Keryl Raist's Blog, page 29

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 126: A Rocking Chair

As Abby’s style changed, and she kept coming into work in Tim’s button downs or her 1950s dresses more and more anonymous baby gifts kept appearing.
In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that the handwriting and the messages kept changing, he’d be thinking that maybe Ziva was just going a little bonkers on the getting ready to be an Aunt thing. But the handwriting does keep changing, and the messages keep shifting, and apparently Abby is the single most popular person at NCIS because everyone wants to drop off little gifts for them.
And, of course, some not so anonymous gifts from the family showed up, as well.
Gibbs had kept Kelly’s high chair. So as the team gathered at their house for Thanksgiving, (Thanksgiving used to be at Ducky’s but since his mother died, Abby took over hosting, and now it’s at the McGee’s house. Christmas is at Gibbs’ place. Fourth of July/Labor Day (depending on if they’re on) is hosted by the Palmers. Shabbat is at Tony and Ziva’s.) Gibbs brought with him her highchair, and a few of the toys he had made for her. Nothing very complicated, they’re baby toys, old baby toys. But a set of well-loved blocks, a top, and a small rocking horse, all joined the collection of presents.
After dinner, as Tim was taking the high chair up, Gibbs grabbed the other presents (By mutual accord, they would rather cut their own throats than allow Abby to lift anything heavier than an evidence sample while pregnant, and both of them will go far out of their way to accommodate that.) and followed him upstairs.
“We’re thinking this room for the nursery,” Abby says, having gone ahead of them and flicking on the lights. “It gets good light, and is close enough to our room we’ll be able to hear everything easily.”
They have four bedrooms, one of which is mostly just sitting around waiting for new occupants. One’s set up as a guest room, ready for anyone who might want to crash at their place to do so. This one is empty save for the collection of presents on the floor, and now a high chair, rocking horse, blocks and top.
Gibbs looked around at the room as he put the rocking horse down. “Gonna keep it like this?”
It had been a child’s room before they moved in. The walls were a light, bright blue, somewhere between robin’s egg and sky. The trim was white. And, like the rest of the house, the carpet was new, light gray.
“Sort of,” Abby said. “Trees. I’m going to paint trees on the walls, and grass near the baseboard. And maybe some fairies or dragons. At least a few butterflies. Maybe some clouds and more sky on the ceiling if I can get a good match on the wall paint. Our little elf is getting her own forest.”
Gibbs smiles at that, and Tim does as well. They hadn’t talked about what they were doing with the nursery yet. But he likes that idea.
“Dragons between the trees?” Tim asks.
“Yeah. I mean, if I can do one that looks decent.”
“You’ve done cartoon version of me easily enough.”
“I think I can do dragons, too, but if it looks dumb, I might just settle for trees and butterflies. I know I can do that.”
“Okay.”
Gibbs looked around the room. “Abbs, dragons and trees is…” and he’s not entirely sure how to finish that sentence, because while it’s true it’s something he’d never do, it’s also very in tune with the family McGee. “It’ll take forever, and unless this is going to be your only child, come baby number two, he’ll be sitting in a plain room with a few coats of paint, and baby one will have a hand-painted mural.”
“Oh. Good point.” Tim gets that in a heartbeat. Mostly because of decades of his dad playing favorites, and he doesn’t want that for his children.
“I’ve been thinking about the crib.” And Gibbs had. He’d been playing with ideas, not getting too set on anything. Just because his gut says Baby McGee is a girl doesn’t mean she actually is. “And that could have a place for a smaller mural. If the top of the back was fairly high and wide, that’d give you room. The dragons and trees could go there.”
Tim nodded along at that idea, and added. “I bet we could find or make a mobile with the fairies on it.”
Gibbs isn’t sure if Tim is so set on the idea that the baby is a girl that fairies sound great for to him, or if he’s just so gender neutral he doesn’t mind the idea of fairies in his son’s room, but he decides he doesn’t need to know the answer to that.
Gibbs looked around the room one more time. “I still have Shannon’s rocking chair. It’s not fancy. But you’ll want one... Abbs!”
She flung herself into his arms, sobbing.
Gibbs gently patted her back, staring at Tim in horror, no idea what set Abby off. Tim’s looking back at him with a pretty similar expression on his face.
Meanwhile Abby snuffled and sobbed, saying something that neither of them could make out.
Finally, Gibbs caught, “Shannon’s chair! The one you made her, and she nursed Kelly on!”
“Yeah, Abbs. That chair.” He said, patting her back some more. What he doesn’t say, but Abby appears to instinctively get, is that when he made that chair he had images of his children, grandchildren, and great grandkids in that chair. He built it to last forever and to be passed down.
And damn if that didn’t make Tim’s eyes water, too. Though he kept control of his voice, so he sounded fairly steady when he stepped over to Abby, rubbed her back a little, and said to Gibbs, “Don’t you want it?”
“I don’t use it, Tim. It just sits in Kelly’s room. Though, it’s got some strings attached. It goes to Tony and Ziva when they have their first baby.”
Tim smiled at that. “No playing favorites between your girls?”

Gibbs rubbed the back of Tim’s head. “No playing favorites between my kids.”
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Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 125: Things Get Tight

“How is it even possible for t-shirts to not fit?” Tim just shrugs at Abby as she keeps tossing her shirts out of the closet. It’s the last Monday in November and they’re getting dressed for work. “None of them fit! How can they not fit? How, Tim, how?”
“I assume you want something beyond, your breasts are bigger than they used to be?”
“I’ve only gained three pounds.”
Tim’s staring at her chest, and it’s entirely possible that she has indeed only gained three pounds. But if that’s true about three more have migrated from somewhere else up to her bosom.
She pulls another one on over her head. “They’re supposed to stretch.”
He’s sitting on their bed, his own socks forgotten as he stares, smiling, and licks his lips. “That one looks nicely stretchy.”
She turns and glares at him. “You are not helping.”
His smile spreads wider. “Your bras don’t really fit anymore, either. Is that helpful?”
“No!”
He pulled her to sit next to him on the bed and kissed her shoulder. “I have a credit card, an internet connection, and in less than five minutes we can be buying you new t-shirts and bras.”
“Better.” She turned to stare at the pile of t-shirts on their bed. “But we still have to get to work and no one delivers that fast.”
“You’re welcome to any of my t-shirts that you like.”
“Too big.”
He looked at her with an irked expression. “You wear them around the house all the time.”
“Yeah, they aren’t too big for lounging. They’re perfect for lounging. I love them for lounging because they’re soft and comfy and smell like you. They’re like a hug I can just wear around all day. But they’re too big to go with anything else I own that’s even vaguely work appropriate. I can’t just show up in one of your t-shirts and a pair of flannel pajama pants.”
That was probably a salient point. Sure, she wears t-shirt, but they’re all sort of snug and she tucks them into her skirts, and his won’t look right, they’re too… And then he remembered. “I’ve got a few t-shirts left from when I was really skinny.”
That made Abby smile. “That’s useful. Why do you still have them?”
He stood up, heading to his dresser. “I have no idea. They aren’t cool or anything. Just basic cotton.”
“As long as they don’t make me look like I’m trying to see if it’s possible to make a shirt rip by stuffing too much breast into it, they’ll be fine.”
Tim went hunting through his t-shirt drawer. “Here you go: gray, blue, and blue-gray.”
“Wow, you really went above and beyond the call of duty on these.”
“You mean my three for six bucks pack of t-shirts is less than the level of fashion you like.”
She pulls the gray one on. It’s still too big, but it’s not nearly as too big as his other shirts are. “Normally, I’d say yes, but right now this is so comfortable I don’t care. Okay, I can take a deep breath without fear of ripping my clothing again. So, yeah, shopping. Can’t do the bras online, not until I’ve been measured, no idea what I’m wearing now.”
Tim sits back on the bed and returns to putting on his socks. “34 D.”
Abby just stares at Tim for a long minute. “And you know that how?”
He looked up at her, surprised she’s finding this surprising. “I’m really good with spatial relationships and 3D images. And it’s not like I’m unfamiliar with your breasts. Just trust me on this.”
She kept staring at him.
He gave her an of course I know this look. “Have I ever gotten you the wrong sized underwear?”
“No.”
“Have I ever asked you what size you wear?”
“No.”
The expression on his face says, Well…
“I always figured you just looked in my drawer and checked.”
“I did, originally, but as you’ve mentioned, every single women’s clothing line sizes their clothing slightly differently, and you’ll notice, I’ve still never gotten you the wrong sized undies. Even if that does mean that I have had to send some of them back before you saw them.”
“Really?” She’s looking puzzled by this. Wondering where he gets these packages sent, because she hasn’t seen any of them.
“Yeah. I buy them online. But I can’t tell what size they really are until I see them. I’ve taken good advantage of Amazon’s return policy.”
“Huh. In that case, why haven’t you ordered me new bras?”
He smiles again. “Who says I haven’t?”
“Have you?”
The look on his face is pure mischief. “You’ll find out soon enough.” The he looks at the pile of shirts on the bed. “You know, none of your dresses fit anymore, either.”
Abby sighs. “Yeah. I know. I thought the idea was you grew out of your pants first.”
“Apparently not.” Tim, now fully dressed, stood up and very gently kissed the top of each bosom, through the t-shirt. “I’ll admit, I’m not minding this at all.”
She rolled her eyes, shoved him a little, and went hunting through her skirts for something to wear to work.


For all the Goth-oriented baby gear they were accumulating, you’d think there would be Goth oriented pregnancy wear.
But apparently Goths reproduce via adoption.
Second Life Goth Maternity Clothing
You thought I was kidding, didn't you?It’s not that there’s nothing out there, it’s just that... there’s not a whole lot of it, (And though this is utterly bizarre, there’s more goth pregnancy gear for Second Life characters than there is for actual real-life women.) and it seems to be primarily aimed at women who are a whole lot more pregnant than Abby.
T-shirts for big girls, that they could find pretty easy.  But that’s the same issue with wearing Tim’s t-shirts. She wants shirts that are cool, have the right aesthetics, and fit, which means they need to be clingy in the right sort of way, snug along the chest and stomach. And right now snug along the stomach translates into way too tight over the chest.
And don’t get her started on pants. Five days of searching online has convinced Abby that once she grows out of her pants until she gives birth and probably a bit after that, she will not be wearing pants. There is not a single pair of decent maternity pants in existence.
There were (thank God) some cute dresses that would do for both now and later.  And she noticed that there were a fairly good selection of sort of modified vintage early 60s late 50s Donna Reed style dresses that actually fit really nicely. (Apparently large breasts and a small waist was the go to look back then.) And sure, that’s not precisely her look, but the shaping works, and she’s got a sewing machine so shortening the skirts isn’t an issue. And she’s not adverse to the application of dye, so though some of those dresses stayed their original pastel colors, most of them suddenly got a new coat of significantly more vibrant colors or black.

Finally, for the days when nothing fit right, (which seemed to be happening more and more often) there was what became her fall back outfit. Skirt, leggings, and one of Tim’s button downs rolled up at the sleeves, top two buttons undone.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 124: Sleepy

The pregnant sleeping thing was kind of scary, at first. They’d been home from their honeymoon for three days, and caught the first case back at work.
So, long day. It was well past two when they got home. They were both dragging by that point, but she got in the door, stood in front of the of the stairs, stared at them, and then just sat down.
“Abby?”
“Got to rest a little.” He was giving her his you’re worrying me look. “I’m okay, just really tired, and those are a whole lot of stairs.”
He eyeballed them, and sure he’s not planning on bounding up them or anything, but there’s only twelve, not like they’ve got more than two floors. “All right. Let me get your coat.” So he took both of their coats, turned his back to her to hang them up, and turned around and found her slumped against the banister, asleep.
This left Tim in something of a quandary. Wake her up? Let her sleep on the steps? (That can’t be comfortable.) Pick her up? Okay, that worked, so he carefully picked her up and took her to bed, becoming more disturbed by the fact that she didn’t wake up when he did it, or when he put her on the bed, or unzipped her boots and took them off. By that point he was starting to get really worried, so he put the blanket over her, and raced down the stairs to call Jimmy.
“Tim?” Jimmy didn’t sound very awake.
“She didn’t wake up.”
He could hear Jimmy rubbing his eyes. “I’m gonna need more than that. What is going on?”
“We got home, she fell asleep on the stairs, I picked her up, put her in bed, took off her boots, and she didn’t wake up!”
He can’t see Jimmy’s expression, but he’s fairly sure it’s screaming, I can’t believe you woke me up for this! “It’s normal, Tim. She’s pregnant, coming off a massive caffeine addiction, and been awake for nineteen hours. Even without that last one, she’s going to sleep hard, for at least the next three months. Sometimes Breena would fall asleep in the middle of conversations at the end of a long day. I’m surprised she didn’t drop off in the car on the ride home.”
“She was driving.” The silence on the other side stretched for a good thirty seconds until Tim said, “You’d be headslapping me if I was in range, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. From now until the baby shows up, you drive home from work, got it? And get used to her being sleepy.”
“She’s okay?”
“She’s breathing, color looks good, heart beating, all the rest of that?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s just tired. It’ll get better around Valentine’s.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” Jimmy hung up, and Tim headed to bed.


Then it got kind of cute. Up until this point, Abby’s needed about thirty-five minutes of sleep for every hour he needed, so he almost never got to watch her sleep. Yes, they went to bed together, and they fall asleep together, but sometime in the middle of the night she’d usually get up, do stuff, and come back to bed later, and then, in the morning, they’d get up together.
But now, with Thanksgiving looming, Abby falls asleep pretty much every time she stops moving, and he actually likes the fact that he can just watch her.
He finds it especially cute when they settle down to watch TV, and she falls asleep in his lap.
She’ll be laying there, and he can watch and pet her to his heart’s content.
He just has to be gentle about it, because one time he did pet her a bit too hard, and woke her up, and okay, this isn’t literally true, but it’s true enough, she almost bit his hand off and made it exceptionally clear that “unless the fucking house is on fire and you are pinned under a beam and cannot carry me out” she is not to be woken up.


