A/N: So I present a (very belated) birthday present to the lovely Holly. She has been so patient, when she should have kicked my ass. :D

-Thus, I kick off my return to writing (after that half-unexpected summer sabbatical) in tandem with kicking off my Senior year. I am, to use Television lingo, "returning for another season" :p

He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she let loose her thick, red waves and shook them over her fair shoulders, flicking the worn elastic hair tie to the side as she approached. Her hands fluidly untied the knot on her silk robe and she shrugged it elegantly to the floor with a smirk, stepping with bare feet from the pool of purple material towards his bed, now clad only in tantalizing, frothy green lace.

Jennifer Shepard gave him a flash of a mischievous smirk as she knelt over him on his bed, on her knees over his lap, her hand brushing against his neck teasingly. She smelled good. She pressed her palm gently into his chest and curled her fingers inwards.

She looked at him with seductive emerald eyes through her thick lashes, and he wondered why the hell he'd agreed to this challenge—and yet, he was more than confident he would come out the victor.

"Not a sound," her voice was like silk. "Biting of the lip is permitted; the use of a pillow to muffle moans is not—under any circumstances."

She leaned forward, and her torso brushed against his as she moved closer, pressed closer, and straddled his lap, her smooth thighs pressing into his denim-clad legs firmly.

"You think you can handle this, Jethro?" she asked provokingly, a perfect eyebrow arching smoothly.

"You're the screamer, Jen," was his low, husky answer.

She smirked.

"Not with a month's worth of morning coffee on the line," she said brazenly, her butterscotch-alto voice hitting him hard and good all over. Damn, he was going to miss hearing her moan for him in this battle of the wills.

She pressed her lips against his, slow and inebriating, working into it. He snaked an arm around her lithe waist and held her against his hips, a free hand roaming her smooth, warm skin, grazing lace unmentionables.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs thanked God for weekends off and nothing to do and the decidedly adult games that sprung from the hot summer days of July and sarcastic banter and the fierce combat for superiority in every little thing that their personalities fostered.

He felt her muscles tense as he leaned forward, running his hand down her thigh aggressively, pulling her tight to his hips, and kissed her back forcefully, snatching her breath, his fingers seeking the sensitive points on her neck with a memory branded in them by years and years of knowing her.

It was a quaint little game, really. Salacious and frustrating to the end. The rules were simple: the first of the two of them make any noise became the provider of coffee for the other for the next month.

A vehicle through which to explore the uncharted waters—for them at least—of silent sex.

Truth be told, he was hard pressed to figure out how Jenny was going to weather this.

He could already feel Jenny holding back; it was why she was kissing him harder, lips and teeth, now, as he dipped his fingers under the pristine lace of her lingerie panties and traced the forgotten nerves of her lips with an insistent tongue.

This was already fun. He smirked against her lips, and she wasn't even allowed a snarky response.

Jethro ran his hand over every inch of her, lightly, teasingly, under the green lace until he found his way around her backside and cupped her ass firmly. He felt her shoulders heave, as if she were sucking in her breath without a sound, and shifted her weight off of his lap, flipping her under him and crawling over her, his knees on either side of her thighs this time.

She looked winded, and he arched an eyebrow arrogantly, leaning down to kiss the corner of her mouth, to which she responded by shifting her head minutely and catching his lip in a playful nip. She drew him into a deep battle of a kiss again and he drew his hand from her lingerie up her spine with leisurely surety, his other hand snaking innocently up one of her arms.

Her wicked hand moved lazily down his chest, nails catching expertly and just slightly in his hair as the manicured hand reached his navel and three slim fingers dipped into his jeans, yanking his hips down to hers. She lifted a leg, pressed a knee into his side, and arched her back just a little beneath him.

It was enough friction to test his control, and he flexed his muscles, pausing in his part of the kiss for a split second. She seemed to notice; she took advantage of his falter and bucked her hips, her leg curling around his as if she would try to flip him under her.

It felt damn good, but he knew that move, and she moved too slowly to catch him off guard anyway. He tightened his knees against her thighs and took her arms, drawing them above her head and pinning her wrists with the hands that had been so lazily caressing.

