Title: Drawing Down the Moon (for the So You Think They Can Dance? NFA challenge)
Author: dannica webb
Status: Complete (one-shot)
Category: Romance, Smut
Summary: Y la luz de luna a revelado que tu palpitar es por mi, que siempre a sido asi. And the moonlight has revealed that your heart beats for me, and it has always been like that.
AN: Summary is lyrics from the song Sakeena by Outlandish, which, by the by, is my favorite love song of all time. Mostly pure sexytiemz with some romance included (I normally don't see Gibbs and Abby going at it before figuring out where they stand with each other and dating for a bit first, but, well, it wouldn't get out of my head, and everyone loves the sexytiemz, right?). Cover art can be seen at http : // i22 . photobucket . com / albums / b327 / carnivaldaughter /
The game they play goes unacknowledged. There are no rules; Gibbs thinks of it really as an extension of the dance they've been doing around each other for years. Since...well, for awhile, Abby's just been coming around more often, making excuses to call sometimes, showing up with dinner at others. Following him home. Becoming a comfortable fixture in the basement on his quieter evenings.
If it were anyone else, he'd have to concede to the term dating. But they've steered well clear of definitions – of discussion, of anything, really – for so long that he's not sure what she is to him, except that he can't imagine his life without her.
The realization comes to him without fanfare one morning while he's getting ready for work, remembering the way, last night, she'd laid her head sleepily on his shoulder as they sat on the couch watching a movie she'd nabbed from Tony. It's ten years in coming, and he doesn't know what exactly gives him the sense of urgency, the feeling that now is the time to move forward. Maybe it's the way he can still feel the vestiges of her touch hours after she's gone, or how he sometimes goes to kiss her cheek and has to fight the urge to press his lips against the corner of her mouth, against her jawline, against the soft place where her neck curves into her shoulder.
And sometimes tendrils of guilt curl in his stomach, because he doesn't want her to think he just keeps her around for company when there's no one else.
He fights off the urge for some liquid courage, his mind flickering to the flask in his bottom desk drawer. He can hardly be blamed, though. After all, it's been, well, decades since he's undertaken a mission of this magnitude. He cared deeply for Jenny and Hollis, but Abby has ensconced herself in his heart, the process having occurred so slowly that it takes him by surprise when he stops to finally ask himself what their relationship really means to him. It's the first time he's really been nervous since that first date with Shannon, and he swallows it down.
It'll be a night like any other night, he thinks. She's come over the last two, so he figures she'll probably come up when the day is over and suggest a movie for them to watch or a new recipe she's been dying to try. The team hasn't caught any heavy cases today, so he knows they'll all be out of there by six.
When she doesn't come bounding out of the elevator, he finally stands and decides to head down to the lab. He's surprised to see that it's dark, the door to her inner office locked; he searches for signs of where she might head for the evening, a sticky note, anything, but finds no evidence. Running a hand through his hair, he makes his way back up to the squadroom.
He's contemplating calling her or maybe just waiting for tomorrow evening when Tony gets up and grabs his coat. Before Tony can bid him goodnight, Gibbs asks, "DiNozzo, do you know where Abby went off to?", hoping it sounds nonchalant.
Tony leans back over the desk, running his index finger over a few heavily scribbled on Post-Its. "Um...I think she's going out tonight, Boss," he says, straightening again. Something in Gibbs's look must give him pause – Gibbs thought Abby hadn't been out to her usual brand of rave clubs and bars in awhile – because he adds, "Probably not the kind of club you're thinking of, Boss," with an understanding smile. They've both worried for Abby's safety in the past. "She performs every now and then at a joint called Vivre on 18th Street. Don't worry, it's much more low key than her old places."
He calls the last line over his shoulder as he's off to the elevator, so Gibbs doesn't have a chance to wonder aloud what he means by perform. Knowing full well curiosity killed the cat and he's gone through too many lives already, he doesn't ponder the relative merits of following this newest lead against the comfort of bourbon, boat, and basement for too long before grabbing his jacket and following Tony's path to the elevator.
