Crashing and Burning
by B. Cavis
Crashing and Burning
by B. Cavis
Kate squeals when she sees him step out of the elevator, whole heartedly and with her entire body, and Gibbs signs the man’s death warrant five seconds after seeing him for the first time. Squealing negates good; in Gibbs’s eyes, squealing destroys all possible redeeming qualities.
It is entirely possible that Colonel Matt O'Malley, United States Air Force (and good God he had wanted to take her and shake her when he had seen that on the background check) is as upstanding, as kind, as decent as all accounts make him out to be. For all Gibbs knows, he brakes for small fluffy creatures, uses animal-cruelty free hair gel, and saves poor Guatemalan orphans from floods on the weekends. He may be Jesus Christ reborn in a set of Air Force blues.
But his ass is grass.
Fuck getting to know him, fuck “he’s such a great guy,” fuck every single excuse she could come up with for seeing this smooth skinned, clean shaven, lily assed little flyboy.
…Honest to God squeals. Like he just offered her a puppy or something for crying out loud-- Caitlin Todd does not squeal in happiness. She does it in surprise when he pushes the car around a corner too quickly, or when he shoves her off a scaffolding, or when he throws her head first into a situation she didn’t realize she was capable of handling. She does not jump up and hug people, she does not squeal, and she sure as fuck does not do either one of those things at work, sitting across from him, with her gun still attached to her hip.
Yeah, he thinks to himself as he watches Colonel Matt O'Malley’s hands wrap themselves around his special agent’s waist, this asshole is gonna have to go.
“What are you doing here?” She asks breathlessly.
Oh, Gibbs answers for him, not much. Just seeing you as a sexual object. Being ill-mannered and not introducing myself. Giving your Marine boss a clearer picture of me so he can tell the hit man exactly what to look for.
“A little bird told me you were getting out of work early,” he grinned, so completely and utterly secure in his own masculinity and irresistibility that it makes Gibbs’s teeth itch. Tony looks up from whatever video game he’s playing and makes a face at McGee. McGee is too afraid of the murder on Gibbs’s face to do much more than put his head back down and swallow.
Smart probie, Gibbs applauds mentally. I would hate to have to off you too.
“I thought you might like to come to dinner with me and celebrate a case well done,” he continues, smile still firmly in place. Kate looks dazzled and upbeat.
Gibbs decides to forgo the hit man and kill Colonel Matt O'Malley himself. With his bare hands. And a butter knife. Which, as a Marine and not a pansy ass wimp of an Flyboy, he can totally do.
Yeah, he thinks violently. And I can sleep with a smile on my face in the same night, too. Pussy. He stabs his pen into the page with a bit more force than absolutely necessary, and tells himself that the reason it tears is because NCIS, in an effort to cut costs, has started using inferior quality paper without telling anyone.
“Yes,” Kate flusters, all smiles and bouncy happy syllables. “I’d love to, I mean…” She smiles shyly, cheeks pink. “I’d love to.”
The first time he saw Caitlin Todd, she told him that her balls were just as big as his. She wasn’t shy, she wasn’t sly, she wasn’t… like this. He was entangled in her and his attraction to her because she told him flat out that, if the situation arose, she could take him on without a problem, and then laugh while he bled.
She’s a strong woman, and that always gets him a) in trouble and b) entranced.
Apparently, his inner monologue snarls, angry and rubbed the wrong way at this new presence in the universe he has built around four desks and two labs, Colonel Matt O'Malley, United States Air Force, likes his women to be weaker than him. Pussy, he thinks again.
Colonel Matt Pussy O'Malley, United States Air Force. Has a nice ring to it, and Gibbs imagines it’ll look lovely on the tombstone.
Gibbs looks up from his paperwork, abandoning the covert part of his surveillance, and with that psychic like attachment that all of his agents develop to his presence and actions, she looks up and meets his gaze.
“Leaving for the day, Agent Todd?” He keeps all of the judgment out of his voice. Kate isn’t like Tony-- when he’s pissed, she doesn’t just let him stew on his own, she confronts him head on and glares and growls until he inflicts enough wounds upon her for her to retreat. Tony tends to take the smarter route and avoid wounds all together.
She’s started to wound him back. The last couple of times, he was bleeding too. He feels ridiculously proud of her for that.
“Could I?” Her eyes are eager and honest like the child she hasn’t been in years. He swallows and takes a deep breath.
Does she have any idea how hard (impossible, unthinkable) it is to deny her anything when she looks at him like that? Does she have any idea how much it hurts him that she is asking for this?
“Have the paperwork on my desk by Tuesday,” is all he says, and the smile grows wider and her eyes are slit with her happiness.
“Thank you, Gibbs.” He grunts and pushes his head back down, the words on the page filling his eyes. Just focus on this, he thinks to himself calmly. She’s almost out of here with the Pussy.
The hand that appears in front of his face is clean nailed and callus free. Not used to work. Not used to killing or fighting or protecting the womenfolk.
Gibbs smirks to himself at that last image, and he knows the sight of it really freaks McGee out (because he doesn’t know what it means) and totally freaks Tony out (because he knows exactly what it means). Gibbs looks up into the face of (his rival, his enemy, his future victim) Kate’s boyfriend and takes the hand.
“Colonel Matt,” Pussy, Gibbs fills in “O'Malley, United States Air Force, sir. A pleasure to meet you.” The glint in his eyes is one of a man who knows that he is attractive, knows that he looks younger than his age, and knows that the man in front of him is going back to work when he leaves, while he spends the night in the company of a beautiful woman.