He trailed kisses away from her mouth and to her ear, then down the column of her neck, and he could tell by the way she flexed her arm muscles and struggled, her foot connecting harshly with his thigh, that she deemed his move unfair.

And she couldn't say a damn thing about it, or she'd lose.

Fractionally, he let his grip on her wrists slip down towards her elbows as he moved his mouth down her body, over fine lace bra straps to the hollow of her elegant neck and closer to her flushed cleavage, where the real fun began.

Jenny had tricks of her own up her sleeve, intimate knowledge of his turn-ons to utilize, but she was finding it difficult to remember what precisely they were, at the moment, when she was channeling her energy into remaining silent as he teased the skin of her breasts exposed by her skimpy lingerie.

He was grazing sensitive skin with teeth, tracing aching curves with his tongue, and rubbing the pads of his fingers into her arms in a way that was combining to drive her crazy, and she swallowed, parting her lips. She bit her bottom one. It was getting harder to fight his grip when he was such a heavy, silver-tongued, handsome devil.

His hands slipped down her arms again, still pinning her, and he tugged at the bow between her breasts playfully as his mouth slipped to her ribs, his kiss skating over the skin tentatively. He lifted his eyes to look at her and when she caught his gaze, she tilted her head back and closed her own eyes, unable to look at him. She caught her breath; he pressed his hips hard into hers, tightening his grip on her arms.

Jenny took in her breath, silent, yes; but her abdomen contracted and she almost lost it, and for her troubles, she earned control of her hands again.

Her petite hands flew immediately to his jeans; she didn't care what he did with his damn mouth right now, his jeans were coming off. It was only fair. She freed the button and pushed, her lips curling into a smile when he pressed back against her hand. She felt him stop, felt his breath against her stomach and the grit of his teeth.

His strong hands ran down her sides, brushing her breasts, and he slipped his fingers again into the lace of her panties, shifting away from her so her hand was yanked away from his groin. He tugged the low-cut green lace gently down, thwarted when she twisted and maneuvered a knee up into his chest, giving him a hell of a nice view but minimal access.

Jenny used one hand and a very deft toe to shimmy his jeans down the backs of his thighs and gave a shove with her thigh. Setting his jaw firmly, Jethro relented and finished for her, kicking them to the floor. Then he grabbed her knee and wrestled it down, coving her body with his again.

It was one bitch of a choice, whether or not to make this fast or draw it out until it hurt not to scream.

He considered it briefly when he captured her mouth with his again, a swift hiatus, his tongue seeking hers for a nice, easy way to stay quiet. She tilted her head back, gripping the hair at the back of his neck tightly. Her fingers laced into it; he shivered. Her touch was electric; he felt it down through his spine. It was almost like hearing her voice.


There was nothing comparable to her voice.

He lured her into a false sense of security with the length of the kiss. He thought this was easy. It was a test of self-control, yes, but so was boot camp, and he wasn't sure Jen knew what she was up against. Not when he knew so well the things that rendered her unable to keep quiet.

Things he'd discovered when they were hiding in that adoration chapel in Sacre Coeur, in Paris.

He moved his hand between them, brushing her skin lazily, until he reached the smooth skin of her inner thighs, and then he pushed aside the thin lace and assaulted her with his fingers. Her nails pierced his neck fiercely; she swallowed hard, her lips parted, freezing. She took a deep breath; breathing was allowed, thank the lord.

He lifted his head and met her eyes. He almost felt sorry for her, her beautiful eyes were so smoky with desire and the stress of remaining quiet, except there wasn't much time for pity when looking into her eyes tested his composure fiercely.

Jethro plunged two fingers inside her, cupping his palm against her; she arched her hips against his hand, her lips moving soundlessly. Her lips tightened and she grit her teeth, an angry look crossing her emerald eyes.

Weakly, her fingers pulled at his hair as his fingers moved inside her, too gentle and then blissfully hard, one, then three, and then just the teasing rhythm of his palm. His movement slowed briefly; as he watched her eyes darken and flutter.

Jenny drew her nails down his torso and reached around, yanking his cotton boxers over his backside. Drawing her hands around, she made a ring with her index finger and thumb and slid it over the length of his cock. Jethro dropped his head to the crook of her neck and grabbed her wrist tightly.

