NCIS Director Jennifer Shepherd stood at the rail of the third floor, looking down over the bustling activity in the bullpen. People moved about their tasks with efficiency, their feet making no sound on the carpeted flooring, their voices a murmur combining with the thrum of electronic machinery and of the ventilation system. She fancied she could hear the ticktock of someone’s watch, or of the bank of clocks along the far wall, each marking a different time zone.

-What you hear is the ticking of your biological clock,- her inside voice told her.

Shepherd—Jen to her friends, and even to a few of her agents off-hours—sighed a bit. As she had once told one of her agents, her career had been on the fast track ever since she joined NCIS 14 years previously, after having been recruited from the FBI’s academy at Quantico. She spent far less time than most agents in postings overseas and across the States before being tapped for the job as director.

But that hasn’t come without a high price. The one serious relationship she had—with a fellow NCIS agent—imploded because of her driving need to go further up the agency food chain. And since that time, six years ago, there had been only a series of casual, shortterm relationships. Jenny was an attractive woman—she knew that, with her trim figure, lovely face and cascade of rich red hair—but she intimidated men.

Most men, that is.

This job could take it out of you, though, any semblance of a normal life. Small wonder that there were so many divorces, broken relationships, and so few children at the yearly picnics and Christmas parties. Most women—hell, most men—wouldn’t want to be involved with a person who might not come home at the end of the day. Like any law enforcement agency, it took a special breed of person to become a federal criminal investigator. Swearing an oath to protect and serve the country didn’t just give the swearer a decent salary, a gold shield and a Sig Sauer handgun. It opened a door into a world where most people would never want to go—never dare to go. A world of investigating crimes from drug smuggling and sales to domestic violence in naval/Marine families to terrorism threats at home and abroad.

At the cluster of desks in the dead centre of the room, the main team of field agents were bent over their computers, finishing up the paperwork that signified the wrapping up of a case. Senior field agent Tony DiNozzo was doing his hunt-and-peck routine at his keyboard, occasionally guzzling back a long draught of water and stealing a quick glance at his coworkers. Field agent Timothy McGee’s fingers were rattling over his keyboard in a staccato rhythm, while Mossad’s exchange agent Officer Ziva David was on the telephone, her right hand busily jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad.

Shepherd let her eyes drift to the last desk, feeling a tightening in her stomach as she did so. She expected to see the leader of this little group of agents, one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, reclining in his chair glaring at his monitor, drinking coffee and occasionally smacking the computer in an effort to make it work faster.

…Gibbs. Where was he? A quick scan showed him nowhere on the second floor. Perhaps he was down consulting with Dr.Donald Mallard (-call me Ducky…everyone does-!) Maybe he’d ducked out to refill on coffee and to get a Caf-Pow for Abby Scuito, the Goth goddess of the forensics lab.

-Mmmmm, Gibbs-, commented her inside voice. He sure lucked out in the gene department. Tall and muscular, able to defeat any of his agents in the training gym—even Ziva, who regularly bested both McGee and DiNozzo, couldn’t out-fight or out-train her boss. Chiseled, drop-dead handsome looks, with sea-blue eyes that could either warm the recipient’s heart with their compassion, delight with their dancing humour or chill with their frigid disapproving gaze. Didn’t matter that he was pushing fifty, and the once-black hair was now silver. He turned women’s heads wherever he went, although he seemed oblivious to how he looked. Whereas Tony, an attractive man in his own right, spent delirious amounts of time and money on his appearance and wardrobe, Gibbs was well groomed and immaculately dressed but in an understated way. He didn’t need 500 dollar shoes and silk suits and metrosexual grooming tips to turn heads.

-Although in evening dress, he was devastating,- that saucy inner voice of hers remarked, -but even more devastating OUT of it-…

Shepherd frowned internally, scolding that voice for wandering out of professional commentary on her colleague. Still, she reflected, he WAS a dish…always had been, and a few years had only made him more handsome.

Beyond the looks, however, was the real Gibbs: moody, sarcastic, secretive, fiercely loyal to those he cared about and to his country, quick to come down hard on his agents when they needed it, but equally quick to commend them for their work. The only person anyone ever saw him completely relax with these days was Abby, who fondly referred to him as her “silver-haired fox.”

More like a silver tiger, Jenny thought to herself with a rueful grin. Foxes were quick on their feet, cunning and clever, and Gibbs was certainly all that. But like a magnificent big cat, his strength was coiled and powerfully restless—and deadly when it erupted. You couldn’t cage such energy and power, but you could certainly—

“Keeping watch over your fiefdom, Director?” rumbled a husky, mocking voice behind her.

To give her credit, Shepherd didn’t jump. She’d known Gibbs too long, and too well, not to expect his presence to silently materialize near her when he needed to communicate with her. She turned slowly, tilting her head and flashing him a grin.

“Looking for you, actually, Jethro,” she returned lightly. “You must have been in MTAC—I didn’t check there.”

“What’s on your mind, Director?” Gibbs stressed the title slightly, one side of his mouth crooked upwards a bit in amusement.

Damn. Why was it sometimes, when he looked at her, she had the irrepressible feeling he was remembering Paris? Maybe because he was; he told her, not long after she became Director, that he had missed her—and she, too drunken on the heady euphoria that came with her promotion, had missed out on the chance to regain what they had once shared.

Paris…the city of passion, of lights, of art and music and of lovers, of hectic days spent working cases, and languorous nights wrapped in each others arms.

Paris…where they had fought like wild animals over facets of cases, then unwound their tensions grappling and thrashing in fiercely passionate abandon. Jethro had been an incredible lover, at times so tender as to cling to her in the throes of their ardour, and at other times showing his immense strength in his ability to reduce her to a dizzy and limp pile of nerve endings and muscles quivering in pleasure. When he turned those blue eyes on her, she knew what it was to be loved, cherished, adored even…but that wasn’t enough for a female agent with her eye on bigger things.

That final fight, she remembered ruefully. Jethro and she had quarreled over a suspect in a brutal domestic case. The man, a naval commander, claimed that his wife had been killed by home invaders while he was away in England at a military conference. Jen had believed him, believed the appearance of grief and the way he called regularly looking for updates. Jethro was having none of it, however, and the quarrels escalated over a period of days, to the point where he took up sleeping on the couch and only speaking to Jen about work matters.

The crisis came when he witnessed his partner having coffee with the husband at a café on the West Bank, one afternoon when she was supposed to be on stakeout. The suspect said something that led Jen to realize he was the man they were seeking, and her face had betrayed that realization. He had then grabbed Jen and tried to use her as a shield when Gibbs came charging out of the back room, but Jethro, coldly furious, had taken the murdering husband out with one shot to the forehead.

Jen was unharmed physically, but her pride and professionalism were wounded—and like a wounded animal, she turned on the one she trusted most. Back at their apartment, she had flown at him verbally, challenging his objectivity, his professionalism, his dedication to NCIS and the depth of his devotion to her.

“It’s no wonder you’ve been divorced three times!” she had told him scathingly.

