Title: Skin On Leather On Skin
: T
: None
: There are leather ties in her pigtails. And that's not all.

Author's Note: Written for starshines/Zabby for the Gibbs/Abby ficathon on LiveJournal, using the prompts leather, pigtails and a kiss - hope she likes it! :D

There are red leather ties in her pigtails, and the ends thread through her jet-black hair, brushing her shoulders along with the rest of her hair. He notices the change as soon as he steps into the lab; the dark, carnelian red is stark against her hair, and it complements her lipstick perfectly. There's another thin strip around her neck, serving as a makeshift collar.

"Morning, Gibbs!" She gets up from her desk, and he catches his breath – she's wearing red leather pants to match the ties, and they hug her curves tightly, moulding to her shape. Abby shoots him a brief smile, oblivious to his fascination, and ducks around him to slot some form of sample into her mass spectrometer. "Please don't tell me you caught a case already."

"Not yet," he says, watching her work. "Got a lot on your plate?"

She shrugs and smiles, hardly pausing. "Don't I always? They found a total massacre over at Rock Creek Park, a quadruple homicide. Balboa's team got that one. I've been here since three – I was out clubbing when I got the call."

"That explains the leather. Good look for you," he comments, and she preens a little. As unconventional as Abby is, one trait she shares with most women he's met is that she loves to be complimented. And that particular compliment was way, way more understated than the one he wants to give.

"Awww, thanks," she says, flicking one of the leather hair strips into place. "The pants and hair ties are just part of it. The rest… well. Let's just say, if I was wearing it when Leon came down here earlier, I'd be out of a job."

His imagination kicks into overdrive, and he shuts it down almost immediately. With Abby, he's become a pro at suppressing his more instinctive thoughts; she seems to make it a personal challenge to reveal illicit details to him on a regular basis. Contenting himself with a raised eyebrow, he asks, "You got the ballistics report on the McKenzie case?"

Her pigtails whip around as she turns to stare at him, and he could swear that he can smell the leather binding her hair. "Argh! Sorry, Gibbs. I think I bit off more than I can chew with this one. I'm even starting to miss Chip."

For her to say that, he knows she must be snowed under. "It can wait. Anything I can do?"

Something in her inner lab beeps just as she picks up a container, and she sets it down so quickly that it overbalances, spilling clear liquid across the pile of evidence bags heaped nearby. Irritated, Abby bites back a curse, settling for a few motions of emphatic sign language instead.

Interpreting the gestures, Gibbs can't help but grin. "Didn't even know you knew the sign for that. What's this? Can I mop it up without losing my hands?"

Scooping the plastic bags out of the way, she pulls a handful of paper towels from the nearby dispenser. "It's methanol. It's not toxic unless you plan on drinking or inhaling it-"

As if to torment her, the phone begins to ring, and this time her curse is audible. Gibbs grabs her arm as she begins to head for it, bringing her up short. "I'll get the phone. You clean up this stuff. The beeping can wait."

For a second, it seems as though she'll protest, but then she acquiesces with a sigh, turning away. Gibbs picks up the phone, watching her crouch and place towels over the slowly spreading water-like puddle on the tiles. "Abby's phone."

"Is she there?"

"She's here," Gibbs tells Leon Vance, resisting the urge to tilt his head for a better look at her leather-clad ass, the way DiNozzo would, "but she's cleaning up spilled acid. If there's something you want, I'll ask her, but she can't get to the phone right now."

Abby looks over, opening her mouth to correct him, but he shakes his head at her, and she shuts up with a silent thank you.

"Never mind. Tell her to call me back when she gets a second." The phone goes dead – Leon is just like him in some respects – and Gibbs returns to Abby's side, handing her more towels. "Vance. Call him back when you can."

Nodding, Abby straightens and begins to deal with the remaining liquid on the table. "I'll add it to the list. You know what? I don't need an assistant. I hate assistants. What I need is a clone. Like, it'd be me, but it'd be able to do a totally different set of tests. Can I have a clone for my birthday, Gibbs?"

Amused, he pulls her chair over to where she's standing. "Take a break."

"Don't have time," she responds without looking up, and he finds himself admiring the way the red strips in her hair look against her spiderweb tattoo. That's bad; he's learned from experience that spending too much time looking at that tatt leads to thoughts of what she'd do if he traced his finger along the inked lines.

As soon as he's sure she's finished mopping up, he takes her by the shoulders and sits her down. "Yes, you do. You've been working non-stop since oh-three-hundred hours. It's oh-eight-thirty now. I'd say you've earned ten minutes."

"Five," she haggles.

"Seven and thirty seconds," he tells her.

She grins at the precise measurement, pulling out her cell phone and pressing a few buttons. Holding it up so that he can see what's on the display – a timer counting down from just over seven minutes – she nods. "Deal."

