It’s 1 am when there’s a knock at my door. I’ve been expecting it, of course I have, just 5 hours earlier. I open the door and he’s standing there, he looks tired and switched off and I know it’s not just from the drive out from DC. I open the door wider to let him in.
“Wasn’t sure if you would make it” I observe. I know it’s no use stating ‘You’re late’, that would get me nowhere and would probably see him walk straight back out of the door into the night.
“Case.” he says, simply. I know he doesn’t say sorry, it’s one of his rules and I know better than to press him on the details. If he wants to tell me, then fine, otherwise I’m happy to let him keep the details to himself. I know it’s not done to shield me from the gory details, hell I’ve dealt with enough over the years and only difference is that mine were quite often alive, although sometimes only just.
“Have you eaten?” I ask. He shrugs, I take that as a ‘no’, but also ‘and I don’t want to yet’, if he’s hungry later I’ll fix something.
I cross to the drinks cabinet and pour him a large bourbon.
“Here you look like you need this.” I observe, handing him the glass.
He downs it in one, grimacing as the liquor burns the back of his throat, he solemnly hands back the glass.
“Would you prefer the bottle?” I ask. God this case must have been a rough one.
“No.” he whispers. His hand reaches out and gently caresses my jaw. I instinctively lean into his touch, relishing the feel of his calloused fingertips on my skin.
I wonder if any of his team knows about us. I doubt it, they are too concerned with their own little worlds to worry too much about Gibbs’ and we are very discreet. He always comes to me, never vice versa. It’s easier that way, no prying eyes, no unexpected visitors. The country air does him good, re-energising him for the week ahead.
Although I’m not so sure about Dr Mallard; I’m pretty positive that the image he presents of a bumbling British, sorry correction, Scottish Medical Examiner is all for show and behind that slightly eccentric façade is a mind that is as sharp as a tack. If he does know the true extent of our relationship it does not bother him, perhaps at his age nothing can faze him.
He traces the scar on my cheek, I shiver at the touch. I look into his eyes and find him looking at me so intensely that I suddenly feel tingles shooting down my spine.
“Want you” he growls.
He grabs me by the shoulders, slamming me up against the wall. His mouth on mine, urgent. His tongue roughly demands access to my mouth which I grant. I know he needs this to release the tension. I wrap my arms around him as he pushed himself against me. One hand moves into my hair, raking through and he continues to envelop me in a bruising kiss.
I run my hands down his back, feeling the tension just underneath the skin. I can see that a good massage will be in order later.
We come up for air.
“Need you.” Gibbs whispers.
“Yours.” I assure him as I lead him upstairs to work my magic on him.
Fin
Story Notes:
Not my characters, I'm only borrowing them from time to time.
Author's Chapter Notes:
After a rough case Gibbs needs some down time.
Chapter End Notes:
Not my characters, I'm only borrowing them from time to time.