Summary: After the events of Laced, Abby ends her night out at Gibbs' place…
Author's Note: Aaaand another WIP off the list. ^_^ Awesome. Sorry this took so long... the smut-muse is a fickle bitch. :D
He doesn't expect her to show up at the top of his basement stairs that night, so he's caught off guard when the footsteps crossing the floor above his head turn out to be Abby's.
"Hey, Gibbs!" She descends the stairs without hesitation and gives him a brief hug.
"Didn't expect to see you again tonight," he says, pulling up a saw-horse for her to sit on. "You have fun?"
Abby shrugs and smiles. "It was okay. Good, but not great. I probably should have had more to drink than I did."
She seems slightly tipsy – relaxed and friendly, but not outright drunk. Gibbs makes a mental note to put the bourbon somewhere she can't see it as soon as her back is turned – his woodworking projects seem to suffer when Abby's intoxicated in his basement.
"And then on the way home, I realised I was gonna need a little help getting out of this dress, so… here I am."
His brain scrambles to process that statement, and the matter-of-fact way she speaks the words. "Abbs, all you had to do is click your fingers, and any guy at the club would've helped you out of that thing. Why'd you need me?"
She rolls her eyes. "I didn't see anyone worth taking home. And you laced me into this. You're the perfect person to unlace me."
He turns his back, looking through his collection of nails, screws, nuts and bolts for something he doesn't need. This is a completely new situation; he must have given himself away earlier. He'd been careful not to touch her more than necessary, but god, he'd wanted to. "What're you planning on changing into?"
"Depends," she says, a seductive note entering her tone. "It's cold down here, but if we go upstairs, all I'll need is your body against mine."
His fingers falter, and he counts to five before he can even think about replying. "Abby-"
"I know." She gets up, her dress rustling, and moves to his side, leaning against his workbench. Her fingers trail from the crease of his elbow down to his wrist, and he keeps his eyes on her hand, not trusting his self-control if he looks elsewhere. "You have a rule against this. But, Gibbs…"
The way she sighs his name is beyond erotic, and he closes his eyes, as if that will block out her words.
"I want you. I can't help it. And this…?"
Despite his better judgment, he opens his eyes in time to watch her run her palms up the front of the dress' corset, right over her pushed-up breasts. The sight is almost enough to make him groan aloud.
"Since you laced me into this, it's like you've been holding me all night. And I want that, for real."
His primal instincts battling his sense of civilised self-control, Gibbs moves away from her, taking the stairs two at a time. Undeterred, she follows him into his living room, then steps in closer, her body almost touching his. "All you have to say is, 'Go home, Abby', and I will."
Tell her to go home? He couldn't form the words even if he wanted to. Instead, he cups her corseted waist in both hands, preventing her from coming any closer.
It doesn't stop him from undressing her with his eyes. And it certainly doesn't stop her from noticing. "I'll take that as a 'no'."
Gibbs gives his voice free rein at last, giving up. "Last chance to walk away, Abbs."
She spins in his loose grip, and for a second he thinks she'll do exactly that. Disappointment kicks him in the solar plexus, stronger than he'd like, and in that moment he realises exactly how much he wants her to stay.
She doesn't walk away, though. Her head slightly lowered, she waits for him to unlace her, and relief mixes with desire to form a potent cocktail of need as she murmurs, "Not going anywhere."
He brushes his lips across the nape of her neck, tightening his grip on her waist a fraction. Her breath catches, and he smiles despite himself. It's not gonna be hard to figure out where all her buttons are, and pressing them is at the top of his priority list.
As slowly as he can stand to, he unties the bow between her shoulder blades, and the material gives a little under his fingers. He keeps going, pulling the laces through the eyelets one at a time, running his fingers over the emerging cross tattoo on her back.
Tiny shivers slip down her spine, and she fidgets a little, gooseflesh pebbling her skin. "Cold?" he asks, pausing for a second.
"No!" Torn between impatience and amusement, she glances back at him, and he pulls her body back against his, leaning over her shoulder to capture her lips for the first time.
She's not expecting it, but it doesn't stop her from responding, turning her head as far as she can to kiss him back. Then, feeling his growing erection pressing against her, she breaks off with a devilish smile. "Gonna guess that's not your SIG, Agent Gibbs."
"Still want the dress off?"
"I could ask you the same thing," she says, slipping a hand back between them to rub lightly over his jeans. "Gonna need your help, either way…"
He nips at the side of her neck. "Could just pull that skirt up and bend you over the dining room table," he tells her, entertaining that fantasy for a moment.