Jenny raised an eyebrow at him and shook his hand off, jerking her hand back up smoothly. His shoulders convulsed and he wrapped his hand around her shoulder, holding tightly. He pulled her lips towards him, kissing her roughly, and bit back a groan. He'd forgotten, he forgotten how good she was at that.

So this was what it felt like to suffocate.

He closed his eyes and set his jaw, bracing his palm against her thigh as her hand moved agonizingly, slow, like she was taking his blood pressure: tighten, relax, repeat. She flicked her thumb casually over the head and he dug his nails into her flesh, shifting his weight and dragging her over on top of him with the brunt of his strength.

It might not have been the smartest move, to put her in all her glory on top, but at the moment it was the only way to get her hand off. It worked; she lost her grip, and she looked taken aback. He drew his hands over her ass again, his thumb dipping briefly beneath the lace, and then his fingers danced up her spine until he reached the clasp and he toyed with it briefly, avoiding her eyes when she ground her hips into him.

He unsnapped the green lace bra, as much as he liked it, and took the straps, slowly pulling them down her arms. She pulled her hands down over his biceps and to his hips, hooking her pinkies into his boxers and scooting back, tugging them off as she moved off the bed.

Jethro chucked her bra over his head and reached for her arm as she casually flicked his boxers to the side, yanking her towards him. The delicate lace panties were barely clinging to her hips. She let her hand slip from his and crawled over him slowly, her mouth pressing warm kisses over his thighs and navel.

He bit his tongue. Blood tasted like copper, and he swallowed it down with a suppressed shout.

He wove his fingers into her hair, fumbling for her shoulder, but she kept escaping, and his control was slipping just a little more; she traced his ribs with her tongue, flicking it through her pursed lips like a snake, and she threw him a wanton look before she pressed her lips—

He pulled her up by her shoulder, winding his other arm firmly about her slim waist. Under normal circumstances, he wasn't the type of self-sacrificing gentlemen to turn down a blowjob, but these circumstances were far from normal.

She smirked at him, challenging, and he took a short breath, moving his hand from her shoulder to her breast, covering it with his hand. She curled her leg around his, anchored against his muscular body by his strong arm. Her head fell back against his shoulder and she writed slightly in his grip, her breath hitching repeatedly as he brushed his fingers over her sensitized nerves.

He was mistaken if he thought the sensation elicited by her lace rubbing against his bare skin wouldn't be dizzying. He rolled over her, placing a chaste kiss to her cheek, almost mockingly, before he moved his mouth down to her breasts, nonchalantly and without warning pulling her lingerie off of her and leaving her to kick it off from her ankles.

He felt the skittering, fast beat of her heart and the quickness of her breath. Jenny's inability to pace herself was making this hard on her; if she didn't regulate her breathing, she was going to have to make a noise.

He backed off the bed before she realized what was happening and splayed his hand over her stomach, stroking her thigh before he dragged her toward him. She braced her foot against his shoulder and gripped the sheets tightly, but she couldn't really stop him.

She wasn't sure she really wanted to. You really didn't turn this kind of treatment down.

He rubbed his hand over her knee, placing it reverently on his shoulder and kissed slowly up the inside of her thigh, scraping gently with his teeth occasionally, soothing the mark with his tongue. She took a deep breath and shivered, half-way to thinking she could handle it until his tongue hit her just there, and the way her body jerked and her breath caught was so close to a moan that Jethro actually stopped, eyebrows raised, and looked at her.

She shook her head angrily.

Jenny dug her heels into him arching her back. She shook her head, fighting for a way to calm down. He went right back to kissing her in a way that made her need a priest to forgive-them-their-sins, and she bit her lip. She was so hot; she wanted to twist on the bed and moan and scream his name. At this moment, she felt she fully understood the term 'hurts so good'.

She couldn't breathe. It was taking all her energy to keep quiet, and he wasn't cutting her any slack. She ran a hand back through her sweaty hair; her hands were shaking. Her breath caught in her throat again; now she didn't think she could scream if she was allowed to because this felt too damn good. The fire hit her hard and she closed her eyes, arching her back into his mouth again and pressing her lips together hard.

He gripped her knee tightly; it tickled and it sent a shock up her spine. Jenny took in her breath sharply, and then Jethro was kissing his way up her body again, one of his hands wrapped rightly around her knee still while he pushed it up by his waist.

