A/N: Yes; another fic. I shouldn't be doing this, but I'm putting a few open-ended ones up simply to be able to write on them whenever the fancy strikes me. Each of these particular drabbles will center on a colour.

Orange: Stimulates enthusiasm and is associated with the warmth of the sun. Implies curiosity and creativity. Orange is the color associated with the Sacral Hara Chakra: Sexuality.

She liked orange.

Orange might be the universal outcast colour, because it was garish and didn't complement anything, but she still had a soft spot for it--even though wearing it made her look washed out and it clashed with her hair.

She liked that orange was so warm. It made her think of summer and citrus fruit and even the sun itself. She liked the thoughts of sandy beaches and no inhibitions, she liked the orange flip flops lying next to her on this sandy beach, and she liked the intoxicatingly sensual smell of orange blossoms lingering in the air.

She particularly liked the way Leroy Jethro Gibbs was lazily dragging his fingers up and down her leg, inching daringly higher every time.

Jenny Shepard closed her eyes and smiled wickedly as his hand grazed over her bikini bottoms and across her stomach, his touch making her skin so much hotter than the Mexican sun ever could.

Maybe Mexico was so enticing because of all the orange: the beaches, the fruits, the houses and clothes. It could be the colour that induced her to recklessly agree to sneak off for a weekend tryst with him. Of course, it was unlikely that she'd be able to explain this if caught by stating that a secondary colour had the prim Director of NCIS flat on her back with one of her senior agents.

"What're you thinking about?" he mumbled, his words muffled against her shoulder.

Jenny licked her lips.

"Orange," she replied, rolling towards him languidly.

She propped herself up on an elbow and took a moment to enjoy the quirked eyebrow and questioning look on his face. Smiling mischievously, she threw a leg over him and pulled herself up, straddling him.

"Oranges," he repeated hesitantly, adding the 's', giving her an amused look.

She nodded slowly and leaned forward, taking his hands from his sides and stretching them out behind his head, so her nose was close to his and her hair fell over his face, tickling his skin. She felt his sharp intake of breath and smirked.

"The colour," she clarified mildly, as she paused watching him. "The fruit, too," she added in a lower voice, lacing her fingers into his and digging her nails into the hot sand.

Jethro swallowed.

"What about it?" he asked hoarsely.

"Tastes good," she answered, kissing him lazily, "Warm colour. Like an aphrodisiac," she kissed him again, pinning his hands back into the sand when he tried to break loose. She gave him a quick, admonishing look and pressed her sun-heated skin against his bare torso, dragging her lips up to his ear so she could whisper to him.

"I wonder what the juice would taste like if I licked it off your skin," she murmured, pulling his ear into her mouth teasingly.

He groaned quietly, straining at her vice-grip on his hands.

"Thought you didn't like oranges, Jen," he recalled huskily.

She bit gently on his earlobe and pulled back slightly to look him devilishly in the eye. She made a huge point of not answering.

Of course Jethro would remember she had no preferential taste for the stringy, pithy fruit. He wouldn't know she just liked the thought of the colour tinting his skin, running over his lips.

She gripped his hands tightly, her nails leaving crescent marks on his knuckles.

She held onto that thought and pressed her open mouth against his neck, nudging his head up, flicking her tongue out along his collarbone. His muscles tightened and she smiled, loving what she did to him. His hands curled under hers.

"Jethro," she called, dragging it out breathily.

She bit into his shoulder and felt him shiver. If she knew him at all, her slow tease through an orange-haze of sexual fantasies was going to have to relent before she shattered his impressive self-control. His breathing caught and she started to slowly unlace their fingers, dragging her nails down his wrists and over his arms smoothly.

"Make me see orange," she practically purred in his ear.

Jethro clutched her arm and flipped her over, sliding her bikini down. He wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed into her, his movements hard and quick; he wasted no time in making her throw her head back and beg him to shove her over the edge.

He shuddered against her and her release hit her hard, knocking rational thought from her mind. Jethro collapsed next to her, his face buried in her hair, his lips moving wordlessly against her neck. Jenny gasped and shifted towards him, drawing her hand up and down his spine.

"I think orange is my favorite color," she informed him throatily.

His shoulders shook and she felt his laughter reverberate through his chest.

Jenny took a deep breath and let the orange blossoms fill her senses until she was light-headed and dizzy.

Or maybe that was from the sex.

Whichever it was, the Director decided she what she liked most about orange was what it made Jethro do to her.

--Before anyone corrects my spelling, just know 'colour' or 'color' can be spelled two ways, as 'grey' and 'gray'. I prefer the English version.