From there it got even cuter. Abby kept falling asleep at work. And well, if you’re known for being high-beam perky, bounding about with endless energy, and suddenly, less than a month after your honeymoon, you start falling asleep in your lab, and well, even with a lab coat on it was kind of obvious that Abby’s shirts were a whole lot tighter than they used to be, anyway, the scuttlebutt that raises is awfully accurate.
And the anonymous presents of goth-oriented baby gear are awfully cute, too. Apparently just the rumor of pregnant Abby flipped some sort of chemical switch among the assorted employees at NCIS, rendering them incapable of not buying little onesies, shoes, pacifiers, and hair bows all decked out in black with tiny little skulls on them.  (Official NCIS consensus: judging from the number of pink skulls/skulls with hair bows/hair bows with skulls Baby McGee is a girl.)
But since she isn’t “officially” pregnant yet, these present just appear on either his or her desk, usually with no note beyond a, “Thought this was so cute, had to buy it for you, hope you need it.”
They still weren’t telling anyone outside of Team Gibbs, and Team Gibbs played along, providing No-CafPow in CafPow cups, and no one outside the team knew Tim had switched to decaf for his coffee, though the three days he was biting the heads off of anyone who got too close to him caused some eyebrows to rise, but the rumors kept flying around.


However, no matter how cute Tim though napping Abby was, or how many baby presents mysteriously showed up, to anyone else who say, wanted to get the results back from some sort of trace, it was… less welcome.
“Talk to me Abbs,” Gibbs said, strolling into the lab on the last Tuesday in November, and stopped short, seeing only Tim down there. “Tim?”
Tim took the No-CafPow out of Gibbs’ hand, sipped it, and then shuddered. “This stuff is nasty. I don’t know why you’d drink it if it didn’t have any caffeine in it.”
Gibbs stared at the decaf coffee next to Tim, his expression saying exactly the same thing about what Tim was drinking these days. “Where’s Abby?”
He nodded at Abby’s office, and Gibbs took two steps to the right, and saw her curled up on those fuzzy rugs she keeps in there, fast asleep.
“What do you need?” Tim asked.
“A functional forensics lab.”
“’Round about Valentine’s she’ll stop sleeping eighteen hours a day. Meanwhile, Major Mass Spec doesn’t like me setting him up, but I can read his print outs as well as anyone else. And he’ll be done in—” And Major Mass Spec beeped. “Now.”
Tim grabbed the print out and read over it. “Anti-freeze.”
“Anti-freeze?”
Ducky and Palmer had been able to ascertain the vic had been poisoned and sent the samples to Abby. Abby had set them up with Major Mass Spec and set it running. A bit after that Tim wandered down to use the downstairs computers to run down financials and phone records, noticed Abby drooping, and told her to get a nap, he could keep an eye on Major Mass Spec.
“I guess it makes sense. It’s green and sweet and if you mix it with alcohol and put it in a glass, a drunk person would probably drink it without noticing anything was up.”
“Anything else?”
Tim shrugged. “If we can find the bottle it came from, we can link it to the stuff in the victim.”
Gibbs looked significantly less than thrilled. “Great. How many millions of bottles of anti-freeze do you think are in the greater DC area?”
Tim stared at the print out a little longer. His chemistry was a bit rougher than Abby’s but he thinks he’s on the right track. “Forget about the bottle. This came out of a car. If we can find the car, we can match it to the victim.”
“Better.”
“I’ve also got the vic’s phone records and financials done. Nothing interesting in there. I’m about a third of the way through his emails, might have something there, but still got to sift through a lot of data.”
The door to the office opened, and Abby walked into the lab, rubbing her eyes. She held out a hand, and Tim gave her the print out. She glanced at it. “Anti-freeze from a car. Older model. High-end European brand, probably a BMW or Audi. They use that pink stuff, which is pretty rare in this country.”
Abby got a kiss on the cheek from Gibbs. “Good work. Find anything else before your nap?”
She stretched, looking sleepy. “Nope. Looks like a pretty straight forward poisoning. The stuff under the vic’s nails was grease from his job. No interesting fibers on his clothing. The only finger prints on the glass were his and the bartender’s.”
“Bartender’s got an Audi, Boss.” Gibbs notices interesting antique cars; Tim notices high-end European ones.
Gibbs smiled, turned, and headed up. Tim looked at Abby and shook his head, “Not the bartender. Our cases never get wrapped up that fast. Someone siphoned it out of his car.”
She nodded. “Probably. So, go clear the bartender.”
He winked at her. “On it, Boss.”

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Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

123: Back To Work

“You’re back!” Ziva seemed pretty happy to see him as Tim strolled into the bullpen.
“I am back.”
Ziva hopped up out of her seat and wrapped Tim in a long and enthusiastic hug.
“I’m happy to see you, too, Ziva.” He’s flashing Tony the what the hell is going on look, while patting her back.
Ziva pulled back looking him deeply in the eyes. “Do not ever leave again!”
“Uh…”
“She was on phone records, financials, and emails, the whole time you were gone,” Tony added, sounding amused.
“How do you do it? It’s so boring.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “You were looking through by hand weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And Gibbs kept yelling at her for being too slow. Search faster, Ziver! It only takes McGee half an hour to do this!”
“I’ve written programs to automate most of the searching.”
“That’s what you do over there?”
Tim smiled. “Some of it.”
“You’re looking good. Did you get some sun?” Tony asked, leaning against Ziva’s desk.
“Little bit. Spent a lot of time walking around Charleston and Savannah.” Turns out that pink skin wasn’t entirely sex flush. Mostly sex flush, but yeah, they both got a little sunburned. 
“So…” Tony said.
“So… what?”
“Come on, show us!”
Tim got his phone out and began to flick through photos.
“Not that. Abby posted photos of the trip. The new tattoo.”
“Who says I got one?” Abby had posted the who’s a great tattoo artist question, and she posted shots of her new ink. Tim preferred to keep his under wraps. So she didn’t post pics of it.
“Come on McInked, we didn’t just meet you. Show us number four!”
“It’s number three, Tony. I didn’t actually get the heart with Mom in the middle.”
“I knew that. She didn’t.”
Ziva laughed. “You think I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you know that?”
“Once again, I talk with Abby and Breena.”
“You guys talk about my tattoos?”
“We talk about everything. But Breena thought the idea that you would get one to impress Abby was really romantic, and that’s how we got talking about your tattoos.”
“How did she get the idea that I got a tattoo to impress Abby?”
“You didn’t?” Ziva is looking at Tim curiously and then glanced at Tony.
“No. Not entirely. It was mostly for me. I’d been thinking about it for months before I got it.” Now Tim’s looking at Tony.
“I tell you she likes guys with tats. Two minutes later you’ve got one. It was a pretty obvious assumption.”
“Rule number eight.” Gibbs said as he joined them. “Good to see you back, McGee.”
“Thanks.”
“Thought eight was never take anything for granted,” Tim said.
“That, too.” Gibbs just stares at him, expectantly. 
“How do you even know? You aren’t on Facebook.”
Gibbs smiled. Tim rolled up his sleeve and unsnapped his wrist cuff, showing off the Dragon-red lip print.
“You got a wrist tattoo?” Tony looks puzzled by that.
“It’s a good place for it.” He resnapped the cuff. “The first place she suggested I put it hurt too much to think about, let alone do.” Tony and Gibbs got what he meant and cringed slightly at that idea. “It didn’t hurt too bad. I don’t use my wrist for much, so healing up isn’t an issue. Which, you know, matters when you’re talking about a healing flesh wound during your honeymoon. I know it’s there but it usually isn’t visible, so I’m still in line with the dress code. And her lips fit nicely there. All around win. Why, you think it’s too girly?”
Tony nodded. “Wrist tattoos are kind of girly.”
Tim quickly glances around, but right this second it’s just the four of them. “Then I’ll be kind of girly. I’m a cop with a pregnant wife. My masculinity is proven at this point. Catch me up on this case you’ve had Ziva staring at a computer screen for days on.”



He’d been at his desk for three minutes. Literally, he’d just sat down, turned on his computer, and opened the records Ziva had been wading through, when Abby came bouncing up.
“Look!”
So he looked.
Nothing looked new. Yeah, her hair was still long. (And long, red-streaked ponytails were almost painfully cute.) Yes, she had a new tattoo, but since he’d been with her the whole time since she got it, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Sure he hadn’t seen her in a lab coat in a bit over two weeks, but that didn’t seem trip-up-to-the-bullpen-grinning-like-the-Cheshire-Cat worthy.
“What am I looking at?”
She unclipped her ID badge and held it out to him like a trophy.

Then he saw it and grinned, too, feeling a flash of pleasure: new pic of her, taken today, and under it, Abby McGee.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 122: Charleston or Savannah?

When they told the Palmer’s about their honeymoon plans, Breena smiled at Jimmy and said, “Charleston or Savannah?”
Tim looked at her, eyebrows scrunched together. “Both, that’s part of the point of this.”
Jimmy shook his head, and Breena said, “There are two kinds of people in this world, Charleston people and Savannah people. I was wondering which sort he thinks you two are.”
“Not sure. Probably Savannah, it’s more gothic, but Charleston’s got the whole pirate vibe thing going…”
Now, Tim knows the answer. Savannah. He’s a Savannah person. Yes he likes Charleston, but Savannah just hits him right.
It might be because Charleston is a port city, a very tropical looking port city, and Tim’s not especially tied to the water. (Though Savannah, like home, is a river city, so maybe the water thing isn’t it.)
Could be good memories left over from Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and while he wasn’t getting into Savannah enough to tell if it really is Gone With The Wind on mescalin, he does enjoy the feel of the place.
Something about the massive oaks draped in Spanish moss. In Charleston the beauty is architectural, or fleeting glimpses of green oases hidden behind masonry walls and wrought iron fences. Here it’s ancient and green and all over the place.
High buildings, cobblestone roads right next to the river, and tiny cafes with seating practically on the street appeal to him too. The four days they spent there were much too short, and getting back definitely went on the to-do list.


Richmond, which rounded out their honeymoon felt a whole lot more like home than Charleston or Savannah. Part of it is that November in Richmond, is, like November in DC, just about winter. Their coats came back out for the last three days of their honeymoon.
Actually, it felt a lot more like Annapolis than DC.
Which means it clicked with Tim in a way that felt like home. He’s got pretty good memories of Annapolis.
The fact that they stayed in the Fan, a neighborhood of Victorian town houses peopled with college students and ultra-wealthy history buffs intensified the college vibe.
Granted, like with Charleston and Savannah, they saw more of the inside of their hotel room than anything of the city.

But that’s the point of honeymoon, right?

