Title: Rule Thirteen
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Mildly for season 7's Jetlag and the next couple of episodes.
Summary: Gibbs gets the okay from Ducky to remove his arm sling. Abby's not completely convinced he's healed…

Author's Note: Written for the Gabby Tuesday prompt 'charge'. And for anyone who can't remember, rule thirteen is 'never involve a lawyer'.

When Gibbs opens his front door – which, despite the brand new locks he had installed a couple of days ago, he keeps forgetting to actually lock – the aroma of cooking food hits him.

Please don't tell me that's Allison Hart, because so help me, God...

Easing the door shut behind him, he keeps a hand on the SIG at his hip and advances cautiously. When he rounds the corner into his living room, the sight of Abby dancing past his kitchen doorway is welcome, and he relaxes.

She's wearing earphones, of course – he doesn't own anything she'd be able to play her music on – and doesn't hear him approach. Not wanting to startle her while she's stirring whatever it is she's cooking, he leans against the doorframe and watches her.

Bobbing her head in time with her music, she sets down the spoon and gathers various utensils, beginning to clear up after herself. After so many years of visiting him, she knows this kitchen as well as he does, and she barely looks up as she navigates the room with rhythmic steps. Then, spinning, she catches sight of him and stumbles with a gasp. "Gibbs!"

Moving instinctively, he steps forward to steady her shoulders, and she rips the earphones out with a frown. "You scared me."

"Didn't mean to." Releasing her, he nods over at the stove. "What's cooking?"

"Garlic chicken and mushroom risotto. If you ask nicely, I'll even save some for you." Though the words are casual, she watches him carefully to gauge whether or not she's welcome, which strikes him as strange considering the circumstances.

"How about you finish cooking and I get the plates?" he asks, and the subtle tension in her eases a little as she nods.

The plates are up high, and reaching for them tests his stiff, newly-healed shoulder. Abby watches him with concern. "Are you sure you're ready to be out of the sling?"

He shrugs, regretting it a little when his arm twinges. "Ducky said so."

"No, Ducky said 'soon'," Abby points out, rolling her eyes. "Which is why I'm cooking for you tonight. If I'm here, it means you'll spend less time in the basement sanding whatever you're building down there now your boat's gone."

There's not much he can say to that.

While he pulls beer – and the Caf-Pow! Abby's stashed away – out of the fridge, she dishes out the risotto and pulls garlic bread from the oven. Twenty minutes later, Gibbs is mopping up the last of his sauce with a crust of bread, and Abby's slurping the dregs of her drink noisily through her straw.

"That's good work, Abby," he tells her with a slight smile, echoing words he's said to her a thousand times before.

She laughs, setting aside the cup. "Cooking's like chemistry. You just need a little of this, a little of that…"

Trust Abby to apply a scientific approach to something many people associate with passion and instinct. Not that she's lacking in either of those, either. "You cooked. I'll do the dishes."

"Oh, yeah, right!" She's gathered up their plates and vanished into the kitchen before he can protest. "You're supposed to be resting, Gibbs."

"Dishes or woodwork, Abbs. Your call."

She twists on the kitchen faucet to run the dishwater, then spins to scowl at him. "Fine – dishes. As long as you let me check your shoulder afterward."

He nods reluctantly, and she steps back, pacified. While he submerges their plates in the hot, soapy water, she leans against the back door to keep him company.

"Why'd you look like I wouldn't want you here earlier?" he asks her.

Abby shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well, it could be the brand new locks on the door you've never bothered to lock before."

"Hmm." He sets aside one clean dish and turns his attention to the next. It's an old interrogation technique – let the silence goad the other person into filling it. It works on Abby better than most people; having grown up with two deaf parents, she abhors silence.

After a few seconds, she adds, "Plus, I know you and Ms. Hart have been… doing the verbal foreplay thing. I didn't know if you had plans."

"Rule thirteen, Abbs," he says, without looking up. "The locks are because she ambushed me when I got home the other night."

"To lock her out, or to lock you both in?" she teases, and at that, he glances over to find her twisting a pigtail around her finger. "You could be planning a few hot date nights that you don't want anyone to gatecrash."

"I look like DiNozzo to you?" he asks, getting the vague sense that this is more than it seems.