What woman in her right mind would put up with his chauvinistic, overly protective, moody ways? He was jealous of her methods of getting a subject to let down his guard, he was secretive, he was trying to keep her under his thumb. He had stood silently while she raged and paced and stormed at him, and when her venom was spent, he had quietly gone into the bedroom and closed the door. He had packed his duffle bag with his effects—only the effects, she noted later, that she hadn’t given him—and went to stay at a hotel.

Within a week, he had transferred back to the States, but not before he had written a report on the case, praising up his partner’s handling of the case and recommending her for promotion.

When Jen read the report Jethro had written, she realized the huge mistake she had made, and went to the hotel where he was staying to make amends. But he had left that morning on a flip back to the US, with no word, no letter to her, nothing but his factual and solid report. She had moved on up the ladder in Europe, while he accepted a position as team leader at NCIS headquarters. Their paths had never crossed again until the day she stepped in front of him in MTAC as the new director of the agency.

And while he would lightly flirt with her when they were alone, there was a definite wall up between them now. The night they were on a stakeout together hunting Ari Haswari, he had started to bring up Paris, and Jen had put her hand over his mouth, hushing him.

“That was a lifetime ago,” she told him. She had watched him close his eyes for a long moment and when he opened them again and looked back at her, they were veiled and guarded. He never again mentioned Paris, and if she did, he would turn and give her the Gibbs stare—the one that quailed agents, suspects, and military brass alike. From then on, their conversations were professional, never personal, even when they exchanged lighthearted banter. A part of her still mourned what could have been, but never would be now.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Too late with Jethro, yes. Maybe there was still a prince out there for her, though. She’d better find him soon though. Time was a-passing.

“Director?”

Shepherd snapped out of her reverie and came back to the present. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I picked a bad week to give up caffeine.” She straightened her shoulders. “You still have evening clothes?” she asked.

Gibbs' glance revealed nothing. “Yup. Same tux as I wore to my last wedding. Why?”

“You, DiNozzo and Ziva are going to the commandant’s ball on Saturday night,” she said. “You’ll be on observation and protection detail, but you need to look like you’re there as military officers rather than law enforcement.”

“Do I get to bring a date?” he asked lightly. “I assume Ziva and Tony will act a couple. They do that quite well, though I’m surprised Jeanne doesn’t throw a tantrum.”

“Is there someone you want to bring? Someone who will know not to break your cover?”

“Yup,” Gibbs was being as closed as ever she’d seen him. “Mind telling me who we’re protecting?”

“The Admiral of the fleet, the Sec Nav, Condi, me…” she said, “and you’ll be giving support to the Secret Service too.”

“You have a date for this, Director?” Was that a shadow of a real smile in his eyes?

“Yes, actually, Ducky is escorting me to this event.” His smile grew.

“Got a dossier for me? I’ll brief the team, and tell them to get out their best bibb and tucker,” he said. “Although I’d better not use that phrase—can you imagine what Ziva would mangle that into?” They shared a grin, and then Gibbs was striding away, down the steps two at a time and through the bullpen to the elevator.

****************

Abby whirled away from her mass spectrometer and collided with Gibbs, who was about to put a Caf-Pow down on her desk. “Gibbs!” she squealed in delight, flinging her arms around him to keep them both upright. He caught her, steadying her but not before he was treated to the pleasure of feeling the warmth of her body against his. She laughed up into his face, delight in his presence evident all over her face, and this time, he couldn’t help himself. He cupped her face between his two hands and covered her lips with his own.

Finally.

All the flirting, all the hugs and gentle kisses to her cheek or forehead, all the tension between them was frozen as Gibbs claimed Abby’s mouth. The exultation of finally being able to kiss her was shadowed by the part of him that was waiting for her to pull away from him and ask him whatthefuck did he think he was doing. But that didn’t happen. He stole a quick look at her face, and her eyes were closed, and her arms were tightening around his back, and her tongue was jousting with his. He closed his eyes, and let his mind relax into enjoying her sweetness for a little time.

Too short a time before he lifted his lips regretfully from Abby’s, and brushed her cheek gently with his hand. Their eyes met, questioningly, and Abby smiled, a wide smile that warmed Gibbs from his still tingling lips right down to his rapidly stiffening cock.

“Wow, Gibbs-man,” she said breathily, “If I’d known you could kiss like that I’d have collided with you years ago.” And with that she stepped away from him, picked up her caf-pow and took a big slurpy drink through the straw, flashing him another smile.

Gibbs wasn’t sure what to do next. Normally so confident in every action, he found himself suddenly hesitant. “Um, Abs?” he said quietly.

“Yes, my silver-haired fox?”

“I’ve got this thing I need to do on Saturday night, and it would be great if you could help me.”

Abby was leaning back against her desk, watching him, her face still wreathed in a smile. Then she got semi-serious, and said, “Unless it involves dressing up like a nun and infiltrating an old folks home, I’m in!”

In spite of his hesitation, he chuckled, and the sound warmed Abby. “Well, you’re close, sort of. Let me explain.” And he did.

And she kissed his cheek and told him nothing would make her happier. Well, maybe a few things would like a Within Temptation concert or a whole lot of Godiva chocolate or being able to spend a week totally alone on a tropical island with a stack of books…

When Gibbs left the lab, he wore his usual composed, even stoic, expression. But on the inside, he was smiling and looking forward to Saturday night as he hadn’t looked forward to anything for a long time. Even the thought of putting on his tuxedo and semi-hobnobbing with the brass couldn’t dampen the frisson of excitement he felt at the thoughts of getting to spend an evening with his favourite person.

And maybe, just maybe…he could taste those inviting lips of hers again….

*****************

“Tony, stop staring at my boobs!” Ziva hissed as she adjusted the holster for her backup firearm just above her knee. She dropped the heavy material of her deep wine satin skirt back down to cover her lovely legs, smoothing it over her thighs as she did.

“I wasn’t looking, Ziva, honest!” Tony looked hurt and innocent for a second, then flashed his best disarming smile. “Pushup bra, right?”

Ziva smacked him upside the head, then patted his hair back into place. “You are encouragable,” she told him.

“I think you mean incorrigible,” McGee said as he checked the radio headsets and their earwigs one more time. He handed the earwigs to his colleagues, including the one for Gibbs, and grinned at them. “Have fun tonight…I’ll be watching from MTAC, though, so don’t try to slip Ziva off into a quiet alcove for some—” he winced as both Tony and Ziva Gibbs-slapped him simultaneously in the back of his head.

“Where’s Gibbs?” Director Shepherd greeted Ziva and Tony with a frown. Ziva took one look at their boss’s attire and automatically smacked Tony’s head, “on your behalf, Director.”
“Gone to pick up his ‘date, whoever he’s borrowing for the evening,’” Tony said. “You look terrific, Jenny…I mean, Director. You too, Duckie.”
Shepherd smiled at her two agents, who certainly looked the part of a military couple. Tony was wearing the evening dress uniform of a Marine lieutenant, and carrying it off very nicely. His glasses gave him a look of maturity, and also provided camera surveillance for McGee, on watch in MTAC. Ziva’s hair was piled in an elegant updo with just enough curls hanging down to effectively cover her ears (and her earwig). An ornate silver and moonstone comb held the do in place and provided a second camera feed for McGee. Her long burgundy halter dress set off her exotic colouring perfectly, hugging her in all the right places, but also left her able to move quickly if she needed to. Shepherd hoped none of them would need to do anything more than dance, chat and eat canapés over the course of the evening.