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 121: Flexible
They got to Savanah three days later than they had intended to, fortunately, Abby had made her plans for day four.
“So what are these mystery plans you’ve got for us tomorrow?” Tim asked as they walked into their hotel room.
“Spa day.”
His eyebrows furrow, and he just looked at her. For a moment he tried to think of something to say, but no words were forming.
“You look really perplexed by that.”
He took a breath and nodded. The image of green goo on his face and cucumber slices over his eyes won’t go away, and he found it really unnerving.
“Why?”
His mouth opened, but words still didn’t come out. So she waited patiently for whatever weirdness was happening in his head to pass, and finally he said, “Abby, you’ve known me twelve years now, at any point during any of those years have I ever done anything to indicate I’d like a spa day?”
“You mean, besides the Femme Glow?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Tim, touch your toes.”
“Huh?”
“Put a few of your fingers on one of your toes. Like this.” And she bent from the waist, legs straight, and placed both of her palms on the floor. Three inch platform boots made that feat even more impressive. He flashed her his this is stupid but I’ll humor you look, and was able to touch the middle of his calf.
Once he was standing up again, she pressed in close, her pelvis to his, hands on his hips, and looked into his eyes. “You have the tightest hips, low back, glutes, quads, and hamstrings of anyone I’ve ever met. Tomorrow night, I’m going to tie you down, spin you out longer than I ever have before, and make you come so hard you pass out, but tomorrow morning, in preparation for that, you’re getting a good, long professional massage to loosen you up, then some hot tub time. I want you all soft and bendy before I get my hands on you. See, my dick’s plastic and straps on, so you having the tightest ass on the east coast doesn’t do anything for me, and is probably part of why you end up so sore after. Plus, from everything I’ve read, the looser you start, the more intense the contractions are when they hit. So tomorrow morning, you, me, spa day.”
He was smiling at that, because if there are two things Tim really likes, sex and massages are definitely on that list, and hot tubs are fairly high up too. Then the smile faded as a thought related to sex and massages hit him.
“So, wait, someone else will be rubbing my ass?”
“Yes, that’s the point of this.”
He looked really disturbed. And why he’s looking disturbed slowly dawned on her.
“Have you ever had a massage by someone other than me before?”
And that sort of got to why he’s looking like that. Yeah, he has had massages by other people, okay, women, (Cracking Tony’s back is the closest he’s come to a massage from or for a guy.) before, but he can count the number of massages he’s had that didn’t lead to sex on one hand, which is a big part of the problem.
She was still staring at him so he said, “Sure. Maxine, Amanda, Helen, Joan…”
“Someone you weren’t dating?”
“Ziva, Kate.”
Abby stepped back for a moment, looking really shocked. “Kate gave you a massage? She didn’t tell me about that.”
For a second there, he’s not sure if her expression is based on Kate poaching on her monopoly on him, or for him poaching on her monopoly on Kate, or if it’s just that neither of them ever mentioned it, but he’s fairly sure that a good chunk of it is that she’s thinking of something significantly more intimate than what actually happened.
“It wasn’t much of anything. On one of my first cases, I was holding her up so she could get some pictures, but it was a tight space, and I had to keep my right foot in a weird position to do it, and that gave me a charley horse. And the perp kept moving, so I kept holding her so she could get the shot, and by the time she did, it hurt so bad I was crying and so cramped up I couldn’t get it stretched out myself, so she helped.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. At first she was making fun of it and me, Probie-ing the snot out of me, really, but once she saw how cramped up it was, my foot was curled up like a fist, and realized I kept holding her up with that bad of a cramp, she apologized and helped me work it out. That was the first time she ever looked at me like I wasn’t a complete idiot. First time anyone on Gibbs’ team made me feel like I might make it as a field agent.”
“She didn’t think you were an idiot, just… green and young. Really young.”
He shrugs. He was young, twenty-four when that happened. “Anyway, yes, I’ve had massages by people other than you, other than girlfriends, but never by a stranger, and never… well… there.”
“And the idea makes you feel uncomfortable?”
“Yeah. The person doing this, the masseuse--”
“Massage therapist is usually the preferred term these days.”
“Okay, the massage therapist, guy or girl?”
“Woman, two of them, it’s a four handed massage. I figured you’d be uncomfortable with a guy.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But… well, okay, I know how I react when you rub my ass, thighs, and back, or for that matter when any other woman’s done that and…” He was blushing a little.
She smiled at him. “You just said Ziva’s given you a massage.”
“Twice. And I laid on my stomach the whole time, and no one can make me admit that anything other than me falling asleep happened while she worked the kinks out of my back after two horrendously long cases.”Abby laughed and then her smile went from amused to kind. “Remember when I got my rolfing certification?”
“Yeah.”
“Day one, lesson two: working on guys. A: They will get a hard-on; it happens to all of them. B: It just means the limbic system is working. C: Ignore it. Day one, lesson three: effective draping technique. We spent a good two hours learning how to use the sheets so that you don’t end up feeling like the support for a pup tent.  
“Most of the other people in that class were professional body workers, and I’ll admit, I thought lesson two was kind of funny, but the people I talked to said that it’s standard for any bodywork. You can’t do good work if the guy on the table is embarrassed, cause he’ll tense up and fight what you’re trying to do. And if he’s the kind of client who understands what services are on offer, he’s not looking for a happy ending, so he’s likely to be embarrassed about getting hard, because it’s not supposed to be sexy, but his dick just hasn’t gotten that message. So a good therapist will get your body soft and loose and happy, and keep you covered so you don’t feel exposed, and ignore it so you don’t get embarrassed. We’re going to the highest rated spa in Georgia tomorrow, and the people who work there are very good at what they do.”
“Okay.”
“Plus, it’s a couples massage, so I’ll be about two feet away the whole time.”
That stopped him again. “I’m going to lay there, two feet away from you, with two women rubbing me all over, while two more women rub you all over?”
“Yes.”
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“Well, just a little,” she grinned, liking that double entendre and finished, “but much later that night. The plan for this part was to just get you relaxed enough so you can really bend. Look, when you’ve got my leg over your shoulder and do that little up thrust thing with your back and knees, you can hit my g-spot really well, and I know the anatomy isn’t exactly the same, but it’s pretty close, so that sort of move should work really well on you, but the one thing I know I can’t do is get your leg over my shoulder the same way you do mine because you aren’t flexible enough for it. So, nice long massage, melt that tension away, get your quads and glutes and hip rotators all nice and soft, and then completely mind-blowing sex.”
He was looking pretty unsure of himself, but willing to go along on this, after all, he was all in favor of mind-blowing sex. “It’s really not an issue?”
“Really not. Happens to every guy.”
He sighed.


Tim had to admit, this was awfully nice.
It was a four hand massage, and there had been some sort of mention of hot stones and something called Lomilomi, but for right now, he was mostly aware of the fact that he was lying down on a really comfortable table while one therapist worked on his head and another rubbed his feet, and yeah that was a little tickly at first, but after the second time his foot jerked out of her hand, she shifted her technique, and well, if he was a cat, he’d be purring, loudly.
He wasn’t even aware of the fact that it was possible to have tense feet. But apparently his were. Shelly, the one working on his feet, kept asking him questions along the lines of “Does this hurt?” and suggesting that maybe some yoga or meditation would be a good plan.
Beth, the therapist working on his head, was rubbing small, firm circles into his scalp, and that felt excellent. Unlike his feet, he knew his head could get tense. Like his feet, he didn’t realize how much stress he’d been holding there until his body started to let some of it go.
“Wedding a little more stressful than you thought?” Beth asked him. Abby had been chatting with all four of the ladies, telling them about the wedding and move. And he hadn’t thought it was particularly stressful, hours of sitting in front of that piece of paper willing himself to come up with vows aside, but yeah, he’s tense.
“Apparently.”  And from there he just sort of drifted, letting them work him over, enjoying the way it felt, whatever they were rubbing him with smelled excellent, and the music was pretty nice, too. And yeah, his dick did take note of what was going on, and it certainly approved of this and was a bit disappointed when they stayed away from it. But the sheets they had on him did seem nicely snug so there was no tenting, and he kept his eyes closed, so if they were looking or giggling, he didn’t notice.
At one point one of the ladies, (he doesn’t remember which) started talking about doing some stretching, so he went with it. It burned a little at first, but he was pretty amazed at how bendy they got him. Apparently if you stretch once, then ease off, press into the position the therapist is holding your leg, and then let her stretch you again, you get a lot of range of motion pretty quick.
And eventually they had him flip over, and began to work on the back of him, and yeah, not all of it was particularly comfortable, and frankly some of it hurt, (Some of it really hurt. Shelly did something to his left shoulder and for what felt like a whole minute he could feel pain all through his shoulder, down his arm, into his jaw, and through his chest, then whatever the hell she was pressing on sort of twitched and rippled, and suddenly that dull pain he’d had in his shoulder for, oh, fourteen years at that point, vanished. She did something like that to his neck, and the low headache he thought was just how his body worked went away, too. This is also where it occurred to Tim that while he’s in much better shape than at any other time in his life, that he’s probably not yet in good shape.) but by the time they were done he’s feeling like a cooked noodle, and he’s fairly sure he could touch his toes. (Okay, his ankles, they’re massage therapists, not miracle workers.) By then he was coming to the conclusion that this whole professional massage thing would be worth doing again.


It’s true that he didn’t pay all that much attention to the bed in their room when they first got there, but the whole tie you down make you come so hard you black out thing certainly aimed his attention in that direction, get relaxed enough to really bend heightened it, and Abby standing in front of him, scarlet corset, hair long and loose, black and scarlet masquerade mask, black silk opera gloves, holding four black silk ropes, and he’s suddenly very aware of the possibilities the four post bed this hotel offered.
The one snag was that, of course, his left wrist can’t get tied. He’s still at least a good month away from being able to do that. And for that matter, you aren’t supposed to do anything particularly stressful with any part of you that just got a new tattoo, so his challenge for the night, besides relax, submit, and get fucked, is to keep his left hand on the bedpost.
And yeah, he didn’t know he could get his leg there, let alone what could happen to him if Abby tied his leg therebut holy fuck! that angle was way more than worth it. If that little knee bend, thrust, up angle thing with her leg over his shoulder feels even half as good to Abby when he does it to her as it does to him when she does it, he was a fucking genius for figuring it out!
The whole muscle-contractions-are-more-intense-when-you-start-out-relaxed thing, that was totally true. He hadn’t been anticipating that he’d be able to feel them through his whole body. He’d heard of full body orgasms, and thought he’d had them, because he assumed they referred to the tingles (Which is awfully nice, and he really likes). What he didn’t realize was he could come so hard his ears would twitch.
But they did, and so did everything else.
That was the last thing he remembered clearly. Sharp pleasure through his whole body, feeling like he’d never, ever been that tense or that primed to go off, and then everything pulling just a fraction tighter and releasing all at once.
Abby wasn’t kidding about the ‘make you pass out’ part of that. When he was aware again he was so blissed out on endorphins and oxytocin that the entire world seemed to be shimmering in glowing shades of perfect.
He grinned, big, probably stupid smile on his face, at Abby and said, “This is what people are chasing when they get high.” He kissed her long and soft. “You’re the best drug ever, and I am so addicted to you.”
“If you say I’m your heroin, I’ll have to slap you.”
“Don’t tempt me, I’m goofy enough right now, I just might.” Then he giggled a little. “You know, I am pretty pale.”
“But you don’t sparkle.”
“I feel awfully sparkly right now.”
That made her laugh.


The next morning, when he noticed that yes, he’s a little sore, but he’s only a little sore, he asked Abby about maybe doing some yoga with her, because she does it most mornings, and while it’s true that he appreciates watching her do that, he’s never joined in.
And yeah, he’s clumsy, and it’s a lot harder than he thought it would be, but the view is nice, and everyone has said that some sort of exercise beyond occasionally running down suspects/away from dogs would be good for him.
Plus, this whole flexible thing seems like it might have unexpected benefits that are worth cultivating, and he’s rapidly developing some suspicions as to why Jimmy spends an hour every other day at the gym doing some sort of yoga thing.

Though he’s fairly sure this isn’t something he’ll ever be comfortable enough with to do in public.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 120: Mine!

They were getting dressed the next morning, their last day in Charleston, when Abby asked, “Were you serious about getting my lip print tattooed onto your wrist?”
Tim pulled up his jeans and buttoned them. “I wasn’t really thinking about it, just sort of going with the moment. But I could be.” He’s not feeling a burning need for another tattoo, but he doesn’t mind the idea either.
“I really liked that idea. My lips on you, your lips on me.”
He thought about it some more, smiling at the idea of his lips on her. But as he thinks, he notices there’s something of a snag for hers on him.
See, there’s this thing in the NCIS dress code, namely you aren’t allowed to have visible tattoos. Sure, Abby has them, like with the rest of the dress code, Abby got a personal exemption from the rules from Jenny. But he’s not Abby, and at least while it healed up, he wouldn’t be able to wear his wrist cuff.
And, well, the wrist cuff is him already pushing the edge of the dress code. He’s seen Vance look at it a few times. Since it’s not usually visible/looks like a watch if you aren’t paying attention, he’s never said anything, but it’s not office casual approved, and Tim wouldn’t be shocked if Vance didn’t mention it to Gibbs, and Gibbs didn’t give him the ‘leave it alone’ look.
“If we wait to get home, I can’t do it. Can’t be walking around work with a lip print visible on my wrist for a week. Down here works, but we don’t know anyone down here.” Of course the other thing about tattoos is that you generally don’t want to just wander into a studio you don’t know and let them have at it.
Abby squeaked with excitement, grabbing her phone. Less than a minute later she put it down. “I put the word out, should have a list of good places in Charleston and Savanah in less than an hour. Let’s get some pictures.” She was rummaging through her cosmetics bag, and came out with two tubes.
“You want mine in red, right?”
He nodded, recognizing the tube of blow-job red lipstick. “Does that stuff have a real name?”
“Yeah. Dragon by Chanel.”
“Okay.” He unsnapped the wrist cuff as she slicked the crimson lipstick over her lips.
Once it was on exactly the way she liked, she bounced over to him. Her fingers found the waistband of his jeans and popped the button. “Sure you want it on your wrist?” she asked with a wicked smile.
For a second, he just cringed at the idea of what getting a tattoo there would feel like, but finally he pulled it together enough to say, “Depends, do you ever want to have sex again?”
“Yes.”
He held out his wrist and smiled dryly. “Then aim for my wrist, and if there’s any lipstick left on you after that, you can blot it on my dick.”
“Actually…” She unzipped him and slipped him out of his pants, then gave him a quick, light kiss, just around the tip of his dick. Abby stood back up, and pressed her lips into his wrist. “You get a better print with a little less lipstick on.” She looked critically at his wrist. “Very nice. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m standing here with my dick out, where am I going to go?”
“Nowhere. The detail’s really nice, so I don’t want you accidentally smearing it.”
Two seconds later she had her phone again and was snapping shots of his wrist. “Perfect. Let me get a few high def shots, too. If we can find anyone even remotely good at this, he won’t have a problem making a good likeness. Now you.” She put the phone on the dresser behind him, and conjured another tube of lipstick from somewhere.
“What’s that?”
“Black lipstick.” He’s glaring at it a little, realizing what he just walked into. Years.She’s been trying to get him into lipstick for years now. “After all, can’t get your lip print without something to, you know, print it with. If you want, we can find a pink that matches your lips, but you’d have to try a bunch of them on to find the exact right color.”
“You’ll get another tattoo to finally see me in lipstick.”
She turned her hands palm up and tilted her head a bit, looking innocent. “You’re the one who came up with the idea in the first place. This is just the logical consequence of that idea.”
“Uh huh… Black. Not pink.” He’s already been to Sephora twice, hunting for eyeliner that didn’t irritate his eyes, which he thinks she had way too much fun with, no need to go back for lipstick.
“Just think of how much fun you’ll have getting it back off again.”
He nodded, that was true, leaving lip prints he could see all over her didn’t bother him at all. 
“Fine. No pictures of me wearing it.”
“What is it with you and lipstick? You’ll wear eyeliner and mascara.”
“I just don’t like it on me. Makes me feel like Tim Curry in the Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
“Oh my God, you’d look so—“
“No!” He pointed at her, looking stern. “Do not even think about finishing that sentence.”
She pouted at him and then grinned, enjoying teasing him, but not wanting to push too far. “You’ll be the one using the camera when we get the shots of your lip prints.”
“Good.”
He held out his hand for the lipstick. She just looked at it, very amused by the idea of him putting it on himself, then glanced up at to his eyes and shook her head. “Tim. I love you, and I know you’re great at a whole lot of things, but, not this. Any kind of dark lipstick requires a steady hand and a clue as to what you’re doing. Sit down, I’ve got this.”
He tucked himself back into his pants and sat on the edge of the bed. Then she straddled his legs. “Just hold your lips the way you usually do.” He did and she got to work. “Open your mouth.” He wanted to say something along the lines of this seemed to be a whole lot more complicated than it should be, but that’s one of the few things he really can’t do right now. Then she got a little brush and did something else, that really tickled, and he was having a hard time keeping still. But finally she pronounced him done.
Abby held out her index and middle finger. “Blot, just like I did on you.”
He looked at her, rose one eyebrow, and said, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
She grinned, kissed his shoulder, leaving another red lip print, and said, “You like me in skirts and lipstick, why shouldn’t I like the same thing?”
He didn’t have a good comeback for that, so he made a show of opening his mouth, sucking her fingers gently into it, flicking his tongue over the tips of them while he lightly pressed his lips around them. Then he let go, pulled back, and asked, “All done?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
He didn’t look at himself in the mirror as he picked up her phone. Tim’s not really interested in seeing what he looks like in black lipstick. He’s fairly sure he doesn’t actually look like Tim Curry in drag, but that’s still the image he can’t shake when he thinks about him in lipstick.
“I kissed you all over yesterday. Where do you want this?”
“Just below and behind my ear. I want other people to see it, know they’re yours.”
“You know exactly what to say to me.”
She smiled at him, and he stepped to stand behind her.
When he kissed her yesterday, he’d done the side of her throat with the spider web, but he’s thinking the fact that it’s a lip print probably won’t be immediately recognizable from any real distance away, and a black blob right over the spider web might end up looking more like something the spider caught, wrapped up,  and killed than a lip print.
So he turned her to the other side, gently lifted her hair out of the way, and carefully laid a kiss just below and behind her ear. The sight of it, his lips, in black, on her neck just got to him. He was actually pretty surprised by how hard that made him.
“Hold your hair out of the way.”
She did, and he got several shots of his lip print on her neck, each one making him feel more turned on.
“It’s insane how much I like that,” he said to her as he put the camera down. “You’d think the engagement ring, wedding ring, tattoo, my last name now yours, and pregnant with my kid would be enough, but, nope, my lips on you just hits that MINE! button all over again.”
“Anywhere else you want to see your lips?”
“God, yes!” And she was right, he had a blast getting the lipstick off, laying black kisses all over her body. (To the point where it’s likely he could be pretty easily convinced to wear it again. In fact, it’s possible he might reach for the lipstick on his own, because this is a lot more fun than a hickey.) And he certainly didn’t mind her red ones on his. (Though Abby kept them pretty concentrated in one area.)
And the shower after, washing them all away, was a whole lot of fun, too.
By the time that was done, Abby’s assorted Facebook friends had provided several suggestions for places in Charleston and Savanah to get a tattoo. Along with an introduction to a friend of a friend who got rave reviews among her buddies.