Gibbs hates the Air Force. Really. He has the sudden, horrible, flash of Kate as a Flyboy Bitch, popping out a dozen little Flyboy Brats, and spending her days watching them play “I’m an airplane!” in the Flyboy Backyard.
His children will play Manhunt and know how to throw a fully grown man over their shoulders and crack his windpipe when they’re four. His children could kick the ever loving shit out of Flyboy’s kids. He contemplates pointing this out to Kate, but decides it won’t be as impressive as it is in his head.
“Special Agent Gibbs. United States Marines Corps. Kate’s boss.”
Colonel Matt Pussy O'Malley doesn’t hear the bite at the end of that last word. Tony shifts his chair away from them. McGee pushes his computer monitor in front of his face, as if to protect his face from shrapnel. Kate swallows. Quickly.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Matt offers cheerfully. Kate shifts on the balls of her feet. “All good, I assure you.”
“Have you now?” He says, and despite his efforts, it comes out as a growl.
“Katie has a great deal of respect for you,” he continues, as if everything male and primal in Gibbs did not just rebel against the idea of this man using his nickname for his (woman, property, territory) special agent. “And listening to her talk, it’s hard not the share the same respect.” Kate’s face is beet red, and Gibbs’s fangs are slowly extending through his gums, dripping with the venom that his team develops an immunity to after the third strike, but everyone else still dies from.
“Katie,” he says, slowly and deliberately, and Tony is trying his very hardest not to look like he’s listening at the same time as trying not to be seen. McGee quickly evacuates the area, tail on fire, and Gibbs has a peripheral awareness of him heading towards the stairs and the relative safety of Abby’s lab.
Kate stands, looking at him with a silent need in her eyes, and he feels his hatred towards this whole situation shift onto her at the last minute.
“Katie isn’t as good at reading people as she’d like to think. It’s gotten her… and us into trouble before.” He gives the man in front of him his best “You are a Pussy” glare. “Hero worship is a wasted thing, Colonel. Enjoy your dinner.” And he looks back down at his page, dismissing them both with his posture.
Kate’s breathing is harsh in the small space. When the words left his mouth, Tony let out something that was half-gasp, half-whimper and then drew silent. Colonel Matt Pussy O'Malley is still looking at him like he will magically start to like him, and if this man stands there like the ass he is for another second, Gibbs is going to take him and break him.
Kate clears her throat. Softly. The Pussy turns as she shoves her arms into her coat and she offers a reassuring smile. “I’ll meet you at the elevator, okay? Just need to finish one last thing for the case.”
The fool accepts her kiss with a smile and an eager body, not tasting the pain on her lips. Gibbs’s hatred swells up higher and boils close to the edge. “Okay,” Colonel Matt Pussy O'Malley gives Gibbs one more smile before heading out of his immediate space.
He’s going out with a beautiful woman tonight. Gibbs is sitting here and doing paper work. He has every right to smile, and that fact makes Gibbs’s entire body ache with the desire to beat him until he has nothing to be happy about anymore except for maybe the fact that both of his lungs aren’t collapsed.
Maybe. If Gibbs is feeling generous.
“What was that?”
Maybe. If Kate leaves him alive.
Her lips are drawn back over her teeth in a snarl, her eyes narrowed and her face tight. The anger is radiating off of her, her fury pure and untainted. She truly believes she has done no wrong-- that he is entirely to blame for this spectacle.
Both hands slam down on the desk, angry and loud, and she jerks back at the command in his body language. She is afraid of him, he knows it, and he is glad. What did she expect to happen? What did she think he would do when she brought her little fuck toy into his space? His domain?
“Agent Todd,” he says softly, and this is the voice that he knows will make all of her insecurities come to the surface, all of her fears bubble underneath her skin. “This is a federal office dedicated to the defense of this country. We are law enforcement agents for the United States government. We are not a family,” and God those words are a lie, but he needs to make her understand that if he sees this man again he is going to kill him, “and I am not your father. You do not bring your men in here and have them meet the parents, and if you can’t deal with that then you should get the hell out of this business and the hell out of this job. If you bring him in here again, he had better be on a gurney or in cuffs, or I will have you out of another job, and this time the dead boyfriend really will be your doing.” He watches the fear, the sheer unadulterated fear, bloom on her face and hates himself for being like this. Hates himself for losing it when he gets this close to her.
She needs to understand, he tells himself. He needs her to understand.
“Do I make myself clear?” He finishes, and doesn’t want to believe that those are tears in her eyes. “Well Agent Todd?”
“Yes sir,” she whispers, and a single streak of wet light streams down her cheek before she wipes it away angrily. “Won’t make that mistake again, sir. Glad to know where I stand, sir.”
Over by the elevator, outside of Gibbs’s direct line of sight but certainly not out of his territory or sensory range (and she knows it, too) she throws herself cheerfully into Matt’s arms. He smiles that (idiotic) smile at the feel of her up against his chest and her focus being on him and him alone once more.
The giggle she lets out before the elevator doors closes makes his nails clench into his palms. Her purr of “stay tonight?” makes his teeth bite down hard enough on the inside of his cheek to spurt blood over his tongue.
An hour (and five minutes of actual work later) McGee accepts Abby’s invitation to dinner “now that the work day is over and fun time begins.” She smiles at the crown of Gibbs’s head. “After all,” she says, “even Big Bad Wolfs have to sleep sometime.”