Abby grins. "I dunno… a little hair gel, some sunglasses, the right clothes... Hey, you could be Tony for Halloween. Remind me a little closer to the time."

Gibbs flicks his soap-sud covered fingers at her, dispelling the tension. "Just be glad my hands are too busy to headslap you right now."

She brushes the suds from her shoulder with a mock glare. "Mr. Gibbs!"

He sighs, rinsing off the last of the cutlery and emptying out the dishwater. "You call me that again, I'm kicking you out and locking the door after you."

Leaving the clean dishes on the drainer to dry, they head into the living room, and Abby waits for him to sit before motioning for him to turn his back to her. "Come on, let me see that shoulder."

He hesitates, hoping she'll relent, but her resolve is steel. "I'm fine, Abbs," he tries, already knowing he'll meet with failure.

"How many times have you massaged my shoulders when I've needed it?" she demands matter-of-factly, and he can't argue with her logic.

Her hands are gentle, scoping out any increased tension in his injured shoulder, compared to the uninjured one. At the moment, he's more tense than he usually would be; something about tonight has set his blood humming, and he can't quite figure it.

Her fingers hit a sensitive spot, and he flinches a little. It hurts, but not in a bad way. "You know, Abbs, you've cooked for me and now you're massaging me. If I fall asleep, you have no one to blame but yourself."

"And then I could make sure you were lying down in a position that wouldn't stress out your shoulder, and leave you to sleep. Then you wouldn't be in the basement all night," she points out, working out a knot with her thumb. "Sounds like a plan to me."

No matter what his words, he's definitely not sleepy. She's only ever massaged his shoulders jokingly before, and then only through his suit jacket. Though he's wearing another shirt under his polo, the difference is noticeable.

As if she's read his mind, she plucks at the fabric beneath her fingers. "Too many layers, Gibbs. Take this one off so I can actually do some good."

He turns to give her the stare that makes DiNozzo, McGee and Ziva back right off. Sometimes Abby takes the hint, too, but at other times, she's immune.

Right now is one of those times. "Didn't ask for a nursemaid," he says, putting up one last defence between his conscience and what he really wants.

"Then it's a good thing I'm not a nursemaid. Though if you want one, I can call McGee back here…" Staring him out right back, she adds, "Or Ms. Hart."

That's the second time she's mentioned the lawyer. "You got a crush on her, Abbs?"

Her expression is much the same as he imagines his was back in the kitchen. "I have a crush on the idea of kicking her ass out of my lab again."

He loses his grip on the look he's giving her, laughing softly. "She was in your lab? When?"

"When you were holding 'her client'," Abby says, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt again. Half-distracted by his amusement, he acquiesces, pulling off the polo and letting it rest in his lap. "She tried to get a look at my AFIS result. I blanked out my screens and waited for her to leave. She wanted to know stuff about you, by the way."

Gibbs turns to frown at her again. "Tell her anything?"

"Only that you're a great agent who operates fully within the boundaries of the law." Abby nudges him into turning his back to her again, and places her hands on his shoulders again. "And that if she doubted that, I'd be more than willing to take a polygraph."

He can't help but smile at her overprotective attitude, even in his absence. "Abbs, you'd fail it."

"I know." She begins to work out a thread of tension at the junction between his neck and his shoulder, and he holds still, resisting the urge to tilt his head to give her better access. "But she'll never ask."

"You have my express permission to shoot her if she does." Despite his need to maintain a boundary between them, his voice is slightly lower than usual. Her touch is too relaxing, and though he should end this now and distract her with something else, he can't make himself shrug her off.

Abby lapses into a rare quiet period, and he can feel her breath lightly on the back of his neck as she works kinks out of his muscles. As the moment stretches on, Gibbs lets his defences fall, listening to the sound of her fingers against his shirt, his own breathing and hers. He closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of her gunpowder perfume, and god, he shouldn't be thinking of Abby this way, but…

She's affecting him, and not just emotionally. He's all of a sudden very glad she had him strip off the other shirt, which is doing a pretty good job of covering his lap.

He's tensed up again, though; her hands still, though she doesn't remove them from his shoulders. "Did I hit a bad spot?"

Gibbs is at a crossroads. He can either answer in the affirmative and tell her enough is enough, then give himself time to calm down... or he can let the evening go wherever it takes them. Which could be completely off the rails.

