McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click
here. Once again we've got a Mature Audience Only tag on this, so skip if you don't like explicit sex.
41. Homecoming
Before his relationship with Abby, Tim got off about four times a
week. And "about" had a lot to do with the caseload, how often Tony
showed up at his place, how the writing was going, stuff like that. The
busier he was the less interested in sex he tended to be.
But most
mornings, if he had a little time, his shower didn't just involve
getting clean. (Or you could say some parts of him got *very* clean.)
Since
Abby, that number has jumped to seven. And he really likes seven. He
especially enjoys the fact that it's seven, and he's not doing himself.
Not that he's not good at doing himself, just that it's a whole lot
better when she's doing it.
So, he's not exactly relishing Afghanistan.
 |
| Getting an edge. |
By
day three of no orgasms, he's getting something of an edge. His
tolerance for stupid mistakes and minor annoyances is dropping. By the
end of day three, he's come to the conclusion that Gibbs never jerks
off. That's his best bet for why he's always so intense, because Tim's
starting to feel it himself. He's not nearly as laid-back or mild-mannered as he usually is. But Gibbs is just the same as he always is,
if anything, he's a little more laid-back than usual, because apparently
being in a war zone where there are snipers and IED's hidden all over
the place and people want to kill them is relaxing to him.
So, by the middle of day three, when they are getting ready to finish this, Tim is majorly looking forward to getting home.
Then Dex got shot, and that meant he was stuck in Afghanistan even longer than they had expected.
Day
four, when he should be on a plane heading home, but isn't, because Dex
can't travel yet, he's getting turned on by stupid things. Supposedly
there are women around here somewhere, but he hasn't seen one. Instead
he's noticed the arched doorways on the local mosque look a little like a
stylized vagina, and that's getting to him.
Day five, there's not
much to do. Tony and Ziva have taken care of the stateside part of the
case. They've got their end wrapped up. So all they've got to do is wait
for Dex to get stable to travel. It's not a terrible wound, but they
want to make sure all of the anesthesia is out of his system before
putting him on a plane. So, mostly, he's sitting around, trying to keep
himself from fantasizing too much about the last time he and Abby made
love.
He'd taken the picture of the pendant, put it into Google
Image Search, and came up with who it belonged to in about eight
minutes. He looked at her and said, "So, all night, huh?"
"We'll just have to find something else to do for the next ten hours," she replied with a smile.
And so they did, putting those fuzzy white lambskin rugs in her office to good use.
Day
six, Gibbs keeps giving him these looks, and he doesn't exactly know
what those looks mean, but between the looks and getting shanghaied into
this trip in the first place he's almost pissed off enough to hit him
for it.
Why would Gibbs bring him to Afghanistan? It's not like he
relishes this kind of thing under the best of conditions and super-hot
girlfriend at home does not equal best of conditions. Plus Tony and Ziva
both like to travel; they enjoy dangerous places and roughing it.
Meanwhile Tim wants Abby, a soft bed, and a hot shower.
18:00 (DC
time) on day six and Dex is cleared to travel. Finally, they're on an
airplane heading towards Germany, and in less than twenty hours will be
home, where Abby is.
Where Abby is naked, in bed, wet and wanting,
and not touching herself, waiting for him to come home and... And he
forces himself not to think about that, or the pictures on his phone
which he's been aching to see, but has not seen because if architecture
is giving him a hard on, porn starring his favorite person on earth is
going to kill him.
 |
| Gif from http://leticiahp16.tumblr.com/ |
In Germany there's privacy. So, of course, in
Germany they're more or less running from one packed plane to the next.
He has literally enough time to pee and nothing else before getting on
the next plane.
He tries to sleep in the air. Trying to get
himself closer to his normal schedule. And it works, sort of. He can't
really sleep on a troop transport. Unlike Gibbs, he never acquired the
ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, at the drop of a hat. So he falls
into a dreaming three-quarters doze.
He's aware enough of where he
is to pull out of the dream of fucking Abby in her office on those
fuzzy white lambskin rugs before he gets off.
Gibbs just grins at
him when he wakes up, and he growls a little, wondering if he was
talking in his sleep. He was talking in the dream, saying some really
fabulously, exquisitely, just full on filthy things to her while she
rode him. He's hard as a rock and thankful that because of the position
he's in and his jacket on his lap, no one can see that.
He's more
thankful that he woke up in time and won't have to spend the next
however long in slowly drying shorts, with Gibbs, who is full on
smirking at him and enjoying this way, way too much, as a seatmate.
