McGee-centric character study/romance. Want to start at the beginning? Click here.
Chapter 308: Perfume
Somehow, after Molly was born, the occasional Saturday morning at the Farmers' Market got added to the things they did with the Palmers on a semi-regular basis. Maybe once, maybe twice a month. It depends a lot on caseload and how rammy the babies are. (Might have something to do with the Farmers' Market being open early on Saturdays and babies not grasping the concept of sleeping in on the weekend.)
And, while it's true that Tim's been aware of the fact that DC has a really awesome Farmers' Market, it wasn't the sort of thing he ever bothered with. But once it got added to the routine, he's come to look forward to seeing what will be there.
Since October 10th dawned absolutely glorious, bright blue sky, highs in the mid-sixties, leaves in full autumn fire, he was supremely unsurprised to see: Farmers' Market? Half an hour? Pop up on his phone from Jimmy.
And in half an hour, they were getting Kelly's car seat into Palmer's van, and another half hour after that they were strolling around, looking at the harvest, artisan crafts, and all sort of yummy things, feeling pretty relaxed and happy.
(Well, Tim and Abby are pretty relaxed. Kelly's just chilling in her stroller. Jimmy and Breena are kind of nervous. Molly objected vehemently to riding in her stroller, so she's on foot and wants to touch everything.)
But for the most part, they're just sort of ambling along, snagging things like apples, jars of heirloom popcorn, fresh breads, greens, mushrooms, talking with each other.
"What do you think of this?" Abby asks Tim.
Tim's not really paying attention. He's looking at a stall selling wind chimes, half-thinking maybe they should get some; the front porch is kind of bare-looking, half-pondering the fact that he still doesn't have an anniversary present for her, and both of them are getting closer and closer.
She thrusts her wrist under his nose. "What do you think of this?"
He inhales and fucking hell, what is that?
It's deep and rich and… and… he thinks it's sandalwood and vanilla and maybe jasmine or something floral and some sort of musk, maybe some leather and smoke, there's a tickle of something spicy in the back, and it's just… it's everything perfume is supposed to be. The ads always act like perfume is bottled sex and yeah, it's okay, and there are a lot of scents he likes, but that gotta grab the woman wearing it and eat her alive, nope, he's never felt that.
Not from a perfume. Not until now.
Which isn't to say that there aren't scents that get to him like that. But the kind of scent that grabs him by the balls and yells SEX at him usually is a sex scent. Her pussy, wet, God yes!, that hits him so hard. His saliva along with that. That's a scent that gets him hard. The way his hands smell after he's gone down on her, when they're wet with her cum, and his saliva, and usually some of his musk, too, that definitely gets to him, gets him so hard he'll ache. The way her face smells after she's gone down on him. That mix of his semen on her breath, sure that's usually a too little too late sort of thing, but it gets to him. His semen on her pussy. Also, generally, too little, too late, but for a second round, that one really gets to him.
But whatever the hell it is they sell for three hundred dollars an ounce and stick in pretty blown glass bottles, not so much.
But this, whatever this is, on her arm, that's getting his attention in a very good way. In a wanna-push-you-up-against-the-nearest-stationary-object-and-get-it-on-right-here-and-now sort of way. In an he's awfully glad he's not wearing his kilt sort of way.
He's probably staring at her with that hit over the head hasn't quite managed to come to yet look, because she smiles, giggles, and says, "So you like it?"
He nods. "Oh yeah."
"How much?" she asks with a saucy grin, licking her lips.
He steps closer to her and says very quietly, finger tips lightly stroking her thigh just below where her gray and navy plaid skirt ends, "If we were in a club, I'd already be balls deep in you. As it is, I'm counting the minutes to naptime."
That got another smile and a teasing kiss, as she cupped her hand on his cheek, holding her wrist just below his nose, and he inhaled deeply, again, then titled his head to kiss her wrist, biting gently where her pulse throbbed.
"The booth behind us." She tilts her head toward it. "It's called Thousand and One Nights. My purse is in the car. Buy it for me?"
Finding the booth took about nine seconds. Finding the right scent took longer. There has to be at least one hundred different blends here, all of them with identical labels. But, fortunately they're alphabetical and it didn't take him long to find it among the Ts.
It's a tiny little amber bottle. "Five-fifty," says the girl behind the display. Like Abby, she's probably not as young as she looks, her eyes are just too adult for her blue-haired, teenager-ish aesthetic.
But the price is right. Really right. Hell, five-fifty, and he'll buy it out. He takes the other three bottles and hands the woman a fifty.
She just stares at him, shakes her head slowly, and hands him the fifty back. "Five hundred and fifty dollars."
