Title: Regulation
Rating: Totally, totally NC-17. XD
Spoilers: None
Summary: Then I register what I'm wearing, and can't keep the beginnings of a wicked grin from my face. If he doesn't love it, at least inwardly, I'll be very surprised.

Author's Note: This is for MissAbbyTaylor – quite late, but I finally finished it! It's a PWP, and has a little bit of military play. Nothing too hardcore, though, and if not for the orders it'd be vanilla.

I straighten my collar and eye myself critically in the mirror, assessing my outfit one last time. Not bad… As an afterthought, I unfasten the top button of my shirt, allowing a hint of cleavage to peek through, and then head out of the bedroom into the lounge.

My cellphone rings as I pick up my drink from the coffee table, and I check the caller ID before answering. "Hey, Gibbs, what's up?"

"You left your wallet in my car."

Frowning, I head over to my purse and search through it. Sure enough, no wallet. It must have fallen out when he was giving me a lift home earlier tonight. "Damnit! Sorry, Gibbs. Can I come by and pick it up?"

"I'm only a couple blocks away," he tells me. "I can be there in five minutes."

"You're my hero," I tell him, and the line goes dead. Why he has such an issue with saying goodbye before he hangs up, I have no idea.

Then I register what I'm wearing, and can't keep the beginnings of a wicked grin from my face. If he doesn't love it, at least inwardly, I'll be very surprised.

When he arrives I buzz him into the apartment building, and wait impatiently for his knock. As soon as it comes, I pull open the door, standing to attention with a little salute. "Evening, Gunnery Sergeant Gibbs, sir!"

He looks me over with a slight smile, taking in my Marine camo gear. "What's with all this, Abbs?"

I grin, still at attention, skin tingling at his eyes on me. "Costume party, sir! Like it?"

For a second he's silent, motionless, assessing me. Then he takes a step closer, raising an eyebrow. "These aren't regulation, Marine," he tells me, tugging gently on one of my pigtails. "Neither is this." He trails a finger across the exposed area below my throat, and I close my eyes as my imagination takes the touch and runs with it, showing me images of his hand moving lower, unfastening more buttons-

Now's really not a good time to space out, though, and I force myself to look at him, turned on even further by the mix of amusement, intrigue and playful admonition in his expression. "Sorry, Gunnery Sergeant! Won't happen again!"

It's hard to keep my voice strong when he's looking at me in the exact way he does in my most secret fantasies, the ones I only allow myself late at night, in the darkness, alone and tormented by desire.

"At ease, Marine," he breathes in my ear, and I relax into a more natural posture, stepping back to let him into the apartment. Okay, I'm a little disappointed that I have to come out of character, but hey.

"Looks good on you. You ever think about joining the Corps?"

I snort, closing the door behind him and taking the wallet he offers, setting it down on the table. "My personality isn't regulation, Gibbs."

"You follow orders pretty well," he says, watching me intently.

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it… "You have no idea." Okay, fine, Abby. Say it.

"Oh, I think I do."

I study his face, wondering exactly what he means by that and trying hard not to melt, though his gaze is making my head spin.

"I've changed my mind. Back to attention, Marine. That uniform is not regulation, and we need to deal with that." His words are soft. I've seen Gibbs in scary drill-sergeant mode, and this is infinitely different. Screw the costume party – things are gonna be a hell of a lot more interesting if I stay home.

I stand to attention again, back straightening, chin rising, mind rejoicing. Finally. "Yes, sir."

His lips turn up in a slight smile, and he nods approvingly. "Bedroom."

I know he expects a march, but I've always had a little problem with authority, and I opt for a saunter instead. I get as far as the bedroom door before his hand smacks down on my ass, a glancing but unexpected blow. "Did I say 'at ease', Marine?"

"No, sir," I reply, taking the last few paces at attention. He lets me get as far as the full-length mirror standing in one corner of the bedroom before ordering me to halt, and I do, my senses alert for his next command.

"Face the mirror." It's only a couple of feet away from me, and I turn, watching him come up behind me in the reflection. There's an intensity in his expression that I've never seen before, and it awakens a primal instinct within me that makes my knees weak.