Abby drags her nails over the denim that lies between her skin and his cock, sending tiny vibrations through the rough material, and he pulls her laces through the final few eyelets of her dress, leaving the back gaping open. Without pulling the garment off her shoulders, he slides his hands inside, resting his palms against her stomach for a moment before travelling upward.
Abby leans her head back against his shoulder as he cups her breasts the way the dress was designed to do, pushing them up and dislodging the straps from her shoulders in the process. She folds down the top half of the dress with a soft laugh, looking down at his hands.
"You know, next time I go out you should really be my shirt. Okay, a little experimental, but at least I'd know no one else would be wearing the same thing…"
The feel of her taut nipples against his fingers is driving him crazy. "Rather stay in."
"Me too," she whispers, angling her head back for another kiss.
Somehow, he manages to loosen his hold on her enough to drag the dress up and over her head, leaving her in sheer stockings, a lace garter belt and panties. He'd forgotten the stockings up until now, and they're the final straw to his self control.
For the first time since she turned her back to let him unlace her, he spins her to face him. While his gaze snags on her full, pale breasts and the bat silhouette tattooed just below her navel, she takes advantage of his distraction to pull off his shirt. He pulls her close, her naked flesh electric against his, and returns her heated kiss with a growl.
Abby unzips his jeans and slides her hand inside, stroking him firmly. He groans her name against her throat, kissing and nipping at her flesh, and she murmurs, "So, where are you gonna make me yours?"
"Here," he tells her, pulling her into his lap as he lowers them onto the couch. Abby's stocking-clad thighs straddle his waist, and the heat pressing against him through the fabric of those tiny panties is almost too much for him to bear. He thrusts up against her, and she grinds her clit against his erection with a sigh, resting her forehead against his.
"And then everywhere else." They move together slowly, teasing themselves with images. Abby moans aloud as he skims his fingers between her legs, hitting her clit. In response, she takes him in hand again, her practised movements almost driving him crazy.
And then, somehow, she manages to pull her panties aside and sink down onto him in one deft movement, her breath trembling from her lips as he bites back a groan. "Damn it, Abbs, you're-"
There are no words for what she is, and as her lips curve into a bright, hedonistic smile he stops trying, pulling her all the way down into his lap and savouring the feeling of being inside her. For a moment, she murmurs wordless pleasure against his neck, remaining still, but then she starts to move, driving all coherent thought from his mind.
He slides his hands up her body, pushing up her breasts the way she did when he laced her into her dress, and devotes his attention to her nipples. His breath comes harder as she rides him skilfully, taking what she wants and giving him exactly what he needs.
Abby gasps out a few coarse words he never thought he'd hear her say, her entire body coiled with tension. Gibbs grabs her hips and guides her down onto him harder, adding his strength to her movements, and she cries out as she comes, still moving against him, her fingers curling at the nape of his neck.
Her powerful climax adds a whole new dimension to Gibbs' need. His brain short-circuits as pleasure surges through him, drowning out everything but the feel of Abby's body against and around his.
She nuzzles his ear as calm and contentment begin to descend, replacing the urgency and magnetised chaos of just moments before. He folds his arms tightly around her, smiling as he registers her still-racing heartbeat.
After a while, she speaks without lifting her head from his shoulder. "I guess that answers the question 'do you like my dress?'"
"Prefer you without the dress," he points out, and she laughs.
"I kinda noticed. But if I hadn't been in the dress, you wouldn't have had to get me out of it."
"And that would have been a damn shame." Together, they look over at the garment that lies discarded on the floor. "Want me to lace you back into it?"
Abby shoots him a suggestive look. "Maybe later, and only if you promise to help me out of it again."
"Done." Before he can say anything else, she smothers a yawn against her hand, and he helps her upright. "Sleep first. Dress tomorrow."
Together they head upstairs, gathering armfuls of clothing from the floor on the way. It's not until they're together in the dark, warm and entwined under the bedcovers, that Abby points out, "You know, if you lace me into my dress tomorrow, you're gonna have to drive me to my place so you can help me change out of it again."
"Think I can deal with that," Gibbs says, brushing his lips against her forehead. "Question is, what are you gonna change into?"
Snuggling closer, she tells him, "You can take a look through my closet and help me decide."
"Hmm." The thought intrigues him, but Abby's weariness is infectious. There'll be time for that tomorrow. "Night, Abbs."
The sound of her breathing is the only reply he gets, and the only lullaby he needs to follow her into sleep.