The NCIS director had gone to a great deal of effort with her own outfit. To compliment her rich auburn hair, she was wearing a close-fitting gown in celadon green, with tiny spaghetti straps, asymmetric gathers in the bodice and down to the skirt, and a coordinating bolero jacket. Duckie had a matching puff in his tuxedo pocket, and his bow tie, although of a more subdued black, was at its usual rakish angle.

“Don’t we all look like a bunch of penguins, we men?” Ducky mused as he looked around the room. “Our dates, on the other hand, look like rare flowers, orchids I’d propose. This reminds me of the time I was at Opening Day at Ascot Downs…”

His voice trailed off, as he spied someone familiar.

“Oh. My.”

Suddenly wordless, he stared across the room in bemused silence.

Ziva, Tony and Jen followed his gaze, to spot one Leroy Jethro Gibbs striding across the room towards them. His white tie and tails were immaculate, his demeanour as ramrod straight as when he was a Marine, but he was smiling and relaxed, gazing at the woman on his arm. A woman with black hair, flowing loose and silken over her very white skin, wearing an elegant amethyst-purple silk dress with a plunging décolleté and flowing fishtail hemline that showed her long, elegant legs. A black lace shawl caressed her shoulders and trailed scalloped edges from the trimly muscled grace of her arms. Her deep red lips were curved into a smile and she had eyes only for the man she was walking with.

“Abby!” gasped Ziva. She glanced at Jenny, who looked nonplussed.

“Wow,” was Tony’s only comment.

“Wow indeed,” said Duckie.

Shepherd didn’t say anything, but she felt a sour knot curdling her stomach.

Gibbs and Abby reached the group, and Tony found his voice. “Hey. Who knew that either one of you would clean up so well?” He ducked his head to avoid the inevitable Gibbs-slap, but when it came, it was Ziva’s hand again that delivered it, yet again.

“Be nice, DiNozzo, for once?” Ziva looked at her boss, and smiled. “You both look wonderful.” She turned to Abby. “That’s a Vera Wang, isn’t it?”

“Good eye, girlfriend! Bought it last time I was home in Charleston,” Abby said proudly. “It didn’t come in black, but I figured deep purple was close enough. For this evening, I figure I’d best keep the shawl on, so this crowd doesn’t get overwhelmed by my back.”

“Your back?” Ziva looked confused, while Duckie, Tony and Jethro all grinned in anticipatory appreciation. They knew what was coming. Abby pirouetted and dropped the shawl down her back. The dress back dipped out in a complete scoop right to the small of her back, showing off her beautiful ornate cross tattoo to perfection.

There was a momentary silence before Ziva said, “Wow. That’s amazing, Abby, I didn’t know about that one.” She glanced at her male colleagues and added, “Obviously you did.”

Gibbs said, “Okay, Ziva, Tony, Abs, let’s just keep our eyes open and let the Director and her date enjoy the evening.”

“A moment, Jethro, please?” Jen was smiling, but not with her eyes. Gibbs looked at her with his mouth quirked in that half-grin, and followed her across the ballroom to a set of French doors leading out to a balcony. Jen closed the doors quietly behind them, then turned to Gibbs, her mouth hard and her eyes dancing with anger.

“What in hell are you doing?” she flashed at him. “Bringing Abby to this event? Besides the fact that she’s a Goth, Jethro, she’s not an agent, and she’s not trained for doing surveillance. I won’t even go into the fact of her age—”

“Her age, Jen?” Gibbs was calm, too calm actually. She looked at his face, which was impassive, and then she noticed the spark in his eyes. “She’s thirty-four years old, Jen, with double masters’ degrees in forensics and criminology—she’s not a child.” He studied her for a few seconds, then added. “Does she look like a child to you tonight, Jen? Or a Goth?”

“Well, no…”Jen trailed off. She realized now that Gibbs’ calm, quiet demeanour was just how he got just before he did lose his temper or uncoil at an enemy. This was like the seconds between the end of the ticking and the exploding of the bomb. In for a penny, in for a pound, though, and she wasn’t going to back down. “But it’s really not appropriate—”

“Where do you get off dictating to me who’s appropriate for me to take to an event where I need a date?” Gibbs’ eyes were cold blue ice now, and his voice matched that ice. “Abby happens to know sign language. So do I, and we talk to each other using it regularly. She’s capable of chatting with people around the room and telling me what they’re saying—or what they’re doing—while I’m across the room from her. She is smart, sociable, and a wonderful woman, and your jealousy is neither becoming nor professional!”

Jen blanched and took a step back from him as if he’d struck her physically. “I’m not jealous, Jethro…don’t be silly.” She looked away from him for a second, then back at him.

He moved closer to her, and lowered his voice. He was still angry, but he gave her a cool, wry smile. “Director—as my boss, you can of course offer concerns, suggestions, criticisms regarding work. But you have no place in my personal business. You forfeited that right in Paris, and again when you slammed the door shut on a conversation, that night when we were staking out Haswari. Hell, I even was foolish enough to try once more, that night in MTAC when I asked what La Grenouille had done to you, and you shut me down,”

He looked her up and down. “Otherwise, maybe it would be you on my arm tonight, and not Abby. But that’s how it is. I learn after the third time.”

“What about rule 12?” Jen found her voice, but it was shaky. She felt like seventeen kinds of a fool, but she had to ask. “Is this a for-show date or are you seeing her outside of work?”

“If you can’t tell, Director, then you don’t need to worry.” He opened the door for her with a little flourish, and she went out ahead of him, head high, but knowing there were two blazing spots of red on her cheeks. Instead of returning to the rest of the team, she headed for the ladies washroom to compose herself.

Gibbs smiled as he returned to his friends—his team, yes, but also the people he considered as friends, even family. Ducky and Abby were in a deep conversation, while Ziva was sipping a glass of sparking water and Tony was engrossed in watching the guests milling around the room. “Where do you want us, Boss?” he asked.

“You just work the room, Tony. If you and Ziva want to dance, go ahead. Talk to people you know, meet people you don’t, and just keep your eyes open.” He gave Tony the once over and then said, “You’ve got one of your ribbons upside down. Get Ziva to fix it out on the balcony. But no funny business…you know McGee’s got his eyes on you.” He flashed them his ‘gotcha’ grin, and turned to Abby. “Shall we have a little stroll around the room, and see who we want to meet?”