Five o’clock that evening, Abby and Tim were picking out the exact right shade of red, and shortly thereafter he was once again remembering that getting a tattoo hurts like a son of a bitch.

But an hour after that, looking at his new skin art, watching the artist start to ink Abby, feeling an insane rush of love and belonging and MINE, he was more than sure that the pain was well worth it.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 118: The Art of the Tease

Tim stood in front of his luggage and debated. The kilt would provide significantly easier access. And while it was true that what they did in the shower means he’s not going to get a hard on anytime soon, he’s going to take her out and play with her all day, so at some point his dick will wake back up again, and the kilt is terrible for keeping that under wraps.
His jeans, on the other hand, keep everything fairly well concealed, but they’re a pain in the ass (pain in the pubes, really. Getting a few of them snagged in the zipper’ll kill a good blow job in a second.)  to have sex in.
He decided to kick that down the road a bit, went to her luggage, and started sorting through. He noticed she hadn’t brought any pants and approved of that whole-heartedly. Yes, he liked her in jeans, but he adored her in skirts or dresses, especially the short ones that come just to mid-thigh.
And from the looks of it, that was all she packed.  
The little black dress with the cherries on it was in there, and so was the scoop neck t-shirt and the black skirt with the white stripes down it… Choices… choices.
He went for the t-shirt and skirt, the collar looks better with them, and then began to sort through her undies. No panties, that was a given, but what about a bra?

The t’s pretty thin and tight, so… Ooh… black satin demi cups with the front closure. He loved that one. It was really pretty, easy for him to get her out of, and provided some awfully nice shaping.
Bare legs or socks or stockings… He found his phone and checked the weather. Highs in the mid-seventies… too cool for bare legs. Too cool for stockings.  White above the knee socks with little vertical black stripes it is. Plus, with the socks he could to see that little four inch strip of naked skin between the socks and her skirt, and even though he wasn’t particularly into hentai, he really appreciated that look.
Boots or mary janes? Mary janes, he wanted to be able to see the curves of her legs.
He was lying the socks on the bed next to her when he noticed that she looked a little sad. That really wasn’t the direction he was hoping this was going to go, and he couldn’t think of anything in the last five minutes that would have set her off.
“Are you all right? We don’t have to do this if—“
She turned to look up at him, sorrow still in her eyes. “Yeah, I’m all right. Yes, I want to keep doing this. I was just thinking.”
“About?” he asked as he sat next to her.
“Kate thought maybe you were the guy who could drag my heart out of the lock box I had it hidden in.”
He smiled at that.
“I wish she could have been at our wedding.”
He wrapped his arm around her and kissed her shoulder. “I would have liked that, too.”
Then Abby started to tear up and snuggle into his arms, quietly crying. Part of him was feeling pretty alarmed by that, and wanted to say something like, “Hey, none of that, sex and fun, remember?” But he figured that would probably be worse than useless, so he held onto her and stroked her back, hoping this passes quickly.
And it did. After a few minutes, she pulled back, wiped her eyes, and smiled at him.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize about missing your best friend.”
“Thanks. I really don’t like this think-about-something-kind-of-sad-for-ten-seconds-and-burst-into-tears thing.”
Tim nodded. “It’s a little scary.”
“Yeah.” She wiped her eyes again, and looked at the clothing he’d put next to her. “That looks promising.”
“Good. You ready to play?”
“Yeah.” She smiled.
“Go wash off your face, then do your makeup, out here, no lipstick.”
She nodded and went to the bathroom. Cool water splashed on her face helped with the puffy redness around her eyes. When she was looking normal again, she grabbed her cosmetics bag and headed back into the bedroom, then, standing in front of the mirror over the dresser got to work.
Tim watched her for a moment, wondering if she was really all right, but she seemed okay as she rubbed sunblock onto her face, neck, and shoulders. So he relaxed, focused on sex again, enjoying the sight of her fingers rubbing over her skin.  Then he began to look through her cosmetics. He loved the way Abby looked with lipstick on. Her lips dark red just made his day.
Her lipstick on him, unless the part of him in question is his dick, was a different story. And he was pretty sure that her lipstick would be all over him by the end of today if she was wearing any.
But he also knew she had something on that was deep red and didn’t smear all over the place for their wedding, and he was wondering if she brought it. Though why he thought he could just look through her cosmetics and figure out what that was he didn’t know. So he put the bag down and asked, “Did you bring the red stuff you were wearing on your lips at our wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Wear that, too.”
She smiled, pulled out something that looked like every other red tube in the bag, and put it on the dresser while she darkened her eyebrows. He picked it up and made a mental note; it was called lipstain, and looked like a red magic marker.
As she did her face, he came to the conclusion that he had pushed back figuring out what he was going to wear as far as he could, so, time to get dressed.
Part of being a good Dom is balancing the tasks you set for your sub with the rewards you give her. The idea is to make your sub want to please you, make her crave the attention and petting she gets for good performance.
And the only way to do that is to actually get to know your sub well enough to know what she wants. (Part of the reason Tim and Abby found 50 Shades of Gray so funny was that apparently in addition to being a billionaire, hyper-competent executive, Christian Gray was also a mind reader, because that’s the only way those two could have clicked so quickly.)
But by this point, Tim is a very good Dom, so he knows what Abby wants, knows what she likes, and knows just how to pet her.
Abby had already done a very good job of pleasing him today, and she preferred the kilt to jeans, so on the kilt went. And if everyone in Charleston ended up seeing he wanted to fuck his wife, oh well. If he didn’t want other people to see, they could stay at the hotel.
He dressed quickly: kilt, t-shirt, and socks. Boots and jacket’ll go on later. Then he headed back into the bathroom to grab his cuff and her collar.
She was smoothing the lipstain on as he came back out. He thought that was the last step of getting her makeup on, so he waited. And when she finished, he handed her his wrist cuff. “Put it on me.”
She was holding it, reaching for his wrist, when he stopped her. “The lipstain, does it have to dry or get blotted or anything?”
“Yes. It takes a little while to set up, and before it does it can smear or leave lip prints.”
He smiled. “Kiss my wrist.”
She smiled back, and then left a perfect, red lip print on his wrist. Abby blew lightly on it. “Don’t want it to smear.”
“Thank you.” He waited a moment, then ran his thumb over it, and it stayed put. He nodded, and she closed the cuff around his wrist. “Maybe I’ll get that tattooed on.”
She raised an eyebrow at him and looked very pleased at that idea.
“Maybe I’ll put a few more on you, too.” He lifted her now damp hair off her shoulders, and kissed just below and behind her ear. “My lips right here. And,” he took her hand in his, lifting her right arm up and out, and kissed the crease of her elbow, “right there. Here.” His lips settled on her mound, just above where her labia came together. “Definitely here.” He kissed her one more time there, soft and wet. Then he pulled back, licked her, and said, “Maybe not there. Tattoo artist would have to see you there to do it. So…” He slid his lips down her leg, gently nibbling, and kissed the back of her left knee. “Right here. And one more…” he kissed the top of her foot, just above her toes. “You covered in my kisses, head to toe. I like that.”
He stood back up and circled behind her, holding her collar in his right hand. With his left, he lightly scraped his fingernails down the back of her neck, along her spine to the small of her back. Then he followed that path with his lips and teeth, soft, wet kisses and sharp, light bites. She shivered as he did it, moaning softly.
“Feel good?”
“Yes.”
He straightened up, reversing the line of kisses up her back, lingering on the nape of her neck, just below her hairline, enjoying the feel of her skin breaking out in goosebumps under his touch. He kept his lips  just above her skin and whispered, “Bow your head,” his breath caressing her wet flesh.
She did, and he fastened the collar around her throat.
“Turn and look at me.” She did, standing before him, naked, face done, hair damp, and because it hasn’t been brushed through, wavy, draping over her shoulder, covering her left breast. He feathered his fingers over her face, throat, and shoulders, down her arms to her hands, his eyes following the path of his hands, tracing further down her body, and back again to her face. “You are so beautiful.”

He kissed her lips, soft and slow, his hand on the back of her head, fingers tangled in her hair, and she kissed back, lips warm and welcoming. He didn’t pull back as he murmured against her lips, “And you’ll be even more beautiful flushed head to toe, nipples hard, moaning my name as you ride my cock, coming so hard you see stars.”
He stepped back and got the butterfly.
One thing a lot of guys don’t know about vibrators is that if they keep running, eventually the person under them goes numb. In fact, they were originally designed for anesthetic purposes, but eventually a doctor figured out they were a lot faster at treating, “feminine hysteria,” than the hands on method, and shortly thereafter no one used them for anesthetic purposes.
Tim can’t remember what got Ducky on that tangent, but he does remember blushing pretty hard about it, while Tony slapped him on the shoulder and made a lame joke. Still that did turn out to be useful information, because it made him realize that women might not use vibrators the same way men would, so he did some research, and well, much to the delight of the three women he’s done this with, he’s awfully good with one.
So, as he was slipping the butterfly up Abby’s legs, petting and kissing his way up, using his fingers and tongue to make sure he’s got it set exactly right, he was not planning on just letting it run. That’d be counter-productive. (In fact, he had never gotten a girl off with a vibrator. If he’s going to get a girl off, it’s going to be his fingers, cock, or tongue doing it.)
The point of the butterfly is the anticipation of never knowing when then next little jolt comes. The idea is to keep Abby focused on sex, keep her arousal level high, remind her that today he’s in charge of her body, in charge of her arousal. He’s the one who gets to choose when she comes.
It’s got five speeds, and he’s never used any higher than three, which is, according to Abby, a nice, steady hum, the sort that feels good, but can’t get her off.
Once he got it set, he said, “Lay down.”
So she did, on the bed. “Legs wide.”
And she did that, too. He started at her ankle, sucking, open-mouthed kisses, purposely wetting the skin, blowing on it gently to add to the sensation, all the way up her leg, listening to her purr as he did it. When he got to her pussy, he placed her foot on his shoulder, and began to lick, tongue flat and broad, over her lips, while he pulsed the vibrator on the lowest setting. No more than a few seconds of buzz at a time while she writhed against him.
He got his fingers into the game, slipping in and pressing up, pulsing along with the vibrator, feeling her body start to tense around him, starting the build toward orgasm, which stopped him. He pulled back and away, biting gently on the soft curve where her leg and buttock met.
“Let’s get you dressed,” he said, grinning at her, holding her gaze as he carefully licked his fingers clean.  
Tim loves watching Abby dress, especially when she’s feeling playful and makes a show of it. And today she was feeling playful, smoothing her socks gently up her leg, stroking her fingers over her skin as she did it, lifting her foot higher than necessary, 1950s pin up style, flashing him.
He sat in the chair in the corner, watching. His dick was still asleep, but he certainly appreciated the show. Her in thigh high socks, the butterfly, and collar, bending over to pick up her bra and slide that on was beyond beautiful. He spread his legs, hiked the kilt up and stroked himself, and no, he wasn’t hard, and no, it wasn’t going to make him hard, it had been less than twenty minutes since the last time he got off, but it still felt nice.