He just looks (eyes on the verge of falling out of his head) at the bottle. It's the size of his thumb. According to the label there's only half an ounce of perfume in there. (He can hear Jimmy laughing behind him.)
"What's it made out of, gold?"
The lady at the booth looks amused at that. "Most of the ingredients actually cost more, per ounce, than gold does. And even if they didn't, the skill necessary to put them together to make something that smells like that is worth more than gold."
He hears the pride of ownership in her voice. "You make this?"
She nods. "I make all of them."
He smiles at her, hoping he didn't insult her with the gold crack. "You're right about that. That's beyond delicious." He puts the other three bottles back, very carefully, and gets his credit card out. "Don't suppose you ever have sales?"
"If you give me your email address, I'll put you on my mailing list. I do, on occasion, have sales."
He hands her one of his Thom Gemcity cards. (This didn't seem like anything he wanted going to his computer at NCIS.) She reads it and looks up at him, scrutinizing.
"How many twitter followers do you have?"
"I don't know. Let me check." He gets his phone out and looks, thinking that's a really bizarre question. "Forty-three thousand four hundred and twelve."
She thinks about that for a tenth of a second. "Mention it in a tweet and the second bottle's free."
And then her question made a whole lot of sense. Better advertising than any five hundred dollars could buy. "Done." He took a quick picture of the bottle, making sure the label, which had the name of the scent, the company, and their website on it, was clear, and then sent out: Anniversary present for my love.
She tucks the second bottle into a small, padded box, and put both of them in his bag. "Enjoy."
"I intend to."
She looks to Jimmy, who's just been standing slightly behind him, watching the exchange, smirking at Tim, until he realized Tim was actually going to buy it, and then looking stunned. "Anything I can help you with?"
"Got anything I don't need a second mortgage to afford?"
"You got forty thousand twitter followers?" she asks with a smile.
"If I had twitter, all six of my followers would follow him, too."
She smiles at Jimmy and points to the left side of the booth where there are even tinier vials. "Two point five milliliter vials. They all run less than fifty, and for most people that's about twenty or so applications. Or you can use it to scent a bottle of moisturizer, massage oil, shampoo or something like that."
"So you mean he's got enough for the rest of his wife's life?"
She nods. "Pretty much." Then looks at Tim, realizing how that may have sounded. "You can swap one for another scent if you want."
He shakes his head, holding one hand up. "I'm good with this."
"Okay. Store it in a cool, dark place. As long as it stays in that bottle it'll be fine, and that particular scent gets better with age. In about three years, it'll knock your socks off."
Given how he's reacting to it already, the idea of better is staggering. "Good to know."
Ten minutes later they're wandering back toward the girls. (Jimmy had gotten two little vials for Breena, both sweeter, more floral scents. Tim thinks of them as being 'pink' scents. They're pretty. He likes them. Doesn't have a visceral reaction on any level to them.)
"Can't believe you actually bought that," Jimmy says, smiling.
Tim shrugs. "Got an anniversary present now."
"And then some."
"Got two of them in one week, this should do."
"Two?" Jimmy's expression is curious. He knows one is coming up, but isn't sure what the other is.
"Second first date was the 23rd, wedding's the 1st."
"What'd you do for your first anniversary?"
Jimmy smirks a little at Tim, and shifts his eyes to Breena, about five stalls up sitting next to Abby on a bench, Molly in her lap. She's wearing a pretty maxi dress in pink and coral, and a white cardigan, very pregnant with his third child, sharing a muffin with his first child, and that smirk morphed into a genuine smile. "Made Molly. Maybe. Probably. Like to think we did, you know?"
Tim smiles at that, nodding, he knows. Then Jimmy looks at him, does a bit of quick math, remembers one of his pre-wedding conversations with Tim, and says, "Same thing you did, too."
"Probably. Technically that was our second anniversary. I missed the first, thought it was a week later than it was."
"Oops. Think you may have made up for it this year."
"Maybe. So besides baby-making sex, you guys do anything?"
"Dinner, movie, ate the top of the cake we missed because we spent our wedding day in the hospital waiting to hear if Ducky was going to live, checking our phones every ten second to see who they'd found at NCIS and if they were all right."
Tim sighs. "I forgot how exciting your wedding day was."
Jimmy rolls his eyes. "Try traumatic."
"Puts for better or worse in context."
Tim nods. By that point they were back to the girls. Abby's smiling up at him, looking excited. "You get it?"
He takes the little box out and shakes it (gently) at her. "I really hope you like this."
She looks mildly confused by that, and he shakes his head, smiling.
"I get any treats?" Breena asks.
Jimmy smiles at her, looking satisfied. "Maybe. Did you want a treat?"
"When don't I want treats?"