He doesn’t say anything. McGee leaves quickly, with a look at Tony that Gibbs pretends not to see. Ducky tosses out something bubbling and paternal, and Tony waves a hand quietly.
There is no strength in numbers today. There is only Gibbs, a killer with bright blue eyes and bloodlust. Abby, Ducky, McGee, and Tony aren’t individuals and they aren’t Gibbs’s friends right now. They are four potential victims, ripe and ready for death to be visited upon them, and Tony’s conscience will only permit him to put himself in danger knowingly. It’s one of the reasons Gibbs hired him-- his selfless bravery.
And foolish lack of self-preservation.
It’s ten minutes before he is aware of Tony standing in front of him. It’s another two after that before he acknowledges him.
Tony takes a deep breath, but it’s not a sound that indicates a lack of strength. His first protégé is filled with the power that comes from being in the right; his teacher is the one who has erred here. Gibbs is on shaky ground at best, and the both of them know it.
He hates it when shit like this happens.
“She didn’t deserve that,” Tony says quietly. “She didn’t do anything wrong, and you know it.”
“This is a place of busin-”
“Is that why the red head shows up? To discus business with you? I somehow missed when she started working here.” Gibbs lifts his head and glares, and Tony narrows his eyes. “And since when… If you don’t want to be part of a family… well, no one’s forcing you to be a part of it, now are they?”
“What’s a family, Gibbs?”
Gibbs doesn’t have an answer to that question. For the longest time, he thought a family was him and one of his various wives. For the longest time, his alimony payments can testify, he was obviously sadly mistaken.
“A family,” Tony continues, “is a group of people who are bound together. Who would live for each other. Who would die and kill and torture for each other without thinking about it. A family… a family is us. We are a family. We’re not blood and we don’t have Thanksgiving dinner together but can you honestly look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t do any of those things for any of us? Or that we wouldn’t do the same damn things for you?”
Gibbs swallows and rubs the bridge of his nose. “She shouldn’t have brought him here.”
“She didn’t. He brought himself. Kate didn’t do anything wrong, Gibbs.” He sighs and rubs his own nose, a mirror image about fifteen years younger. “She’s not going to leave, you know.”
The fear rises up to grab his throat again, and Gibbs stares at him. “It hasn’t gotten that serious, Tony.” God, has it gotten that serious? Is he going to be getting a wedding invitation in the near future? What the hell will he buy them? Is a severed horse head too… obvious?
“No,” Tony agrees. “Not yet. But eventually Kate is going to find a man she wants to spend her life with. She’s not like me, Boss. She’s not the kind of woman who dates lightly. Too much of a control freak. But when she finds someone, they last. Even if you’re not paying attention, they last.” He swallows. “Do you really think she would leave us for anyone? That she would leave you? You know her better than that.”
“She’s not mine, Tony. She goes where she wants to-”
“Bullshit,” Tony says dismissively. “If that was true, you would have left that little conversation at ‘hi, nice to meet you, good bye now.’ If you hadn’t seen that guy as a threat? You never would have tried to tear into him like that.”
“She’s not going anywhere.”
“Not unless you fire her, apparently. Which is something that she thinks you just might do, now.” Tony takes a deep breath, looks around the room, and leans in closer. “Kate is going to meet someone, Gibbs. She is going to turn over enough rocks in this town and find a snake that she can live with. And when that happens, you are going to have to find your place in her new life, or you’ll push her so far away with this attitude that you’ll never see her again.
“I like Kate, Boss. I really do. She’s irritating, she’s elitist, she has her nose in the air and her holier than thou attitude wrapped around her all of the time, and she doesn’t apologize for it. She’s the kid sister I never really wanted. But I love her. She’s part of my family. And you made us that, and I’m thankful. Incredibly. Before I came here, I had no one like that, and I would do just about anything for you and her and Ducky and Abby and hell, even McGee depending on the day. But I won’t hate Kate for you, Gibbs. I won’t do it.
“So you have got to either figure out what the hell you are doing with this woman, or you are going to have to keep your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself.” Tony straightens up and smoothes his hair down. “That’s all I got,” he admits, and he looks tired, but more relaxed than he did before that. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Don‘t stay too late tonight.”
“Okay,” Gibbs says, honestly stunned at one of the more emotionally honest things that Tony has ever said to him. “Yeah. I’ll…” He swallows and watches as Tony pulls his coat on. Charming. Now he has to think about this and wallow in how much of an asshole he is capable of being. “Bye.”
“Good. Have a goodnight Gibbs.” He wraps his scarf around his neck, and pauses for a moment, eyes turned inward at some memory or thought. “Another thing for you to think about-- I just realized it. Kate’s men keep getting progressively older.” He shrugs, as if dismissing the thought, but all it does is serve to underscore it in Gibbs’s mind and Tony knows it.
Gibbs waits until the younger man has disappeared behind the elevator doors to get to his feet and go about the process of shutting down his little section of the office for the night. He doesn’t want anyone seeing him like this. Seeing him prepare for what he is about to do.
Because Gibbs is about to go and apologize to Special Agent Caitlin Todd for insulting Colonel Matt Pussy O'Malley, United States Air Force. Gibbs is about to go and ask Special Agent Caitlin Todd’s forgiveness for being an unprofessional (prick, dick, jerk-off) boss, and throw himself upon her mercy and good graces.
Yeah. He’d much rather no one sees him mentally preparing for this.
