A/N: For Aly, because she's taking the LSATs tomorrow, and because we decided mid-IM conversation that (had we been in Jenny's situation) Jethro most certainly would not have been allowed to say 'no'.

That being said: This is a smutty tag to Season4Ep"Lost and Found"; there's the barest hint of angst because I'm still me.


Jenny Shepard let her hand slide idly over the smooth wood on her banister as she followed Jethro down her stairs, her eyes trained carefully on the back of his head. The atmosphere was so warm and relaxed right now; it hadn't felt this easy in a long time.

Carson was fast asleep. He hadn't made a sound when Jethro had dragged him up to bed. Jenny breathed in silently.

"It's been a long time," she said softly. She noticed him take his coat off of the banister and she grasped the place where it had rested with her hand, going on. "Us. Together, outside of the office."

He fiddled with his coat, turning to face her, his back to her door. Jenny looked up at him, unbelievable words tumbling around in her head.

"Paris," he said gruffly, shaking out his coat, "If you don't count hospitals and car chases."

Jenny's glance turned a mite skeptical.

"I don't," she said bluntly, tilting her head a little. She watched his shoulders moved as he shrugged his jacket on.

Car chases made her sick—and hospitals, she hated even more.

She couldn't stop the next words spilling out of her mouth.

"Once upon a time I would have asked you to stay," she saw the surprise flicker in his eyes, his brows lifting just a little, and she had to keep her voice steady, "and I wouldn't have taken no for an answer."

She knew she sounded sad. She didn't know what was making her so bold, not after rejecting him time after time. Perhaps it was that she was buoyed with the knowledge that that blonde bitch was gone for good. Maybe it was because the clock was ticking.

He pulled his jacket on, his blue eyes never leaving hers.

"No," he said, in a gentle whisper. Like he was letting her down easy.

She didn't show the reaction she felt. She didn't know what she'd been expecting from him.

"What happened, Jethro?" she queried, curiosity in her quiet tone.

It was the wrong question. She knew it was.

"You made a choice," he answered simply, his eyes telling the whole story. Her scripted words on white paper flashed through her eyes and she pushed the images away.

"I had to do what was best for me," she said, the age-old excuse that even she didn't believe anymore. "I still do."

She hoped he read the meaning behind that. Things had changed. What she really meant to say to him was: I should have made a different choice. And Jethro, I'm sorry.

A slow smile spread over his face, but she knew better than that. It didn't quite reach his eyes. She gripped her arm as he turned to go, her eyes following the movement of his arm to turn the doorknob.

And she realized she wasn't going to let him walk away. She couldn't. She didn't have the time to waste.

Taking the quietest deep breath, she reached out and pushed her palm against the oak door as he opened it, forcefully closing it again. He turned, his eyes peeking over his shoulder before he slowly came around to face her.

She gave him a long, hard look, steeling herself for what she was about to get herself into.

"Jen," he began, low in his throat, as if he would warn her off.

She pulled her hand off the door and pressed her fingers against his lips swiftly, letting them travel down his throat to his collar reverently. She hooked two fingers under his collar and took a step back, tugging him with her.

He was coming up stairs. He was coming to bed with her.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she informed him firmly, stepping gracefully onto the stair behind her so she evened their height difference, and leaned against him touching her lips invitingly to his.

She trusted him to support her. She trusted him to take the bait.

She felt him breathe out slowly, hesitant, struggling with his control, and rolled her eyes. She pressed her mouth a little harder against his, running her tongue against his bottom lip, and that did the trick. He kissed back harder than she was prepared for, and she retreated with a small gasp, her fingers slipping at his collar.

He leaned his forehead into hers, his eyes seeking hers, awaiting retribution.

Jenny met his eyes steadfastly and took a sure hold of his jacket, shucking it backwards off his shoulders. It hit the floor, and she smiled. Jethro swallowed, his lips pressing together, and he slipped his fingers under the knit sweater she wore and slid it slowly off of her shoulders in retaliation.

Jenny tilted her chin up and met his lips in another kiss, giving a little more, getting a feel for this again. It had been eight years, eight long years, and it still felt as good as the first time. She breathed him in, letting her eyes drift closed, her senses alive and quivering.

