Monday, April 22, 2013

Shards To A Whole: Chapter 66

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

Chapter 66. Zyphyer

Most of the ride home was pretty quiet, but as they got closer to town, Abby began to perk back up.  They dropped off the car, and she took his hand. “Let me show you around.”

From what he can see, New Orleans is the land of the Goths. Even when everyone is dressed normally, or at least a lot closer to him than to Abby, the whole place just feels gothic. Mansions, gardens, wrought iron balconies, snippets of Creole accented English or French and air laced with coffee and jazz. It’s just gothic, in any and every meaning of that word.

Reality different here, like the world is older, richer. Like here, magic actually exists, and ghosts do wander among us. Here, Voodoo isn’t just a few syllables and funny superstitions designed to keep the things that go bump in the night away.

Here is a world utterly unlike anywhere he’s ever lived, and he finds it entrancing and a little uncomfortable. He’s good with sterile and scientific, but this is dirty and beautiful. It’s a world where emotion slides into front place and reason slowly lags behind.

He’s out of his depths, so he surrenders to it, lets it absorb into him, and enjoys it.

“Were you serious about visiting some of my old haunts?” Abby asks the next day.

Tim shrugs, wondering why his bag is open and every piece of clothing out of it.


“We’re gonna need to do some shopping.”

“Where are we going?”


“I have no idea what that is.”

“Goth club. These,” she holds up a pair of black jeans,” should work. But you don’t have a good shirt.”

“Okay. Do I have to wear makeup?”

“It’s a Goth club.”

He nods. “Then we’ll need some of that, too. I didn’t bring my eyeliner, and I can’t use yours, it irritates my eyes.”

She puts the jeans down, pushes him onto the bed, and straddles him, holding his arms over his head, and leans in for a deep kiss.

“The fact that you know you can’t wear the same brand of eyeliner that I do is insanely hot.”

He grins at her. “Really? Then let’s add this to it. Think anyone around here sells black kilts?”

That earns him another wet, hot, and happy kiss. “Baby, we’re in New Orleans. Anything you want, you can find here.”

And find they did.

Back in DC when they do this, he usually goes for boots, jeans, t-shirt, collar, (And yes, he knows exactly what he’s signaling when he wears it. He figures if they’re in one of Abby’s Goth clubs, it’s appropriate.) and wrist cuff. And it works. But he didn’t bring his collar, or any of the t-shirts he usually wears, or the boots. So why not start from scratch and have some fun with this?

It’s true that standing next to DiNozzo and Ziva can sort of make Tim fade into the background or seem smaller than he actually is. Both of them have so much personality that he seems smaller next to them. But he’s not a small man. He’s 6’1” and, at last weigh in, 203 pounds.

Plus, Goths tend to go for kind of skinny, and he’s more than aware enough to know that isn’t him. So, a variation on the theme. Play up the fact that he’s big and a man, not a wispy teenager with a death fetish.

Abby got into the idea awfully fast, and really seemed to appreciate the look he was going for.

The boots came to mid-calf and were gleaming black leather. The kilt was black, too, though there were silver rivets decorating the waistband. It even had pockets, which he appreciated. With a kilt, the plain gray t-shirt he had brought worked just fine, no need for a new one. Add in the wrist cuff he always wore, and he was dressed.

Like always, he lets Abby do his makeup. Yeah, he’s done his own before. (Live action role playing, nothing weird, thank you very much.) But it’s been a long time, and even back in the day he wasn’t very good at it. For example, he would have never thought to do his bottom waterline, let alone the top one, in black, or to put it on thin under the eyelashes and then smudge it out.

She’d finished up his eyes and was reaching for a lipstick when he said, “Nope. We’re done.”

They’ve been having versions of this discussion since the first time she took him to one of her clubs. “Come on, it’s black. Nothing girly.”

He’s shaking his head. “I’m wearing black eyeliner, mascara, and nail polish. I’m done.” Some lines even Tim won’t cross, and lipstick is one of them.

“Fine. Help me?”

“Sure.” She took off her shirt while he picked up the black corset he had gotten her. It was leather with red laces up the back.