"Treats!" Molly says, excited.
"You've already got one," Breena tells her daughter, breaking off another piece of the muffin and giving it to her.
Jimmy sits next to her on the bench. "Close your eyes."
Breena did, smiling.
"Okay, this one." He opens one of the vials, wafting it under her nose. "Or this one?" Then he repeats it with the second one. (Abby leans over, sniffing both as well, nodding at Jimmy, giving him a thumbs up, approving of his choices. He nods at her, pleased.)
Breena's grinning. "They're both great. How about the second one?"
Jimmy covers the top with his forefinger, flicks it upside down, letting the fluid touch his skin, and then gently drags his forefinger down her throat, kissing the other side, and then kissing the top of Molly's head.
"Does Mommy smell good?" he asks his daughter while capping the vial, as Breena rubs her wrist against her throat, and then against her other wrist.
Molly snuggles in close, inhaling loudly, and nods.
And Tim is noticing, able to smell it on her, that before by "pink" he meant flowers, cotton candy, and teddy bears. Now he's thinking flushed skin, wet lips, and hard nipples, "pink." In the bottle it smelled innocent. Nice. Pleasant. Not even remotely sexy.
On Breena, like the scent Abby picked, it's sex in a bottle.
Whatever the hell it is that woman does, it's worth a grand an ounce.
The car ride home is interesting. Kelly's feeding schedule means they needed to rearrange the seating. Usually if both of their families go out, Jimmy and Breena'll take the front, the girls go in the middle row, and he and Abby hang out in the back. But Kelly wants to eat, and she can't feed herself, so Jimmy's driving, Breena's in the front next to him, and Abby's in the back row with Molly. He's in the middle row, feeding Kelly her bottle.
But, in the middle, twisted toward Kelly, he can easily see both of the girls, and he can definitely smell both of them, too.
Like the women, each scent is very different, but they both hit him hard, both appeal deeply to him. The longer they wear the scents the more they shift, blend into the woman, but amplify her own unique sensuality. Floral and sweet are still there on Breena, innocence is there, too, maybe. Debauched virgin, that's the words that come to mind, pink roses and eagerly pulling the bride's panties off. And Abby's scent is still warm and sensuous, spicy, exotic, dark, making him think of darkly painted eyes, silky veils, tied wrists, and hidden, forbidden sex in verdant, wet, blooming, walled gardens.
The last time he was this turned on by both of them together was the tail end of that dry spell before Kelly was born. When they were sitting on the sofa together, and there was just lots of beautiful woman in front of him looking all soft and pregnant and sexy.
And breathing in both scents, watching Breena in coral and pink and white, long flowing blonde hair, very round breasts and tummy, all sensuous, pregnant curves, and Abby in thigh high socks, a short plaid skirt, relaxed gray sweater with a wide collar slipping off her shoulder, and short , sassy blonde/pink hair, he can honestly say that he is deeply grateful that it's not going to me more than an hour until he gets laid.
The girls are chattering away, smiling, having what looks to be a great time. He's quiet, torn between keeping the tip of the bottle in Kelly's mouth and the x-rated fantasies flying through his mind. He's vaguely aware of the fact that Jimmy's not saying much either, and he half-wonders if the way the girls smell is hitting Jimmy as hard as it's hitting him.
Abby's putting the groceries away when he gets downstairs from putting Kelly down. They don't have all that long, half an hour tops, twenty minutes, realistically, before she wakes up and wants to eat again.
DC has an awesome Farmers' Market, and everyone and their cousin agrees with that. By the time they got free of traffic a good hour and twenty minutes had gone by.
So, now, home, baby down, it is indeed naptime, and Abby still smells like walking sex.
Delicious, sultry, hot, exotic sex bopping around the kitchen, (she's got music on, pretty loud) putting groceries away.
"She go down okay?" Abby asks without looking at him, pulling a bunch of broccoli out of one of their bags. They've had occasional issues with Kelly not transferring well between her car seat and the crib.
He nods, steps right up behind her, pulling her flush against him, his hands on her hips, and nuzzles her throat and ear. He nibbles gently before sucking her earlobe. "For future reference, wearing this scent means 'Fuck me right here and now, I don't care if the neighbors are watching or not!'"
She squirms against him, as he takes the broccoli out of her hand and tosses it toward the counter. (Didn't actually hit the counter, ended up on the floor.)
"You're saying I shouldn't wear it outside of our bedroom?" Her hands stroke up his sides, curl around his neck, and then run through his hair.
"Depends on how much you want our neighbors to know about us," he says, wet and hot against her ear has his hands slide under her sweater, gently cupping her breasts.
"Uh huh." She grinds into him, rubbing her ass against his erection, and he groans quietly. "And what if I wear it to work?"