Dex stares up at him, big brown puppy eyes, and he pets him. Dex settles his head on his paws and yawns, falling back to sleep.
That's not a bad idea, so he goes back to sleep, and this time, doesn't dream.
 |
| Do I look like I want to go to Afghanistan? |
It's 15:30 when they land, and Gibbs says, "Go home."
So he does.
He texts Abby when he gets into his car.
Just landed. Hour from your place. Her apartment is closer to Andrews than his is, so that's where he's heading.
A minute later he gets one back.
:)
You wearing a skirt? He types when he gets to the next stoplight.
Yeah
Take your panties off before you get home, unless you want me to rip them off of you.
His phone buzzes, another text, but he's driving so he forces
himself to ignore it. Forces himself not to let the image of her in a
tiny, little skirt, no panties, legs wrapped around his hips as he fucks
her through the wall distract him from the cars around him.
At the next stoplight, he picks up the phone.
I wasn't wearing any. Haven't for two days. Got a Brazillian wax day before yesterday.
He groans at that. There was another text.
Got an erection?
He types quickly.
Since Germany. Am driving. Getting on 95 in a minute. Gonna make you come so hard you see stars.
The light is just changing to green when his phone buzzes. He's four cars back so he reads the text.
Just once?
He types fast.
As many as you can take.
And then he's got to drive again.
When
he gets to her place, he scans the parking garage but doesn't see her
car. He growls a little at that, but grabs his bag and heads up to her
apartment. He tosses his things into the living room and stands there,
waiting.
Just got home. Where are you?
He paces around the living room, not sure what to do with himself.
Finally, after three minutes his cell buzzes.
Five minutes out. You still dressed?
Yeah
What are you wearing?
Blue button down, green cargo pants, black jacket, sneakers. He'd packed for four days and ended up out for six, so this clothing was on its second wear.
Undies?
Black knit boxers.
Everything off.
Yes.
He strips down and wonders how fast he can get a shower. Hasn't
had one in close to thirty hours and the clothing he's been wearing
isn't exactly fresh.
But she'll be home in three minutes, and he's
not that fast. In three minutes all he can get is wet. And she knows
he's been on a plane for more than twenty hours, and that the trip
lasted two days longer than it was supposed to, so it's not like he's
had the chance to get a shower recently or has an overabundance of clean
clothing. She would have told him to get a shower if she wanted him to.
He's fairly sure of that.
He's pacing the living room, naked,
phone in hand, waiting to see if he'll get another text. An idea hits,
he can look at the pictures now. He opens his email and begins to look.
He'd had thousands of ideas of what might have been in those pictures
and most of them were wrong, and none of them were nearly as good as
seeing what she had sent him.
He's on the seventh shot, her naked,
fingering herself, eyes closed, back arched, chest flushed, looking
like she's about to come, when he hears her hand on the door knob. He
put the phone down, fast, and yanks open the door.
 |
| Last time he saw that skirt. |
He looks at
her, eyes hungry, body aching for her, cock leaking, and pulls her
close. He registers that she does have on a little tan plaid skirt, a
white tank top, and her nipples are hard, and then he was kicking shut
the door and lifting her into his arms, as she wrapped her legs around
his hips.
Her lips and tongue meet his as his cock sinks into her. He groans, loud, almost pained, so happy to be back in her.
"Fuck!
Tim!" Her voice is breathy and she locks her feet together on the small
of his back while wrapping one arm around his shoulders and tangling
her hand in his hair.
He savors being fully in her for a few seconds and then takes two steps, backing her to the wall.
"Gonna fuck you through the wall."
"Please!"
And
there was nothing even remotely soft, or tender, or gentle about what
came next. Just fast, hard, licking, biting, touching each other as much
and as fully as they can, all at once, firework sex. And like a
firework, it was over a lot faster than either of them really would have
liked.
He was leaning against her, breathing hard, still holding her up, feeling, honestly, embarrassed.
He grins sheepishly. "Okay, that wasn't quite how I had planned that."
She smiles gently and kisses him, stroking his face. "How did you plan it?"
He lightly licks her bottom lip. "Among other things, I envisioned you getting off and me lasting for more than thirty seconds."
She laughs and kisses him again, looking amused. "Good thirty seconds?"
"Fast thirty seconds. I missed you." He kisses her, lips slow and lingering.