“But of course, my hero,” Abby smiled at Gibbs, at her friends and colleagues, and took the arm Jethro offered her. They walked away just as Jen was returning to the table, but not before the Director stopped and said to Abby, “Purple is even more attractive on you than black, Abby.” She managed a smile that appeared genuine, and felt herself warming slightly as Gibbs smiled at her approvingly. Relief washed through her although her inner voice was chanting a litany of “--what were you thinking, challenging his bringing Abby to this?!” at her as she took the seat that Ducky gallantly pulled out for her. She accepted the glass of champagne he offered her, and drank half of it off at once, then took a deep breath and prepared to pretend to enjoy the evening anyway.

“I don’t think the director likes me,” Abby confided in Gibbs as they each accepted a glass of wine from a uniformed waiter. “she always gives me this look as if I’ve stepped in something that smells bad. And of course she was pissed that you went to bat for me about her so-called dress code…”

Gibbs chuckled. “Jen is a good person, although I’m not convinced she’s cut out for this job. She was a superb agent, except for a couple of times when she let her temper get the best of her.”

Abby glanced sideways at her boss and friend. “DO you think she isn’t cut out for the job of boss because she’s a woman, Gibbs?”

He looked at her in horror. “God, NO, Abs…how could you think I’d ever think that?” then he saw the smile curling around her lips and he grinned back at her, a whole hearted, deliciously warming smile that warmed Abby right to her toes. He leaned over, brushed his lips against her hair, and whispered, “I’m going to go talk to Lieutenant Colonel Thomas, Abs, just for a few minutes. Are you all right here by yourself watching the room, or do you want to go back to the others?”

“I’m fine on my own, Gibbs,” she told him. “I’ll walk around and see what I can see, and you can find me when you’re done.” He gave her another warm smile, and strode away towards a group of Navy brass.

--Damn, skippy, she thought to herself as she watched his strongly graceful body move through the gathering crowd of men and women, --the man is too gorgeous…and too sweet for my own good. But she also continued her train of thought, not for the first time since their little encounter in the lab,-- maybe there is a god…and maybe that god will let us push past that oh so tiresome rule twelve. She sipped her wine and scanned the room, but found her eyes returning to watch Gibbs, now engaged in what looked like affable conversation. This intrigued her—knowing his disdain for red tape and too much in the way of authority, she was fascinated by the ease with which he could interact with top brass. --Gibbs should have been made the director, she thought loyally, although it crossed her mind that telling the head of another agency that the other man was a bastard was probably not the most diplomatic of comments to make. --Well, he WAS a bastard, and deserved to hear it, she argued with herself, loyally.

Abby reflected on the evening so far, and found it was quite agreeable. She would enjoy going back to chat with Tony and Ziva, and via them to tease Tim a bit. But mostly, she reveled in the pleasure of getting to be with Gibbs. That Kiss (in her head, it was capitalized as what she hoped would be the first of many such kisses) the other morning had turned her world upside down. For nearly five years she and Gibbs had been flirting with each other, but he seemed almost prepared to take it to the next level. Abby knew he was damaged goods, knew about the marriages, but she also knew she had been in love with Leroy Jethro Gibbs for almost as long as she had known him. And she figured it was almost time to lay the cards out on the table, as she was tired of holding this hand to herself. And if That Kiss the other morning was any indication, he wanted to up the ante too.

When he turned up at her door, punctual as always, he looked almost as nervous as a high school senior picking up his prom date. Abby had watched him from her bedroom window as he smoothed out his jacket, checked his appearance in his rearview mirrow, and headed up the walkway to her condo. She opened the door after about half a minute—didn’t want to seem too eager, but also didn’t want him to think she was having doubts—and the look on Gibbs’ face had assured her she’d chosen her outfit well.

Jethro’s face had lit up like the Washington skyline on the fourth of July, and he smiled that wide, warm and devastating smile at her. “Abs…” he said. “You look remarkable. Tony will be so jealous. Hell, every man with a pulse at this event will be jealous.” He stepped inside, knowing full well that several of Abby’s neighbours would be peering out through their curtains, wondering who the penguin was at her front door.

Abby pirouetted for Gibbs, and the hemline of her dress flared out seductively around her, giving him a heartstopping glimpse of her long, lithe legs. She said, “I hoped you’d like it. I hoped it would be appropriate...” she paused, looking at him through her long eyelashes.

“Appropriate? Abby, you could meet the President, the Queen of England, or the high priestess of your Gothhood in that dress and look perfect.”

Sweet words, Abby thought as she thought about their departure. No man or boytoy had ever said anything quite so endearing and honest-sounding to her. And he had looked like he wanted nothing more than to seize her and kiss her like he had laid That Kiss on her. --Well, she thought to herself, --let’s see if the man will go out on the dance floor with me for more than a few faster songs. Let’s see if a slow dance brings anything up…

Tony and Ziva came back from the dance floor, flushed and happy with one another, although they were still bickering good-naturedly about who had been leading. Jethro grinned at them, and as the band swung into another tune from the big band era, he said, “Okay, Abs, it’s time we showed them how it’s really done.” He offered Abby his hand as she rose from the table, and smiling, he led her to the dance floor. Ziva and Tony exchanged astonished glances at this display of their boss doing something social, and then watched in further amazement as the couple began to jive, with great enthusiasm and no little skill.

“Oh, man…” Tony said as he watched. “McGee, you’d better be getting this, and making us all still photos. No one in the office will believe it otherwise.”

“Oh yeah…” Tim’s voice answered him smoothly. “Maybe we should all use it as wallpaper on our computers? Put it in the NCIS social newsletter?”

“That’s naughty of you, Probie…and a brilliant idea.” Tony worshipped his boss, but wasn’t above trying to tease him or play practical jokes on his mentor.

The best part, however, was watching Gibbs’ face as he danced with Abby. He looked happy, truly happy, laughing and talking with her, his eyes never once leaving her face. He looked like a man, Tony realized suddenly, who was in love. Like Tony himself when he looked at Jeanne. He glanced over at the director, who had been engrossed in a conversation with Ducky, but who now was staring out at the dance floor with a grim expression on her face.

“What are you staring at, Tony? Something we should be investigating?” Ziva murmured as she handed him another glass of sparkling water. He nodded out to the dance floor at their boss and their forensic scientist whirling around the sea of other dancers.

“If I didn’t know any better—,” he began.

“Who says you do?” demanded Ziva.

Tony looked reproachful. “As I was about to say…Gibbs reminds me of someone else I know. Someone who has fallen hard for a woman, and is finally daring to admit it.”

Ziva studied her partner’s face for a minute, and saw no joking, no sarcasm there. She nodded gently. “He does indeed. And that’s a very good thing.”

“It is?”

“Yes, of course. Jethro deserves to be happy. So does Abby. Even I, who have only worked with you all for a couple of years, have felt the attraction between the two of them.” She paused, took a sip of her wine, and then continued. “and you…you also deserve to be happy, my friend.”

Startled, Tony looked down at her. “Me?”

“Yes, of course you. When are you going to finally bring Jeanne in to officially meet your NCIS family, anyway?”