Being a trained investigator has perks far beyond knowing when someone is lying. Being a trained investigator means that one gets Trained Investigator Senses (not to be confused with Trained Investigator Tight and a Cape). And Trained Investigator Senses are wonderfully adaptable to just about any situation.
For example, Gibbs is capable of breaking into someone’s home without leaving any identifiable marks on the door. He can follow a car through traffic, over hill and dale. He can make someone crap themselves in fear and leave as quickly as possible, never to return.
All of these things are of great help. All the time.
So, using his Trained Investigator Senses, Gibbs sits in his car across from Kate’s apartment, wearing his favorite pair of leather gloves, and watches as Colonel Matt Pussy O'Malley gets into his car after a long night of dancing and dining, and drives away.
Yeah, Gibbs thinks to himself smugly as he watches the man disappear. I rock.
The car smells of Kate’s perfume-- it hasn’t been cleaned in a while, and her normal seat to his right is a testament to her presence and her importance. He breathes her in, trapping her in his lungs and refusing to let her leave, no matter how hard her air beats against his lungs, no matter how abused his air sacs become. Her scent is the property of his body, her memory belongs to his gray matter-- she is his.
That’s the plan for tonight. Go up, apologize, make her forgive him, and then make her understand that she can’t bring boys to the office anymore because if she dates any more men he is going to consider it cheating and will therefore be forced to have sex with her on the desk in front of them to make her status absolutely clear.
He’s feeling cautiously optimistic.
She is his, he tells himself again, and unlocks the car door to step out into the night. The wind is high, and he pulls his coat around him fully. The collar beats against his chin, begging for him to set it free so it can be with the push of air against his side.
He refuses, not surprisingly. Gibbs doesn’t give up things that are his until they divorce him.
The doorman nods and smiles at him when he steps inside, and he nods and smiles back. Kate has the entire team on her “OK” list, and Ronnie likes him in particularly. The old man is ridiculously protective of Kate and her privacy and the knowledge that her boss, a man with old fashioned morals and a gun, is in her corner makes him happy.
“She’s upstairs?” he asks Ronnie, and the man nods cheerfully.
“Yep, in at a decent hour tonight.” Yeah, Gibbs thinks, he really likes Ronnie. “That Colonel O’Malley is a good guy.”
Yeah, Gibbs thinks. Not so much.
He nods and smiles stupidly, slipping into the elevator and pressing the button for her floor. The woman who gets in next to him is wearing diamond earrings the size of his knuckle. He keeps his eyes focused on the door and the reflection of his own eyes in the fine polished metal, trying not to acknowledge the wealth that surrounds Kate.
His first wife hadthe diamond ring he bought her and the pea sized earrings her parents had given her for her college graduation. He wonders, briefly, what size earrings Kate has, swallows, and blanks his mind out carefully.
He moves past the woman carefully when he reaches Kate’s floor, slipping down the hallway slowly and carefully. There is the distinct possibility that Kate will either a) start sobbing upon seeing him or b) shoot him, and he’d rather not give her the sound of him coming either way; more time for her to prepare his death bed doesn’t really appeal to him that much.
The knock on her door is hesitant, but firm. The footsteps he can hear from inside echo. Heels. God help him, a woman in heels.
Her eyes widen fractionally upon seeing him. He straightens his shoulders and squares his jaw, as if preparing himself to fight with a three-hundred pound marine.
Four inch heels. She came back to change for dinner after the scene at work.
“Gibbs,” she says, her greeting wary. He can see where she’s still bleeding from his attack earlier-- her eyes are rimmed with a color that was red and vibrant a little bit ago, and her face is coated in the protective sheen of concealer and foundation.
“Kate. Mind if I come in?” He cocks his head to the side, trying to look mysterious and non-threatening.
He sneezes, and she sighs. “Come on. It’s warmer in here than the hallway.”
He clutches his nose, digging through his pockets for his handkerchief desperately. Shitshitshitshit… “’ank you.”
“Want some coffee?”
She disappears into the kitchen, and he blows his nose quickly, wiping his hands and feeling disgusting. Great. This plan is working absolutely perfectly.
And he sucks at sarcasm. Fuck me.
The velvet skirt she’s wearing is shorter than the ones she wears to work, and he tears his eyes away from the generous amount of leg with a forceful grunt. It swishes when she walks, twirling around her thighs and dipping down to lick at her kneecaps.
“Here,” she says, pressing the cup into his hands. He pushes the handkerchief into a pocket quickly. “What are you doing here? It’s nasty outside.”
“That’s why I’m in here,” he points out and sips at the weak coffee calmly. She folds her arms across her chest, and he looks her over as he pulls his mouth away from the lip of the mug. “You look nice.”
She blinks furiously, drawing a breath in and taking a step back. “Did you just give me a compliment?”
“Am I not allowed to do that? Kate, it’s not harassment to say you look nice.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “But it’s not you. When have you ever said something nice to me that wasn’t more like ‘ya didn’t screw up that badly’?” She swallows. “You don’t give compliments, Gibbs. It’s not you.”
“That thing at the office,” he interrupts, and the nervous energy goes out of her entirely. She stills, hands going down to her sides, head drooping quietly. She’s preparing for another chewing out, trying to mentally anesthetize herself.
From the look lurking in the corner of her eyes and hiding in the set of her mouth, she’s not being very successful.
“Tony pointed out that it was… inappropriate of me to do.”
Her head jerks up like he just proposed marriage, and she takes another step back, as if fearing that he’s trying to lull her into a false sense of security before striking. She’s treating him like a threat. Like she has to be on her guard around him and everyone else.