"I
noticed." She kisses him back, another slow lingering kiss. "I missed
you, too." She squirms a little. "I'm noticing something else."
"Yeah,
me, too." He's not going soft. And he's not feeling much of what could
be called any sort of desire to pull out or go to sleep. In fact, he's
still feeling awfully turned on. He thrust against her again, and yep,
that felt really good.
She sighs as he does that. "That's nice."
"That's a fucking miracle."
"I'll take it."
"Me, too!"
He
thrusts a few times, enjoying it, making sure he's not going to go
soft, and when he's feeling pretty sure that he's good to go, he puts
her down and drops to his knees.
He unzips her boots and takes
them off, sure he'll forget about them if he doesn't take care of them
now, then tugs off her skirt and just looks. She's perfectly smooth and
hairless, pink lips peeking out between soft white skin. "Ohhh..."
"You like that?"
Tim
looks up at her, impossibly wide grin on his face, then kisses her
mound, tongue tracing over skin that he'd never seen before. "That's at
least a quarter of getting off in thirty seconds." He licks again,
fingers following the path of his tongue. "So soft." His fingers slip
down further, caressing over the now hairless outer lips, feeling her
silky smooth and wet.
His tongue starts to follow. She pulls on his hair and he looks up at her again.
"You sure?"
That
stops him. He's staring up at her, a very puzzled look on his face.
Okay, yeah he doesn't particularly like going down on her when she's on
her period, but she stopped menstruating when she went on Depo, so that
shouldn't be an issue. "Why wouldn't I be?"
He watches her slip a
finger between her lips, and if it was possible, that made him even
harder, and come back wet with his cum.
"Oh." Hmmm... Yeah...
That... Screw it, naked and impossibly soft and, God,
naked Abby pussy
in front of his mouth. No way he's not going to kiss her. "You've
swallowed enough of it over the last year. Doesn't seem to have done you
any harm." And then he sucks her finger into his mouth.
She lets
out a startled half-moan, half-laugh at that, and when he let go of her
finger and began tonguing her clit that sound morphs into all moan.
It
isn't like he's never tasted it before, though the lingering traces of
it on her mouth after she's gone down on him is somewhat different from
licking it off her skin. It isn't bad, didn't taste like much of
anything really. Sure, he's not saying he wants to drink a glass of it
or anything, but it isn't poison, either.
And there is something
deliciously kinky about licking it off of her. About spreading her legs,
seeing it dribble down her thigh, knowing it's his cum, on her, in her,
and he's getting to lick it off. That hit a few buttons he didn't know
he had.
There certainly is a thrill at how slippery and wet she
is, how open and inviting, and how his fingers could just slide in,
stroking her mercilessly, because by the time he had gotten them
involved in the action he wanted to get her off as hard and fast as he
could.
There were the sounds she was making. The sweetest, hottest
music ever, dancing through his mind as he licks and strokes, feeling
her get tighter and move faster against him.
Her hands clench in
his hair, pulling him closer, letting her fuck his mouth, letting him
feel how much she's missed this, wanted it, needed it.
Her thighs
begin to tremble, and with a sharp, sudden spasm, he knows she's done.
He holds her, tongue pressed gently against her, feeling her body shake,
and grins.
He lets her come down for a minute, until most, but
not all of the quivers had stopped, and then pulls back, standing up,
kissing her deeply.
Tim thinks about her apartment and the furniture in
the living room-kitchen area. The table isn't very stable. The sofa's
too low for what he wants to do next. The kitchen counter on the other
hand...
"See stars?" he asks.
"Yeah."
"More?"
She nods, smiles, and kisses him again.
He doesn't break the kiss, but begins to head them into the kitchen.
She does break the kiss. "Kitchen?"
"Yeah."
"What are you thinking?"
"Putting you on the counter and fucking you blind."
Two
steps later, they're in the kitchen and a second after that he does
have her on the counter. And yeah, it's just about hip high on him, wonderful.
He slips into her, fast, and slides back out, slow. She
leans back on her elbows, legs wrapped around his hips, as he strokes
her breasts through the tank top. It's almost perfect.
"Sit up."
She does, and he takes off the tank top.
"Perfect," he says kissing her shoulder.
"Perfect?"
He
pulls back to look her in the eye. "God, yes, I can feel you and see
you, and," he thrusts hard into her, "you feel so fucking amazing.
Missed you, missed this, so much."
She arches up to meet his thrust, sighing as his hand slips down.