And he knew she liked to watch, liked knowing that he was just as affected by this as she was.
He got his pleasure at her across in his look, keeping his eyes hot and on her the whole time she was dressing.
When she finished, she came to stand in front of him. He stood up, and held her close, her forehead against his lips. He kissed her softly.
“I love you, Abby. You make me happier than I ever had any right to expect to be happy. You are my joy.” He lowered his lips to hers for a long hot kiss, tongue stroking hers, his hands cupping her rear, pulling her close to him.

He didn’t step back, though he did break the kiss to look at her and say, “And you are the sexiest woman alive. Let’s go out and play.”


In addition to being a good food city, and music city, and just an achingly beautiful place to be, (Seriously, how does the sky get so blue here? Tim’s never seen blue like that.) Charleston is also a great art city. There are full streets filled with small galleries of all sorts.
And art galleries are a remarkably good choice of places to go when you’re so turned on you can’t see straight. No one really expects you to make conversation. The other patrons are looking at the art, not you, and there’s often enough background noise that if something is making a slight buzzing sound, it’s hard to hear.
For the most part Tim and Abby just wandered from gallery to gallery, looking at pretty things, lots of landscapes/cityscapes and occasionally he’d give her a quick buzz/kiss/say something insanely dirty to her.
Then they found the gallery with the nudes. And, no he hadn’t planned it. Didn’t know it was there. Hadn’t seen it when he was wandering about looking for the way back to the hotel. But the opportunity presented by a wall covered with absolutely gorgeous black and white nudes, mostly women, was too good to pass up.
One was a shot of the curve of a woman’s shoulder, back, and buttocks. And for the moment no one else seemed to be in the place, so as they looked, he traced his hand over the same curve on Abby, quickly slipping his hand under her skirt, grazing his fingernails over her butt and the top of her leg, and then shifting over two steps to stand directly behind her and kiss the curve where shoulder became neck.
He turned the vibrator on its lowest setting. “Have I told you that’s one of my favorite views?” Granted, Tim had a new favorite view roughly every third day, but yesterday afternoon was inspiring this current one.
“No.”
“When you’re on your hands and knees, and I’m balls deep inside of you, your back arches,” he lightly ran his hand along her spine, “and your head drops, and I can enjoy the perfect curve of your body. Your shoulders and spine flex a little as you rock back onto me. Your hips and the small of your back are just perfect for grabbing.” His hands came to rest on her hips, and he pulled her to stand against him. “And your bottom’s high,” he added a little grind of his hips against her, and nudged her foot over a few inches with his own, “so I can see everything, see myself sink into you,” he slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, “see your gorgeous pink pussy go tight around me as I slide in,” he slipped a finger into her, “and cling to me when I slip out.” And pulled it back out. He stroked her neck with that finger, and then licked the wetness off her throat. “Love that.”

Abby’s eyes slid shut, and she inhaled quickly.  He rested his chin on her shoulder and wrapped one arm around her waist, fingers quickly slipping under the waistband of her skirt, lightly stroking her tummy. “Open your eyes. Look at that one.”
The next shot over was the curve of a woman’s leg from hip to foot. She was laying down, knee bent, foot flat on the floor.
He kept his voice very low, partly because his mouth was less than an inch from her ear, partly because should someone come in, he doesn’t want anyone to overhear this, mostly because he knew that voice made her quiver. “When we get back to the hotel, I’m going to put your leg just like that, and then kiss my way up it.” He dropped his hand to her side, fingers coming to rest just below the edge of her skirt, then he lightly stroked just the tips of his fingers over her bare skin. “Lick every inch. Then I’ll hook it over my shoulder, spread you wide, and eat you out. I’m going to feast on your pussy, licking every single bit of it, over and over, savoring your smell and taste. I’ll nibble on the lips, just a little light scrape of tooth, just enough to pull a little bit, tug slightly. I’ll suck on your clit until you’re flushed, shaking, screaming my name, and begging to come.” He turned the speed up a notch on the vibrator, seeing the flush creeping up her cheeks and down her throat. “Then I’ll point my tongue and rub your clit in long, slow circles,” his tongue flicked out and caressed her earlobe, “just sort of rolling over it, nice and slow and gentle, while my fingers slip in and out of you.” He clicked the vibrator off, and she whimpered, inhaling long and shaky trying to keep control of herself. “Taking you down a bit, spinning you out, making sure you’re good and ready to come before I get you off.”  
As he whispered that to her, his dick finally noticed something interesting was going on. Something really good, something it really wanted to get involved in. He rubbed against her again, letting her know that his body was back in the game as well. Abby grinned and rubbed back.
And though there were other shots, and he was sure he could come up with some good commentary to go with them, he was also not interested in talking both of them off in an art gallery. Time to ease back, and find something else to do.
As they were walking out, he noticed the pockets in the kilt weren’t anchored. So, if he had something of a inconveniently conspicuous hard-on, and he wasn’t feeling like wandering around with that visible to anyone who cared to look, he could just put his hand in his pocket, reach over a little, and hold it down.
And it just looked like he was walking with his hand in his pocket.
Added benefit to that, since his hand was already in his pocket, Abby never knew when he was going to turn the vibrator on.
It was about ten thirty at that point, so as they’re walking out, he said to Abby, “I think it’s time for a snack. Is there anything you’d like?”

He probably should have expected the answer. He did ask the question less than a minute after turning the vibrator off, and was holding down the hard-on he’d been rubbing against her. Still, it took him a bit by surprise when she said, “Cock.”
A flush of hot pleasure coursed through him, and he may have squeezed himself a little harder, because, yeah, that sounded really good.
And there is a practical benefit to letting her do it. It is significantly easier to be a good Dom if you aren’t so turned on you can’t think. A huge part of the game is balancing your desires with your sub’s desires, and, like with anything else, it’s much easier to be aware of, and attentive to, the needs of someone else if your own needs have been met.
The goal, then, of a good game, is to get everyone’s needs met. The sub by meeting her Dom’s expectations, and the Dom by providing expectations the sub wants to meet.
In a really good game, it’s a perfect circle of gaining pleasure by giving pleasure. And that’s why, though the Dom runs the game, the sub sets the rules. Almost anyone can enjoy the Dom part of the game, but the pleasure through service aspect of the sub is harder, so she gets to set the rules, create the atmosphere most conducive to wanting to please, to getting off on the Dom’s pleasure.
But for a good Dom, the pleasure comes from pushing the sub beyond what she thought she could endure, taking her farther and higher than she’s ever been, providing a safe space to fully relax and fall apart, and then holding the sub as she comes back together again. The challenge is finding that line of just far enough without breaking the comfort that comes from being taken care of.
And for a good Dom, watching that/doing it is a massive turn on. But doing it takes control. Which can be hard to keep a hold of if you’re too turned on.
So, Tim seriously thought about it. His desire was distracting to him, and he didn’t want to miss a cue as to what is going on with her. But at the same time, his arousal was a big part of what was feeding Abby’s desire. And he didn’t want to cut into that.
Then the fact that they have really different subbing styles also occurred to him. When he subs, he’ll do exactly what she tells him to, never pushing the bounds, because he gets off on the not being in control. She, on the other hand, likes to challenge him a little, see how he’ll respond. She pushes him a little, so he’ll push her a little. For her it’s about testing the boundaries, seeing how far they really can go. In the end, both styles work, very well.
So, he smiled indulgently, and said, “It’s mostly protein, won’t keep your blood sugar up. But, if you’re good, and eat nicely, then you might get a taste. And if you’re very good, and eat beautifully, you’ll get a mouthful. Now, what would you like for a snack?”
She smiled at him. “Vanilla soft serve ice cream.”
“Very good choice.”


He’d noticed one the first time he was wandering around, but it hadn’t meant anything to him. Family rest room. He knew for a fact that the men’s room had a line of stalls, and he had a suspicion that was what the ladies’ room has, as well. But he’d never been in a family rest room before, sooo…
He opened the door and pulled Abby in quickly. Nice. He locked the door behind them.
It looked more like a powder room in a house than a public restroom. Granted the ones in homes tend not to have changing tables bolted to the wall, let alone toddler-sized potties to go with the adult one, but the lack of stalls lent it a more personal feel.
But more importantly it was private, had a door that locked, and looked clean enough for surgery.
“You did very well with your snack, Abby.”
And she had. If that ice cream cone could have come, it would have, hard. And if it was possible to get Tim off by eating an ice cream cone in front of him, he would have come, hard.
“You definitely get your mouthful.” He nodded at the ground, and she sank to her knees as he lifted the kilt.
Normally, she’d lick him first, but the whole mouthful thing instead of a taste meant she took him in hand, opened wide, and sucked him down in one fast move.
“Oh shit!” Tim gasped, jerking away from the searing, wet, cold of her mouth. It was like dipping his dick, his very hard, very hot, excruciatingly sensitive dick into a slightly melted snow drift.
She looked up at him, worried. Him jumping back and rubbing himself was not the response she was hoping for.
He saw the worry in her eyes, and was still holding his dick as he said, “It’s okay. I didn’t realize your mouth would be that cold. That was a hell of a shock.”
He watched her bite her lip, smile tugging at the corners, and look down, shoulders shaking.
“You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
She looked back up, trying to keep it together and not doing a great job of it. “Yes.”
“It’s okay.”
Abby giggled hysterically, snorting a little.
He started to laugh, too. “Well, that took care of my erection. Not the way I was hoping for.” But being sucked into an ice cold mouth had indeed wilted him. He sighed and let the kilt drop. “You need to use the restroom?”
“Wouldn’t mind.”
“Okay.” So he headed back out, and noticed a few people staring in his direction. Apparently, the ‘Oh shit!’ was fairly loud. He just smiled at them, tried to look harmless, and waited for her to get done.


There’s a point where a body is going to get off. You back off, no more stimulation, to try and get away from the edge, and then start up again too soon, and no matter how light the touch, how whisper thin the stimulation is, your body decides it’s had enough and boom, orgasm.
He’s accidentally done that to himself a few times, and honestly, those aren’t great orgasms. Not bad. No such thing as a bad orgasm. But still, if you accidentally trip into one, you end up with your body just sort of surrendering, limping over the line, twitching a few times, and giving up.
And with this much build up, the absolute last thing he wants is to screw this up by just going a little too far, just a little too soon.
The main downside of doing this out and about was that Tim has a much harder time figuring out how close to that line Abby is. If he was lying between her legs, tongue on her clit, fingers inside her, he’d have a really good handle on what’s going on and could play her like Chopin with a nocturne.
But she was not naked. He was not that close to her. And he didn’t want to accidentally push her over the edge. Which, judging from the way she’s flushed and breathing, might be a real possibility.
So after ninety minutes of… Hell, he doesn’t know. They walked around and had long-distance eye sex while he said more hot/sexy/dirty things to her, buzzing her now and again, hugging, petting, and kissing when appropriate. There were touristy things in the background; he didn’t pay any attention to them. One nice stranger gave them a tube of sunblock and suggested they get inside because they both appeared to have gotten too much sun. (Good thing about doing this outside, sex flush is easily mistaken for sunburn.) And he certainly enjoyed the excuse to very carefully, very thoroughly apply more sunblock to Abby, and have her do the same to him.
But he’d gotten to the point where he knew if he didn’t stop this soon, just holding onto his dick to keep it from poking out was going to get him off, and since he’s not the one getting played with all that much, she has to be even closer to the edge than he is.

So he found the place that did the duck sandwiches, and they had lunch, and for an entire hour he said and did nothing even remotely sexy.
And yes, the first ten minutes or so involved a fairly decent amount of squirming from Abby, but she eventually got the idea that nothing was going to happen, so she relaxed as well, and her flush went down, and they had a nice lunch, oohing and ahhing over the meal.


After lunch he was feeling pretty well back in control again. Erection had wilted, he could focus on sex without feeling like he was on the edge of climaxing, and while it’s true he didn’t say or do anything sexy while they ate, it didn’t mean he wasn’t planning the next phase of the game.
Naptime.
He kept them to neutral topics as they headed back to the hotel: dinner options, the walled gardens, flowers, and houses around them. Pretty much a steady stream of white noise. The restaurant was only a mile away from the hotel, so that was a fairly comfortable twenty-minute walk.
Two more minutes got them to their room.
Once there, he said, “I want you to take off everything but the socks, bra, and collar. Shoes first, then shirt, then skirt, and finally the butterfly.”
He turned the vibrator on as he said that, and sat in the chair to watch her undress.
She sat on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest, and unbuckled the first shoe, slipping it off her foot, following it with the other one.
It always amazed him how girls take off shirts. Abby did that thing where she crosses her arms, holds the bottom of the shirt, and slowly eases it over her torso, stroking her ring and pinky fingers over her tummy and breasts as she did it. He’d seen her do it hundreds of times, and he still couldn’t figure out how it worked, he even tried it once and came to the conclusion he’d rip the shirt before he managed to get it off like that.
The skirt came next, and he moaned a little as she eased it over her hips. He upped the speed on the butterfly and she moaned as well, kicking the skirt aside.
He sat there, gently, slowly stroking himself as she began to loosen the straps on the butterfly, and gave himself a firm squeeze as she shimmied out of it. Almost naked, she stood in front of him, waiting for the next command.
He let his eye run over her body, taking in every inch, savoring the sight of her. He noticed the shine on both of her thighs from how wet she was.