He wonders how fucked up it is that he’s actually pretty damn proud of her for that.
“You didn’t bring him around, he showed up unexpected. You couldn’t have done anything about it, and it was wrong of me to act like you could’ve.”
There. That should do it. Now, to work on casually slipping his arm across her waist and his tongue into her mouth and his hand down the front of that skirt.
He’s always loved the sound velvet makes when it falls into a pool on carpeted floors.
Gibbs straightens his back again, hearing it crack, and tries to figure out just how that skirt unbuttons. Maybe its on the side? A zipper or a clasp? He hasn’t undone a thick clasp in way too long. They give this jerking feeling when they come undone, like they’re giving something important up to him, and he loves how-
“That’s it?” She takes a step towards him, chin tilted down, eyes watching him intently. “That’s all you have to say?”
He looks behind him briefly, sort of hoping that there’s another person in the room that the “I WILL KILL YOU” tone is being directed at. Maybe Pussy…
Nope. Just him.
“That’s all you have to say to me? That it wasn’t my fault he showed up?” She is breathing deep and even, but it’s coming a bit faster than normal. Her hands are shaking. Adrenaline rush.
He always gets fucked over by those.
“Not that you shouldn’t have gotten pissed in the first place? Or that maybe the fact that ‘we’re not a family’ is complete and utter bull? Huh?” She throws herself backwards, away from him, and he can see her white knuckles and tight jaw now. “God damn it, you keep us in the office for 19 hour days when we’re lucky and you expect us not to start to think of each other as blood? Huh?” She grabs the glass of red wine off the coffee table, half finished already, and downs the other half of it.
She stares sourly at the empty glass and puts it back on the table. “It’s not like I did anything wrong, Gibbs,” she says, quiet now, and he is much more frightened of a quiet Kate than he ever could be of a loud Kate.
Kate is not quiet by nature.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t dare, and she looks up, confused at the silence. “Well? Anything to add to that little apology?”
He swallows and reminds his testicles that she is not capable of shriveling them with a look. “I realize it was unprofessional-”
“It was mean!” He winces and she gets up close to him now. “You don’t do mean, Gibbs. Not with us. I know you-- you snarl and you stomp around like someone is perpetually pissing in your coffee, but you never get mean with us. You dress us down-” Was that an invitation? asks the oh-so-not helpful voice in his dick, and his testicles just made a miraculous recovery. “-when we deserve it. But you never try and crush us for no reason-- you try and correct whatever the hell we’re doing wrong.”
The red wine smells sweet and thick on her breath. Her lips are outlined in crimson and sin. For another man. For United States Air Force Colonel Matt Pussy O’Malley.
For him now, he tells himself. From now on… for him.
Of course, since Kate is not psychic and capable of reading his intent, he has to actually voice this thought. And since Gibbs is not good at saying shit like this, he has to let it be known in another way.
In hindsight, he recognizes, pulling her up against his erection and grinding into her like a dog trying to scratch up against a doorframe probably wasn’t the most romantic way to go.
She starts to breathe faster, like she just ran up a couple flights of stairs, and he wraps his arms around her, one securing itself in the waistband of that Devil-sent skirt, and the other on the back of her neck. Her eyes are focused on the place in his neck where his pulse shakes the skin, and when he swallows her lips part gently. He finds a place on the far wall where the rich green paint has chipped and takes in every aspect of the imperfection.
“You starting to understand why I snapped at you?”
“Getting there,” she whispers.
“Good. I’m not your father, Kate.”
“My father is fifteen years older that you, Gibbs. And his hair is nicer.”
“I’m not one of your brothers.”
“No. You’re a jerk, though, so you’ve all got that in common.”
“You bring a man like that around the office again… and I’ll kill him. And then I’ll screw you on his grave.” He swallows. “I swear to God, Katie. You do it again and I’m not gonna be responsible for what I do. You get that?”
She swallows, clear her throat, and the voice that comes out is soft and rough. “And the redhead?”
He jerks his eyes away from the spot on the wall that has been so very fascinating for the entirety of this conversation. She has managed to detach herself from his throat and the eyes that meet his are dark and serious and focused to a razor edged brown. She tosses her hair over one shoulder, haughty and as snooty as the day he found her, talent fermenting in the rut the secret service had her in. Beautiful. A bitch, but then again, he’s a bastard. “You think you get to make a claim on me without me doing the same?”
“She’s just a friend.”
“That’s not what it looks like to me and everyone else who sees her. You want me, Gibbs?”
Something inside him is bouncing up and down and running in circles, hands in the air, screaming in joy like an idiot. On the outside, his throat works. Once. “Yeah.”
“Okay then.” Her hand is in his hair, her body is pressed tightly up against his, and when she slips her tongue past his lips, he makes a noise he didn’t know he had inside him anymore.
She tastes like the wine and like something Italian that she was eating earlier. The garlic aftertaste burns and nips at his taste buds. There’s another man’s taste in her mouth, he knows, and even though it’s hidden under the wine and the garlic, it’s there. Someone else held her tonight. Someone else kissed her.
He sucks on her bottom lip, biting it hard, and she grunts softly before pulling back. “Bedroom or couch?” she whispers, eyes darker than they were a moment ago. Her pupils have turned the way his first real girlfriend’s did when he hesitantly touched her ass during their junior prom.
