Sunday, August 18, 2013

Shards To A Whole: Chapter 170

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

Chapter 170: Paella

Tim McGee is not a great cook. He never has been, and he likely never will be. He's mastered more than enough skills in his life and isn't feeling any need to go from being a competent cook to an excellent one.

But tonight, he will cook this, and he will absolutely kill it.

And it doesn't matter that it's got about nineteen thousand ingredients or takes hours.

His pregnant wife has been trapped in a courtroom all day, craving this, texting him about it, and he is going to provide it for her or die trying.

Of course, as he's unpacking spices, rice, and fish, it occurs to him that, just possibly, if he actually knew what paella was supposed to taste like, he could probably do a better job of making it.

It also occurs to him, that should he kill this, and not in a good way, that they do have a pretty good Spanish restaurant fifteen minutes from their house.

From everything he read, the bottom of the paella was supposed to be a little crunchy. He's fairly sure it's not supposed to be rock hard, blackened, cemented to the bottom of the pan, and very slightly smoking.

See, while it's true that Tim can and often does multi-task, it's also true that on occasion he gets so into what he's doing (gaming) that he loses track of everything around him.

So, it was the smell of something scorching that jerked him out of Halo 4, back to the real world, and the fact that he had indeed, killed, the paella.

He tosses the pan in the sink, filling it with water, hoping the burned on rice will eventually soften enough to be scraped out, opened the windows to get the smell out, and really hoped he could get paella from the restaurant fast enough to have it home before Abby gets home.

Take-out food is the best thing ever. Take-out food that smells great, looks perfect, and can be easily stuck on your own plates, looking like you slaved away at it, is even better. And, while it is true that if Abby asks, he will tell her what happened to Paella 1.0, he certainly would not mind if she thought he made Paella 2.0 for her.

But in that he was attacking their skillet with spatula in an effort to get some of the less scorched rice off when she came into the kitchen to see what he was up to, the chances of her not asking about Paella 1.0 were pretty slim.

There are romantic dinners and there are romantic dinners. For example, Tim knows that Tony and Ziva prefer the high-end dinner out experience. He knows that these days, any meal that involves both of them together and not scraping food off a one-year-old qualifies as romantic to Jimmy and Breena. For Tim, though, dinner at home, with Abby, preferably with good food, tasty wine (and okay, usually he prefers to share it with her, but for the time being he'll take a glass by himself), low lights, his music, and a "relaxed" dress code, often lounging on the floor in front of the fireplace is the definition of a romantic dinner.

Sure, it's not an expensive restaurant. And yep, they aren't dressed up. But they are snuggled together, the lighting is soft and low, the music has a tempo suggestive of slow sex, and if they were out someplace 'nice' the couldn't be anywhere nearly this comfortable.

And if they were out somewhere nice, what he did next would have been horrendously inappropriate. (Which wouldn't have stopped him or anything…)

Career Girl Barbie
Her hair is still up in the French twist she put it in this morning. One of the good things about Abby being pregnant is that her court wardrobe had to change. And she hates what she calls her Career Girl Barbie wear, but he also knows she intentionally picks horrible court clothing to play up the fact that it's not her real clothing.

So, when she had court, and a tummy that refused to fit into her old outfits, he gently steered her towards some outfits that didn't look like they were designed for a six-year-old's idea of professional. And him demonstrating enthusiastically and affectionately that she didn't look terrible in the new outfits made her feel better about being in them and start just having fun with it. Like it's a new sort of dress up game.

And Abby's good at dress up games. So, now when court appearances come up, she actually plays up the sleek, professional, stylish look, and her hair also reflects the game.

Which is why it was still up in what he thinks is a French twist, but it certainly could have another name, but the important part in regards to what would have likely been highly inappropriate should they have been eating this romantic dinner in an actual restaurant is that her hair is up, the nape of her neck and ears are bare, and he's intending to take advantage of that.

After getting home, and the explanation for what happened to paella 1.0, she had figured out that a romantic dinner was on, and changed into her kimono. Tim's not entirely sure, (she's been teasing him with occasional little glimpses, but he hasn't seen enough to really tell) but either she's naked under there or wearing very sheer lingerie.

He's in his go-to sexy look, jeans, somewhat unbuttoned button down, sleeves rolled up.

They're both on the floor. He's lying on his side, propped on his right arm, and she's sitting sort of on her hip, back against his thighs, her legs folded behind her, her feet on his calves.

She reaches for her glass of water, and the slow pull of her arm against the kimono causes it to slip down her shoulder, confirming that if she is wearing anything under the kimono it's not any larger than panties, and inspiring Tim for the very inappropriate (should he try it in a restaurant) thing he was about to do.

He sits full up behind her, drawing his glass of wine close as well. Normally he's a one glass with dinner kind of guy, but the white Rioja he got with the paella is really tasty, and it'll just go bad sitting open in the fridge, and it's not like he's got to drive home, so he's about a third of the way through a third glass.

"You're trying to drive me crazy, aren't you," he says quietly against her ear.

"Might be part of the plan. You like it?"

"Yes." That was half breath, half word, all whispered against her neck. He felt the fine little hairs on the back of her neck rise up against him, and he blew gently on them again. She shivered a little, pleased expression on her face.

He hands her his glass. "Hold this?"

She nods and does. "Smells good."

"Tastes good, too." He dipped his finger into the pale gold wine, and brought a few drops of it up, gently stroking them over her lips. Her tongue followed his finger, and she smiled.