Tony looked like she had just announced that she was pregnant with alien twins. Ziva smiled, took his hand, and said, “You’re a good man, Tony, a good work partner and friend, and you’ll make a wonderful husband. But if you tell anyone I said this, I’ll have to kill you! Now come on, I think it’s time that you and I had another dance!” She flashed her smile at him, and he returned the look, savouring his good fortune in loving a woman who was not jealous of his work partnership with Ziva, and his equally good fortune in having the Mossad agent at his back, always.

The band shifted gears into a softer mood, a slow dance, a romantic song done by the rock group Queen in their heyday. Jethro said gently, “Abs…want to try this too?”

Abby didn’t hesitate but went into Gibbs’ arms, curling one arm up across his shoulder while her other hand was covered by his.

Don't touch me now
Don't hold me now
Don't break the spell darling
Now you are near
Look in my eyes and speak to me
The special promises I long to hear

Gibbs looked into Abby’s eyes, green as oriental jade, and murmured to her, “You know of course, I’m the envy of just about every man here, having such a beautiful woman as my date. Thank you again for agreeing to come to this with me, and I promise I’ll make it up to you later. I’ll even go to a metal concert with you if you want.”

“Awwww, Gibbs, that’s so sweet. But you know I’d do anything for my silver-haired fox…” She smiled at him. “And it’s nice to dance with someone who’s not shorter than me.”

In her black patent leather sandals, Abby was the same height as Jethro, and it flashed through his mind (not for the first time) how well matched they would be in bed… --Stop thinking like that, Jethro, he told himself ruefully. She’s your friend. She doesn’t think of you any other way than as a friend. Maybe a big brother. Still, she HAD reacted when you kissed her in the lab the other day…

The sparkle in Abby’s eyes warmed him, and her husky voice caused a tightening in his groin, as she whispered, “Remember slow dances when you were in high school? When the lights were low? That was the time to sneak a kiss from your dance partner.” She dropped her eyes for a moment, and tightened her hold on his hand as she moved seductively against him.

--Oh. Maybe not a big brother. Maybe…The intensity of the moment was just to sweet to pass up, and when Abby raised her eyes to him again, Gibbs didn’t hesitate. He lowered his head slightly and brushed her lips with his own, tentatively at first, and then with more confidence. Abby slid her free hand from round his neck to run it through his hair, before pulling him closer to her, deepening the kiss.

Las palabras de amor
Let me hear the words of love
Despacito mi amor
Love me slow and gently

She tasted like wine and lavender warmed by sunlight and all the sweetness that he’d ever known her to have, and there were promises on her lips as he ran his tongue over them, then explored the delicious mysteries of her mouth. --I may never get this chance again, he thought to himself, --and I want it to be memorable. Dancing with this beautiful girl in my arms, her body against mine, her lips holding me captive…it doesn’t get much better. Well, it might, but his heart didn’t want him writing cheques that his mind wouldn’t let him cash. --Let’s just see how the night goes, his heart said.

Gibbs didn’t know if he was impatient for the evening’s commitments to be over so he could find out what was next, or if he wanted to freezeframe this dance for hours. As she had in the lab, Abby kissed Gibbs back with equal vigour, flicking her tongue over his lips and into his mouth with surety. When at last they parted, reluctantly, and gazed at each other, she smiled and clung a little closer to him, and whispered in his ear,
“Don’t think you’re going to get off with just a goodnight kiss or two, Gibbs. You’d better be ready to go for it, finally.”

Oh. Dear. God. Gibbs wasn’t a religious man, but he sent a quick prayer out to whatever gods, angels, saints or fates might be listening. Please, he said, could we have a quiet end to this assignment? No shootings, arrests, interrogations or other crises? Could we have a night like normal people have?

The gods, angels, saints or fates must have been listening, because the evening passed pleasantly and uneventfully. Jethro danced with Ziva several times, and took Abby to the floor whenever they weren’t mingling or strolling the perimeter of the ballroom. He studiously ignored Jen other than to talk about matters relating to work, and even when Ducky spirited Ziva off and Tony took Abby up for a turn on the floor, Gibbs remained courteously at the table with the Director, but wouldn’t engage in anything but work chat. As soon as Ducky came back, Gibbs slipped away to have a word with the head of the Secret Service team watching the Secretary of State, and then did another perimeter walk before returning with a glass of soda water for himself and a Red Bull for Abby.

And then it was the end of the ball, with the lights going up and men bringing their partners’ wraps to them, and cars pulling up at the front of the hotel. Tony caught Gibbs and took him aside for a minute. “Boss, don’t take this wrong,” he said quietly, “But if you want to leave, Ziva and I can finish up here and go back to the shop to debrief.”

Gibbs studied his senior field agent. There was no mocking air about Tony; he was as serious as Jethro had ever seen him, except for that terrible day when Kate was killed. They regarded each other for a moment, and then Tony added, “There is no rule that says you can’t be happy, Jethro. Boss. We can reach you if we need to, but we won’t need to.”

Another moment’s quiet regard, and then Gibbs nodded. “Okay, Tony, you’re in charge. Finish up, then go home, both of you—all of you, McGee too. We’re all off tomorrow, and I’ll see you at 0730 on Monday.” He turned to go, then looked back. “And Tony? Thanks. You’ve done a great job, all of you.”

Returning to the table where Jen, Ducky, Abby and Ziva were waiting, he flashed his most charming smile at all of them. “I’ll just say goodnight to the Sec Nav, and then I’m off,” he said. He pulled Abby’s chair out for her to rise, adjusted her shawl over her graceful shoulders, his hands lingering for just a few seconds longer than casual. He leaned over and said in a stage whisper to Ducky, “Now you behave yourself when you take the Director home. She has martial arts training, you know….” Ducky chuckled, and helped Jen on with her jacket.

“Good night, Jethro…Abby. Good work tonight, all of you,” she said quietly. She had masked her face, not letting her emotions show as they had earlier in the evening, but her body was reminding her of the great pleasure her forensic scientist would probably be enjoying in a short time, while she herself went home to an empty bed and dreamed of paris. She laughed at something Ducky said, continuing the charade she had played most of the evening, but all she could really hear was the mocking sound, tick-tock, tick-tock…as her biological clock scoffed at her pride and her folly.

One foolish world so many souls
Senselessly hurled through
The never ending cold
And all for fear and all for greed
Speak any tongue
But for God's sake we need
Las palabras de amor

Jethro opened the front door of his house, and stepped back so that Abby could pass him. Through the door himself, he turned to lock it and when he turned back, she was in his arms, kissing him with all the passion she had promised during their dances that evening. He was struggling to get out of his suit jacket and she was untying his tie and the buttons of his shirt, moving to release the cummerbund with expert hands before running her hands possessively over the muscles of his chest and snaking her arms around his neck.

Gibbs felt the desire he’d held in check all evening demanding to be released, wanting him to strip Abby naked and ravish her right there against the wall of his front hallway. He also wanted to love her in his bed, hold her against his heart when they were spent of passion and trembling with the afterglow of their desires. His groin was burning, his erect member straining to be free of the binding trousers that had held it all evening and eager to seek out that delightful source of heat that would quell and quench him.