He's
moving slowly, fingers teasing, cock stroking long and smooth. He's
watching his body slip into hers, watching his fingers dance on her
skin, and he loves the pictures, but seeing this live, feeling it, is so
much better than any picture could ever be.
She pulls his head up
to look in her eyes, and kisses him hard, tongue moving fast and
frantic while his hips slow down even further. He's softly gliding
against her, pulling out until only the tip of him is touching her, and
then easing all the way back in.
Abby leans back on her elbows
again, and he follows her, kissing and nipping at her nipples. Gently
stroking with his tongue and then pulling with his teeth. She's rocking
against him, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, breathing fast and hard.
"Wanna make you come slow."
"Oh."
"Just
gonna keep doing this, nice and slow." His thumb is moving over her
clit, firm, focused, but not fast, and his cock keeps easing in and out.
His mouth moves back to hers, and with his free hand he pulls her up so
they're chest to chest, lips to lips.
"I want you to feel every
inch of me. Feel how hard you make me. Feel how much I want you. Feel
how every single night I was dreaming of you. Dreaming of you wet and
tight on me. Dreaming of your taste on my lips." He licks his lips,
still able to taste her, and then kisses her, also wet and slow.
He
can feel her body growing tight on his, and she's squirming, because in
this position she can't really thrust or increase the speed. Though she
can use her legs to pull him into her faster, and does.
"Slow,
baby. Just let me do you." He strokes his right hand through her hair,
knotting his fingers in it, holding her head still, and kisses her
again, deep and soft. "Promise, I'll make it worth your while."
And
if tied up and spun out is what gets him off harder than anything else,
this is what does it for her. Long, slow, achingly slow strokes, the
sort that take control and patience, and right now, he feels like he can
do this all night. He can go as long as she might want him to.
So he does.
She
falls back to her elbows, head back, mouth open as she moans a little
with each breath. He shifts her left leg over his shoulder, so he can
slide in a little deeper.
"Oh, God, Tim. Fuck baby." Her cheeks
and chest are pink, nipples hard, face looking like she's somewhere
between exquisite pleasure and sharp pain.
"Please!" Her hands and
feet are clenched and he slows down a little more, thumb barely moving,
more pressing against her than any sort of friction. He doesn't stop
moving, but he goes so slowly she eventually starts to relax again.
She's
moaning now, and it's not precisely a happy sound. It's more a
I-was-a-second-from-climaxing-why-did-you-stop-this-is-torture sort of
sound.
He's kissing her leg, right hand stroking her nipple, left
starting to speed up again, going back to that slow, firm grind. "I've
got you, Abby. Gonna make you come so hard it'll be worth a six day
wait."
The last time he did this, the last time he had the control
to do this, was after Palmer's wedding. He'd already gotten off three
times and felt no sense of urgency, so he wanted to see what would
happen if he just went slow on her. And she bit him black and blue and
scratched his back bloody and came so hard she passed out.
And he
can feel his own arousal building, so he knows he doesn't have the
control to spin this out as long as he did then, but he can probably get
pretty close.
He can feel her tense up again, and again he slows
way down, barely moving, but keeping pressure on her clit and nipple.
And if she wasn't supporting her weight on her elbows, he's fairly sure
she would be clawing his back to ribbons, and he'd be enjoying every
second of it.
And again she relaxes.
He starts to slide
against her again, long slow strokes, all the way in and all the way
out. She's moaning with every breath, and skin pink from her stomach to
her forehead.
Her eyes are closed, so he watches himself fuck her.
Watches her body, wet and glistening, take him in, and drag against his
as he eases out.
He's starting to moan with each stroke, feeling
his balls start to creep up and his thighs tense. He forces himself to
keep going slow, he'll wreck it if he starts thrusting like crazy, so he
keeps pulling all the way out, pushing all the way in, and rubbing his
thumb in firm slow circles.
He changes the angle a little. Getting his knees into the motion. Pushing up as well as in.
"Fuck!" she more breathed it loudly than spoke. She pulls her head up, opens her eyes slowly, and stares at him.
That
starts to undo him. She's so tight against him, and her eyes are glazed
with lust, pupils wide with excitement. He eases back in again, getting
that angle again, and begins to move his thumb just a hair faster.
"Don't stop!"
"Not this time."
He
speeds up just a little, jaw clenched, shoulders and thighs and back
tight, he probably looks like he's in pain, too, but it feels so
mind-blowingly good.