“Look at how wet you are. That can’t be comfortable. Come here.” She did, standing in front of him. “Foot on the arm of the chair.”
She did that as well, which put her pussy just inches in front of his mouth.
He rested his lips on her thigh, inhaling deeply. “You smell so good.” He licked a long wide stripe from her thigh to her pussy, sucking one of her lips, squeezing himself, hard. “God, you taste even better!”
His hands came to rest on her ass, pulling her closer, as he made good on the promise he gave her in the art gallery.
When she was grinding against him, hands clenched painfully in his hair, almost sobbing his name along with a long steady stream of “Please, God, Tim, please, baby, please!” he pulled his tongue back, pried her hands out of his hair, and put her foot back on the floor.
He held her hips, and gently kissed her belly, stopping as much for his sake as for hers. He knows that he can get off from going down on a woman, granted he hasn’t done it since grad school (and he was lying on his stomach when it happened) but he’s turned on enough it’s a possibility, and he’d prefer not to repeat that performance.  After two minutes, when his cock stopped throbbing, he slipped his lips up to her breasts as he stood, unhooking her bra, easing it off, and took a moment to slowly kiss and suck each nipple.
Then he let go of her, said, “Back in a sec,” headed to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and a towel. He wet the washcloth, making sure it was nicely warm.
A moment later, he stood in front of her. “Legs apart.” He carefully wiped her pussy and thighs with the wet cloth, and then just as carefully blotted her dry.
“I bet that feels better, doesn’t it?”
She growled at him, and he smiled.
“Nap time. I want you to undress me. Kilt’s not very comfortable anymore.” And honestly it wasn’t. It wasn’t constricting which was nice, but the head of his dick was so sensitive the cotton fabric felt like sandpaper.
He could see some challenge in her eyes as she awaited his next instruction. “Boots first.” They’re basic black leather work boots, and she did a competent and not particularly erotic job of taking them off.  Of course, since he isn’t Jimmy, he’s not sure there was any way she could take them off that he’d find erotic. And peeling off his socks wasn’t much of a show either.
“Shirt next.” He thought that was when she got the idea that if she could get him so turned on he couldn’t see straight that maybe he’d finally get her off, because he was fairly certain that having her breasts rubbed all over his chest/face wasn’t really required for getting his shirt off. Which was not to say he didn’t appreciate it.
Oh yes, soft warms breasts rubbed against any part of him is a treat, and the little moaning sounds she was making as she did it just ramped that up a few more notches.
The kilt is actually one long piece of fabric that wraps around and clips together. Getting out of it is awfully easy, just undo the two clasps at the waistband and it falls to the floor. If she could have undone those clasps with her teeth, she would have. But they just don’t work that way, so she stood a half step in front of him, slipped her hand down the front of kilt, cupping protectively over his dick (Which he also appreciated, loudly and sincerely, and not just from a it felt fucking fabulous perspective, but as was previously noted, with as sensitive as he was right that second, having the kilt slide down his dick would actually hurt.) and used her thumbnail to pry open each clasp.
A second after that, Tim was naked save for his wrist cuff.
“Thank you.” She stood there, smiling up at him, her hand starting to move a little. He grabbed her wrist. “Stop that. Nap time. Lay down, get comfy. We are going to get a rest. Then fucking, lots and lots of fucking.” He pressed up against her, dick against her stomach, and had to bite his lip at how good that felt, and said, “And once you get your nap, I will fuck you until you come harder than you ever have before. I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll forget you’ve ever gotten off before.”

Abby lay down on the bed with the enthusiasm of particularly recalcitrant two-year-old being sent off to naptime, but got into her normal sleeping position.
Tim lay down behind her, snuggling up carefully, making sure his dick was pressed up against the small of her back, because he knew that if it was between her buttocks he was going to lose his control and just start to thrust.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, kissed her shoulder, and said, “Go to sleep.”


The plan was lay down, snuggle up, and well… not go to sleep. The plan was he’d lay there quietly for five or so minutes, and then make his move.
But she beat him to it.
He’s laying snuggled up behind her, comfortable, very turned on, counting to three hundred, (he got to 109) when he noticed her rocking, gently, against the pillow between her legs.
She usually sleeps on her side with a pillow between her knees, and she sort of hugs it, too. Normal enough. But he could feel the way her hips were moving, and that wasn’t normal.

She was rubbing off on the pillow.
“Abby, you’re being a very bad girl. I said, go to sleep.”
“Too turned on.”
His eyes narrowed for a second. Either he’s pushed her so far, kept her turned on for so long, she’s forgotten her safeword, and has hit the point where she can’t take it anymore. Or she’s playing with him, seeing how committed to this he is.
She felt him pause, think, and looked over her shoulder, flashing him a quick smile. She was just messing with him.
“On your hands and knees.”
She scrambled into position, grinning.
“And do you know what happens to bad girls?” Tim asked, kneeling behind her, pushing Abby onto her knees and elbows, ass high in the air, legs wide, tracing her labia with his dick.
“No.” Her voice was quivering with anticipation.
“They.” He pushed in just the barest hint of an inch, hissing at the hot and wet of her body, forcing himself to stay in control and edge in just enough for a tiny bit of stretch. “Don’t.” He slipped his dick over her clit (so hot, so slick, so smooth). “Get.” It trailed over her pussy (more hot, slick, smooth, and God he wanted to plunge into her hard and fast and over and over and fuck until he came so hard he passes out). “Fucked.” And then he stepped back.

“Tim!” Abby’s voice was halfway between a whimper and a moan.
“Lie down, on your back.” He found the ropes they brought and tied her hands to the headboard, loosely enough so that she could move them into any position that was comfortable, above her waist. But try as she might, she couldn’t get them lower than her belly button. Then he tied each ankle to one of the bed posts, leaving her spread wide open, so she couldn’t get off squeezing her legs together.
“Go to sleep. I’ll be back in one hour.”


Longest damn hour of his life.
The downside of being the Dom is that if your sub starts getting sassy, you need to make her behave, and while the thought has crossed Tim’s mind that his tattoo-covered wife might not be adverse to getting spanked, first off he doesn’t want to do it, (He’s never hit a woman, and isn’t about to start with Abby.) but even if he did, even if that was part of their usual play routine, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do with her pregnant.
So he’s got to get more creative on the make-your-sub-behave side of the spectrum because he won’t just let fly with pain.
Well, physical pain. (Abby less than twenty feet away, wearing only thigh high socks and her collar, tied to the bed, while he’s this turned on is god-awful mental pain.)
At least on her part. (Once again, on the physical pain side, he certainly hoped this was just as much mental torture for her as it is for him.)
He hoped. He’d never heard of anything along the lines of blue balls happening to women.
He was a whole different story. His dick and balls ached, and not in a I’m-so-turned-on-you’re-driving-me-crazy-and-it’ll be-all-sorts-of-worth-it-soon sort of way. (Though he kept remind himself that was true. And it will be. Oh God, it will be!) This was more the low, dull, got-kicked-in-the-balls-two-days-ago-and-they’re-still-sore sort of ache.
If he thought he could trust himself not to jerk off, he’d grab something cold out of the mini-bar and ice himself down. That had been amazingly effective before. But he was fairly sure that if he touched his dick with anything right now, he wouldn’t stop.  On top of that, he’s so sensitive right now, if he were to get something cold onto his balls, he’d probably scream, and not in a good way.
So, he was sitting on the sofa, making himself watch something completely non-sexy on his kindle, not thinking about her tied spread eagle in the next room (too much) because if he goes in there on a hair trigger, and let his own pleasure overtake hers, this won’t be worth the build-up.


59:59 he opened the door. And, while he was absolutely certain she did not, in fact, nap, her eyes were closed as he headed in.
She opened her eyes slowly, and he smiled at her.
“Good rest?”
“No. Frustrating.”
He tilted his head and shot her a serves you right look. “Behave and we won’t have to do this again. I was only going to make you wait five minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ohhh… I like that.” He circled around the bed, looking at her. “I’ll have to admit I do like this, too. You spread out and tied up like this is so beautiful.” He scraped the sole of her foot with his index finger, “So many possibilities…” and then stepped back to the dresser, picking up his phone.
“Got to get some pictures of this.” And he did, muttering to himself about composition and lighting as he snapped shots of her full body, and his favorite bits. He took one extremely graphic close up of her pussy, and then put the phone back down. “Want to be able to see you like this, whenever I like.”
Tim sat on the bed next to her, gently hovering his fingers over her belly, and kept them just a hair’s breadth over her skin, ghosting down between her legs to touch the sheet under her. “You’ve left a little puddle on the sheet.” Then he spread her wetness over the crest of her hip, and slowly sucked it off.Her body jerked as his lips came in contact with her skin.
“Have you been thinking about this? Getting yourself hot and wet while I was in the other room?” he asked while licking over her belly.
“Yes.”
“And what were you thinking?” he gazed into her eyes while he asked.
“’Bad.’ And you slammed into me, dick hot and hard spreading me wide. ‘Girls.’ Pulling back out, slipping it along my lips. ‘Get.’ Adding more lube. ‘Fucked.’ Slowly sliding it into my ass, all the way, while you finger my pussy and clit. My hands tied, above my head, kneeling, you riding my ass, hard and fast, while the butterfly buzzes my clit on high.”
He bit his lip, inhaled so sharply he whistled, and felt a drop of pre cum ooze out of his dick as she said that.
“Next time. Don’t have the control for that today.” His hand caressed over her pussy, making sure he got his fingers very slick, and then he gently stroked around her anus, working just the tip of his finger in, feeling another drop of pre cum ooze out of him at the feel of her around his finger. “I’d lose it long before I got all the way in that beautifully tight ass of yours.” He pulled away and kissed from her hip, over her ribs, skirting around her breasts, up her chest, over her collar bone, slipping his lips over her throat to lick along her jaw, and then settled in next to her for a long, wet kiss, his lips on hers, tongues dancing.
It was good, really good, her body soft against his, her lips slick and wet, sliding over his, but the position was a little off, her arm was in the way, and he either has to keep himself up off it, or lay on it, and that can’t be comfortable to her. So he broke the kiss and shifted so his knees were between her legs, his body propped on his elbows, keeping himself up high enough so that only his lips and chest hairs were touching her.
He wasn’t sure who the sensation is more intense for, him, the slight movement of the hair sending soft, sharp whispers of pleasure through him, or her, arcing up, trying to get more friction on her nipples, as those silk fine hairs brushed against her breasts.
Either way, they were both moaning, loud.
If he was a little less turned on, his dick would be rubbing against her stomach, but the more turned on he gets the higher it rises, and right now it’s bumping against his own stomach, gravity be damned. Which was probably a good thing, because he wasn’t sure if he could take it rubbing against her.
“If I untie you, will you behave?”
Her eyes were glazed, face flushed, and voice needy as she said, “God, yes, please, anything you say, I will do.”
“Good.” He settled back on his knees and then scooted back a little, tracing his fingers down her chest, down her belly, across her mound, and down her slit, caressing each lip, pulling them wide. “Don’t come.” He bent his head and flicked his tongue over her clit, fast, focused, firm strokes because he wants her almost out of her mind by the time he lets her up.

She’s writhing on the bed, hands clenched in the ropes, toes curled, legs quivering, body tight, but not getting off.
“Very good. Very, very good.” He sat back up and untied her legs. Then he crawled up, straddling her chest, and leaned over to get her wrist. He untied the right and felt her breath on his dick.
“Suck my dick while I untie your left hand.”
She did, and he closed his eyes, head dropping back. “Fuck.” It was so good, hot and wet and tight. Her mouth wrapped just around the tip of him, tongue lapping at the pre cum, sucking another drop out of him. He fumbled with the rope, fighting with it, before it occurred to him that he couldn’t get the damn thing untied unless he opened his eyes and looked at it.

A few seconds after that he had her untied, and as soon as the rope fell away she let go.
“Excellent,” he managed to choke out.
He sat back against the headboard. “I want you to straddle my hips, facing away from me.” She did, starting to sink onto his dick. He took her hips in his hands. “Stay up, you get to sink down when I tell you.” He let go of her hip and began circling her clit with his left hand, small, firm, focused, and fast circles. The kind that had her throwing her head back, moaning, past the ability to make anything that sounded like a word. With his right hand he stroked his dick over her whole pussy, arching up just a little every few seconds to add some stretch but mostly just providing a hot slick slide to go with small focused circles.
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her this turned on before, even her back is flushed. Of course, he’s never drug it out this far before either.
When her whole body was shaking, her thighs and shoulders tight, the sex flush down to the small of her back, he wrapped his right hand in her hair, tugged lightly, and said, “Down!”
The fingers on her clit sped over her as her fire hot skin slipped over his. “FUCK!” he shouted at the feel of her on him, so hot, so wet, so tight, and so fucking amazing it took every last functional brain cell he had working to choke out, “You can come, baby.”
And she did, whole body convulsing on him, as she screamed his name.


If one could win an Olympic Gold Medal in not getting off, Tim would have had it, by a wide, wide margin. She almost got him off. Her body, wet and hot and shaking on his as she screamed and moaned for what seemed like forever had him so turned on he felt like he was going to explode. Literally. Like each and every single cell of his body was on the edge of the most epic climax ever.