“How tight do you want it?”

“Snug. But I’ve got to be able to breathe to dance.”

“Okay.” He began to thread the laces through the corset.

She stepped into a pair of skin tight black leather pants, and for a moment he appreciated the view, her topless, wearing pants of shiny leather that looked painted on. Then something occurred to him.

“I’m sensing a snag in our plan.”

“What?” She asked, smoothing the zipper up.

“You’ve got easy access to me,” because in proper kilt wearing tradition he didn’t have anything on under it, “but I’m going to have a hell of a time getting you out of those pants.”

“You’ll just have to get creative.”

He grinned. “Last time I got creative getting you out of your clothing, you never got to wear that clothing again.”

“Don’t you even think about cutting these off of me!”

He smiled even wider. “What if I promise to buy you a new pair?”

“Give me your key ring.”

He handed it over, and she took the clasp knife he kept on it off, tucking it into her purse. “You get that back tomorrow.”

He pouted a little and she kissed him. A moment later he finished the laces and said to her, “Arms up.”

She did so, and he settled the corset on her, pulling the ties snug.


She inhaled deeply. “Yeah. That’s good.” She started on her makeup while he messed up his hair.

Five minutes later, they were ready to go. He was reaching for the door when she said, “Hold up. Gotta blot my lipstick.”

He was expecting her to reach for a tissue, so when she knelt in front of him, lifted the kilt, and kissed the side of his penis, he was pretty surprised. He looked at it, a perfect, black lip print on his dick. She smiled, dropped the kilt, went back to the mirror to check her lips one last time and then said over her shoulder, “You’re way too hot in that not to mark as mine.”

Luca almost fell off his chair when he saw them come out. He expected Abby to be up for anything, but Tim—the mild-mannered guy, in a nice pair of jeans, button down, and loafers who walked into their home day before yesterday—in a kilt, boots, and eyeliner floored him.

Luca just looked him up and down and then said, “And now I see why you like this one.”


“And now I see why you love this one.”

“We’ll be out late.” She smiled at her brother.

“I will not wait up.” 

Tim tossed Luca his phone. “Get a shot of us?”


Tim draped an arm around Abby’s shoulders, an expression on his face somewhere between a smile and a smirk as he imagines Tony seeing this shot.

Harper came in stared at them for a second and said, “You are the coolest thing ever!”

Tim laughed. “No one’s ever said that about me before.”

A man gets out of a Porsche in front of a Goth Club. He’s wearing a kilt and eyeliner. He tosses the keys to a valet, and goes to the far side to open his date’s door himself.

She is a long, tall, vision of sleek black leather and alabaster skin.

People stare.

And Tim enjoys it.

They were dancing, fast and close, and for a moment he was really enjoying the feel of her hand snaking up his thigh, cupping him. She’d been doing that, or things similar to it, keeping him half-hard and pleasantly turned on all night. So he wasn’t thinking much about it, beyond enjoying it.

And then he realized that both of her arms were resting on his shoulders, which meant there was no way the hand gently tugging his balls belonged to her.

A few thoughts occurred to him:
1: There was a body pressed against his back.
2: His assumption that said body was pressed against his due to lack of space on the dance floor is probably wrong.
3: This body was pressed against his whole back, which meant this body was at least as tall as he is, which greatly diminished the chance of this body belonging to a female person.
4: There were two hands attached to this body and both of them were getting quite intimately acquainted with Tim’s privates.

He leaned closer into Abby. “Do I want to turn around and see who’s feeling me up?”

Abby opened her eyes, looked over his shoulder and slightly up,—Which unsettled Tim further. Abby in the boots she’s wearing tonight is 6’2” and the tallest woman in the room, so whoever is behind him has to be huge and male.—and said “Mine!”

And then the hands vanished.  Abby smiled at him, kissing him hard and deep. “Told you you were hot like this!”

They had been taking a break. Sitting down for a few minutes. Resting. Drinking. She was sitting on his lap, chatting with a friend she hadn’t seen for a long time, who was kind enough to take a few pictures of them. The friend gave back his phone and headed off to dance.

