It was a dark and stormy night. Clichéd, no doubt, but in this case there was no more appropriate description for the evening. The day had been bleak and the evening seemed to be following suit. Thunder rolled in at lunchtime and seemed to wax and wane throughout the afternoon, never entirely disappearing. It was such a dreary evening that Gibbs sent everyone home early. Funny thing was, as soon as the last of his team left the clouds broke up and the moon came out, full and luminescent.
So Gibbs did the only thing he could on what was turning into the perfect evening. He locked up his desk, drove home, pulled out his bike and went for a ride.
It was one of his secret vices, one that no one knew about save one lone friend. Ducky couldn't believe he kept the bike, a relic from the nephew of one of his ex-wives. Gibbs kept telling him he just wouldn't understand unless he owned one himself. Riding a Harley or an Indian was one thing Ducky said, but a racing bike? That was an entirely different creature.
To be perfectly honest he didn't know that much about his bike. He knew it was from some oddly-named Italian manufacturer. He figured it wasn't important, for he knew enough about engines and maintenance to get by, and he wasn't about to try to improve upon something that already performed well enough in his mind. Owning a racing bike in such a populated area was not exactly easy. The roads twisted and turned; straight-aways were hard to find. During the day there was too much traffic and at night there was too much danger of hitting a stray opossum or raccoon on the road. But he still managed to make do, to use the unbridled speed as his private retreat, his release when he needed an adrenaline rush; something his boat could not provide. He knew the roads without hesitation – every curve, every pothole, every ridge. Very little surprised him anymore.
Until, on that otherwise unremarkable evening, everything changed.
As he approached the traffic light he was surprised to see another figure sitting, waiting for the green. Not someone driving a car but sitting on a bike very similar to his own. He could tell as he drew closer it was a woman from the slightness of her figure and the delicate curve of her hands. It always seemed amusing to his ex's nephew when he found a woman who drove racing bikes. Jason had claimed they liked them because of the throbbing power between their legs…the vibrations that changed tempo as they sped up and slowed down…the rumble as they revved the throttle or downshifted on the clutch. Basically, Jason had asserted that a racing bike was just a giant gas-powered vibrator.
Gibbs had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life.
Rolling to a stop next to the other rider he noted her shirt had hiked up a little bit. Or maybe it was deliberately short. He could see the faint shadow of a tattoo sitting just above the crest of her hip, and at first he thought it was the Playboy Bunny which simply made him roll his eyes. But as he looked closer he could make out a stylized Fleur de Lis; and instead of making her predictable it just made her into more of an enigma.
Pulling up along side her, he flipped up the visor on his helmet. She mimicked his gesture and looked at him. Her green eyes beckoned him. Laughed at him. Challenged him. And then she winked. Never one to give up a challenge, he settled down against the wind and quietly revved up the engine, waiting for the light to turn green.
Green means go, and go they did. They raced for what felt like hours, her in the front for a while, then Gibbs leading for a while, then riding side by side doing close to 100 down the road. Funny thing was, she seemed to know the roads just as intimately as he did yet he had never seen her before in his life. He didn't know her name. He didn't know her face. All he knew was her tattoo and those eyes.
She had him so distracted he never saw the cop car until it was too late. As she sped away he slowed down, willing to take the hit for both of them. When he sat upright he wondered what kind of hoops he was going to have to jump through this time. The NCIS badge didn't always get him out of a speeding ticket this late at night, especially when it was obvious he was not on official business.
Luckily he knew the cop that had pulled him over, and after a few minutes of catching up they both parted and went along their way. Just as he was about to start his engine again he caught the faint sound of her bike on the breeze, no doubt miles away by now. As he made his way home, he wondered at the irony. He had been thinking about her, the things that are implied about women with a throbbing motorcycle between their legs. Yet he was the one stuck wondering how he going to get rid of the throbbing erection between his legs.
It had been a long time since he was so strongly turned on from such a brief encounter. Months certainly, and perhaps years. As he stumbled into the shower he let his mind remember the sparkle in her eyes and the pale luminosity of her skin. It didn't take long for his release, and as his hips thrust with the aftershocks he decided one thing was certain.
He would find a way to see her again.