At the same time, Gibbs didn’t want this to be a one-off. Never rational in the way he let his heart trip him, he still felt a hesitant tingle of fear at the same time as he was awash with longing. Abby had held his heart for so long…but he’d never given in to the thrumming of tension between them before this, out of fear for hurting her, out of fear for shattering what was left of his own aching, romantic self. But now, maybe all bets were off.

Abby gasped as Jethro’s hot mouth began exploring her face, planting a line of warm, wet kisses down her jawline and to her graceful neck. He paused to gently ease the silk straps of her gown away from first one shoulder, then the other, freeing her breasts for his viewing. She stood proudly before him, her hands entwined in his silver hair, her lips hungry for his but hungrier still to feel his mouth claim her body. “I’ve waited so long for this, Jethro,” she murmured, and his name was honey on her mouth. “Let’s not wait much longer, okay?

Las palabras de amor
Let me hear the words of love
Despacito mi amor
Let me know this night and evermore

Abby’s dress is now a pool of violet silk on the floor, with Gibbs’ trousers, tie, shirt and socks scattered punctuation around it. They have made it as far as his bedroom but are still standing, wrapped around each other and savouring the exquisite tension of desire that has been building all night. Finally Jethro moves forward, guiding Abby backward to sink down onto his bed. He pauses as she relaxes back on the hunter green duvet, gazing up at him with eyes dark with desire, her arms open and beckoning.

“What are you waiting for, Jethro?” she whispers, and a little thrill went up his spine again at the sound of his name. Not ‘Gibbs’, not ‘boss’, not any of the dozen fond and teasing nicknames she give him, “Mr. President”, “my hero” or “silver haired fox.”

“I want to hold this vision in my mind forever,” he tells her gently. “When I am old and full of sleep, I want the memory of looking at you, right now, like this to keep me warm.”

“Hmmm,” Abby reaches forward and catches his hand, pulling him to her. “You’re a long way from being old and full of sleep, but who says you won’t still have the real thing to keep you warm when you get to that point?”

He leans forward and she curves her arms round his shoulders, drawing him down to her eager mouth. He groans against her lips, his hands finally free to explore and claim her body, eagerly waiting for his explorations. Her skin is cool and as silken as the dress she has discarded, cool except at the core of her being where her desire for him is more subtle but still equal to his own. He kisses and licks and strokes his way over her breasts and down the curves of her waist and hips, then kneels to cool that fire with a deep, probing kiss, gliding his tongue over her labia and flicking her clit, smiling into her as she gasps and thrusts against him.

Her hands are in his hair, guiding and encouraging him, and he feels her trembling against his mouth. Then she calls to him, “Jethro, not yet. Come here, please…?” Reluctantly he moves away, wanting to give her pleasure but also wanting to make sure she isn’t changing her mind.

As if reading his thoughts, Abby smiles, and draws Gibbs up beside her. “Slowly, my hero,” she says tenderly. “We have all night, and tomorrow, and every day afterwards that you want—as long as you want.” She stresses the “you” slightly, reminding him that she gladly chooses to be in his arms, in his bed, and he smiles at her before catching her lips again with his own. She slides her hand down the flat stretch of his belly, slips inside the waistband of his briefs, and pushes them down his hips, then circles around to grasp his erect, straining cock firmly in one cool hand. He groans again, arching his back at the wave of sensation that jolts through him.

Abby pulls her lips away from Jethro’s and traces a line of loving kisses down his chest. Then her mouth takes over from her fingers, lightly flicking the tight skin of his shaft before she takes him in the most intimate of kisses. He growls deeply, unable to form words as his mind starts to spin, but his fingers find her breasts, caressing them as she continues her ministrations on his rigid member. And feels himself losing any fears, any doubts, not wanting to wait any longer. God, he thinks in between the bursts of pleasure she’s bringing him, Just let me make her happy. Let me please her. Let her love me as much as I love her. The fire in his body is growing hotter, more acute, and he manages to choke out a plea, “Abs…. I’m not going to last much longer. Please, come to me.”

She lifts her head from her ministrations, slips sinuously up to come into his arms, looks into his eyes. “God in heaven, you’re beautiful. Abby, I want you so much. I’ve wanted you for so long, and you’re finally here with me.” Jethro groans as he gazes at her body, at her lovely face looking tranquilly back at him, her eyes dark with passion. Her breasts are taut, the nipples rose pearl and beckoning, and he strokes them gently before taking one into his mouth.

Abby gives a little cry, leans forward into his embrace, and he puts his hands around her waist and lifts her onto his belly. He covers her breasts and throat with kisses, until neither one of them can think straight. Into the silken quiet of the room he whispers urgently one more time, “Are you sure?” and in answer, she draws him up beside her and kisses him deeply, mingling their scents and tastes together. Then she leans back, and with a sultry laugh that runs down to a “Yessssssss,” she pulls him over on top of her. And he gazes down at her, and finally claims what he’s wanted for so long.

She’s ready for him, more than eager for him; still, she gasps when he enters her, when the long dark lonely space has been closed as last. For a moment they lie absolutely still, savouring the newness of their union, savouring the pleasure of finally being where they have both wanted to be for so long.

Then Abby reaches up with one hand and touches Jethro’s face, with a caress that is at once light and laden with feeling. She’s gazing into his eyes, as if she can read his soul, and he looks steadily back at her, hoping she can see what he feels, hoping she likes what she see. He whispers again. “Abby…oh darling, you feel so good.” He gathers her to him, his mouth eager for hers, as they begin to move together in that most ancient of rhythms.

So long, he thinks as he thrusts slowly inside her, feeling the warmth and strength of her. So long since he actually made love to someone who loved him back. No more icy encounters born only of libido, groping in the middle of an unfamiliar bed; no more back turned to him like a curse, rejecting his desire and his love more sharply than a slap. He gazes into Abby’s eyes, the words he wants to pour out to her trembling on the end of his tongue—but still hesitant, not wanting to frighten her with an immense flood of emotion, he kisses her instead, kisses her with building excitement as the storm mounts inside them both.

For a time they move slowly, luxuriating in the sensations of their first lovemaking. Then suddenly, without a word passing between them, they change the tempo, moving faster, more urgently. Her hands slide down his back to grasp his buttocks and urge him on, and he lowers his mouth to her breasts, feasting on her tender flesh and feeling her tremble. Now she lets out a sharp cry, wraps her legs around his, her hips thrusting to meet him, her teeth closing down on his shoulder; he feels the contractions of her muscles tightening around his cock, and whatever control he has left is lost. “Abby!” he cries as the orgasm builds; she grasps his hair, her mouth frantic for his, and he crushes her to him, while the world falls away around them.

“Oh…sweet Jesus, Jethro…don’t stop, don’t ever stop…my love …”

He hears, as from a long way off, her call for him—the first words she has spoken since he entered her—and then she gives a cry; but even as he holds her tighter, he recognizes the cry as one of relief and release. The storm continues unabated and Jethro is shaken a little by the intensity, shaken but exultant.