She had pulled his head back and kissed him. Really kissed him, lips and tongue and touch with intent. The hand he had on her knee started to slip up her leg, caressing her inner thigh as she slowly rolled against him.

They aren’t the only couple making out? making love? fucking? he’s sure all of that, and any other variant you could possibly think of is going on around them somewhere.

And he also knows that if she was in a skirt, or a dress, or hell, shorts with a wide enough leg, he’d be balls deep in her and wouldn’t care who could see. But she’s not. She’s in tight leather pants. Very tight leather pants, and boots that come up to her knees.  She might as well be a mermaid for all the access he has to her right now.

The music changes, this one she likes, so she grabs the hand that’s gently dragging over the crotch of her pants, and stands, pulling him up.

For the music they’ve been playing here, this is fairly slow, so they settle into a fairly slow grind, one of his legs between hers. And they’ve been doing that most of the night too, but this time, she’s kissing him, hard, and her hips are rolling in a way they weren’t before.

He wonders if she can get off riding his leg, and hopes she can. His left hand closes, gently, on her breast, and slips it out of the corset. He lowers his head to kiss and nuzzle her, while the music speeds up and they move faster against each other.

A few songs pass by, and he can feel by the desperate speed of her hips against his leg that this isn’t quite enough to do it for her. She’s almost there, but the leather, the lack of focus of the touch, it’s not enough.

He licks her nipple one last time, replacing tongue with fingers, and cups his other hand around the back of her neck.

For a long minute he kisses her deep and hard, fucking her with his tongue, showing her what he’d like to be doing if she wasn’t in those pants. She’s whimpering against him, clutching his shoulder and ass, grinding her whole body against his.

He breaks the kiss, nipping over her lips, mouthing her jaw to her ear, and then he gently, delicately licks her earlobe.

“You’re wet to your thighs, aren’t you?” He hopes she can hear this, over, or more likely, through the music, because he’s not about to yell it.

She nods. Good she can hear him. If he can’t fuck her with his body, maybe his words will do the job.

“Good. I’m going to take you over to that table and bend you over it.” He eyes an empty table on the far side of the club, and sees her look at it. But her eyes return to him when he says, “Then this boot is coming off.” He nudges her left boot with his foot, his fingers lightly caressing her neck, rubbing her nipple firmly. “Then I’ll press right up behind you. Can you feel it, cool wood pressed against your cheek,” he grinds his erection into her hip, “hot wood pressed against your ass? I’ll unzip you, and get you out of these damn pants.” He licks her ear again, sucking on the lobe. “We are never going to a club with you in pants again. Never! You dance with me like this, and I want to get into you. Not just rub up against you.” Her hand that had been on his ass slips under his kilt and begins to stroke him.  He groans at that, and then took her hand away. He’s sure she can get him off while he talks dirty to her, but that isn’t quite the goal of this. “Later. You can fuck me however you want when we leave, but this is for you. So where were we? Oh yeah, pants off, on the table...”

She moans at that, and rubs faster against him.

“I’ll hitch your left leg up on the table, spread you wide open, so everyone can see, and rub my cock against the back of you thigh, getting it wet and slick. Then I’ll tease you with it. Stroking you with it, rubbing it along your lips and clit. Can you feel me, hot and hard against you, slipping against your wet skin, dragging, slowly, between your lips, edging just the tip between them, so you can feel just a little stretch before slipping away to rub your clit? Feel it?”

“God, Tim, fuck me, please!” She’s grinding hard and fast against his leg.

“That’s exactly the idea, baby. You’d be holding onto the far end of the table, and I’d be right behind you, teasing, driving you crazy, and just when you start to whimper, when you’re so turned on you’re almost out of your mind, I’ll grab your wrists and thrust in hard. Feel that?” He grinds hard against her. “Me, rock hard, inside of you, moving fast, my hands pinning yours, my whole body stretched out against the back of yours.”

He licks her earlobe again and pinches her nipple, hard, feeling her back arch and her hips grind against his leg. She’s flushed from her forehead to her breasts, and her eyes are glazed. He begins to kiss her but she pulls back and says, “Don’t stop talking to me.”