Vivre is tucked upstairs on a street of jazz bars, coffeehouses, and music shops; it looks like the lower area might be an art gallery. The elegantly painted sign extends out from the building, the letters inscribed vertically in a swirling script. He reaches the top of the stairs and the entrance to the bar, skimming over the poster on the wall advertising the night's entertainment as the smoky atmosphere of alcohol and conversation washes over him.
He pushes through the room, which seems a little overcrowded for such a low-key spot, and finally reaches the bar, leaning back against it just as the band comes on the stage. While they set up, another man comes to the microphone, introducing them. Gibbs is momentarily distracted by the bartender; when he looks back from ordering the bourbon, a woman is on the stage, leaning over to greet and exchange hugs with the band members.
He knows from the ornate cross exposed on her back that it's Abby, but it still takes his breath away when she turns around. He doesn't think she sees him, but his eyes take her in – attired even more strangely than usual, her dark hair is piled atop her head and there are cherry blossoms woven through it, the only splash of color in her costume. She's wearing pants and a skirt overtop made of some sort of flowy material, secured by a silver chain at her waist. Matching silver chains hang from the bustier top she's wearing, adorned with dangling charms that reflect the light as she laughs at something the drummer says. The silver and black lace bands on her wrists and neck set off her makeup, darker and more dramatic than usual.
He's so busy drinking her in that it startles him when the crowd, clapping raucously for her, goes completely silent and the light tap-tap of the drumbeat floats through the room. Abby smiles coyly at the drummer, backing up with measured, light steps, in time with the beats. When he complicates the rhythm, she lifts her arms, framing her face, her hips popping flirtatiously.
It reminds Gibbs a bit of the belly dancers he saw while stationed in the Middle East, but the movements of Abby's hips and shoulders are sharper and more precise. The hypnotic convergence of her movements with the drumbeats makes it impossible to focus his attention anywhere else; he is captivated by the light rise and fall of her fingers, by the way light and shadow play over her pale skin.
It's not until the drummer unexpectedly slows the beat, during a pregnant pause where Abby stands completely still, facing the crowd, that Gibbs sees the spread of a phoenix tattoo on her stomach. Flames lick at her hips, which are moving sinuously, as if the music has crawled inside her skin and taken up residence there.
Her teasing back-and-forth with the drummer seems to be coming to a close when a cheer rises in the crowd. Gibbs isn't sure what they are anticipating until he recognizes the low thrum of a techno beat accompanying the sharp, staccato rhythm of the drum. Abby faces the crowd, looking past him, a Mona Lisa smile on her face as her arms frame her torso and she turns in time with the music. When she comes to a stop, her body flowing into another serpentine movement, her eyes flutter closed and her lips part in a gesture that causes a sensuous tugging in Gibbs's groin.
Most of the audience, who seem familiar with her dancing, anticipate the speeding up of the music, some of them clapping in time with it for a moment. As the music speeds up, Abby's grin widens and she moves across the stage, her hips and shoulders cutting through perfect isolations as her arms extend in graceful, flowing gestures. She keeps pace with the frenetic beat, even as it speeds up to an impossible tempo, and her movements are so perfectly synchronized that she pauses just as the music comes to an abrupt halt.
It's when she looks back out into the crowd after bowing gracefully that she catches him watching.
Her face barely registers surprise before she's turning to accept the band's hugs, and Gibbs turns towards the bar to sip his forgotten bourbon, thinking he'll need the liquid courage after seeing that.
"What's a girl gotta do to get a drink around here?" she asks coyly several moments later, sidling up a few stools down with a smile for the bartender.
His returning grin shows Gibbs she's worked her charm on all the people here, too. Gibbs can't blame him. "Hey, beautiful," he says with a grin. He looks like he's about to offer her something, but pauses when Gibbs steps up behind her, placing his hand lightly on her neck and kissing the top of her head.
Her hair is still pinned up but most of the ornate jewelry is gone, and when she turns around and leans back, her elbows on the bar, he's distracted by the tendrils falling down, framing her smiling face. "Hi, Gibbs."
