrassed, pleased and amused. She reaches out with one hand and smoothes her fingers over the red mark.
There are still flecks of paint in his hair and on her hand, and probably on far more embarrassing parts of both of them too. He'd also left his own territorial markings on her body, but of those she's is already quite fond.
Powerless to pull away, her hand traces the line of his shoulder and drifts fascinatedly down his back, disappearing under the sheet briefly, feeling its own way over new territory. She watches, mesmerized as it drifts back up over hard muscle and smooth skin and into his hair, fingers burrowing deep into the silver straw.
He stirs slightly, making waking noises and she slides closer, pressing her naked chest into his warm back. She slips an arm under his and wraps it around his torso, letting her hand roam over the broad landscape of his chest as her mouth covers the mark on his shoulder and sucks lightly.
Gibbs groans breathily and lies still for a long moment, enjoying her attentions: "My back is killing me," he finally grumbles.
She smiles quietly against his shoulder: "My head is throbbing," she answers softly.
"Your head?" he questions vaguely.
"The fumes," she says and moves down to sniff and suckle at his neck.
"Oh," he murmurs and captures her hand in one of his. He holds it still against his chest, humming appreciatively as she tastes him.
He is even more fascinating -- more giant, more attractive, more sexy -- up close and personal than she'd anticipated. She loves his body and being close to him, being free to investigate his smell and texture and incredible bulk.
"Last night was incredible…" she whispers to him, rubbing against him from behind.
"Yeah, it was…" he says and she hears the anxiety beneath his tone.
His breath holds and she senses the 'but' coming. She senses the 'we-shouldn't-have'-talk coming. She senses his fear, his rationalization, his control taking over.
She sighs and grabs his arm, lifting it and ducking her head underneath. She plants her chin on his ribcage and he turns his head to look up at her, his arm dropping slowly over her back, hand stroking her hair.
"You're not going to be predictable are you, Gibbs?" she asks directly.
She looks at him, completely open and unabashed, clear in her conviction. She does not take sex lightly, and she does not share this part of herself with people she doesn't care about. They are both aware of all the reasons why their actions the previous night were ill-advised; they don't need to be voiced aloud or discussed at length. But none of them carry any real weight unless they permitted them to.
If he wants to push her away after this, if he wants to reassert his distance and play it safe, then she isn't going to make it easy. And she sure as hell isn't going to let him use pain old excuses like that he's her boss to do it.
She doesn't scare that easily and he should know that by now.
He rolls over onto his back, his hand falling away from her hair. His eyes drop, trying not to notice her bare body and he begins cautiously: "Kate…"
"Don't start with me, Jethro Gibbs," she warns quietly.
He meets her resolute gaze; her eyes challenge him silently, and her mouth quirks up a little despite the seriousness of what she's requiring of him.
She slides on top of him, her softness overriding his firmness, and plants her hands either side of his head. She stares down at him, pinning his eyes to make sure he gets her message.
"Try it--" she tells him, quiet but deadly serious: "And I'll kick your ass so hard you'll think you're back in the marines."
He stares back at her for a moment before his mouth lifts in one corner, pleased and amused. He chuckles quietly and nods in understanding. His acquiescence is surprisingly effortless, leading her to believe that he does, in truth, wish to be with her, despite any obligatory hesitation.
They've wasted too much time dancing around each other, second-guessing one another, wondering and worrying and wishing.
This is good and this is real and this is -- she thinks -- the way they are meant to be, whatever the rules might say.
"You're so bossy in bed," he muses teasingly, pushing her hair away from where it's falling about her face.
She's about to remark that they technically haven't got anywhere neara bed as yet, but he pulls her face down, his cheek skimming hers, his warm breath caressing her skin as his mouth finds that ticklish spot right below her ear.
She closes her eyes and nuzzles against him: "I know what I want," she whispers hazily instead. God, he is good – this man can have her salivating within seconds.
"Mmm," he notes, lips kissing down her neck: "I think you made that more than clear last night, Kate."
She pulls back and looks at him: "I didn't hear any objections," she counters, raising an eyebrow testily.
"No," he admits lowly, looking her over. His hands glide down her back and squeeze her waist gently: "No -- that's true."