He grins. “Want me to get you off with my words?”


He kisses back to her ear. “Feel me in you? Feel me fucking as hard as I can? Feel the cool wood of the table against your bare pussy? Feel me deep inside you?” He sucks her earlobe again. “Not deep enough. I grab one of the chairs and sit down, legs spread wide. I pull you into my lap, facing away from me, legs over mine, so you’re wide, wide open, and slip in in one easy thrust. I’m balls deep inside you, and my cock’s so hard it hurts, and you’re riding me. Up and down and hard and fast, and I lean back a bit, so you can too, and we can get that angle that makes you see stars while everyone in the club watches me fuck you, sees that you’re mine: my woman, riding my cock. I’ll roll your breast with one hand and rub your clit with the other, over it in fast, fast circles. Feel it, my fingers on you, getting that spot exactly the way you like it? Feel me, deep inside you, hitting your g-spot on every down thrust? I can feel you on me, hot and so wet, and you’re calling out my name, clenching against me, your body so tight, almost there, so I speed my fingers, press a little hard—”

“Tim!” And then she’s twitching erratically on him, head back, flushed all over, and moaning. He stops moving and holds her close, letting her come down against him. He looks around, and it’s a Goth club, people are dancing and fooling around all over, no one seems to have noticed Abby climaxing against his leg.

He smiles and kisses her forehead, slipping her breast back into the corset. This is the kinkiest thing they’ve ever done, and even though he didn’t get off, that’s still going in his top ten sexual encounters.

She cuddles against him, purring gently. After a minute, she kisses him sweetly, grins, and says, “Let’s go.”

“Now?” That came out a little less sure than he would have liked. He had talked her off, and gotten awfully close to talking himself off as well, and the second she steps away everyone on earth will be able to see that.

“Yes. You said I could fuck you any way I liked once we left. We’re leaving, now.”

“Okay.” Abby’s trying to pull away, but he’s still holding her tight to him.

“We’re not moving.”

“Yeah.” He thinks about it for a moment, and decides that since there’s no possible way his erection is going down without some help, and honestly, this feels way too good for a quick toss off, that the best way to handle it is just walk out tall and proud and pretend strolling around with sex flushed girlfriend and a tented kilt is an entirely normal circumstance.

He lets go of Abby’s hips, and she steps back, looks down, sees what the issue is, and grins.

“That looks promising.”

“Good. Let’s see if I can get back into the car without blushing.”

She strokes him gently. “That’s nothing to blush about.”

He grabs her wrist. “Unless you want me getting off here and now, don’t play with it.”

She looks straight at him, squeezes gently, and he can see the wicked glint in her eyes. “Do you want me to back you up against the bar and blow you right here?”

He inhales sharply and exhales a low and slow, “Oh.” Each one of those words felt like a soft, wet suck to the dick. He looks around the club, and yeah, other people are making out or having sex, but no one is being that blatant about it. Even in New Orleans, even in this club, that’s probably enough to get them bounced, and maybe arrested.

“Fuck, yes, please!” He feels her begin to press him toward the bar. “And no, that’s a really bad idea. Neither of us wants to explain to Vance how we got arrested for indecent exposure and lewd acts in public.”

She pouts a little at that, but steps back, lets go of him, and takes his hand in hers. A minute later she’s got her bag, and they’re waiting for the valet to get the car. He’s wishing he had parked himself, because he’s expected to make casual chit chat with the other people waiting, and really, he’s just not able to do that. Though he does appreciate the fact that Abby is standing right in front of him, leaning her back against his chest, shielding most of him from the view of the people around them. He wraps his arms around her, and kisses her neck. She smiles, turns, and kisses him back.

He opens her door for her, gets in, buckles up, and says, “Where to?”

“Anywhere, any way, I like?”

He thinks about that for a second. “Not Luca’s. I’m too turned on for quiet. If it’s a bed, I’ll fuck you through it, if it’s a wall, I’ll fuck you into it. Pick wherever you like, but I don’t want to wake up an entire bed and breakfast’s worth of people, including your fourteen-year-old niece, and then have to face them in the morning.”