His tentatively tightening grip on her hip was infuriating, infuriating because his hand was so warm and infuriating because of all the things he could be, Jethro was never tentative with her.

She reached down, her hand moving over his, and pressured it harder into her hip, her fingertips digging into his knuckles.

He clutched her closer, finally pressing her hips against him in the right way, and took a more participant lead in their kiss, biting down gently on her lower lip. She swallowed a moan of triumph and broke the kiss slowly, her lips lingering a fraction of an inch away. She ran her tongue over the parts of her lip where his teeth had been, savoring it.

"Come on," she invited softly, catching his eye. She stepped back, holding onto his shirt, and expertly used the edge of the stairs to ease her heels off of her feet, sinking bare feet into the thick carpet on the landing behind her.

Jenny flicked her eyes languidly up the staircase and turned, her hand alighting on the banister again as she made her way up, step by step. She felt him close behind her, the space between them charged, his hand chasing hers on the banister, managing to brush it fleetingly.

She spared a mere second of a glance at the tightly shut door behind which Carson slept and let him slip her mind. She clearly wasn't thinking properly anyway. She pivoted on her heel as she reached her bedroom door, her sanctuary, her back pressing lightly into the door as she grasped the doorknob behind her. Jethro reached out to touch her, running his hand down her neck and tracing the plunging neckline of her casual shirt.

Jenny smirked and turned her doorknob, pushing open the door and backing into her room. She gave him a moment to get clear of the door and gave it a shove to close it, planting her palms against his shoulder and forcing him back against the door.

She pinned his hands back against the wood, lacing her fingers into his, and kissed him below the ear, curving her body into him. She brushed her lips over his carotid artery, his pulse thundering under her lips. She kept her kisses light on his throat, slowly disentangling her fingers from his to reach for the hem of his shirt.

She began scrunching it upwards in her hands, dragging the material up. Jethro's hands went straight to her hair, gentle and caressing. He found the end on her blouse and slipped it upwards swiftly, disrupting her arms as she worked with his and dropping her shirt to the floor.

She relieved him of his and lifted her mouth away from his throat, her eyes roaming over his chest. She bit her lip unconsciously, her gaze lingering on him, remembering.

"Jenny," he murmured gruffly, his hand cupping her face.

"Mmmm," she sighed, parting her lips and running her hand down his chest, her fingers slipping through his hair, stroking over his abdomen muscles. He tightened under her hand and she dropped both hands to his waistband, unbuttoning his trousers.

His forehead was resting heavily against the crown of her head now; she felt his lips moving in her hair like he was whispering a prayer. He shifted, seeking the warmth of her touch; Jenny hooked her thumbs in the formal material of his work attire and tugged them down over his hips, her hand running teasingly over his thigh and cotton boxers as she brought her hand back up.

He stroked her cheek and she turned into his hand; he ran his other hand up her stomach, cupping her breast gently. He ran his thumb over her nipple through the delicate lace lingerie and she shivered, warmth spreading through her.

She rolled her neck, easing stress out of her muscles. He tipped her head back, his eyed running admiringly over the exposed flesh of her neck. He leaned forward, dipped his head, and kissed the base of her throat, coaxing the strap of bra down her freckled shoulder.

He kissed slowly along her collar, his tongue following each press of his lips. He conquered the button of her slacks effortlessly and pushed the waist down, pinching the material between his fingers to shimmy it down her legs. His hand travelled up the inside of her thigh and pulled her closer, pressing her thigh into his leg.

She took his lead, wrapped her leg around his, and ground her hips against his. Jethro groaned at the contact, his mouth hot against her throat. Jenny drew in her breath sharply and pushed him back roughly, the intensity of the feeling seeming to bring them both crashing back down to reality.

His head knocked against the door, hardly roughly, but he blinked, his grip loosening on her imperceptibly. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on his, gauging the dark arousal present in his icy blues.

"Jen," he said huskily, pushing her hair back tenderly. She heard the stupid, cliché question in his hesitant tone: Are you sure about this?

"I don't want to talk about it," she growled quietly. What the hell are you doing, Jennifer? She bit her lip and released it, wrapping her arms tightly around Jethro's neck. Her eyes burned fiercely as she ignored Practicality storming around indignantly in her mind. She didn't give a damn about practicality. She didn't have the time.