That gets another groan as several images go spinning through his mind. His left hand settles on the back of her neck, stroking lightly with his nails, getting a sharp inhale and goosebumps out of her, then grasping firmly, as he pushes her to the counter, bending her over it.
"Unless you want Corwin to walk in on this." He flips her skirt up, kneeling to kiss her through her panties, hot breath meeting moist cotton, then hooks his finger in the crotch, and pulls them down in one swift move. He gets them off her left foot, and lifts her leg, so her knee and thigh are also on the counter, spreading her wide open, while kissing his way up her right leg. "I wouldn't suggest it."
She groans as his tongue finds her clit, arching back against him. "You'd just have to… oh fuck…" His teeth graze over her clit. "Go fast… wouldn't want… God…" She shudders as he sucks gently, one finger stroking over her gspot. "That to happen."
He stands up, popping the button on his fly, unzipping quickly, and pushing his jeans and boxers down. "Fast?" It slurs into a long groan as he thrusts into her, hard, fast, deep.
She's touching herself, and he's rocking into her as quickly as he can. This isn't about spinning their orgasms out or finesse. This is desire so sharp it has to be acted on at once. This is need burned into quivering strokes and half-moaned grunts.
It's not pretty at all, just hard, sloppy fucking, his hands gripping her ass, as he slaps against her in hard, solid thrusts, one of her hands steadying herself on the counter, the other rubbing fast on her clit, and both of them loving every second of it.
Doesn't take long before both of them are crying out, bodies jerking, quivering in blissful release.
Took even less time after that for both of them to tense and look over at the sound of the sliding glass door opening followed by Jimmy saying, "Hey, we got one—" Which is when Jimmy actually looked over and sees what they were up to. "Oh shit! Sorry… um…" He grabs one of the bags off the kitchen table. "Bye." And sprints out of there.
Tim's head drops to Abby's shoulder and they both giggle as they hear Jimmy's car pull out of their driveway.
While it's true there are a lot of things Breena likes about the latter months of being pregnant, constantly craving salty snacks is not one of them.
But with twoish months to go, she's well into the MUST HAVE SALT, SALT, ALL SALT ALL THE TIME, SALT! phase of her pregnancy.
And, the Farmers Market was kind enough to provide her with many wonderful options for dealing with this particular craving.
As they pull out of Tim and Abby's neighborhood, heading toward their own, she's really hankering for the home cured olives they'd picked up. For some reason they sound unimaginably good right now, and she really, really needs them.
But she can't find them. All three of their bags are in the space between the front seats, and she's looked through the first two, no olives, and the third… still no olives.
Of course, the reason there are no olives in the third bag is that it belongs to Tim and Abby.
"They've got one of our bags."
Jimmy sort of shrugs at that. He's having enough difficulty trying to focus on the road and not how Breena smells, or the fact that her dress is gloriously low cut and he can see the tops of both breasts, and how much he really wants to be touching them right now.
Given that, he is not feeling a burning need for olives right this second.
But, in that he is a veteran pregnant daddy, he feels the flavor of the silence that follows his shrug, and looks at his wife. Okay, looks at her face, he's been looking at her, as much as he can, without crashing the car. "You want us to turn around and go get it? Or is tomorrow at breakfast soon enough?"
He nods. "Now it is." And runs them through a u-turn at the first intersection he sees where it's legal. Minutes later, he pulls back into Tim and Abby's driveway, grabs the bag that isn't his, and heads toward their back porch.
He can see the grocery bags on the kitchen table through the sliding glass door, and yes, one of them is his. Since Tim and Abby have a no knock policy, he opens the door, heading toward the table, saying, "Hey, we got—" which is when his eyes slide to the right, and see what is happening in the part of the kitchen not visible from the sliding glass doors. "Oh shit! Sorry!" he grabs his bag, fast, drops theirs, "Bye," and runs back out, blushing furiously.
Breena looks at him curiously when he gets back into the car, blushing and giggling.
He gets out, "They were busy."
She stares at him for a second, then figures out what busy means, and starts to laugh, too.
Jimmy holds up the bag. "Busy or not. I got you your olives."
"Good husband!" She takes the bag from him, leans over to kiss him, smiles, and says, (while opening the jar) "Hoping for some busy time when Molly goes down?"
Jimmy nods, kisses her shoulder, looks her over, from head to toes, puts the car into reverse. "God, yes."
She smiles brilliantly at him, and gently licks the juice off the olive between her fingers, making sure he sees
her tongue slipping soft and wet over the round tip of the fruit.
He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and puts the car in reverse, trying to focus on driving. "You're killing me, you know that? Literally, dead."
"Yeah, but you love it."