His touch gentle, he works the tie out of my right pigtail, combing his fingers through my hair until it falls, loose, to my shoulder. When he gives the same treatment to the other pigtail, he's not quite as careful, and I can't help but flinch as a couple of strands of hair tear loose.

Having my hair down definitely isn't regulation, either, and he holds a hair tie up an inch away from my nose. "Fix it."

With hands that are steadier than I'd expected, I take the tie from him and gather my hair into a tight knot, taking care to ensure none of it falls into my face. He watches impassively, and when I finish, dropping my hands back to my sides and squaring my shoulders again, he says, "Better."

"Thank you, sir." I wait for his next words, curbing my impatience, knowing he'll be able to pick up on it.

From behind, he reaches for the top button of the offending shirt, pulling the material closed to obscure my cleavage. "This better, Marine?"

The thought skips across my mind that maybe he plans to have me button the shirt and then head out to the costume party, and I bite back the 'no' that wants to surface, hoping I'm wrong. "Yes, sir."

Unconvinced by the response and obviously amused, he pulls the fabric open again, his palms brushing my breasts for a second. Without warning, he gives a sharp tug, and the next button down is torn free, falling to the carpet. "You wanna go represent your country missing a button, Marine? Does that seem patriotic to you?"

I have never been so happy to lose a button. "No, sir!"

He begins to slowly unfasten the rest of the shirt, and I watch him in the mirror as he pushes it off my shoulders, leaving me in a black lace bra that's more showy than practical. His eyes sweep over my reflected body as he tosses the shirt aside, and he growls into my ear, "Hardly suitable for combat, Marine."

"Sorry, sir," I whisper helplessly as his lips trail down the tatt on my neck, over my shoulder. All I can do is tremble as he unfastens my bra, lets it slide off my arms and fall to the carpet.

One finger taps at the point between my shoulder-blades, and I realise I've let my shoulders drop. I stand back to attention guiltily, and his hands cup my breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers until I'm arching into his touches with a frustrated sigh, my eyes fluttering shut. I tremble as he whispers, "Eyes open, Marine. Watch."

Our eyes meet in the mirror, mine pleading for him to continue, his intense, gauging my reaction. For a moment he pauses, drawing it out until I can't help the words that spill from my lips. "Please, sir…"

He smiles a little, sliding a hand teasingly down my abdomen to rest at the button that fastens my camo pants. I watch him undo it, trying to keep myself upright, fighting the urge to press my body back against his. When his fingers dip into my panties, putting a couple of blissful seconds of pressure on my clit before he withdraws again, I cry out, leaning into the touch.

"Abby." His voice has an edge to it, and I realise I've closed my eyes, losing myself in the heat of the moment. I force them open again, to meet his warning gaze.

"Sorry, sir."

"You will be," he cautions, and I resolve not to let myself slip again.

He pushes the pants over my hips, and I kick them aside, watching his eyes sweep over my reflection, drinking in the sight of my practically naked figure. He indicates that my panties should join the pile of clothing on the floor, and as I comply his hands run over my flesh; the curve of my waist, my hip, my thigh. It's only when I'm completely undressed that he begins to touch me again, his fingers beginning lightly, teasing me until I can hardly breathe.

My entire body aching for more, I bite back the pleas that want to come. Instead I watch the scene in the mirror, the rhythm of his fingers, my body's arching response, his focus completely on me. It just turns me on even more, and he knows it. It doesn't take long for him to stop teasing and give me exactly what I need: hard, fast, unrelenting; as I feel the orgasm building, I gasp out, "Oh, god, right there…"

"Keep watching," he growls in my ear, seeing my control begin to slip again. It takes monumental effort, but I do it, because it's what he wants. And when I tip over the edge, almost falling to my knees as the orgasm claims me, I'm gazing at Gibbs, watching him watch me.

He holds me, supporting me as I ride it out, finally sagging against him as I lose the ability to stay at attention. And at last I hear the words I've been longing for, murmured with affection. "At ease, Marine."

If I wasn't so dazed, I'd laugh. I couldn't be anything else if I tried.