She leans in again, and this time he’s ready for her with his tongue and his teeth and his hands on her body. She lets out a sigh, slow and heavy, and he pulls her closer to hump his thigh like she needs it bad.
Like she needs him bad.
“Do you want to continue this out here,” she says in between nips at his tongue, her voice an octave lower than normal. “Or do you want to go to the bedroom?”
He tightens his hold in her hair and pulls her head back forcefully, mouth fastening to the skin where her neck meets her jaw. The sound she lets out is something he only pictured coming from her lungs in his deepest, darkest porno-type dreams.
After this part, she’s supposed to beg him to fuck her tits and then come all over her chest.
Kate rakes her nails down the back of his neck, and he snarls in mixed pain and odd pleasure at the sensation, sucking harder. Her hips have started gently rotating on his thigh, skirt hitched up to her upper thighs. He pushes the fingers tucked in her waistband around and under the skirt, resting just underneath her, and groans at the stickiness he finds coating the back of his hand.
“Kate, where are your panties?”
She makes a small sound of disapproval-- apparently she really liked what he was doing to her throat (Gibbs resists the urge to do a victory dance) and thrusts herself down to grind against his knuckles. “I took them off.”
“I can see that. Why?” She swallows, eyes searching for an acceptable answer in the ceiling paint. He yanks her head down so she can’t avoid him, eyes narrowed. “Kate, why did you take your underwear off?”
She takes a deep breath in through her nose, jaw set firmly, before the little voice inside her that first drew him to her-- the one that screams “I AM CAITLIN TODD AND I RULE ALL” speaks for her. “Because I was going to sleep with Matt, and I didn’t want to have panty lines on my skin when he saw me naked.”
The red that slips over his eyes is the same color as her lip liner. She shifts uncomfortably as his grip on her gets tighter, firmer, with less room for her to shift or breathe. “You were going to sleep with him,” he repeats, wanting to get the message absolutely right. “Him. Colonel Matt Pussy O’Malley?”
The fire in her sparks up at this new disrespect of her personal life, and her hips shift a little, gathering strength. “Yeah. And I was going to enjoy it too.”
“Is that so?” he asks, tone all too mild. She gets the “Gibbs is Being Quiet and Scary” look on her face again, and he offers a tight smile. “Disappointed with the way things turned out, are we?”
The fear is replaced by conviction. Strength. She shakes her head calmly. “No. I didn’t sleep with him Gibbs. He left before you showed up because I told him I was tired. I… I didn’t want to sleep with him. Not tonight.”
“Why not?” He has to know it-- every last sordid detail. He always has been a glutton for punishment when it came to women. He wants every part of them, and when they won’t give it to him, he demands to know each reason why. Another arrow in the large gaping chink in his armor.
She turns her eyes inward, brown going soft and thoughtful. He searches her face for the prelude to a lie, finds none, and waits.
“I didn’t sleep with him,” she begins slowly, gaining momentum as she goes along. “Because he would have taken it as something bigger. I would have been ‘his girl’ if I slept with him.”
“And you don’t think you’re my girl once you sleep with me?” As pleasurable as the side benefits might be, he absolutely refuses to just have Kate as a fuck buddy. He’s done those before. They never work, and he usually ends up with someone screaming at him over the phone about how insensitive/clingy/apathetic he’s been to the woman in question.
She shrugs. “I’ll be your girl, Gibbs. But you’ll be my man. That wouldn’t have happened with Matt, we wouldn’t have been equal in this thing.” She pushes herself down on his hand again, eyes fluttering as the knuckles on his middle finger bump against her clit. “I like equality.”
“Very nice,” he comments, and her neck is calling to his teeth again so he bites down on her hard enough to make her whine. “Bedroom. I’m not making love to you on a couch.” He pushes his hand up against her, batting her pussy around casually. “I might fuck you there later, though.”
“Works for me.”
They half-walk, half-stumble into the bedroom, tripping over their own feet and the pieces of Kate’s life that she has scattered around the apartment. She teeters uncertainly on her heels, and he pushes her down on the bed without flourish. She bounces, sits up, and looks at him eagerly.
“I’m wearing less clothing than you,” she reminds him, and he nods.
“Yeah. Yeah you are.”
“You could get out of yours… make me feel more comfortable…”
“I could do that.” He sits down on his heels, hands resting on her kneecaps and warming her legs. “But I’m not going to do that.”
He pushes her thighs apart and she shifts back to rest on her elbows. “No,” he says calmly, and she grins and throws her head back as he leans forward and plants a kiss to her lower abdomen.
Someone once told Gibbs that the anticipation of an event was often much better than the actual event. The build up, he’d said, was the most enjoyable part, and that if that was done right, the entire experience “rocked hard.”
Gibbs prides himself on being good at providing “good experiences.”
She’s wet and slick and hot, and his tongue is loving every inch of her. Those heels of hers bang gently against the ground next to his thighs as he slips a finger into her, and he pulls his mouth away from her for a second. “Put your legs over my shoulders and leave them there.” She complies, and he takes a moment to reflect upon Kate’s relationship with figures of authority.
“Gibbs,” she says, “please don’t make me beg you for this.”
He pushes another finger into her, dragging his thumb over her clit before settling it on the point just off to the side that’s just sensitive enough to make her dissolve into a lump of compliance, but just off-center enough to make it take a while longer. He’s always appreciated slow burns.
“I don’t know Katie, you might just like it.” She groans and drops her head back to the bed.