"Abbs," he responds, meeting her eyes. He's standing a little too close for comfort, close enough that it wouldn't be awkward if he moved away, but he stays planted there. He can feel the heat radiating off of her through the flowing black pants and skimpy camisole she's changed into. The outfit is understated for her, but must be comfortable compared to what she just performed in, and the chains around her waist and neck are reminiscent of her usual attire.
She's so beautiful it takes his breath away for a moment, before he can recall what he was planning to say next. And then he recalls that he's winging this, and the nervousness sets in again, slowed by the touch of her hand on his arm. "You looked amazing up there."
She must hear the compliment often, but the way she beams when he says it makes him feel like the only guy on the planet. She reaches up to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Gibbs."
"Planning any wild after-parties?" It's not the most graceful way to invite her back to his place, but he doesn't want to assume.
She pretends to debate the situation for a moment before she says, "Promise me a drink and a dance first?"
He swallows hard. Gibbs is not a bad dancer, but he's not sure he can match her to the heady rhythm and blues melody that's now filling the air. Then again, the thought of her earlier movements, so much like foreplay, like a tease, comes back to him and all he wants is to feel her up against him, feel the beat in his blood again.
He presses closer to her to lean past and signal the bartender. "An apple martini for the lady."
Her eyes narrow in mock suspicion as she points one lacquered fingernail at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to take advantage of me."
"Depends. Do you want to be taken advantage of?" He keeps the flirtation going but lifts her chin with his finger, his eyes searching hers. If this isn't what she wants, he'll stop, and he wants to make sure she knows.
She flashes him an unguarded smile. "I don't mind."
The bartender sets her drink down and she turns to grab her martini. "Thanks, Joe," she says, and he nods to her.
"How long you been leading a secret life, Abbs?" Gibbs teases her, moving just far enough away to stand next to her, leaning on the bar and sipping his bourbon slowly. He doesn't plan to do more than sip, as he'll be driving.
She holds the martini glass in her long, thin fingers, glancing up at him through her dark lashes. "It's not exactly a secret, Gibbs."
"You just didn't tell us."
"Something like that." She smirks. "I used to dance when I was younger – my parents thought it a far more demure hobby for a girl than taking apart and putting back together all the appliances in the house." She pauses to take a sip of the martini. "I started learning fusion dance when I was in high school, and performed in college to help pay the bills." She shrugs. "Now I just do it for fun from time to time. Not that often."
She downs the rest of the martini as a new song comes on, grabbing his hand. "I love this song!" she exclaims, pulling him close before he has time to object until he's nestled just so against her in all the right places. The music is a slow, thick groove, pouring over them sensually. She leans back against him, pulling his arms around her waist and undulating her hips back against him.
If her performance was the tease, this, he thinks, is definitely the foreplay.
Or maybe, he amends as she turns to face him, close enough to kiss him as she presses against the evidence of his arousal, it's sex standing up.
He nearly loses it when a low, barely voiced moan escapes her parted lips, so close to his. His hand tightens possessively around her waist as he nuzzles against her cheek. "Abby."
"Mmm," she murmurs, her body still moving against his in time with the slow, hypnotic beat.
"You're going to kill me."
She opens her heavy-lidded eyes, pulling back just enough to study his face, her fingers curling into the material of his shirt. "You mentioned something about an afterparty?"
She twines her fingers in his, staying close behind him as he leads her out of the club and down the stairs. As they walk across the street to his car, she lets go of his hand long enough to wrap her arm around his back, leaning into him when he puts an arm around her shoulders. He starts to ask her about her car, but she just says, "We can pick it up tomorrow."
They're on the passenger side of the car and he's about to open the door when she surprises him, standing on tiptoe to graze her lips against his. It seems like such an innocent gesture after the way her body wrapped around his inside the club, but it's the first time they've ever really kissed. Before he realizes it, he has pinned her against the car, returning the kiss with interest. He catches her lower lip in his teeth as her fingers slide under his shirt, nails scratching lightly against his skin. His body shields her from view in the deserted parking lot as one of his legs finds its way between hers.
He nearly comes undone when she moans into his mouth, pressing against his leg, creating a none-too-gentle friction. In contrast to the harsh but satisfying movement, his fingertips ghost along her arms lightly, coming up to twine in her hair, pulling it free of its pins.