She grins, takes his phone out of his pocket, with only minimal caressing of his inner thigh and right testicle, and then gets the GPS set up.

In a minute, it was telling him to head to the right, so to the right he went. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay. How long of a drive?”

“Not too bad. This time of night, the GPS says fifteen minutes.”

They’re already on the edge of town, so fifteen minutes was either starting to get off the beaten track or was much closer to the Quarter. He doesn’t know his way around well enough to tell at first, but as the buildings get further and further apart, he’s fairly sure they’re heading for off the beaten path.

Five minutes go by without them passing anything. Then he sees it. It’s got to be where they’re going.

He’s thinking his previous assessment that this was the kinkiest thing they’d ever done needed to be ratcheted up a few notches.

He pulls in and drives for a moment, looking for a spot where the car isn’t visible from the road, finds one, parks, and then turns to her. “We’re going straight to Hell for this.”

She grins, warm and wicked lust in her eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe in Hell.”

“I don’t. But it might start to believe in me if we do this.”

She smiles, a little bit of challenge in her eyes now. “You backing out on me?”

He shook his head, feeling his erection, which had gone down slightly during the drive surge back to life. “Oh no. Any game you come up with, I’ll play.”


There are a lot of things New Orleans is famous for: Jazz, gothic architecture, food, parties, sex, and, of course, graveyards.  New Orleans has some of the most beautiful and famous graveyards in the world.

They aren’t in one of them. The cops in New Orleans probably bust about ten people a night for fooling around or trespassing in the main graveyards. They’re in a fairly small one. But the fact that it’s fairly small does not in any way negate the fact that it’s creepy as all get out. Mausoleums poking through a misty fog under live oaks wrapped in Spanish moss style creepy.

She unbuckled, and then did his seatbelt for him, too, flipping up the kilt and giving him a teasing little kiss before getting out.

He followed her, taking her hand once he was out of the car.

“So, where to?” He’s thinking the hood of the car here in the parking lot would work just fine, but he can see her looking toward the mausoleums.

She started walking forward, turned toward him, and said, “I wanna see if I can make you come loud enough to wake the dead.”

He laughs. “I’m turned on enough that’s possible. Just remember, we wake up a bunch of zombies, and I’m not going to be in any condition to run away from them.”

“Then I’ll make sure you die happy.”

“Can’t ask for more than that,” he says with a smile.

They didn’t go very far in, just enough to be out of view of anyone in the parking lot.

She was walking in front of him a bit, looking around, and apparently decided behind a large gray mausoleum was just fine. So she stopped, leaned forward from the waist, in a long straight legged bend, and began to unzip her boots.

And Tim just watched. Soft, murky moonlight lighting Abby’s ass, looking almost edible it was so delicious. He figured that every blood cell in his body was either in his dick by that point or headed that way. He’s hard enough he could fucking pole vault with it. And so turned on he actually feels light headed. And right this moment he literally could not care less about the fact they’re in a graveyard.

She straightens back up and steps out of the boots, bare feet sinking into soft, damp grass.

“Help me with the pants?”

“Yes.” He’s kneeling in front of her in a second. She pulls down the zipper, and slips the pants over her ass. He takes over from there, tugging them down her legs. The second they’re off, he pulls her to him, licking and sucking desperately.

He pulls back for a second, “God, you are wet to your thighs!” and starts to lap at her thighs, fingers stroking easily on slick flesh.

The smell is killing him, his dick is actually throbbing from it: leather, turned on Abby, grass, mist, his saliva on her skin. He doesn’t think he’s been this turned on before. It’s not like he feels like he’s going to get off any second. He’s in control. But he wants, wants more, wants harder, than he’s ever remembered wanting.

She gets off fast this time, pulling his mouth tight against her, her voice echoing through the almost silent night.

He pulls back for a second, looks around quickly, and says, “No zombies, yet. Gotta do better.”

She pushes him back, so he’s sitting in the grass, feeling it cool and prickly against his legs. “Oh, I’ll do better all right. Or, I’ll make you do better.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Lay down.”