He is only teasing but she is relieved nonetheless.
"Contrary to what you might think, Kate," he tells her evenly: "-- it's not everyday that I get jumped by a beautiful woman."
She narrows her eyes and considers momentarily challenging him on the 'getting jumped' part -- he jumped her as much as she jumped him, she seems to recall. But she decides to let it go because of the 'beautiful woman' part.
Plus his lips are back caressing her neck and that's far more interesting than any conversation. She ducks her head suddenly and plants her mouth squarely over his. His mouth tastes slightly sour as he opens to her but she doesn't care and he doesn't seem to either as he kisses her back, immersing himself in her like he had so zealously the night before. He rolls them easily, and she finds herself under him, tangled in sheet, pressed into the floor and dwarfed by his strong body.
Her moans reverberate around her head as she wraps her arms about him and tugs relentlessly at his lips. He pulls away, before she's done kissing him and her eyes open fuzzily. He is staring down at her, his body lightly rubbing up and down the length of hers.
"I love that look on your face," he tells her hoarsely.
She pants raptly: "What look?" She can only imagine what she looks like right now – she gazes up at him wide-eyed as he takes in every aspect of her expression.
"Desire," he says finally, his own voice full of the sensation too.
She averts her eyes briefly, a little self-conscious -- then meets his gaze, openly displaying for him just how much she desires him. She lets him see it, lets him comprehend that she has wanted him badly and always. Gibbs smiles a little, his eyes devouring her avidly.
Then he leans in slowly to kiss her brow: "Tell me," he mutters smoothly: "tell me your desire, Kate …" He moves down, kissing her lips once and whispering evocatively: "Tell me what you want…"
"I want…" she answers breathily, her body wordlessly encouraging the velvety kisses on her shoulder and the delicious caresses on her hips: "I want you…"
His hands smooth up and down her sides, holding her undulating body immobile for him to seduce.
"…to help me paint my kitchen," she finishes wickedly.
Gibbs' eyes open and his lips leave her skin a moment before he pulls back. She grins cheekily and cocks her head to the side. She doesn't like disappointing him but she does like surprising him.
"Sounds like a sweet deal for you," he notes drolly: "but what do I get out of it?"
"Um…" she shrugs carelessly: "the satisfaction of helping a friend?"
He chuffs ironically, probably at her liberal use of the word 'friend' and leans down to place a light kiss on one side of her neck.
"My eternal gratitude?" she tries again, running her hands up his solid arms, flexed with holding himself above her.
He hums, slightly more interested, and leans down to kiss the other side of her neck: "A little more tempting…" he admits with a bob of his head.
"What can I say to convince you?" she asks sweetly, her eyes watching her hands stroke over his shoulders and chest. She thrills possessively at the feel of his muscle.
"Say," he whispers in her ear, curling one hand about the nape of her neck: "I get to make love to you on the floor again."
Her body arches up towards his of its own volition, reacting to his words and tone. She captures his ear lobe between her teeth and sucks it for a second, her arms snaking around his body. Gibbs pulls back and looks at her again as her eyes glint up at him:
"I do have a perfectly serviceable bed, you know," she informs him calmly.
"Even better," he mutters gruffly, and presses his hot mouth back against hers, plunging his tongue into her with abandon.
She squeaks and consumes him right back, with her eyes clamped shut and her body holding on tight. She's gonna take that as a 'yes'.
In truth, there's nothing wrong with the color or condition of the paint in her kitchen but, she never knew what a fresh change could bring. And if this is what happens when she starts painting things, then she's going to continue doing it and see what else happens.
Plus, she likes ogling Gibbs in his jeans and black T. She also likes ripping them off. It's a win/win situation.
The sheet is chucked away and the warm sun hits their skin, making Gibbs' back glisten as he moves on top of her, with languid and lazy intention. He is doing everything perfectly and, with her fists full of his flesh, she throws her head back in unrestrained pleasure at the sensations he is fueling within her.
"Best thing I ever did…" she mumbles blissfully to the bare room, as the pungent fumes and their combined heat make her head start to spin again. Best decision she ever made in her life, she muses vaguely before rational thought peters out altogether and every fraction of her awareness is enslaved by him and his touch.