No pain, no fear, no anger or exhaustion or aching solitude; life is an exquisite blur of pulsating neurons, firing wave after wave of sheer delight; the rest of the world freezes into quiet darkness and there is only Jethro, and Abby, two bodies merged into one, two souls learning to merge.

For a time they are silent, holding each other as their hearts calm from their galloping and the sweat cools on their bodies. Jethro strokes his hand lightly along Abby’s body, tracing the lines of her various tattoos, softly kissing her lips, swollen and deeply red from their mutual passion.

“Did we do all right on that assignment?” she asks him with a sweetly mischievous smile on her face.

“Oh, I think so!” Jethro pulls her to him, catching her mouth with his own again. He could kiss this woman for hours on end every day for the rest of his life and be a happy, happy man. When they part they’re both breathless again.

“Abs?” Jethro says, leaning back from her a little so he can look her directly in the eyes. She meets his gaze steadily.

“What is it, my hero?”

“Are you sure you’re all right with this? That is, with me? I’m not Tim, or any of the other pretty boys I’ve seen you with.” He drops his eyes for a minute, looks back at her, and she sees again the shadow of hesitation in their deep blue depths. And something more.

“Jethro…” she takes both his hands tightly in hers, raises them to her lips and kisses them. “We’ve known each other and worked together for nearly five years. We’ve danced around this for about four and three quarters of those years. And finally, finally, That Kiss in the lab the other morning, when you used your Gibbs-braveness for a heart matter instead of a crime matter…” she smiles at him, leans forward and touches his face, plants another luscious kiss on his mouth, “…you’re lucky I didn’t jump you right then. Right up against the mass spectrometer, which probably would have needed recalibration after we were done screwing each other’s brains out.”

Then she’s more serious for a moment. “I don’t want pretty boy toys, Gibbs. I want you. Always have, and that won’t change no matter what sort of excuses you bring up. I’m not an agent. I’m not too young. I’m fifteen years your junior, and I’m a scientist, not a gunswinging action figure. And I want you—I want to be wanted by you, to wake up every morning beside you and discuss cases in the lab, to drink coffee together at breakfast and whiskey at night while you work on the boat—and I try not to break the boat—and just love one another. That’s what I want. So duh…yeah…I’m all right with this.!”

He pulls Abby to him, holding him against his chest and against his heart, now slowed to its normal steady rate from the jubilant racing it had been doing. His last medical, Ducky had pronounced him healthier and more fit than most men twenty years his junior. But the scars on Gibbs’ heart aren’t of the physical kind, but of the emotional type that run even deeper. He takes a deep breath.

“Abby. Before we go any further, there are things you need to know.” She’s alert instantly, sitting up and staring at him with eyes that are wide with concern. She’s still holding his hands in her own, and now it’s his turn to lift them to his lips.

“You know I’ve been married three times. Actually, it’s four. Shannon was my first wife. We had a daughter, Kelly, in 1982. We were very happy, the three of us in our own little world, at least when my service in the Marines allowed me to be home. Then I went away to Desert Storm, and…” he swallows the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. “Shannon witnessed the murder of an agent by a drug dealer from Columbia. His boss ordered a hit on her, and this thug shot and killed the agent who was driving Shannon and Kelly to Quantico so my wife could give her deposition. The vehicle went out of control, and was struck by a dump truck coming the other way, and…my wife and daughter were killed instantly.” Abby is silent, but she’s holding his hands like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go.

“I went a little mad when my commanding officer told me. I couldn’t go home—we were in the middle of a big push—so I vented my despair by burying myself in my job as a sniper. I volunteered for one mission too many, hoping I’d get killed too…but instead, I just got hit by shrapnel and was in a coma for nearly three weeks.”

“They rotated me home shortly after that, with commendations and medals and words of praise…and I came home to an empty house with the ghosts of my former life echoing through it, that and two graves, already with grass growing over the scars in the earth. I wanted to die. I sat at that cemetery one afternoon with a bottle of scotch in one hand and my service revolver in the other, trying to decide whether to live or die.”

“That’s when Mike Francks found me, basically saved my life and offered me a lifeline of work. He was investigating the case, and he accidentally left the file on the Columbian on his desk while he went to the head. I read the file, learned what I needed to know, and took a couple of weeks of my leave to go and settle the score.” His handsome face is bleak at the memory, and his sight is very far away.

“I thought I could find another woman as wonderful as Shannon, start another family…but my new life as an NCIS agent was a stronger pull than putting my whole heart into another relationship. I tried, Abby, I really did, with all of them—but I never talked to them about my past. I buried myself in work whenever there was any sort of conflict, and each woman grew tired of competing with a job where they didn’t know if I’d come home at night—and when I did come home, I didn’t want to go out to be in social cliques with other wives and husbands. And each of them, the love turned to bitterness—if it had even been love—and I swore there’d be no more of these relationships.

“After my last divorce, I asked for a transfer to Europe for a while. They sent me to Paris, and gave me a new recruit as my junior partner. A woman. And a redhead to boot.” He looks at Abby, and sees that she makes the connection. “We got involved—deeply involved—for more than a year. Then Jen’s need to go higher up the NCIS ladder overruled her need for me, or for a future with me in it, and it ended. Badly. I never set eyes on her again until the day Kate was killed, and Morrow introduced me to his successor.

“Jen hurt me more than all three of my ex-wives combined, because I thought in her I had found the perfect mate, a replacement for Shannon. I was wrong…and since that time, I’ve only had casual relationships with women who want to be independent and don’t want anything but some physical fun and occasional companionship. And I was frozen inside, until I met you…and you thawed me so much and so fast it scared me. So I resisted, and yet I was drawn to you like a moth to a candle, and I’ve been so afraid to let go my resolve…so I pushed and pulled, and flirted but never followed through, until I finally got brave and kissed you on Tuesday.”

Jethro takes another deep breath, looks down at their entwined hands, and back up into Abby’s luminous eyes. “Abby…if what you’ve been hinting at and what we’ve shared tonight is as real to you as it is to me, then you have me. I don’t care about rule 12, or what people might think. Hell, it’s my rule and I can break it if I want to, and when have I ever given a damn about what most people think? I can’t bear to be without you…but I don’t want to lose you or drive you away, either. I love you so much, and I’m so scared of hurting you, and that’s why I’ve pushed you away for so long.”

He looks away for a moment, and swallows hard, and when he looks back at her, the pure blue eyes that she’s seen hold every emotion from humour to desire to compassion to grief to cold fury are glistening with tears. The pain in his face is poignant, raw, and she marvels that he’s kept it so well hidden for so long. She has seen flashes of it, different times, but he’s never opened up to her, until now. But neither had she truly dared to see the love that now is written all over his face, never daring to think he could possibly want her as much as she wants him.

Abby pulls Gibbs to her, cradling his head against her breasts, as a wracking, sob tears heaves out of his soul and scalds through him. He wraps his arms around her like a man drowning and clinging to a life-raft, and cries for the first time since the day he killed the Columbian so many years before. He cries for Shannon and Kelly and lost loves and shattered lives, cries for Kate Todd and Chris Pacci, great gasping, shuddering wails from his gut, while Abby holds him and strokes his hair, soothing him as she would a child.