And the only reason he can think of that might have kept him from tumbling over with her is that maybe, like subspace, there’s Domspace. Maybe there’s a mindset that gets you through whatever situation you put yourself in, so you can be the Dom you promised to be.
And he promised to get her off twice, and maybe a third time.
So somehow he rode it out, didn’t clutch her tight and come with her. Somehow, he was still hard, still holding it together when she stopped twitching and collapsed, utterly boneless against him.
He doesn’t know if she actually passed out. But her eyes were closed, she wasn’t moving beyond ragged breathing and gentle orgasmic aftershocks, and her body was dead weight on his.
So he shifted them around a bit, got them spooned on their sides, and held her close, one arm under her neck, his lips on her shoulder, her body still wrapped around him, and he waited, very gently stroking her nipple.
Eventually her breathing slowed, and her heart rate with it. Eventually she laced her fingers with his.
“Mmmmm…” Her eyes didn’t open, but she did smile a little.
“Good?”
“Fuck baby, if good was a grain of sand, that was the Sahara Dessert.”
That made him grin. He kissed her shoulder, touched her nipple a little more intensely.

“Mmmmm.” She shifted and stretched a little, rolling her hips. “Feels like you aren’t done.”
“Not nearly. That was round one. Still got two and three.”
She lifted his hand to her lips, sucking lightly on his index finger. “Timothy, I can take two, don’t think I can handle three.”
He kissed her shoulder and throat, understanding the use of her safeword, and how this was a hard boundary, not just part of the game. “Got ya. Once more, soft and gentle, just light, little touches to finish us both off.”
“Sounds really good.”
He shifted her leg over his hip, and twisted his pelvis a little, slipping his leg over hers, to get a deeper angle than they can usually do spooning. He thrust, reveling in the friction, the smooth, tight, silky slide of her body on his. “Fuck baby you feel so good.” He thrust again. “So good.” Another thrust. “Been waiting all day to feel you like this, all tight on hot on me.”
They were on their sides, her body curled into his, rocking gently, and by that time only two things were going through his mind, the desire to feel her get off, and the overwhelming urge to follow her over the edge.
When her body tightened and rippled, he let himself go, let the razor-sharp pleasure crest through him, sear into every nerve, drop the color out of his vision, then steal his sight, and leave him shaking and gasping, drowning in ecstatic joy.


Then they got their real nap. Neither of them even shifted until well past dinner time, when Tim moved just enough to roll over and order room service. Twenty minutes later he somehow mustered enough energy to throw a towel around his hips and answer the door.
They finished the night curled together in bed, Tim hand feeding Abby breakfast in bed for dinner.

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 118: The Nature of the Dom
Tim stood in front of their luggage looking at what they had brought.
Abby sat on the bed, smiling, wondering what he’d pick out.
It had taken him a while to get to the point where he was really comfortable doing this, but once he got there… Well, she’s never been disappointed at how wickedly creative he can be when he sets his mind to it.
And with the butterfly on the bed next to her, and the way he’s sorting through her clothing, and debating the kilt or a pair of jeans, she’s pretty sure that today is going to be a whole lot of fun.
The first time Tim Dommed, back the first time they dated, it took Abby a little while to figure out what was going on.
It was the fourth time they got together, after ‘the hinkey thing,’ which had been excellently hinkey, and she was looking for a way to say thank you, because he was the first guy who didn’t completely freak out about the play-dead-in-the-coffin thing, so they’d been on her sofa, making out, and she asked him what his kinkiest fantasy was, because no matter what it might be, she was game for it.
He stopped kissing her, blushed scarlet, and tried to brush it off.
That just got her more curious because this was the guy who tied her up the first time they had sex, so if he was blushing like that it had to be way out in left field, and curious slid to even more turned on, so she kept whispering questions about what it could be, suggestions, each one hotter than the last, and just talking about it had him majorly turned on.
Finally he closed his eyes, bit his lip, and took a really deep breath, held it, and let it out.
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah.” By that point she had images of hot wax, breath play, and maybe some cross dressing in mind because he kept saying no to all the things she was coming up with.
His shirt was off but he still had his pants on. He stood up, a few inches in front of the sofa, where she was lying, and said, “Sit up and face me.”
“Okay.” She sat up, turned, tucking her knees between his legs, and just looked up at him, licked her lips, smiling, waiting, which he seemed to like.
Then he said, voice low, little nervous, “Unbuckle my belt.”
So she did. Slipping the leather through the metal, and then through his belt loops. He was tenting his pants, though he was also blushing so hard she wasn’t sure how he had enough blood in his body to keep him that hard and that flushed.
When she finished with his belt she looked up at him and grinned.
He closed his eyes, took another deep breath, opened them, looked her in the eye, and said, voice steady, low, hot, “Take my cock out and suck it.”
Which was fine by her. Though she was wondering if he was just making something up on the fly, because as kinky fantasies went, it was kind of a dud. She’d given him blow jobs before, and yeah, he really appreciated them. (She had a sinking suspicion that his previous girlfriend had been awfully stingy in the oral sex department, but didn’t ask about it until years later, after they had finished dating, when they had been hanging out and talking about exes, and yeah, she had been right. Helen had only done it once over the course of the year they dated, and then spit. Which made Abby want to go find her and smack her upside the back of the head, because that’s no way to treat a man, and was especially no way to treat her McGee.) But a blow job wasn’t precisely kinky, let alone worth blushing so hard he looked like he might pop a blood vessel.
It wasn’t until he was telling her how to do it, that it finally occurred to her what the kink was. He was telling her what to do. He wasn’t asking, he was telling, and he was standing, all 6’1” and two hundred and ten pounds of him, towering over her, and she was on her knees, doing exactly what he was telling her to do, there entirely for his pleasure, and it had him so turned on he was leaking and trembling.
When he got off, he came so hard his knees buckled. And Abby swallowed. She always swallows, (She doesn’t want a guy acting like she tastes nasty, so she’s not about to do it to a guy.) but this time she made a little show of it, purring and milking him, letting him know she liked it.
After a few minutes, when he had calmed back down, he held her, and petted her hair, and told her how much he liked what she had done, how pleased he was by what she had done, and how he liked to do nice things for girls who made him happy, and then went down on her, and yeah, he wasn’t great at it at that point, but he was enthusiastic, and attentive, and it was an awfully nice orgasm.
As they got ready for bed, she could see his embarrassment come back. So when they were both naked and sleepy in her coffin, she explained that it was okay for him to like to tell her what to do.
He looked really relieved, and like he didn’t quite believe her. Because, like most guys who are into Domming but aren’t assholes, he had a hard time getting over the deeply ingrained idea that nice guys don’t do things like that. Nice guys ask. Nice guys always ask. Nice guys don’t get off on telling a woman to do things, and they certainly don’t have a little part inside that likes the idea of making her do something, and a nice guy really doesn’t get off on the idea of a woman on her knees, head bowed, worshiping his cock, there entirely for his pleasure. That’s the kind of sex that’s in porn, and nice guys know that that’s icky and objectifying, and they’re supposed to feel ashamed about getting off on it, because it’s demeaning to women.
Nope, nice guys don’t go for that, at all. They’re in it for safe, mutual, sanitary, and above all respectful (i.e. female directed and initiated) sex.
She’s always hated seeing guys who do like Domming feel so bad about it. But especially in Tim, who genuinely is sweet and gentle and cares, seeing him feel like there was something bad about wanting to be in control just made her mad.
And maybe she’s not a nice girl, but she always got off on seeing the aggressive, dominant side of him. Always liked it, always responded to it with a faster pulse, hotter breath, hard nipples, wet panties, do-that-again, and-do-it-fast, sort of way.
After that case in the women’s prison, after he inspected his car, made sure it was done exactly the way he had liked it, he headed to the lab, stood very close behind her, and quietly said, with a voice that let her know exactly what he wanted, a voice that sent shivers down her spine and felt like his teeth on the nape of her neck, “Have dinner with me.”
She turned to face him, and the look he was giving her was hot enough to melt her panties. What she wanted to do was bow her head and say, “Yes. Yes to anything and everything you want to do tonight. Yes to your voice in my ears telling me what you want. Yes to my body for you to play with. Yes to any and every sort of sex you want. Yes to my legs around your hips, my nails down your back, and licking your cum off my lips. Yes.”
But what she actually said was, “I’m sorry, I want to, but I can’t.” Because no matter how good that night would have been--and watching him check his car, hearing his voice, seeing  that look, she knew he had learned some new tricks since the last time they had slept together, and that night would have been amazing--the morning would have been complicated and unhappy, and she couldn’t take him looking at her, disappointed, wanting more than she could give.
He saw the look on her face, understood everything she meant by it, nodded, and left.
The second time they did it was less than two weeks after they started dating again.
He was a lot more confident and comfortable with it. No blush in sight as he tied her hands and told her to unzip him with her teeth. No waver in his voice as he talked her through blowing him. And when he untied her hands and told her exactly how he wanted her to play with herself so he could watch, his eyes stayed on hers, and he looked dead sexy doing it.
But there was still a tinge of nervousness.
Not about doing it, not about liking it, but there was that hint of fear of is-this-the-time-I’ll-whip-something-out-she-won’t-like.
Is this the time I’ll go too far?
She thinks she had Maxine to thank for that fear. She knew they had been dating, getting along well, and Tim had been happy and hopeful, then suddenly they weren’t. And while he had been willing to tell her about issues with other girlfriends, all he would say about Maxine was, “I never told anyone any of your secrets, and I’m not going to tell you hers.”
So Abby left it alone. But she still hated to see that bit of uncertainty in his face, and swore to herself, that no matter what he came up with, she’d treat him with care and never make him feel bad about the things he liked. She might not be willing to go along with it, but she’d never embarrass him or belittle him for it.
And, eventually, as time passed and he came up with new games, and she was interested in all of them, that nervousness eased, and since he shared the Breena threesome fantasy with her, it’s been gone.


A long time ago, she had been sitting at Kate’s, they’d spent the weekend together, awash in a tidal wave of girliness, and just having a really good time.
And by the time the bottle of wine was almost done, Kate finally asked her about Tim.
Well, asked might have been the wrong word.
“I don’t get it,” Kate said as she put her wineglass on the coffee table. They were lounging on her sofa, finishing off a bottle of Riesling.
“What?”
“You and McGee.”
“He’s cute!” Abby’s voice got a bit loud and emphatic as she said that.
“Sure, he’s cute. He’s a big, adorable Labrador puppy of epic geek cuteness, but don’t you want…” Kate didn’t look like she quite knew how to finish that, but finally came up with, “Don’t you need someone who can challenge you? Who can stand up for himself?”
Abby looked at her curiously. “Are we still talking about McGee and me?”
“Yes.”
“You sure? ‘Cause that sounds a lot like you and Gibbs.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Gibbs and I is beyond dead on arrival.”
“He likes you.” Abby might not have been a trained investigator, but she wasn’t blind either, she saw the way Gibbs looked at Kate when Kate wasn’t paying attention. And she knew Kate had something of a crush on her boss.
“Not enough to get over his rules, and even if he was, I’m not crazy enough to date a man with three ex-wives. Let alone come onto my boss, who has a girlfriend. So, you and McGee, don’t you want some sort of challenge, you know, a guy who won’t just… do whatever you tell him to?”
Abby giggled. “Look, I like a guy who will do exactly what I tell him to, and you don’t even want to know how good McGee is at that. And he’ll stand up for himself, too. He was telling me exactly what to do last week and, yeah, he was nervous at first, because, well, when isn’t he? But he got into it, and it was a blast.”
Kate didn’t look like she believed that, at all. “McGee?”
“Yeah.”
Kate was really curious, the kind of curious she only got when enough alcohol was in her system to shut down her Catholic School Girl reserve. “Like what kind of telling you what to do?”
Abby sipped her wine, remembering, wicked little grin on her lips. “Like the kind where you say ‘Yes, sir. Please, sir,’ but don’t salute.”
Kate’s eyebrows shot up so fast and so high they looked like they were trying to migrate into her hairline. “McGee? Tall guy, good with computers, works out of Norfolk?”
“Yeah, McGee.” Abby smiled smugly at her.
“Really, McGee? The guy who blushes and stutters when you look him in the eye and ask him a question.”
“You have no idea. That boy has a mouth on him like you wouldn’t believe—“
“Yeah, I know, he’s cute.” Kate looked a little exasperated at Abby’s crush.
Abby smirked at her. “Not what I meant by mouth, but seriously, he does have the cutest lips ever. The little pouty thing with the bottom one…” Kate just stared at her, obviously not seeing what Abby saw in Tim. “Anyway, once he gets comfortable that stutter-y, nervous exterior goes away and… just… McGee is a whole lot of fun and up for anything you can think of.”
Kate had looked very pleased by that. “Huh… maybe there’s some hope.”
“Hope for what?”
“Hope that there’s a guy who can drag your heart out of that lock box you’ve got it hidden in. I think being in love would be good for you, and if he can make you say ‘Yes, sir,’ maybe he’s the guy to do it.”
Two weeks later, after a night of really good sex, where Tim showed her that he was just as happy to get tied up as he was to do the tying, Abby realized that Kate was right, he could do it, so she broke up with him, terrified of what would happen if he did drag her heart out into the light.



Abby watched Tim continue to mess around with the things they had brought, picking up her clothing and putting it back as different ideas percolated through his head, and she wished Kate could have seen that she was right. 

Shards To A Whole: An NCIS Fanfiction

McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.