He attacked her neck with his mouth, his teeth scraping her rushing artery, and she tilted her head back, blood rushing to her head. Her self-control snapped, completely. She couldn't breathe or think anymore. His touch had turned carefully rough, and full of passion, and it was better than good.

She bit her lip, aware she was about to lose this game, and reached for his hips, running her nails all over the backs of his thighs and up. Jethro smoothly stroked down her thigh and back between her legs, thrusting two fingers inside her while the afterglow was still driving her nerves wild, and she threw her head back and let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a moan.

He grinned, all triumph.

"Son of a bitch, Jethro," she gasped, and let out a shocked breath when he took the arm she'd reached up to rest against his neck and yanked her against his chest, leaning back on his knees.

She tilted her head back, her red hair falling like a wine-coloured waterfall off the bed, and arched her hips up to meet him, giving in to the full relief of surrendering her chance to win the game.

Jethro pulled her hips to him, bracing one arm next to her head easily. He entered her, using all of his will-power to keep quiet even when she tightened her muscles wickedly around him as her lithe legs wrapped around his waist.

His head fell to her shoulder and he pushed his forehead against her, his head spinning with the effort of breathing and holding back a curse. Her warm, soft hands cradled his neck and he listened to her moaning, her whimpers, and the mumbled words of encouragement that peppered the sounds she was now free to make.

"God, Jethro, harder, yes—God," it was breathy, sultry gasps, and then her alto voice broke off and she tried to take a deep breath. He grit his teeth and thrust into her, harder, while her body trembled and she wrapped her arms tightly around his biceps. He felt her lips against his ear, her hard breathing, and her soft screams—or something like them, blood was pounding too loudly in his ears.

He turned his head and took Jen's mouth, kissing her good and hard, shutting her up for a minute. He held off a few last seconds, blending his climax with her intoxicating kiss, and managed to hold back a groan as he shuddered, his muscles tensing all over as he came.

He relaxed slowly, his lips hovering over her cheek, collapsing next to her after a moment with a possessive arm draped suggestively low over her hips. She drew a leg up shakily, her knee pointing to the ceiling, blinking in desire and disbelief, evening out her breathing.

After a moment, he brushed his lips gently against her ear and placed a kiss behind it.

"I win," he growled in a low, husky voice. He buried his face in her crimson hair and groaned, mumbling her name like a thankful prayer.

"Making up for lost words?" she asked primly, shifting to her side slightly and running her palm over his chest until it rested against his pounding heart. He growled unintelligibly and breathed her in deeply, his lips brushing her temple now.

She looked at him through her eyelashes. Her sharp, viridian eyes narrowed and she arched an eyebrow. He drew his knuckles lazily over her hip and pulled her leg over his, stroking her thigh absently, up and down.

"Strong, silent type is an apt way to describe you, is it?" she mocked, a little perturbed that he had so apparently effortlessly kept silent through that whole mind-blowing thing. He grunted. Very seriously, he answered in her ear.

"If you were doing that to me in the middle of the desert of Kuwait, and I had made a noise, we'd have been shot."

Jenny raised her eyes to the ceiling. Heaven help her; only a hot-tempered red-head would challenge a marine to something like this. Jethro rubbed his hand in circles on her thigh, placing kisses against her temple and in her hair rewardingly.

She smirked, and used the leg he'd so kindly positioned over him for her as leverage to pull herself on him, straddling his hips. He rested his arm under his neck, looking at her appreciatively. He left his other hand atop her thigh.

"Coffee, then. Every morning for a month, on me," she granted with a nod, reaffirming their initial bet.

"Weekends included," he warned.

She smiled demurely and leaned forward, pressing her finger to his lips gently, with a wry grin. She kissed the corner of his mouth with a nod, to reassure him, and he caught her hair in his hands, entwining his fingers.

She shifted her hips, moving her kiss down his throat, to his chest.

"The Quiet Game is over, Jethro," she purred in a sultry voice. "This time, make all the noise you want."

And she trailed her lips down his chest promisingly.

When I was little, we played a version of "The Quiet Game". Except, in our version, my Mom yelled 'SHUT UP' and whoever (me or my brother) talked first lost. Good times:D