Her heart aches for Jethro, but at the same time she knows this grief is healing, this begins a healing that he’s never allowed to fully happen til now. She whispers endearments into his hair, holding him and waiting for the tides of anguish to subside.

And when it does, and he lifts his eyes to hers, she smiles at him and kisses the tears from his face.

“Jethro.” Her voice is quiet but tenderly firm. “I’m sorry, so sorry, for all of the pain you’ve had. I can’t make it go away, but I will make the road ahead better; WE will make the road ahead better. Together. Starting now.” She frees one hand, pulls one of her rings from her thumb, and takes his hand. She places the ring in his hand, closes his fingers around it, and then kisses his fist.

It’s so tender and erotic a movement that he feels the dregs of grief wash away and desire--and something more--return to take their rightful places in his heart.

“Jethro—I have loved you for as long as I’ve wanted you. And I’ll never reject you for a promotion, or because you can’t talk about a case, or get myself killed when you’re away. I give you my whole heart, because I can’t do otherwise. I will love you until time ends.” She pushes her lips against his, and Jethro responds, pulling her to him and catching her sweet mouth with his own.

As they slowly start their lovemaking anew, his one thought is to make her happy, to make her truly understand the depth of his commitment to and his desire for her. He strokes her face and hair gently, and begins to stitch a possessive line of kisses over her, down her face and neck to the warm pulse in her throat, across her shoulder then down to first one, and then the other, rosy and lovely breast. She trembles as he lovingly suckles her nipples, feeling them tighten again under his ministrations, and he looks up at her with eyes no longer filled with despair, but with desire and love. His hands move to cover her breasts and he moves further down her body, pausing to claim the charming dimple of her navel, then onwards to that irresistible pussy waiting so eagerly for him.

Abby feels turned inside out by Jethro’s skilled mouth and tongue working her over. She’s always been open and eager about sex, able to match her partner’s ardour with her own enthusiasms and imagination. But those men have all been her around her own age, sometimes clumsy and awkward in their fumblings and explorations. Jethro is all man, skilled and experienced and knowing just what to do to send her spinning. She’s amazed and humbled and overwhelmingly happy by this turn of events, but right now she’s also aching to turn him inside out with delight too.

He feels her hands move, and one of them firmly encircle his cock, which is proudly proclaiming that it’s most definitely ready aye ready, and he whispers, “No, love, not yet…”

She releases him for a moment, but then he finds himself being turned over onto his back, and Abby is sitting on his abdomen looking down at him. Her hair is cascading forward over her shoulders, and Jethro’s breath catches in his throat as he sees her desire and love for him shining. She’s smiling slightly, as she leans forward and offers her breasts to his eager mouth again, and she runs her hands over his chest, down his hips and across his buttocks, and whispers to him, “It’s my turn, lover. My turn now, to do for you.”

And because he knows already that it’s pointless to argue with her when she’s intent on something, he lies back against the pillows, and watches as Abby embarks on a very thorough and tantalizing exploration of his body with her hands and mouth, caressing and licking and kissing his every sensitive spot. When she nibbles at the soft skin of his scrotum, Jethro groans in delight, and whispers hoarsely, “Darling girl; you keep that up, and I won’t let you out of bed for at least a week.”

She pauses and looks up at him, smiles enigmatically, then returns to her ministrations. “Guess I’ll take that risk,” she says softly. Her touch is very gentle, but also sure, and she runs her body across his in a slow caress, til her face is over his again, and he catches her in his arms and kisses her desperately. She lifts her body slightly, and he feels her warmth encircling his reenergized cock, and he groans again. “Abby…”

She lifts her head from his, gazes down into his eyes, and shifts her hips slowly forward. He reaches for her, but she pushes her body back up, and braces her hands on his chest, and continues to stroke her body back and forth on him, her eyes never leaving his face. Jethro meets her eyes, entranced by the erotic side he he always knew she had and which she is so lovingly sharing with him, entranced by the utter rush of emotions he feels for her. He reaches up and caresses her breasts, pulls her forward to kiss her warm and passionate mouth, and as he does, he thrusts deeply into her.

A shudder runs through her, and she tries to pull back, to resume control; but he holds her tightly to him, and repeats his caress. Now they begin to move faster, more urgently, his hands at once supporting her and driving her to deeper delights, his mouth holding hers as if she is his lifeline. Then suddenly she pulls violently back from him, her nails raking across his chest, and he stares up at her as she gasps and shudders. He feels the contractions begin, feels the spasms as they shake Abby’s lithe body, and then she lets out a cry, almost a moan, that tears at his heart.

“Jethro! Oh, God, Jethro!” His eyes are fixed on her face, and with a little thrill of relief he recognizes the passion, as naked as her body, that is transfiguring her. Tears are beginning to cascade down her face, but she seems oblivious to them. As she tumbles forward into his arms, her mouth frantic for his, she cries out again, claiming his love as she repeats his name over and over again.

“Jethro!” With every stroke the words are wrung from her, in between the deep and searing kisses they are sharing. “Jethro, I love you, I have always loved you, I will ever and always love you.” He crushes her to him, holding her as if he is afraid someone will try to take her from him, and feels the approaching waves of orgasm reaching for him again.

“uhhhhhh…. Abby…my love…” and her mouth covers his, and they strain frantically towards each other, as if there is some way they could get even closer than this. Abby is crying freely now, her body shaking with the force of her release, and her mind giving in to the relief and the admission of her feelings for the man she has adored in secret for so long. He holds her against him, feeling her heart beating madly, her body sheened with perspiration, and her arms locked around him, wanting to keep him close to her.

For a little while they lie in stillness, the only movement Jethro’s hand touching Abby’s face, as he slowly and lovingly kisses her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids, and returns to the sweetness of her mouth. He turns slowly onto his side, taking Abby with him, and she teasingly squeezes the muscles that surround him, and he groans a little. “Darling, you aren’t getting out of this bed for at least a week now. I have decided.”

“Hmmmmm…” Abby stretches, languorous and sleek as a cat, and says slyly, “do you suppose the Director will let us move my lab into your bedroom? Can’t you see that happening?”

He smiles at her, and kisses her again. “Don’t worry about her,” he says.

“I don’t,” Abby replies, “But I do feel sorry for her, a little. Though I’m also damn glad that she was so stupid as to let you go. I’ll never let you go, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. You’re stuck with me.”

“I’m happy to be stuck with you,” Jethro said tenderly. “In case you aren’t aware of this…I love you, Abby Scuito.”

“Yeah, I got that, Gibbs. But you can show me again if you’d like.” He laughs, a sound of pure joy, and gathers her to his chest.

“Just one thing,” Abby whispers. “Will you still bring me Caf-Pows and grump at me to get your lab results done faster?”

Las palabras de amor
Let me hear the words of love
Despacito mi amor
Touch me now
Las palabras de amor
Let us share the words of love
For evermore