"Yeah?" he asked gruffly, his hands wrapping around her arms. He didn't remove them from his neck; she noticed a caress in the way he held her. "And tomorrow morning?" he asked, a flash of anger rearing its head.

She shook her head emphatically, forcing his head close to hers, her eyes and lips inches from his respectively.

"I could die tomorrow," she snapped, not daring to tell him how true that statement was. "Take what I'm offering, Jethro. No strings attached, no promises," she starting pulling him back with her towards the bed, swallowing to keep her voice from shaking uncontrollably. "Make love to me."

"It's been a while, Jenny," he said hoarsely. Nostalgically.

Jenny slipped out of his arms and stepped back, keeping an arms distance between them. Languidly, she reached behind her and pulled undone the fastener on her bra. She dropped it at his feet and then just as smoothly slipped off her panties, stepping out of them and towards Jethro.

Standing in front of him, completely naked, she felt good. She felt better than she had in a long time. She watched the way his eyes moved slowly over her, lingering on her legs. She watched the movement of his throat, the hardening of his muscles.

His eyes travelled up to hers and she held his gaze. She stepped closer to him, her skin pressing lightly into his, and pushed his boxers down his legs, evening the playing ground.

"You'll regret this. I don't want you to regret this." he said, a little harshly, and she knew he was just protecting himself.

"I want you, Jethro," she whispered huskily, her eyes capturing his through her eyelashes, dark with arousal, "and you want to negotiate?" He could hear the frustration, the ache in her voice—he felt it in his own body, "Come to bed," she said throatily, "or you'll get a taste of an aggressive negotiation."

He growled at her in the back of his throat and took her arm, wrapping his fingers around it tightly. He propelled her backwards until her knees hit the bed and buckled under her. He kept pushing, crawling over her and pushing his hand through her hair.

She moaned in relief when his lips captured hers hotly, demanding and passionate, full of lust and need and at last devoid of the hesitancy he'd been treating her with. He explored the confines of her mouth with his tongue, reacquainting himself with what he already knew so well. She dug her nails tightly into his shoulders, arching into him until she found the contact she sought.

"God," she gasped when he pulled away, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down her throat to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled, tilting her head back into the pillows as he ran first a knowing hand and then his mouth over her breast.

He gripped her hips and pulled her into him, his hard muscles against her soft, flushed skin. Jenny whimpered and writhed under him, her heart fluttering madly against her ribcage. She wanted him inside her, the heat building in the pit of her stomach was pushing her control to the limits and she didn't want to wait—but she wanted the foreplay just as much, his mouth and hands all over her, his hot, slick skin against hers until the last possible moment.

His lips hit her navel, his tongue tracing batters over her ribs, and she cried out, pressing her thighs against his waist. She reached down and gripped his shoulder hard, yanking him back up. He dragged his kisses up her sternum, nipping her with his teeth, and when he found her lips again, his breathing ragged, she wound her leg around his and flipped him over, straddling his hips.

He looked up at her, far beyond being surprised by the action, and she pushed her tangled hair behind her ears, leaning forward to grace him with her own kisses, her tongue on his chest this time, using past knowledge to please him. She clenched her thighs around him and her put his hands on her hips, holding her close, his hips bucking against hers.

She bit down hard on her lip to muffle the cry he elicited, aware in the deep recesses of her mind that she did have to keep it down. She ran her hand down his chest swiftly and up the inside of her own thigh, encircling his hard length.

"Jenny," he breathed her name, agonized, his fingers pressing painfully into her hips. His rough grip made her wince; she knew there'd be bruises tomorrow, but she teased him still, until he was wound as tight as she was.

She closed her eyes, the motion of her hand slowing, crawling slowly back over him, her lips pressed at the corner of his mouth.

"It feels good, Jethro," she moaned hoarsely.

His hold on her arm was vice-like as he pulled her under him again.

He lowered his head to the dip between her neck and shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste the sheen of arousal on her skin, pressing hard against her thigh. She wrapped one long leg around his waist and pressed her heel into his back. He thrust into her hard and she cried out, wrapping her other leg around him to ease the pain of the angle.

