It's a good excuse to be a bad influence on you and you and you!
Okay... This is the drabble grab bag!! Keep checking back while I update. I'm going to put the name of the request-ee, pairing, prompt, and rating!
At least, that's how its working out so far. :)
onlyonechoice (you dirty trollop) asked for, and recieved:
t's invariably wrong, he thinks. Abby is sweet and light, and gives him the soft edges his life so often lacks. So why is it, while he pushes into her from behind, one ponytail wrapped around his fist, her cunt clamping tight around his cock and her choking cries echoing as he slaps at her ever-redder ass, he feels better than ever? She bucks and rears, and he pulls out with a raw shout, spilling into the hollow her spine and lower back make. It is nasty and vicious, there are hand marks and bruises all over her body, but she is purring like a well-loved kitten, and he realizes with a last nip to her flaring hipbone, pulling her close, that he could get used to this.-
Jeanne has been gone for eighteen days, and he can't feel anything. It's bizarre, and he hates it. Abby nudges him but it's only in the gym, his knuckles raw against the bag, his shoulders burning and his breath harsh in his own ears that it's almost there. He almost feels.
So when Gibbs finds him on night eighteen, in the dark, he steers his senior agent towards the mats and they go hard, hand-to-hand. Tony holds nothing back from Gibbs, and doesn't have to worry about hurting him with his thrusts or jabs or kicks. They fight the entire length of the gym, and finally, because the only thing Tony has on Gibbs is his ability to pop back up, over and over and over again, no matter how many times he's smacked down, Gibbs is cornered. Maybe he lets it happen. Tony doesn't care. He's finally got Gibbs into a corner, and all he's doing is deflecting the blows Tony is throwing wildly, desperately. It's his final two inches of height on Gibbs that he uses, and stares brokenly into blue eyes.
"I hate you." Because it's Gibbs who brought him here, held him here over the years and it's Gibbs who will take this emptiness and give him something real to hold on to. So when Tony, with nothing to lose, crashes his mouth over Gibbs, he expects one last blow. When his boss's hands tighten into his hair, and his teeth sink hard into his lip, the pain finally breaks through and fills the emptiness, and he surrenders.-
She hands the sketch to the bald man, ink running down his forearms in beautiful designs, Japanese in style, and pulls off her shirt. This is a ritual, and he has seen her in every mood.
"Hey Jack." This is not a good one.
"Abby." He looks at the paper she's thrust into his hand, studies the lines, the curving flow that ends in wicked points. "You're not Jewish."
"She was more than a killer."
"I'm sorry."
"It's how she would have wanted..." She bites back the words, and stuffs them into the grief inside herself. Ziva would understand. "Mark me."-
ncis_love asked for and received (though maybe not what she was thinking)
He looks across the bedroom at Tony, and Abby on her knees between them, ass stuck sweetly into the air moving rhythmically back and forth.
He wipes the sweat out of his eyes, his arms almost feeling weak. Tony meets his eyes with a wicked grin at the same time Abs gives him a naughty smile over her shoulder.
She keeps painting the baseboard, and Tony the walls. Gibbs rolls his shoulders with a groan and gets back to painting the ceiling. Habitat wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when Abby suggested a dirty, sweaty weekend away. He watches her ass for a moment longer, and decides that there’s always next weekend.-
Tick tick tick… One.
She kisses his left cheek, then his right, teasingly. They nuzzle their cheeks close together, bodies pressed close but hands at their sides, still.
Tick tick tick… Two.
He whispers that this is ridiculous. She answers that he needs more silly in his life. He’s been too serious lately.
His hands skim the air over her arms, not quite touching, while he tells her that he really loved Jeanne. She says she knows.
Tick tick tick… Three.
He brushes her bangs back and kisses her tenderly, sweetly, and takes what she offers: a gentle reprieve, soft reassurance.
Tick tick tick… Four.
When he stops searching for a taste he won’t find in her mouth, he feels less desperate.
Tick tick tick… Five.
She gives him the control he craves, lets him pin her wrists gently to the door behind her while he explores her mouth and body. He wants, so much, to give, so she takes.
Tick, tick, tick… Six.
She keeps it light. Escapism, high school style, tracing his face with soft fingertips and soothing his burning eyes and twisting soul.
Tick, tick, tick… Seven.
The door opens to Abby’s cheering, if slightly drunk, friends. He lands a last soft kiss on her lips as they step out of the linen closet. She’s given him more than seven minutes. She’s given him his heart back.-
imacartwright asked for
While Gibbs tended to hate occasions where dress clothes were required, he made it a point to never complain when he was asked to stand in at Veteran affairs.