When his lips drift along her jaw, her soft whimper is swallowed by the darkness of the night. "God, Gibbs," she says with a shaky, low chuckle, her fingers stilling on his back and one hand coming up to tilt his face towards her. "I'm not this girl."
"Which girl?" he says, nuzzling softly against her cheek and pressing his lips there in an affectionate gesture.
Her lips quirk up into a small smile, one arm still loosely holding him to her. "The one who goes at it standing up with strange men in parking lots."
He laughs softly, stepping away from the car so that he can open the door for her. The soft noise she makes as their bodies separate takes the sting out of her words, communicating not so much no as not now. He brushes his lips against hers once more before walking around to get into the car and start it.
As they pull out of the parking lot, he glances over at where she is leaning against the back of the seat, her eyes closed. He reaches across the console for her hand, turning it over with his free hand and drawing circles on the soft skin on the inside of her wrist with his fingertips.
When they reach his house, he's reluctant to let go of her wrist. He comes around to open her door again, taking her hand as they walk up the steps they've walked so many times to his front door.
This time is different, though.
She's just finished kicking off her shoes in the foyer when she turns to him, looking as if she's going to kiss him again, and then stopping. "Gibbs, I..." Her voice trails off.
"It's alright if you don't want to do this," he says immediately, studying her face.
She shakes her head. "It's not that!" she protests adamantly, keeping her grip on his fingers. "I just...." She takes a deep breath. "This can't just be sex. Between us." It comes out in a rush, and she looks up at him, her expression, for once, unreadable.
He doesn't know the words yet to tell her what he needs to say, not exactly, so he just whispers, "Abbs, it could never just be sex between us. Not for me."
"Okay," she says, seeming relieved, and presses her face into his neck, dropping soft kisses there.
He smiles and nudges her in the direction of the stairs, but she doesn't seem to need the hint as she leads him up to the top of the landing and down the hallway. She pauses in front of the door she must know leads to his bedroom; he wonders if it's awkward for her, having never seen it before, since she always stays in the guest room.
He doesn't have long to wonder because she turns the knob and walks in. He follows close behind her, and when she pauses in front of the bed, still standing, he wraps his arms around her from behind, kissing along where her neck meets her shoulder. "You are beautiful, Abby Sciuto," he whispers against her skin, before tugging her camisole up to reveal her stomach. She leans into his touch, her head falling back against his shoulder, as his fingers splay over her hips. Her hand comes to rest on top of his for a moment before she straightens and allows him to tug her camisole over her head. It falls from his hand at the side of the bed, already forgotten when she turns to face him.
Her eyes are wide open now, holding his captive as his hands slide over her curves, coming down to slide her pants over her hips and down. She steps out of them as he kneels before her. He can feel her gaze on him as his lips find her hipbone, his tongue darting out to trace the flames licking at the phoenix's wing. He senses a shiver ripple through her, his mouth inscribing a different kind of tattoo over the ink already on her skin, following the pattern of flames to where it disappears under the edge of her satin underwear. He can smell her arousal coming off her in waves.
He stands, his hands trailing up her thighs and along her stomach. As he leans over her, she lays back on the bed, her hair fanning across his dark green comforter. The color sets off her eyes, and he can feel her gaze hot on his skin as her hands come up to undo the buttons on his shirt. He loves the thoughtful look on her face as she pushes the material over his shoulders and down his arms like she's unwrapping him. He's resting on one elbow when she unexpectedly turns him onto his back, straddling his hips and leaning over to taste his skin, flicking her tongue against a nipple. He arches up to her, moaning her name. It's a plea, a prayer, coming from his lips.
She takes her time, making her way down his body with maddeningly slow, methodical precision. When her tongue darts out to lick at the lower part of his stomach, he reaches to tangle his fingers loosely in her hair. She lifts her head, smiling up at him as she divests him of the rest of his clothing, and then before he has a chance to react, she takes him into her mouth, and the sudden sheer pleasure of it overwhelms him. "Abby, please," he whispers into the shadows of the room, keeping his eyes open and anchoring himself to reality by studying the way the moonlight coming through the window plays over her pale skin.