He did, feeling the grass on his back, damp through his shirt, and the way it tickled and prickled against the back of his neck and ears.

And in a second none of that mattered. She holds him, firmly, by the base of his cock, making sure there’s no shot of him accidentally getting off, and then sucks him to the root in one long swallow.

He yells when she does it. Not pain. Hot, wet, suction all over him, her tongue rubbing the underside while she slowly bobs her head up and down. No, that sensation is most certainly not pain. This is pleasure so sharp that a moan or a groan just wouldn’t do it, and if the idea is to wake the dead, he is going to make as much noise as he can, sound off properly, and let her know he appreciates what she’s doing.

She sets a slow pace, making sure every millimeter is sucked and licked, and while he certainly appreciates the thoroughness, another minute or two of that is going to turn him into a babbling ball of aching lust.

She hums softly while she does it. He can’t hear it, not over the noise he’s making, but he can certainly feel it.

And he most certainly feels it when she pulls off of him, and then straddles him, sliding down, settling him deep inside her. He definitely hears it when she kisses his ear and says, “Fuck me into the ground.”

He’s not sure how he did it. (He spent a good ten minutes, the next day, thinking through the body mechanics, and he’s still not sure how it happened.) But he went from laying down, Abby straddling him, to him on top, without rolling over. He knows they didn’t roll over because her boots were near his head when she started blowing him, and they were at his feet when they got up to go home. 

What he does know is that Abby’s legs are wrapped around his waist, her hands are on his ass, pulling him into her, she’s moaning loud as she can, a long stream of ‘God, fuck, yes, Tim! FUCK!” filling his ears, and he is fucking as fast and as hard as he can.

Usually going full out means he can last about two minutes. Sure, he’s not setting any endurance records, but if he’s going full out he’s also not trying to set any endurance records. What he’s trying to do is thrust, as hard as he can, as often as he can, into a very soft, very wet, very hot, and very welcoming woman who is raking her nails over his ass, arching against him, urging him to go faster and making him feel like the strongest, most powerful, and just flat out sexiest man in the history of sex.

And God, he loves it. This might as well be a drug for how high he is right now.

He thinks he might have made it three minutes, (Could have been five minutes, or maybe thirty seconds, but probably not thirty seconds, his time sense is awfully fried right now, but hopefully not that bad.) before his vision began to black out and pleasure coursed through him, tingling to his fingers and toes.

And when he was able to think again, he said to Abby, who was quietly petting him as he rested against her. “I came so hard I felt it in my hair.”

She laughs and kisses him. “Not seeing any zombies.”

He smiles at her. “Give me a few minutes, we’ll try again.”

“Really?” She looks pleasantly surprised.

“Nope. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be asleep.”

He doesn’t want to move, but he also doesn’t want to squash her, so he gets ready to pull out and snuggle up against her, and realizes this would be about the time he’d normally grab a tissue or two for each of them, but they do not have any tissues.

She seems to understand what he’s thinking. “This would appear to be the second snag in our plan for the night.”

“So, future clubbing dates: you will always wear a skirt or dress, and I’ll make sure to have tissues in my pocket.”

He pulls out and sits up, taking off his shirt, and hands it to her. Besides his socks, and well, yeah, that’s just nasty, it’s the only thing either of them are wearing made out of soft cotton. She wipes up and looks at it. “Not wearing that home, are you?”

“Don’t think so.”

He stands up, knees shaky, and grabs her boots and pants, offering them to her. Then he takes a moment to appreciate how easy the kilt is. He just stood up and was ready to go. That was nice. Actually all of that had been nice, no fumbling, no zippers, no feeling like his pants were going to cut his dick in half when he got hard. No squirming for a more comfortable position. Yes, kilts are a very good thing, indeed.

Abby gets herself dressed and they mosey back to the car. The whole trip home was at mosey pace. He was too tired and too relaxed to drive fast. So they got back to Luca’s, eventually.

Sneaking in at three in the morning, both of them with grass stained knees and elbows, his shirt mostly hanging out of his pocket, and wide, half-naughty, half-guilty smirks, is a whole lot of fun.


No comments:

Post a Comment