Monday, June 2, 2014

Shards To A Whole: 'Twas The Night Before Christmas

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

Chapter 330: Twas The Night Before Christmas

A/N: With apologies to Clement Clark Moore

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the den
Tim McGee was cursing, significantly louder than a wren.
The stockings were hung, by the chimney with care
In the hopes that Dad and Pop would soon finish there.

Tim's holding the instructions, staring at the fifteen million pieces of plastic in front of him, glaring at them, saying, "I swear to God, Palmer said to Breena, 'This year, we're making Tim put them together, go find the most ridiculously complicated toys they make for toddlers and buy all of them!'"

Gibbs stands up, takes the instructions out of his hands, and drops them in the fireplace, where they very rapidly went up in smoke.

"Are you insane?"

"No. Just done this a few times. They don't help. They never help."

That moment, Abby got down from putting Kelly to sleep, surveyed the chaos in front of them, and says, "Have you tried the directions?"

Tim glares again, looks at Gibbs, looks at the fireplace, where the curling edges of the instructions are visible among the leaping flames, and looks back to Abby.

"You set fire to them? Gibbs!"

Gibbs looks back up at her, laying down the pieces of plastic he's attempting to put together. "They weren't helping. He was just sitting there, staring at them, muttering about how he's got a degree in engineering, and if he can't put this together, it can't be put together."

"I do have a degree in engineering! I got a magna cum laude BS in Biomedical Engineering from the best program in the US. For my senior project, I helped to design better artificial knee joints. I've done papers on how to make heart valves work better. I wired up our phones into lethal weapons. I've hacked everything that can be hacked, and when it couldn't be hacked, I stripped it down to its component parts and worked from the hardware up. I know how to build things!"

Abby puts her hands on Tim's shoulders and kisses the top of his head. She's actually never seen him this frustrated, probably because he thinks this is something he's supposed to be good at, but he's not.

"It's okay. No one expects either of you to be able to put these together by just looking at them. Here, let me get my laptop." She came back a minute later. "What's this thing called?"

Gibbs hands her the box. She calls up Youtube and puts in 'how to build a Tiny Tyke Ball Bubbler,' and in a matter of minutes they were watching a video on it.

Tim's still muttering about how it was designed by idiot sadists, but with the video playing, and a few of the nonstandard modifications suggested on said video (superglue, x-acto knife, file), they got it together quickly, and while Abby made them eggnog (Jackson's recipe) and put some Christmas carols on, they grabbed the next toy, and went looking for another video of how to put it together.

An hour later, presents were put together. (Abby's wrapping them.) Tim leans back against the sofa, relaxing, drinking more of the eggnog, then says to Abby, "So, what do you think, we get pregnant again in March and make them do this next year?"

She giggles at that. "Revenge baby? That's where you're going with this?"

"Just saying. Don't want to waste a perfectly good opportunity to do unto him as he did unto us."

Gibbs laughs. "It's eight thirty, everything is put together, and you didn't have to wait in line for six hours to get a present. Count your blessings. We had three Christmasses in a row up until two, and then Kelly bounded out of bed at five."

"Three in a row?" Tim asks.

"First one, she was five, and wanted that bear. I didn't get home until after one. Didn't take too long to get the batteries in it, but the wait in line took forever. Second year, she's six, wants a bike. Instructions are in Japanese, and yes, I can speak it now, but I couldn't then. And I still can't read more than two thousand words of it. The English translation was so bad, I was doing just as well with the Japanese. Year three, she's seven," Gibbs smiles, remembering that year, "That year the toys were simple. We were celebrating that we'd gotten everything done well before midnight."

"And ended up staying up way late?" Abby asks.

"Something like that." He sips his eggnog. "I think some of this was involved, as well."

"There! All wrapped up." Abby looks at the presents in front of her. "Um… Don't these need to get to Jimmy and Breena's?"

Gibbs grins. "Duck'll be here soon. He's on Santa duty this year."

"They're doing presents at their place in the morning and then we're all together at your place in the afternoon/evening?" Tim asks.

"Best I know."

The baby was nestled, all snug in her bed
Visions of nursing dancing in her head
And Mama in her negligee and Tim in his skin
Had just settled in for some late winter sin.

Some things really shouldn't be legal. The scene that greeted him as he stepped out of the bathroom was definitely among them.

Abby grinning at him in opera-length red satin gloves, red high heels, a Santa hat, and a wide red ribbon tied around her hips, bow right over her pussy, with a little spring of mistletoe dangling off of it, and the scent of that perfume wafting off of her is one of those things.

Okay, no, it should definitely be legal.