He pulls her up to rest above him once more, wrapping her in his arms and savoring the feel of her smile against his lips. Her knees rest on the bed beside his hips and her eyes close with need as she grinds slowly against him. Feeling the wetness of her arousal nearly shatters his control, the pleasurable, aching need unfurling in his limbs.
He rolls onto his side, sucking on her earlobe as he lays her back against his pillow. He feels the breath of her soft gasp against his cheek as he bites down and then soothes the irritation with his tongue. His fingers caress her hips and he hooks his thumbs in her underwear, sliding the scrap of silky black fabric down and off her legs. She lifts herself up slightly, unhooking her bra and leaning up to kiss him as he slides it off her arms.
He reaches up to brush her dark hair back from her face, taking in the sight of her under his hands. She looks like Selene, like some night goddess, like she's drawn down the moon to cover her body. It takes his breath away.
"Gibbs?" she says uncertainly. "You're making me nervous."
He wants to tell her she's beautiful again, but the self-consciousness behind her eyes makes him wonder if she'd really believe it sincere. So he keeps his mouth shut and smiles a little apologetically as he slides his hands down her body once more. She leans up to his touch, arching to him and rubbing against him like a cat, her normally tactile senses apparently heightened. He brushes his calloused thumbs over her breasts, reveling in her hiss of pleasure, his tongue finding the pulse on her neck and pressing there.
He waits until he feels the haze of pleasure and need fully settle around her before sliding his fingers slowly up against her thighs, waits until she whispers his name to touch her where he knows she wants it most, almost losing himself at the sensation of the heat and moisture radiating from her. He feels the tension in her muscles, feels her holding back, but he wants her to let go. And not for entirely unselfish reasons.
He wants to feel her shatter, feel her break into a thousand pieces under his hands, just so he can hold each one up and see how it reflects the light, just so he can find how she fits together again. So he can see all of her, see who she is when she's not so tightly controlled. So he can make sure she knows he loves all of her.
He senses the apprehension and as she opens her mouth to speak he begins to whisper to her, bringing his other hand up to tenderly touch her face, caressing her hair as he looks into her eyes. He can tell when she begins to relax into his touch, when her whimpers and moans finally escape her lips, when her hips rise unabashedly to his hand. Her eyes close again but he keeps watching her, his lips brushing against her cheekbone, against her forehead, his voice in her ear. He can feel it when her orgasm builds, her hands coming up to clutch him to her, burying her face in his neck. Her body shakes uncontrollably and she lets out a muffled cry against his shoulder, shuddering for a few moments still after her body relaxes.
He thinks it's the most erotic thing he's ever seen.
He kisses away the tears that have collected in the corners of her eyelids, listening to the sound of her still-erratic breathing. "That...was – " she begins, and he finishes, " – amazing," and she smiles at him as she adds, "something like that, yes," ducking her head with a blush.
She surprises him when her expression turns impish and she rolls atop him again, straddling him, her face decidedly more purposeful this time. "You've been holding out on me," she says, capturing his mouth with her own as she sinks down unexpectedly onto him, the feeling of warmth overwhelming him for a moment. She moves until he's completely inside of her, then sets a slow rhythm that threatens to drive him insane.
As he nips at her neck none-too-gently, she clutches him to her, increasing the tempo until she's just as lost in it as he is, and he shudders when she whispers his name, begs him to meet her halfway, to go deeper. He can tell the waves of another orgasm are breaking around her when his name falls as a cry from her lips, and he loses all conscious thought, letting go himself and sliding into that moment where there is nothing but feeling, the sheer overwhelming release of it.
Later, he teases her that he can't even remember his own name. She squints at him playfully, then rearranges her features into a smile, before rolling over and tucking herself back into his embrace. "'M sleepy," she murmurs. "Night, Gibbs." She interlaces her fingers with his where his hand rests over her stomach. Her voice is faint when she whispers, "I love you" – it's something she's said to him a thousand times, but never like this. He wonders if she meant for him to hear it.
He's pretty sure she's already asleep when he says it aloud for the first time. "I love you, too."