She breathed out shakily, threading her fingers into his hair again and looking into his eyes, emeralds seeing sapphires. She looked at him with her soul laid bare, hardly able to breathe, blood pounding in her ears, and slowly pressed her lips to his, lighting the spark.

He moved slowly at first, steady, plunging a hand into her sweaty red curls and drawing out the pleasure in explicit, hot kisses. She pulled him close to her, arching her chest into his, her palm flat against the hot skin of his back.

"Jethro," she moaned, mumbling incoherently into his lips. It was the first time in a long time, and she didn't let herself forget for a minute that it might be the last. She tossed her head on the pillows, the heat in her stomach starting to ripple through her.

"Harder, Jethro," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear.

He pulled back and she gasped in protest; he thrust back into her with a groan, his hand fisting into the bed sheets, and Jenny threw her head back. He buried himself in her, his arm shaking next to her as shudders ran through her body and her muscles contracted around him.

"God, Jen."

He recognized the sounds in Jenny's throat, her soft gasp and the sharp cry the followed; he pushed into her harder as she came, sinking her teeth into his shoulder to quiet her moans. He caught her eye and the lust, the untamed beauty in her eyes, as all it took to send him over the edge. He shuddered and his shoulders convulsed, groaning her name like it meant everything to him—and it did, in a way.

She was warm, wrapped around him, her lips were warm where they lingered at his, her skin was flushed that light, innocent pink he missed on cold nights. Her ragged breathing matched his, and when he held her strong, liquid-emerald gaze, he almost came apart again.

He kissed her, slowly, relaxing them both, his head still spinning from the adrenaline that surged through his blood. When he broke their kiss and caressed her cheek with his hand, she looked at him like he hadn't seen in years—bare, sated…happy.

Jethro slipped out of her, his fingers brushing her cheek soothingly when she winced, and collapsed onto his back, his shoulder pressing against hers on the misused sheets.

He didn't think. Not yet. Not now. There was something in the corner of his mind that warned him something was wrong, that told him Jenny wasn't okay, but he couldn't listen. Right now everything felt right again.

He listened to Jenny's soft breathing next to him, lethargically inquiring of himself why the hell he had decided this was a good idea. A slow smirk spread across his lips. It hadn't exactly been a negotiation. Jenny wanted him; Jenny got him.

He was a damned fool.

Running his hand over his face, Jethro sighed heavily and shifted, slowly starting to take inventory of where his clothes were. As if she sensed his thoughts, Jenny moved next to him, curling into his side. Out of habit, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Stay," she asked of him simply, and he knew, for some reason, that it took a lot for her to ask, and she needed him there.

"That what's best for you?" he quipped gruffly, looking slowly from the ceiling of her bedroom to her. She bit her lip, and though he didn't miss it, he did not comment on the quiver he saw there.

She closed her eyes briefly and opened them.

"You better not be trying to say no, Jethro," she threatened in a low voice, "I already said that's not an option."

He laughed quietly. God, this felt so right. They never should have stopped. She never should have left.

"I want you here tonight," she said quietly, a whisper in his ear.

"I'll stay, Jenny," he agreed. As if it had ever been up in the air.

She placed a small, chaste kiss to his bicep. He held her close. He'd missed her warmth and the spicy, intoxicating scent of her hair.

"I missed negotiating with you," he remarked smartly.

Jenny stayed silent, and he felt her smile softly against his shoulder.

"I missed you, Jethro."


Anthony DiNozzo bounded off the elevator and into the bullpen bright and early, right on time.

The kid was sitting in his desk, talking sleepily to Ziva and the McProbie.

"Goooooood morning, Car-son," he greeted jovially, drawling out the words.

"Morning, Tony," Carson greeted, stifling a yawn.

"Stay up all night?" he leered, thinking of all the fun things to snoop in at the Director's house.

Carson shrugged.

"Agent Gibbs made me go to bed before Letterman."

"Aww, that," Tony paused, his brow furrowing. He whirled around and pointed at Carson. "I thought you were staying with Jenny!" he accused suspiciously.

Carson shrugged again.

"Yeah, I did. Agent Gibbs came over. He was there when I woke up."

Tony leapt into the air, punching his fist into the sky triumphantly. A huge, triumphant grin spread over his face and he gave smug, superior looks to his team mates. He had always known the Boss and the Lady Boss had a thing.