As he opens his mouth to dissuade her from continuing, his imagination skips ahead. To Abby stripping off his shirt and laying those far-too-competent hands of hers against his naked skin. To her darkly lipsticked mouth pressing a kiss against the back of his neck. To-

"Wouldn't call it bad."

The words are out before he even realises he's made his decision, and Abby resumes her work on his shoulders after a second's hesitation. "Then…?"

He doesn't reply. There's no easy way to tell her, especially considering their long history of friendship, not to mention rule twelve. Without more to work with, he can't even tell if she's thinking the same things he is.

Abby locates another tense area and begins to massage it away, and he sighs appreciation, lowering his head to allow her more room to move. She brushes her thumb over the back of his neck, and the feel of her skin against his sends an electric charge through him.

I shouldn't have let it get this far. "Enough, Abby…"

At the sharpness in his voice, she recoils, dropping her hands from his body. "Oh, god – did I hurt you? Should I call Ducky?"

He shakes his head, turning so he can see her and putting his back firmly against the back of the couch. The polo shirt remains in his lap, disguising the evidence of his arousal. "You didn't hurt me."

She takes a second to think it over, frowning. Despite the shirt, he feels exposed, as if she can see exactly how she's affecting him. "Do you ever let your guard down for more than five seconds?" she asks eventually, her voice barely audible.

"I just did," he says. "You really think anyone else has done that to me recently?"

There must be something in his tone that gives him away. She looks up from twisting her fingers in her lap, burgeoning hope in her expression. "Done what to you recently?"

He looks away, trying to connect his scrambled thoughts. The sensation of warm fingertips skating over his bicep sends another jolt of arousal straight to his cock, and he grits his teeth, not daring to meet her eyes.

"You can kick me out and lock the door if you want… but I need to do this, first. Just once."

He waits in the charged silence, as tense as he was before she first laid her hands on him. Long seconds pass, and she makes no move. Whatever it is, either she's held it back or she's already done it, without him noticing.

The second he turns his face toward her, she kisses him.

Ahh. Comprehension dawns, almost separate to the surge of elation that hits him at the feel of her lips against his. He lets her seduce him further, responding without taking control of the kiss, and she deepens it a fraction, slipping her hand to the back of his neck.

She pulls back too soon, and Gibbs gently draws her closer, taking a second taste of her lips. With an appreciative murmur, she kisses back with a finesse that tempts him still further, her tongue teasing his and her pigtail brushing his cheek.

This time she outlasts him, and her eyes gleam in the glow of the lamp as she looks him over. "Where was I, before you so rudely interrupted me?"

Gibbs feels a genuine grin steal over his face, and he raises an eyebrow at her. "Last I remember, you were trying to get me out of my shirt."

It's a creative interpretation of the truth, and they both know it. She runs with it, tugging at the white t-shirt that remains between his skin and her fingers. "Gonna make me beg?"

Now, there's an idea… Two kisses is a little soon for that, and he files it away at the back of his mind to examine in greater detail later. Instead, he pulls off the shirt, feeling her objectifying gaze on his torso and arms.

She twirls a finger with an impish grin of her own, and he turns his back to her again, allowing her to resume her task. She lays both hands flat against his shoulder blades for a few seconds, and he closes his eyes, accustoming himself to the electrifying sensation of so much of her skin against his.

"Hmmm…" One hand drops away, and he senses her shift her weight on the couch behind him. From the sounds of it, she's rummaging for something in her purse. "There it is. Okay, hang on a sec."

A couple of clicks and a short pause later, she smoothes her hands over his shoulders again, and a scent he associates with her intensifies as she begins to massage some kind of lotion into his skin. "Not too cold, right?"

"Nope." He relaxes fully for the first time, letting himself drift on the intensity of the moment. She pays plenty of attention to his injured joint, massaging half-way down his arm before kissing her way back up, then over his shoulder to the side of his neck. "God, Abbs… You wanna keep doing that, we're gonna need to pull the drapes."

She laughs against his neck, then gives it a light nip. "You don't wanna put on a show for the neighbours?"

Before he can respond, she skirts around to the back of the couch, dragging the drapes closed and then smiling sweetly. "Anything else?"