He dips his tongue into the crease between her upper thigh and hip, teeth coming out to bite at her. “You don’t think I could have you begging if I wanted you to?” he murmurs into her, and the tickle sends her arching up and thrusting back, body confused and desperate.
“You could…” she sighs and wraps her legs tighter around his head, trying to pull him in closer towards her. “I know you could…”
“Good girl,” he grunts and shifts his thumb’s attention to her clit. “Very, very good girl.” She pushes down on him, hips rotating and breathing hard. “I think I like you with my fingers inside of you. You get desperate.” He grins into her inner thigh. “And you’re absolutely wonderful when you’re desperate for me, Katie girl.”
She starts to make that noise, the noise that he’s heard a hundred times before from the throats of women, the one that says “I’m almost there, push me a bit harder and you’ll have one satisfied lady in your bed.” He takes his mouth away from her thighs and pulls his thumb off of her entirely, grabbing at her with his teeth and pulling hard.
One heel hits the back of his head, hard, and he pulls away hissing and cursing as she thrusts up on the bed, fists wrapped around the blankets, screaming silently.
“Uhhhhhh…” She moans, eyes closed, lips parted, hair tangled in her lipstick and face contorted in mock agony. He rubs the quickly forming lump on the back of his skull, glaring at her sullenly as she basks in the glory of her release. “God, Gibbs…”
“I need an ice pack,” he groans, grabbing the shoes and ripping them off of her ankles. “These things are gorgeous, but they fucking hurt.” He grabs the skirt and unzips the side, pulls it down, and throws it over his shoulder. “You are dangerous in this outfit,” he complains, and she grins up at him, eyes closed as he tears the shirt off of her and stares down at the black lace bra with admiration. “Yeah. Definitely dangerous,” he says, undoing the front clasp and opening her up to the air.
Her hands wrap around his chest and with a move that he taught her four months ago, she flips him onto his back on the bed, sitting his upper thighs and looking down at him like she just accomplished something big and important. “Dangerous?” she purrs, slipping the bra down her arms and tossing it off to the side with a casual finger. “Is that what you think, Gibbs?”
“Yeah,” he appraises, looking up at her and folding his arms underneath his head. “That is exactly what I think actually. You really hurt my head.” He resists the urge to pout. That might be laying it on just a little bit thick.
She drags her fingers down the front of him, feeling the muscle she’s only seen in the gym bunch and jump under her hands. He pushes up off the bed to let her pull the shirt out of his pants, and when she undoes the first button his eyes close for a second in bliss. “I don’t suppose there’s anything I could do,” she continues softly, fingers slipping him open and pushing the shirt aside to leave him in nothing but his undershirt. “To make it up to you? Hm?” She plays with the undershirt, and he grabs it and pulls it up over his head and off him. Her hands on his skin feel delicious. Cool and firm and soft, and he soaks up the attention she’s paying him.
Kate grins and slips one hand down to unbuckle his belt, pull it apart, and unfasten his pants. “Well,” he says calmly, so much more calmly than he feels, “I suppose you could bring me coffee for a couple of days.”
“Hm,” she agrees. “There is that. But I don’t want to do that.”
“You could rub my shoulders.”
“I give a mean backrub,” she acknowledges, hands wrapping around his boxers and pulling swiftly. His cock springs up between them, and she smiles. “Maybe later.”
“Well then, I can really only think of one other way, considering how picky you’re being about all of the other options I’ve brought up so far…”
She wraps a cool hand around him, grinning like a dog. “I love to do this,” she whispers, like it’s the biggest, badest secret in the world. Something inside of his head burst and he groans, pushing up against her hand. “Such a power rush.”
“Control freak,” he accuses breathlessly, She grins again, eyes on his, and he watches as she leans forward and kisses his cock, open mouthed and beautifully shameless. “Guhhh…”
“Yeah,” she whispers, and drags her tongue over the side of him, tracing an invisible path up his flesh. “But it takes one to know one.”
Her mouth is wet, lax and thick. She’s so perfectly focused on what she’s doing, on him, and he thrusts up lazily between her lips. She accepts his hand in her hair like he’s giving her a crown, and when she starts to suck on him it takes all he has not to just grab her and fuck her face.
“Kate,” he warns, “I’m going to fuck you tonight.”
She hums cheerfully, and the vibrations make that “I am the boss” tone evaporate into his blood stream. Shiiiiit…
One finger dances across his perineum, delicate and certain. His hips thrust up at her gently, and her eyes are wicked and dark on his. Her mouth tightens and she moves further down on him, taking in as much of him as she can and sucking hard to make up for her inability to deep throat him and take the rest. He pushes her hair away from her face and groans hard.
She chuckles as she draws back, the suction almost killing him and the ripples it sends through his skin are wonderful. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on something else. She drags her teeth over him in a thinly veiled threat, and he jerks back up, eyes on her with a desperate sound on his tongue.
“Fuhhh,” he gasps. “Come on, Katie, come onnnn…”
She tightens her mouth again, fingers tracing designs over his balls, and slowly pulls back off him. He takes a shaky breath as she kisses the head of him again, a good bye this time. His strength is in tatters, wrapped around her.
“Well,” she says, a laugh in her voice. “Forgive me?”
He groans and grabs her by the back of the neck, pulling her up to his face. She smiles peacefully. “Forgive you?”
“I really feel I need it,” she confides. “I’d hate to have you mad at me.”