Very, very legal. Just… Gibbs in a room twenty feet down the hall is the snag.

'Cause Tim remembers the few somewhat gently pointed comments about it occasionally being 'loud' in their house, and Abby in tiny scraps of red satin and 'quiet' do not naturally go together.

So he grins, reminds himself that no matter how loudly and sincerely he wants to shout out how much he likes this, that like the poem says, he needs to be quiet as a mouse.

He looks her up and down, very deliberately, smiling wide and happy, then takes the three steps to her, and says (quietly) "Merry Christmas to me, huh?"

"Ho ho ho." She's grinning, too, face all lit up with pleasure.

His fingers ghost over her shoulders, breasts, stomach and come to rest, lightly on the bow. "This is going to kill me."

"Which part?"

He kisses her throat, and shoulder, inhaling deeply, moans softly at it, feeling his body rise in response. "All of your luscious self, but mostly trying to appreciate you quietly."

"Hmmmm… I'll just have to find something to keep your mouth busy."

"Oh…" He's very pleased by that idea. Of course, he's very pleased by all of this.

She has her hands clasped behind her back, looking up at him, kind of innocent, kind of naughty, pushing her breasts up and out toward him while nibbling her lip. "So, you gonna unwrap your present?"

"Oh yeah." He stares at her, hot and lusty, for a second before kneeling in front of her. He's about to nip the ribbon between his teeth when she tugs his hair to stop him. "What?" he asks looking up to her eyes.

"It's poisonous."

It takes a tenth of a second before he understands she means the mistletoe. "I know. Wasn't going to eat it."

"Okay. Good."

"Got way better things to eat," he says, voice dark and low, as his hands cup her rear and he takes the ribbon between his teeth and pulls. It slithers off of her, falling (along with the mistletoe) to the floor. "Oh, Abby."

She's grinning again as he stares at her sleek, bare pussy. Soft, so, so soft, pouty little pink lips peeking between the white folds of her skin. She hasn't waxed since a few months before Kelly was born. But, apparently, that's part of his Christmas present.

"Thought you'd like that."

"You know I do." He looks up at her, adoringly. Gently kissing her belly before returning his attention to her pussy.

And he does love this, and he really, really appreciates that she'll do it. As of this point ,that's the only thing he adores but won't ask for. It has to hurt like a son of a bitch, so he just won't ever ask her to do it, but yes, he loves it. He kisses her mound gently. "I love this. Love you all smooth and silky." His fingers slip over her. "Nothing else feels like this. So, so, so soft." He kisses again. "Fuzzy is good, too, but this… God, baby, love this."

Her fingers twine in his hair, feeling oddly slick wrapped in satin, but nice, especially the slight rasp across the grain against the top of his ear.

He looks back up to her face as she caresses his hair and scalp.

She's still grinning at him, just very pleased with everything in the world right now. "So, you going to give me something to keep my mouth occupied, too?"

That gets one more deep, licking, sucking kiss out of him, as his hands tightened on her hips, making sure he had a good grip. Then he stood, still holding her, so she tumbled back into their bed (squeaking, quietly, in surprise at it).

The second after that, he follows her, settling on his side next to her, kissing her lips, feeling her suck his tongue in soft, wet pulses that are going straight to his dick, because he knows that's coming, soon.

He's rubbing against her, reveling in her soft and smooth on his dick, and it's trite, and he's thought it before, and he knows he'll think it again, but nothing, nothing feels as good as this. Abby's pussy, wet and slick on him. Her laugh (quiet) in his ears. Her arms and legs around him while he kisses her throat, feeling her pulse thrum under his lips.

Nothing else is like this. Nothing else makes him this kind of happy.

And all of that happy wants to spill out of him. In words, fervent, praising, dirty, sexy words. In groans, hot and low. In laughter, deep and rich. And in cum, spurts of liquid pleasure marking her as his.

But it's not time for that, not yet.

He hooks her leg over his hip and slips into her, groaning, quietly, against her collarbone. He knows he's going to just start babbling if he doesn't find something to keep his mouth busy, so he scootches down a bit, pulling her breast to his lips. She tugs his hair lightly, reminding him that that's still a mostly look-don't-touch area.

So he straightens up, rolling onto his back, pulling her to lay full out on top of him, so they can kiss deep and easy.

They aren't really moving, just holding on, kissing, enjoying their bodies together, and the play of lip on lip and tongue on tongue. Though eventually she does start to rock in rhythm with his tongue, and he starts to thrust shallowly to go along with her. Just ramping things up, going from simmer to boil, though he's sure this isn't how they're going to finish tonight.

No, this is the warm up, just about enjoying the glide and pleasure drenched friction of slick skin on skin.