She makes these little fast inhaling sounds,
followed by a harsh shuddering breath. He flicks his thumb just a little
faster and feels her go very tight, and then ease over the edge, her
body rippling and twitching around him, moans verging on sobs slipping
from her lips.
And that does it for him. This time is slow burn
fireworks, blowing their way up his spine and down his legs, through his
balls and centered on his cock, and this is the homecoming fuck he'd
been dreaming about.
The bad thing about a mind-blowing fuck on the kitchen counter is you can't exactly collapse in a boneless heap with your lover.
He
ended up on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet the pots live
in, her foot on his shoulder, his forehead and lips pressed against her
calf, as they both just sort of laid around and rested.
Eventually
she felt like moving and ended up on his lap. They sat there,
snuggling, his fingers petting her hair, her head on his shoulder,
neither of them talking, just enjoying touching.
And eventually,
the kitchen floor is cold and hard, and the cabinet isn't very comfy,
the handle poking him in the shoulder, and his feet are starting to fall
asleep because she's sitting on his legs, so he says, "I should get a
shower."
She sniffs him. "Not a bad idea."
He laughs, and she stands up.
A
few minutes later they're in the shower, and he's groaning with
pleasure again. "I love hot water! Oh... God. I don't know who invented
the hot water heater, but he was a genius!"
"No stalls, no
privacy, no hot water," Abby said, fingers on his hips, watching him
throw his head back and let the water flow over him.
He wipes the
water out of his face, and steps a little forward, so it's mostly
hitting his back and shoulders. "Yeah, I don't recommend Afghanistan for
vacationing. Dex and Gibbs had a much better time than I did."
"Dex got shot."
He grins. "Exactly."
She looks up at him, eyes narrowing a little, thinking. "You're bad luck for dogs. Jethro got shot. Dex got shot."
"Dogs
are bad luck for me, too. And Jethro got shot because he was trying to
rip my throat out." He touches the four tiny scars on his throat left
over from their first meeting. "If he had played nice, I would have,
too."
She shakes her head and reaches for the shampoo. "Turn around, I'll do your hair."
He does, and sighs happily as she starts to rub her fingers through his hair.
"What's the plan for tomorrow?" Abby asks.
"Back to work. Taking Dex home. Hopefully it's a paperwork day."
She nods at that.
"You?" he asks.
"Probably paperwork. Deposition at two."
They spent the next half-hour like that, talking, getting clean, Tim enjoying his first hot shower in a week.
They
get out of the shower and dry off. He's getting ready to start shaving,
but she stays his hand.
"Tomorrow's soon enough. I like you stubbly
like this, not really a beard, but long enough so it's not prickly. It
feels nice."
He smiles and puts the razor down. It's been maybe
three days since he shaved last. And yeah, it's a little itchy, but if
she likes it, twelve more hours won't hurt.
In the bedroom, he
slipped into a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, enjoying how soft and
comfy they are. Nothing about Afghanistan is soft, and he likes soft.
She wraps up in her robe, it's long and black and silky, covered in
white and pink cherry blossoms. He spends a long minute just watching
her. Skin pink from the hot water, hair down, curling a little because
she's towel dried it but not brushed it out yet.
He sits on their
bed, relishing the easy intimacy of this moment, and the overwhelming
comfort and rightness. Rule number eight: never take anything for
granted. And right now, he isn't.
"Is there any food?" he
asks, looking in the almost empty fridge. He's not feeling much interest
in salad dressing, left over Caf-Pow, or turkey slices that are
probably a few days past their prime.
"Ice cream," Abby says,
opening the freezer, chin on his shoulder. "That's about it. It's lonely
eating here without you, so I ate out."
He nods. Grocery shopping
tomorrow. But for tonight, ice cream for dinner will do. It's Chocolate
Moose Tracks, which is probably his second or third favorite, but since
she doesn't much like his top two, (Coffee and Mint Chocolate Chip) and
he's not huge fan of her favorite (Cherry Sorbet), it's what they
usually get.
They settle onto the sofa, one container of ice
cream, two spoons, and the remote. "Did you watch the Walking Dead while
I was away?"
"I had to do something to pass the time."
"Was it good?" He's queuing it up on the DVR.
"So good."
"Okay, don't spoil for me."
She
feeds him a bite of the ice cream, and then curls up against him as he
wraps his arm around her. And that's how they ended the night, snuggled
on the sofa, sharing ice cream, watching the Walking Dead.
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