Chapter 117: A Collar

It took them a few days to work the kinks out of the care and feeding of a now decaf (and slightly pregnant) Abby.
Regular food became very important. She couldn’t skip meals, and tended to be happier with a somewhat constant stream of small snacks. Which made sense, after all it wasn’t Diet CafPow she was sucking down every day. Fortunately, Charleston being a good food town meant they didn’t have any issues in finding a steady stream of yummy things.
Afternoon naptime really helped, too.
By dinnertime at the end of the first “good” day she was dragging around, feeling pretty crabby, and the headache was back. So the next day they dialed down the sightseeing, hit the aquarium, had lunch, went back to the hotel for some sex, and a nap, and noticed that by dinnertime she was still feeling pretty good. So naptime went onto the list of things to do, and that seemed to help a whole lot.
Neither of them was sure if the sleeping twelve hours a day was just a side effect of no more caffeine, or if it was a sign that their little dude was indeed on board, but it made Abby feel better, and Tim certainly didn’t mind a schedule rich in sex and naps (which also made it easier for him to cut back on his own caffeine consumption), so they both did well with it.
And there were a few points where she was staring longingly at his coffee, which if you consider how much Abby doesn’t like coffee, was a very strong sign that she really wanted a fix, but she didn’t drink any, and he did a fairly good job of remembering not to drink it in front of her.
So by the morning of the last day in Charleston, she was feeling pretty good, and was fairly certain she’d keep feeling fairly good, so another of the “treats” in her bag of goodies came out.


When Tim woke up, she was wearing her collar.
Granted Abby in a collar isn’t anything new. She wears a collar all the time. But this one, that he gave her for Christmas, is special. And while it looks a whole lot like most of her other collars, (As a matter of fact, this is the collar that goes with the wrist cuff he wears on his left wrist. Since she didn’t buy them as a set, it took hours of concerted effort and mad google fu to find it.) this is the one she wears when she wants him to Dom.
There’s being the dominant partner in whatever game they’re playing, and then there’s actually Doming, which is very different.
He smiles seeing her waiting for him. They haven’t done it in months, but it’s one of his favorite games.
She’s kneeling at the end of the bed, waiting patiently for him. He kisses her for a long minute, and then pulls back, taking another moment to get into the right mindset for this.
“Come here.”
She does, settling on the spot on the mattress he patted.
“Did you bring your butterfly?” That’s something else he got her, though that one wasn’t a Christmas present. It’s a bullet shaped vibrator that fits into a soft silicon sheath in a sort of harness that looks, honestly, a little like a jock strap. It keeps the vibrator on her clit, but doesn’t block his access to her vagina or anus. And it has a wireless remote.
She nods.
“You may speak when I ask you questions.”
She nods again.
“Go get it.”
She hops off the bed and returns with it a moment later. He takes it from her and places it on the bed, next to his hip.
“Have you had a shower, yet?” Her hair isn’t wet, but he also doesn’t know how long she’s been awake.
“No.”
He stood up and offered her his hand. She took it, and he led them to the bathroom.
Part of the reason they haven’t done this in months is because, while it’s fun, it’s a mindset that Tim doesn’t have an easy time switching into and out of. Actually, that’s not true, getting into it isn’t an issue. He can usually get into it in less than a minute. Getting back out of it is the issue. Which is a polite way of saying he really likes it, but he also knows that always being in charge isn’t a good plan for his long term happiness and continued employment at NCIS. For example, he knows he can dominate Tony and Ziva, because if there were ever people who did well with: have high standards, explain what you want, pet the person when they meet those standards, spank them when they don’t, it’s Gibbs’ team. And Tim’s good at that, and he’s got a few more tricks than Gibbs does when it comes to the petting part of the equation. (And no, when he’s thinking of Tony and Ziva, he’s not thinking of that, just that he’s more willing to show he’s pleased when people do a good job than Gibbs is.)
But if he were to do it, it’d topple the apple cart, screw up the team dynamics, and make things tense between him and Tony again, possibly make things awkward between Tony and Ziva, and probably mess things up with him and Gibbs (because Gibbs is the Dom for their team). So, since he can’t slide out of this on a moment’s notice, they don’t do it unless he’s got a few days between Doming and work.
And of course, he’s not due back to work in over a week. Plenty of time to get back to being Tim again.
So he smiles, turns on the water, and waits for it to warm up, Abby standing next to him, waiting for him to make the next decision.
It has not escaped Tim’s attention that Abby suddenly has ten more inches of hair than she used to. He’s been appreciating how she looks with that long spill of black and red hair down her back. Really enjoying it. However, since he’s appreciating it, he’d also like to keep it nice for as long as possible, and he has absolutely no idea of how to do that. One of his pet joys is washing her hair, but he doesn’t want to mess this up.
“Kneel.”
She did so, head bent, and he proceeded to pet her hair at his leisure, really exploring how it feels. The extensions are soft, warm, and feel like real hair, and also a little oddly nubby when there meet up at her scalp. He’s not loving that texture, but if that’s the cost of long hair on Abby…
“How do you take care of this?”
“Just like normal hair. Be gentle when you wash it, don’t rub too hard on the scalp, extra rinse time to make sure all the soap gets out.”
“Okay.” He reaches his hand into the shower, and the water is feeling nicely warm. He kneels behind her, lifting her hair off her neck, and gently kisses her nape above and below the collar, then unsnaps it (like his cuff it’s got two silver snaps for the closure). He’s done this enough times to have mastered unsnapping it, letting it fall so that it drapes over her shoulder, and then slowly dragging it off, letting it slip over her throat and shoulder, and every time he does that, she shivers. Today was no exception.  
“Into the shower.”
She stands, gracefully, and slips in. He unsnaps his cuff, places both of the leather goods on the sink, and follows her in a second later.
Tim couldn’t tell you why he likes washing Abby’s hair, but he’s got some pretty good guesses. There are some pretty obvious reasons, like the way she moans when he does it. That’s on the list. It’s time where he get to touch her while she’s wet and naked, both of which are very good things. He thinks the heart of it might be that it’s a very caring gesture, comforting, very intimate. It’s not the sort of thing you do with someone you’re just casually with.
“Cross-legged, on the floor.” And she complies. “Any sounds you want to make, you may.” They’ve done this where he didn’t give her permission to make noise, just to see what it was like, and really, a good third of the thrill of making love to her is hearing her respond to him. Her silent while he went down on her was like a pretzel without salt, not bad, but bland.
The only time silent is fun is if there’s someone else nearby, and when that’s true silent gets overwhelmed by don’t-get-caught.
He pours a little of the shampoo into his hand and gets to work. A big part of how he usually does this is his fingers squirming on her scalp, rubbing into the skin, and pressing his thumbs into the tight muscles where her neck and head connect. He can still do that part of it, though the scalp rub just got a lot less intense.
But she still makes that very pleased, deep, satisfied moan when his thumbs go to work on her neck, and like always that sound settles in his dick, perking it up, getting it very interested in seeing if more sounds like that might be coming out of her anytime soon.
And they do. He rubs and kneads her shoulders while hot water beats down on both of them, and she makes soft little sighs and deep happy moans, and he’s fairly sure that what he’s doing doesn’t feel quite that good, but he doesn’t much care if she’s just doing this to turn him on because that’s all sorts of good, too.
By the time the last of the conditioner has rinsed free of her hair, he’s completely hard and thinking that her sitting on the floor of the shower puts her mouth in an awfully good position.
It’s true that the first time he did this, he blushed so hard he thought his head was going to burst into flame. Growing up with Penny and dating a sociologist who focused on gender roles in pre-industrial cultures at MIT meant that he’d had some fairly intensive training in how to treat women properly, and saying ‘Get down on your knees and suck,’ was more or less on the top of the list of things that a well-trained feminist guy just didn’t do. But it’s also true that the idea of saying ‘Get down on your knees and suck,’ made him so hard he could feel his pulse in his dick.
And for a long time he felt bad about that, and never, ever did it, let alone suggested doing it, until the first time he and Abby dated, and she asked him what his kinkiest fantasy was. When he explained why he was blushing so hard, she rolled her eyes, pointed to the door to her bedroom, and said, “Outside that door, you get bonus points for understanding privilege and gender bias, but that stays on the other side of that door.” Then she kissed him and asked, “Does it make you feel bad when I tell you to eat me out?”
“No.”
“Do you think getting on your knees and licking my pussy is demeaning?”
“No! Of course not!” He looked, and was, horrified by that idea.
“I tell you to do it, does it mean I don’t respect you, or see you as an object?”
“No. Just means you like oral and want me to do it for you.”
“Then why should you feel bad about liking the same thing?”
When that clicked, he got a whole lot happier about his interests.
Abby’s sitting in front of him, waiting patiently, so he smiles at her, caresses her face, and leans against the back wall of the shower, legs spread shoulder-width apart.
“Suck me.”
And she does. Eyes open, looking up at him, mouth soft, and red, and wet, and so insanely good.
He settles in to watch her do him. There’s nothing else like this, getting to feel her and watch her do it.  She holds him by the base of his cock and spends a good five minutes just licking, sucking, and playing with the tip, keeping her lips tight and letting him slip between them, providing the feel of that first tight, shallow thrust of sex, knowing how much he loves seeing her mouth on his dick, her lips slipping over it, and her tongue wet and hot rubbing against it.
She moans while she does it, and it’s a little hard to hear over the water and the fact that he’s not exactly being quiet either. But he can feel it, and that adds to his pleasure.
“Deeper, no hands.”
He loves her hands on their own. Loves when she blows him and uses her hand at the same time, even more. It’s all wet and slick and sucking and tight, it’s all so good. And that’s why he’s said no hands. Just mouth takes longer. It’s a slower build, more diffuse, less friction, but when he comes it’s more diffuse, too. He gets to feel it all through his body.
Her hands rest on his knees, and she pulls him deeper into her mouth, sucking harder, her tongue rubbing the underside of his dick. His hands clench and his head falls back against the wall of the shower. He’s cursing softly, letting her know in explicit and obscene detail how good it feels.
Her molars add a little sharp scrape to the smooth wet of her mouth, and he loves that sensation. It’s like fingernails down his back while fucking. It’s just brilliant on so many levels, and he feels really sorry for the guys who are so sensitive they can’t take this.
Her hands are clenched on his knees, and he notices that, so he says, “You can touch yourself if you want, but no getting off.”
He feels her right hand leave his knee, but he can’t see her play with herself with it. Her sucking him is in the way, and while it’s true that Abby playing with herself is one of his favorite sights, her sucking him off is even better.
He watches, breathing hard, jaw clenched, thighs tight, riding his body’s pleasure at her touch.
The one thing he isn’t doing is thrusting. He wants to, would love to, but he’s not. Part of being a good Dom is knowing what the sub wants, what she can take, and where her boundaries are, and he knows that if she’s not using her hands it’s way too easy for him to choke her, and neither of them are going to be happy if he gags her.
So he doesn’t. He lets her set the pace, and while he’s touching her face, hair, and shoulders, he’s just touching, he’s not grabbing or forcing or anything like that. He gets the idea of breath play, but he’s not comfortable doing that unless he’s completely in control, and his dick in her mouth isn’t conducive to completely in control.
He watches her do it, seeing if she looks like her jaw is getting sore. There’s only so long she can do this, and he doesn’t want to push her too far, especially since this is just the opening round for today, but he’s not catching the tell-tale tension in her face, so he says, “Slower, all the way down. You can use your hand to get the right angle.”
Abby can deep throat, though this isn’t a great position for it. (Sixty-nine works way better for that, but that also tends to shoot his concentration to hell and gone.) But she takes hold of him, pulling his dick down a bit, and then slips it, slowly all the way into her mouth, and he groans so loudly she blinks and smiles. (At least as well as she can with her mouth open wide. Her eyes look really amused.)
He can feel himself starting to fall apart. A slow orgasm is a thing of joy and beauty, and the feeling of just easing over the edge is glorious, but he’s not quite there yet, and he’s debating if he wants her to swallow of if he wants to cum on her.
It’s not something she really likes. In fact, in the shower is pretty much the only time he’s allowed to do it. (From what he can tell, it’s the only one of his kinks she’s not enthusiastic about.) And until getting back from Afghanistan, he didn’t know he liked it. But there’s something about seeing it on her skin that just does it for him.
And if there was ever a time where it’d be okay…
His touch on her shoulder lets her know that he’s going to turn so his body blocks the spray from the shower. She figures out where this is going, winks, lets him know it’s okay, and turns with him.
“Finish me with your hands. Want to cum on your chest.” He never gets her face. He knows from his own experience that if it gets into your eyes it burns.
So she did, a few fast strokes, and he was humming with pleasure, feeling it spark through his whole body, making him shake and twitch, as he watched his cum land on her in thick, drippy stripes.
When his heart calmed back down, and his breathing was closer to normal, he pulls her to her feet, and kisses her long and hard, petting her hair and back, then whispering sweet words of how happy he is with her and how much he loves her and what an excellent job she’s done at making him come.
She purrs at him, quivering in a pleased sort of way, and he turns her into the spray of the shower, letting it rinse away his cum, and then he gets down on his knees and kisses her properly.
She’s wet, and hot, and very turned on, and he makes sure to do a good job. He keeps his tongue soft and light, the sort of touch that just hints of better things to come, an almost exploring touch, while his fingers hold her wide open.
And when she’s thrusting against him, hands clenching in his hair, loudly groaning between a chorus of “Fuck Tim! Just like that!” he stops and stands up.
He kisses her mouth, whispering against her lips, “I promise, you will get off, and it will be glorious, but not yet, not now. We’re going to go out, see Charleston, maybe see a movie, and I am going to play with you all day. And when you are so turned on you can barely breathe, when you are shaking from head to toe, sobbing for release, when every muscle in your body is so tight it could snap, when every thought in your head is devoted to getting fucked and getting off, then I’ll plunge deep into you, fingers rubbing your clit hard and fast, and make you come so intensely you’ll pass out on my cock.” He kisses hot and wet on her ear. “And then I’ll do it again.” Another kiss, sucking her ear lobe. “And maybe, if you’re good, and if I haven’t gotten off yet, I’ll do it one more time.”
She’s quivering against him as he says that, arms wrapped tight around his neck.

He gives her one last, quick kiss, this time on her lips, and says, “Let’s get out of the shower and dressed.”