He can't spend seven minutes avoiding the issue occupying his brain; she's far too astute not to pick up on it. Better to bring it up with a time limit, so he can make a fast getaway when it expires. Or so he tells himself. "So tell me about the rest of this clubbing outfit."

Intrigued, she gazes up at him. "You sure you wanna know?"

There's a charge in the atmosphere that tells him that an affirmative answer will change everything. Curiosity killed a whole bunch of cats, but Gibbs has used up around thirty lives already, and he's still going strong. "If you're sure you wanna tell me."

She gets up from the chair, and he doesn't stop her. She's almost as tall as he is even in her most understated boots, and that's something he's always loved about her. She only has to raise her gaze a little to meet his eyes, looking through her dark lashes at him.

"I can do better than that." Reaching past him, she plucks a bag from under the table and heads for her inner lab, calling over her shoulder, "Wait there."

He obeys with an effort, knowing that in the next room, she's stripping off her charcoal-coloured shirt and putting on something that even she doesn't deem appropriate for work. Part of him wants to wait, knowing it'll be worth it. The rest of him wants to storm in after her, pin her up against the wall and kiss her half-senseless.

"What do you think?" Her voice is low and suggestive, and he looks over to see her leaning in the doorway, her torso clad only in a shimmering strapless fabric strip. Above it is a stretch of ample cleavage, and only a few inches lower stretches her bare abdomen, inked with tattoos he's never seen before and instinctively longs to trace with his tongue.

He loses the ability to speak; he opens his mouth, then closes it again. Her slight smile widens, transforming her face from pretty to stunning. His lips curve in response, and he finds his voice again, though it's so husky that it's almost inaudible. "Get over here."

She steps closer, halting a foot away, and he reaches out, gripping her leather-clad hips and pulling her against him. Her scent – leather, gunpowder and Caf-Pow! mingled with a few elements he can't yet identify – drives him crazy, and her nipples are peaked beneath the thin shirt, tempting him to run his thumb over them. Her lips are just an inch from his, and he savours the moment, reluctant to end it just yet.

"What do I think?" he asks her, and she inhales sharply, feeling him grow hard against her. "Abbs, I wouldn't even know where to start."

He slips his hands down to her butt, his palms gliding over the textured leather and pressing her closer. Abby slides her arms around his neck, and her barely-there top slips a little lower.

"Start wherever you want," she says softly. It's all yours for the taking."

How has he resisted those lips for so many years? He's been impossibly strong, but even the most sturdily-built wall of resolve can crumble when the weakest spot is hit. And the smell and feel of leather, the sight of her skin, the sound of her shaky breaths and the ghostly tang of lust on his tongue… all have combined to spell his undoing.

Just as he leans in to kiss her, a shrill, rapid beeping interrupts them, shattering the tension. With an irritated mutter that he can't make out, Abby pulls out of his embrace to reach for her cell phone, hitting a button to silence it. "Break-time's over," she says by way of explanation, sighing.

Has it really been seven and a half minutes? As much as he wants to linger, Abby's work on the quadruple homicide is more important than making out in the middle of the lab, like a couple of teenagers skipping class. Most of his brain – and all of his body – disagrees with that logic, but he overrules the internal dissent.

"You should get back to work," he says, and begins to walk toward the door.

As he passes Abby, she grabs his arm, steps into his path and kisses him. He realises he'd been half-expecting it, and he reacts without thinking, crushing her against him and meeting her fervent lips with an intensity to match. She sighs into his mouth; he flicks his tongue against hers, teasing, then withdraws as far as he can with her arms wrapped around his neck.

A second's breathing room is all she gives him before she pulls him back down to her. His thigh has somehow ended up between her legs, and she grinds against him with a tiny cry. Gibbs feels his equilibrium begin to tip; if he lets this continue, he'll have her bent over the table within a couple of minutes, regardless of who might walk in and catch him pounding into her.

"Not here." He has to turn his head to say it, and she's nuzzling his neck before he's even finished getting the words out. He pulls back from her with an effort. "Abbs, you know we can't."

Her kiss-swollen lips pout a little, but she nods. One of the leather ties in her pigtails has worked itself loose, and he tugs it to draw her attention to it. While she pulls it out and begins to re-tie it, he asks, "What time do you finish work?"

"Noon," she replies. He doesn't know how she does it; she didn't sleep at all last night, and she has hours to go before she's relieved in the lab.

"Make sure you get some sleep. I'm coming by after work, and I want your full attention and no interruptions."

The last thing he sees before he turns away is a grin so wicked that it might as well have come from hell itself. "I'll be waiting…"

Gibbs gets out of there before he does something that will get them both fired.