"Very tasty." She pulled his finger into her mouth, sucking the last drops off.

"Yes." He slipped his finger out of her mouth, took another drop of the wine and touched it to the shell of her ear, watching it slowly meander along the curve and then licked it off. He kissed the lobe, gave it a tiny nibble and whispered, "Delicious."

He took his index and middle finger this time, and painted a line of wine from the spot where her ear and jaw connect, down her throat and shoulder, to the spot where her arm disappeared under the kimono, following it with his tongue.

He smiled at her, eyes warm and playful, teeth ghosting along the curve of her shoulder. "I want to take you upstairs, tie you down, and play with you until you're begging to come."

And, yeah, that would have just been all sorts of horrendously inappropriate at a nice restaurant.

If Tim thought nine week pregnant Abby was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, it was only because he hadn't yet met nineteen week pregnant Abby.

He didn't particularly think he had any sort of pregnant woman kink. Sure pregnant Breena in a bikini hit his buttons nicely, but it's not like he ever went out of his way to find naked shots of pregnant women, or (Breena aside) spent any time fantasizing about then.

But pregnant Abby, tied up, writhing on their bed, begging to come, Oh God, yes!, that's hitting every button he's ever had so hard he feels light-headed.

There's only a few candles burning for light, and he'd started off with a massage, so the oil on her skin is making her gleam in the dull, gold light.

He's already gotten her off twice, almost gotten off himself, too, because he'd been rubbing all along her back and thighs, and well, she can't exactly lie down on her stomach anymore, but she can sort of kneel, ass high, face and chest on the bed, and, yeah, she was kneeling, and glistening with oil and her own wetness, and he'd been stroking her skin, getting harder and harder each time she'd moan when he hit something good, and there's only so long he can do that and not slip inside her, and even though he had intended to tie her up and spin her out, he ended up on his knees behind her, watching himself fuck her and, well, that's his favorite sight on earth, and as he felt her rippling against him he realized this was going to be done a whole lot faster than he'd intended, so he pulled back and stopped.

He'd promised to make her beg. And that didn't happen that first time. Or the second time, because well, she was still making those really sexy noises, and next thing he knew he'd flipped her over, and was laying on his stomach eating her out. And the whole extra blood-flow pregnant-thing means she gets off a whole lot faster these days and yeah, he's getting better at not accidentally pushing her over the edge, but really, she sounded so good, and he wanted to make her sound better, and next thing he knew she was coming again.

So round two ended with, yet again, no begging.

Which just wasn't acceptable at all.

Because if you look a woman in the eye and tell her you're going to make her beg you to get off, you damn well do it. None of this fooling around with easy, fast orgasms stuff.

So, while she was calming back down, he went to get some of the ropes, and spent half an hour tying her arms to the bed, in beautiful, crisscrossing knots of red satin. Then he spent another ten minutes just taking photos, because they haven't done this in a while, and there's no way in hell he's not gonna have keepsakes. Her body, all soft and shiny, full breasts, softly rounded belly, tattoos and red ropes, pussy wet and open, and fuck, yes! he has to have pictures of that.

He leans on his right side, trailing his left hand down her body, and began very lightly, very slowly, circling her clit with his middle finger.

No penetration. When his finger starts to go dry, instead of slipping it down to pick up some of her lube, he stops everything, slowly gets up, kneels between her legs, and lightly licks her clit to get it wet again.

His body's more or less screaming at him for sex; he'd been achingly close the first time he stopped, but this is just too good to rush. He's keeps gently touching her, slowly ramping up her excitement, but doing nothing that involves any stretch.

And it's working. She is begging. Hard. Hand's clenched around the ropes, back arched, writhing, pleading with him to just do it a little faster or harder so she can get off.

And he just grins, stops, lightly licks her a few more times, and settles back onto his side for more light touching.

He's debating on how to end this for both of them, and rapidly coming to the conclusion that he should have let himself get off earlier and then kept playing with her, because given how she's tied missionary is the easiest option to get both of them off, and it's also off the menu because Kelly's in the way.

Of course… there are other options, maybe less easy, but…

He shifts again to kneel between her legs, sitting butt on his feet, lifting her hips onto his lap. They can't hold that one for too long, baby weight shifts making it harder for her to breathe. But for a minute or two, which is probably all either of them will need, it'll definitely work.

And it does. As soon as he slides into her, hissing at how good soft and wet felt on him, she slipped from begging to the high-pitched, breathy, panting sound that he adores and knows means orgasm soon. It's hard to focus on what his fingers are doing, because her body on his feels so good he's having a really difficult time paying attention to anything else. But her body does clench on his, and her legs squeeze tight on his waist, which was the last thing he clearly remembered beyond hot, pulsing tingles and full body pleasure.

Later, when they were both cleaned up and looking for something to do with the rest of the night. (It was still only 8:45.) Abby said to him, "You know, we're going to break into hysterical giggling when Kelly asks if we've got any pictures of me pregnant."

He does laugh at that. "Yeah, that'll be an interesting conversation. 'Yes, honey, we do, but you can't see them.'"

"Why not, Dad?" Abby asks, mimicking a young girl.

"How old is this hypothetical Kelly?"


"Because if she's an annoying teenager, I'll be looking forward to horrifying her with the idea that I took naked sexy pictures of you when you were pregnant, but if she's six, I'll probably have a very different answer."

Abby laughed at that. "Maybe take some shots of me with my clothes on?"

"I could probably do that."

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