“Wench,” he snarls, and she cackles as he rolls them over again, both of them laying on their sides as he spoons up behind her. One of the sawdust worn palms wraps around her hip, down her leg, and he slips behind her kneecap, pulling her up and open. He bites at the back of her neck, teasing the tiny hairs with his tongue, and she throws an arm back, hand against the back of his head as she clings to the sensation. “You want me, Katie?” he rumbles in her ear, and she thrusts her ass back at him like she’s in heat. “Say it.”
“I want you, Gibbs.”
He takes himself in hand and pushes into her from behind, before grabbing her leg again and keeping her spread open and helpless. “Good,” he groans, and she breathes out a big rush of air at the feeling of him inside her. “Very good.”
His other hand slips underneath her as he starts to move, and her breast fills his palm like he was made to fit her. She’s still soaking wet from her last orgasm, and he relishes the fact that he can do this to her. Kate groans softly as he pinches her nipple and twists his hips, and he wonders when he deviated from the plan. When did this change from something vicious and hard-- a claiming-- to this soft, laughing carried out, tangled excursion into her sheets?
When did this become less about proving how ineffectual and poorly suited Colonel Matt Pussy O’Malley is for her, and more about proving how utterly perfect Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs can be with her?
He pushes in harder, and she slips her own hand down her body to finger her clit. He pushes harder, and her fingers bang against him too. Perfect.
“Gibbs…” she gasps. “God, just keep it up… keep it up…” He grins and bites down on her ear, loving the sounds she’s making and loving the small jerks of her body that she can’t hide.
“You going to come again, Katie? Hm?” He sucks on her earlobe. “If I keep doing that are you going to scream your pretty little head off?” He squeezes her breast softly, careful not to bruise her, and the nipple is hard enough to cut bone on his palm.
“Yeah,” she whimpers, the sounds getting higher and higher, more and more needy. “I am, I am, I swear, I am…” Her entire body is moving in time with her breaths for air, her throat open and wide, and he fucks her slow and sweet and hard. Like they’ve got all the time in the world and then some.
“I could keep you here like this for a while,” he says, voice dark and hoarse. “I’m good for a while longer, Katie-- I could keep you begging me like this for long enough to make you cry.”
She whimpers, eyes squeezed shut, and pushes back against him harder than before. “N-Next time, come on, come on, please, come on…”
“Next time,” he allows graciously, and she’s almost sobbing for air by the time he seizes the back of her neck in his teeth, harder than before, pulls her leg up higher, and mashes his own fingers against hers. Her abused little clit gives up the good fight, and he watches with a dark grin as Special Agent Caitlin Todd thrashes for the second time that night.
He moves his head carefully to avoid getting his nose broken against the back of her skull. One injury per night is more than enough for him.
She’s still whimpering and breathing hard when he pulls out of her and pushes her face down on the blankets. Her legs are loose and uncooperative, and he takes care to make sure he’s not positioning her in a way that leaves her open for a broken hip or town cartilage, before pushing back inside of her body with a low groan. “Oh yeah…”
She’s limp and moaning, and she does what she can to keep him happy, but her muscles aren’t cooperating and he knows it. He grabs her hips in his hands and holds her in place, running his fingers over her ass and wondering how long is long enough in a relationship to ask for anal. “You feel so good, Katie.”
She pushes back against him weakly, and he pushes forward hard enough to make her grunt. “God,” she whispers, “how are you still hard?”
“Benefits of being an older man,” he says, more than a little smug. He slips one hand around her to cup the breast he wasn’t abusing earlier, and she moans at how sensitive her nipples are. “I could fuck you for hours, Katie. If I wanted to leave you sore for days, I could do it.”
She moans softly, gripping the blankets in her hands to try and get some purchase to push back at him with, but she’s too weak to do it, too exhausted and he knows it. Gibbs wraps his arm around her waist, holding her up and close to him, and starts to thrust harder than he was before, faster. She’s okay, he tells himself. You’ve got her, she’s satisfied, just focus on this.
It doesn’t take all that much to convince him.
He pounds her, hips moving on pure instinct, and she is loose and slick as water underneath him. He throws his back into what he’s doing, pinches her nipple hard enough to make her arch back at him with her limited leverage, and ignores the little voice in his head that says that he should probably be taking things easier now that he’s the age he is.
He’s always hated that voice anyhow.
“Come on, Gibbs…” she moans. “Come on, come for me. Please, please, I want it. Come on fill me up, pleeeaseee…”
Good god, he realizes as his hips snap and his body arches up. I was just outdone by a good little Catholic girl. Hot damn.
She purrs happily when he picks his head up off of her back. His come is leaking out of her and his saliva is thick on her back. “Be right back,” he groans, and she makes a protesting noise as he pulls out of her. He finds some baby wipes in the bathroom, probably for this purpose, and she pushes towards his hand as he cleans her up. He tosses the used wipe in the trash, and she pushes the blankets down with still movements. He watches as she gets comfortable, and when she holds up the comforter for him, he gets in beside her.
She sighs as he slips an arm over her shoulders, pressing her down into the mattress. Her eyes are pricks of light in the dim bedroom. “I like this,” she says peacefully.
“Guh,” says Gibbs.
“I think that I might just keep you,” says Kate with a grin.
“Guuuh…” says Gibbs.
She grins and pushes forward to kiss him, lips soft and swollen. He sighs and feels himself start to melt into the mattress. Her fingers on his scalp close his eyes for him, and he pushes into her touch. “Sleep, okay?”
“In the morning,” she says soothingly, hands running through his hair, “we’ll try it again.”
His eyes open. “What?”
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