She's starting to tighten on him, that almost frustrated roll of her hips, close but not enough friction, not focused enough to get her off.

"Switch around."

That gets a quick grin, and then the delightful sensation of her body moving on his, followed by one of the scents that hits him hardest, her body wet, ripe, his own musk on her skin, trace of pre-cum, bit of that perfume, light sweat. Just smelling it makes him drip, and tasting it…

He groans at that, too. The rich, salty, musky sex of it. And she's tasting him, and it's that swimming-in-sex sensation, all-over, full-brain, full-body, all of him wrapped up in it, sex.

She's sucking his balls, rubbing his dick with her hands, and he's licking her clit while his fingers slip in and out of her, both of them going at it hard and fast, chasing orgasms that aren't far away.

His legs are getting tense, balls pulling tight, her body tight and almost quivering on his, pussy clenched on his fingers as he rubs with his tongue and she mouths her way down his dick, wet, loving sucks that take him that much higher, thrusting that much harder, pointing his tongue rubbing a bit faster, trying to get her g-spot with each stroke, and she's taking him all the way down as her legs clamp on his shoulders, and he's so close, and she is too and one more lick, one fast flick, a gliding suck, and then were both twitching, pulsing, buzzing with pleasure.


When warm and happy he from the bed crept
Quietly down the stairs to where the coffee was kept
Down to the kitchen he went with a dash
To open the cupboard and raid the caffeine stash

He's not sure if saying he was going to find some Jolly Old Elf for Jimmy made the switch, or if it's just that yes, having kids makes this more fun, or maybe, more than that, this whole family thing makes it more fun, could be the very good mood from the sex, but he's feeling almost giddy as he creeps out of bed to add the finishing touches to Christmas downstairs.

The last time he was this happy about Christmas he was ten years old, sitting beneath the tree, late on Christmas eve (possibly early in the morning) the x-acto knife he had promised to only use for building models in hand, very carefully slitting the tape on the wrapping of what he was really hoping was a Nintendo. And YES, it was! He carefully taped everything back up, tucked the knife into the pocket of his robe, and crept back up the stairs, happy as happy could be.

He's got a few things in his arms, and he does stop in the living room to put them on the sofa, and then heads to the kitchen.

Usually he makes his Christmas cookies on Christmas. But, when it became clear that Gibbs was going to stay over for Christmas and they'd be doing this whole family-Christmas-thing his plan shifted.

He's already got the cookies made. Because he knows Gibbs likes them. And he knows, that sometime between now and morning, Gibbs will be down here with his own presents.

So, Tim grabs a plate, puts a few of the cookies on it, preparing the traditional snack for Santa. Gibbs isn't really a milk guy, though. And he's fairly sure that Gibbs'll be up at the pre-crack of dawn for putting his own presents down here, so Tim sets the coffee maker to start at 04:45, loads it with Black Death, which should result in coffee brewed and ready to go for Gibbs when he gets down.

Then he takes the cookies, puts a little note on them. Coffee -->  with the arrow pointing to the kitchen, and sets them in front of the fireplace.

Next part is putting his presents down.

He's feeling pretty eager to watch Abby open her presents. He may have ordered a few more perfumes than was strictly necessary, and he also found a red-wool coat that he was pretty sure Abby'd practically swoon over.

(And yes, swoon is the right word. It's floor length, with a very Victorian cut, and beautiful, ornate black detailing. Breena whistled when he showed her the picture of it, and Ziva nodded quietly, looking impressed. He's fairly sure that if the other two girls approve, he's in the clear.)

He's looking forward to seeing Gibbs open his presents, too. Abby had the Gibbs family crest made up for everyone. Art prints, full size, and made sure they all had framing gift certificates. All of which have been rolled into tidy cylinders and ready to go.

Tim knows he'll like the crest; and he'll probably like the Black Death Coffee of the Month Club. (Twelve of the blackest, strongest, most stand up and eat the spoon coffees on earth! Or so said the PR information.) He'll probably be irked by the cologne, but Tim's okay with that. He's expecting irked. Irked is part of the fun of it. It's not exactly a joke gift, but there's some of that there.

But he's hoping the bit that'll go over the best is what he's (quietly) doing right now, and that's putting Gibbs' stocking up on their mantle and tucking the last present into it.

As Abby said to him three years ago, when they were putting up that first Christmas tree, that the tree is like a family tree. Not dates or names so much, but stories. So, the last presents he tucks into the stocking are ornaments for Gibbs. His own marks for their tree.

And, feeling very happy and satisfied, Tim heads back to bed, to enjoy his own long winter's nap.


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