He had always liked the taste of leather
He had always liked the taste of leather. He had no memory of the first time he had tasted it. He was probably still a child but the memory was still there so that when as an adult he had licked the salty leather bound around her it hadn't seemed unusual at all.
It had simply seemed familiar. The process of curing the soft leather plus the warmth of her skin and the salt of her flesh. There had been no surprise, no panic only the sensation that he had done this before. No nervousness just the desire for more. The touch, the taste, the smell, the sight of her bouncing breasts strapped tight inside the leather corset as he thrust into her.
She had made leather fun. It wasn't scary or threatening. It was fun and sexy and hot. The leather she wore was as likely to be teamed with skimpy tartan as it was with metal cinches. Leather wasn't something to be afraid of. It became something to be revered. The way it took on life and warmth and movement when worn so close. It could be shaped and stretched and feel as soft and smooth as his silky hands or as tough and unyielding as Gibbs wood roughened calluses.
Leather always had been cool but she also made it hot. The studded leather rings she wore around her fingers made him ache when he saw them as he alone of the men in the room knew what they felt like when wrapped around him. The rounded tips of the cool metal studs rhythmically dragging against his most sensitive flesh. Her pale nimble fingers matching his speed across the keyboard. Sometimes he would allow himself just to watch them and remember what they had once done to him.
There came a time when he was confident enough to wear leather himself. To work. His jacket was beautiful, expensive but so soft it put butter to shame. He felt amazing in it and for an instant he felt that perhaps his leather would be the one to entice someone out of their shell. And they too would just have to touch. To touch him. To feel the overwhelming need to run their hands across the soft leather, to run their hands across his shoulders and to dip their heads to taste where the collar touched his skin.
It seemed to survive mere minutes before being potentially irradiated and the next thing he knew it had been returned to him, ruined. He couldn't explain his grief at his jackets treatment, especially not to her as she had been the wielder of the very scalpel that had cut into it. It wasn't the cost of the jacket now ruined that kept him awake that night. It had been a symbol to him of all that had changed. Of all that he had now become since his years starting with the team. He daren't have worn leather in his first years with the team. In those years he had barely got out of wearing a suit and tie day in, day out in an effort to seem older, to be taken seriously as an agent.
Something changed for him then. She wore the leather but she did not revere it like he did. She enjoyed it but it was no more special than her wild tight inappropriate T shirts or her platform boots. She enjoyed the clinking of metal chains as much as she reveled in the sensation of leather against her skin.
When Tony meet them all for a drink after work one day he was wearing something he had never noticed before. A leather jacket. He itched to run his hands over it, to feel the soft yielding warmth over Tony's familiar frame. Tony's grin was broad and bright and Tim felt dazzled by it.
When he lay awake that night he wasn't sure if it was again the sensation of the leather under his sensitive fingertips that he ached for or the sensation of Tony being somewhere underneath the leather. Tony, his friend and tormenter being underneath his daring fingers. His fingers made daring by the intoxicating scent of the leather mixed with Tony's cologne.
The taste of the leather made warm against heated skin. The taste of Tony made warm by his own nimble fingers.
Version One ending
But then no. Tony would laugh and tease him as he always did to cover up his own embarrassment. His own awkwardness at it being Tim who was running his hands over him, slipping his hands over his shoulders and pushing the leather jacket off to fall on the floor. He would want to know what Tim was planning on doing to him. How could he tell him that when he honestly didn't know himself? He would insist that his leather jacket was better than his. That his everything was better than Tim's. He would talk constantly……… Tim knew him too well. There was no mystery in how Tony would treat him.
No that would never do.
Tim lay alone in the dark on his satin sheets and marveled at the lure of Abby's leather that he would even consider such daring ideas.