Gibbs reaches over to the coffee table, grabs his keys and holds them out to her, the shiny new key for the brand new lock on his front door between his fingers. "Rule thirteen."

She disappears into the hallway in record time, locks the door and returns, dropping the set of keys on the table and resuming her position behind him… only, infinitely closer. Her thighs are warm on either side of his waist, and her arms are loose around his shoulders as she kisses her way up the side of his neck again. "Better?"

"Getting there," he murmurs, tilting his head to one side as if readying himself for a vampire bite. "Be even better if you were in my lap…"

She kisses back down his neck, then tilts his head back against her shoulder to suck gently at the pulse point she couldn't reach before. It's impossibly erotic, and he rests a hand at the back of her head, encouraging her without words.

"Patience, Gibbs," she breathes, easing his head up again and letting her words tickle his ear.

"Don't have a lot of that," he confesses, and turns slightly to find her lips again. Her kiss is heated, sparking an urgency within him that he knows is too much. They've barely even begun to admit how they feel, and yet he craves every part of her.

He breaks off again before he can obey the instinct to drag her into his lap and let her feel just how hard she's made him. "Abbs, I mean it."

Resting her cheek against his back, she reaches around his waist and pulls the shirt out of his lap before he realises her intent. Then, looking over his shoulder at his obvious arousal, she gives a low, appreciative purr.

"You know, rule twelve has a loophole."

He already knows where this is going; it's not the first time the thought has occurred to him. "Yeah?"

She trails kisses down his spine, her fingers sliding over his toned abdomen. "It's 'never date a co-worker'. Are we dating?"

Her fingers find his belt buckle, and he lays his hands over hers, halting her. "Abby…"

She continues to leave butterfly-kisses over his skin, retracing her path up to the back of his neck. "If you want me to stop, I'll stop. But if rule twelve is the only reason why you won't let me have my way with you…" She withdraws one of her hands from his belt, and moans softly, shifting a little against his back.

"Damn it, Abbs," he growls, hanging onto his self-control by a thread.

She gives a shaky sigh, pressing her breasts hard against him, and the thought of her touching herself, waiting for him to make his move, is just too much. He reaches around behind him to grind the heel of his hand right between her thighs as her fingers get to work again, undoing his belt deftly and unzipping his fly.

When she takes him in hand, her touch light at first, then firmer, he pushes her panties aside beneath her skirt, his fingers becoming soaked within the time it takes for her to gasp his name. It's difficult to do more than tease because of the angle they're at, but he does something right; her hand falters against his erection as she tilts her hips against his finger, pushing it inside her a little way.

"Oh, god, I-" He cuts her words off with another kiss as she leans over his shoulder, and Abby returns it with a fire equal to his, breaking off only to whisper, "I need you right now."

He moves, or maybe she does. It doesn't matter; all that matters is that she winds up straddling his waist, and that he tears aside her panties, and that she sinks down onto him, taking him deep inside her with a gasp.

They stare at each other for a moment, the realisation fully dawning that they just crossed the last forbidden line between them. And then it doesn't matter any more; she's rising up enough that he almost slips free of her, and then taking him in again, quickening as the friction between their bodies takes them to new heights. He grips her hips, pulling her down harder each time until she clutches his shoulders, trembling as wave after wave of tension breaks within her.

She rides the aftershocks of her release, and it's enough to bring him to his; he loses sense of everything except the crest of pleasure and her satisfied purr as he pulls her tight against him.

They cling together in the afterglow, still half-dressed, overheated yet sated. He kisses her spiderweb tattoo for the first time, catching his breath. She nuzzles his shoulder, then examines it with concern. "Did I break anything?"

Though he barely has the energy, he tests it, rolling it backward and feeling only the same twinge as before. "It's no worse than it was before you started seducing me."

Abby gives him a wide-eyed stare. "I started seducing you? I was just giving you a therapeutic massage. You were the one who told me I could shoot the lawyer."

He loses his ability to suppress his amusement at around the same time she begins to giggle uncontrollably. "I need to shower your hand lotion off me," he points out, tumbling her off his lap and getting to his feet.

"Ooh… can I watch?"

Gibbs heads for the stairs, beckoning over his shoulder for her to follow. "You can do more than that…"