Real veterans, that was. Not politicians. But for the real men who served, who fought, who died, who wished they could… For them he would wear the blue.
He smirked, just a tiny bit, looking out at the twilight beyond his bedroom window, not remembering his uniform being that tight.
His cover was already off, gloves neatly hanging off the edge of the dresser, and his white belt was wound tightly next to them.
He started to pop the buttons at his high stiff collar, and worked his way down, half-distracted thinking about the day, the old comrades he had seen, banded together by the blue that was in his veins, in his heart.
He hadn’t even heard the door open, but he did eventually hear the floor creaking just behind him. He turned to see Abby’s mouth half-open in greeting.
Gibbs was a practical man, he saw Abby every day, and he saw her in less than this. But it felt different, he realized, his hand poised on a button halfway down his chest.
She hadn’t spoken yet, her eyes had snagged on his fingers, and when she met his gaze, hers was almost feral; hot and wanting in a way that actually shocked him.
Abby was a flirt, with all of them, even Ziva. He always let her remarks slide, appreciating them, maybe storing them up for rainy days. Abby had a way of making anyone feel better.
But the way she was looking at him was unmistakable. All woman, all open, no holds barred, aching want.
His eyebrow twitched up, a fraction, and he let his fingers slowly move a button through its slitted home. He willed the tremor away, hoping he was right, that she wanted this.
Him.
Her pupils encroached dangerously on the jade of her eyes and she unconsciously licked her lips, her breath catching when he mimicked her, unthinking. She reached a hand out and he took one neat step back, holding her still with his eyes while he unhurriedly unbuttoned his entire tunic, his standard white crewneck underneath.
He felt like he had been rewarded when she swallowed, hard, as he trailed his hand flat down his chest, to pop the tab on his trousers.
As he drew down the zipper, though, the broken moan, from simply staring, looking at him, strained his erection against his standard white cotton boxers.
“Abby…” Her name drew her to him like a leash, and he couldn’t stop the smirk when she answered him fervently.
“Yes. Sir.”
At least, that's how its working out so far. :)
onlyonechoice (you dirty trollop) asked for, and recieved: t's invariably wrong, he thinks. Abby is sweet and light, and gives him the soft edges his life so often lacks. So why is it, while he pushes into her from behind, one ponytail wrapped around his fist, her cunt clamping tight around his cock and her choking cries echoing as he slaps at her ever-redder ass, he feels better than ever? She bucks and rears, and he pulls out with a raw shout, spilling into the hollow her spine and lower back make. It is nasty and vicious, there are hand marks and bruises all over her body, but she is purring like a well-loved kitten, and he realizes with a last nip to her flaring hipbone, pulling her close, that he could get used to this.-
Jeanne has been gone for eighteen days, and he can't feel anything. It's bizarre, and he hates it. Abby nudges him but it's only in the gym, his knuckles raw against the bag, his shoulders burning and his breath harsh in his own ears that it's almost there. He almost feels.
So when Gibbs finds him on night eighteen, in the dark, he steers his senior agent towards the mats and they go hard, hand-to-hand. Tony holds nothing back from Gibbs, and doesn't have to worry about hurting him with his thrusts or jabs or kicks. They fight the entire length of the gym, and finally, because the only thing Tony has on Gibbs is his ability to pop back up, over and over and over again, no matter how many times he's smacked down, Gibbs is cornered. Maybe he lets it happen. Tony doesn't care. He's finally got Gibbs into a corner, and all he's doing is deflecting the blows Tony is throwing wildly, desperately. It's his final two inches of height on Gibbs that he uses, and stares brokenly into blue eyes.
"I hate you." Because it's Gibbs who brought him here, held him here over the years and it's Gibbs who will take this emptiness and give him something real to hold on to. So when Tony, with nothing to lose, crashes his mouth over Gibbs, he expects one last blow. When his boss's hands tighten into his hair, and his teeth sink hard into his lip, the pain finally breaks through and fills the emptiness, and he surrenders.-
She hands the sketch to the bald man, ink running down his forearms in beautiful designs, Japanese in style, and pulls off her shirt. This is a ritual, and he has seen her in every mood.
"Hey Jack." This is not a good one.
"Abby." He looks at the paper she's thrust into his hand, studies the lines, the curving flow that ends in wicked points. "You're not Jewish."
"She was more than a killer."
"I'm sorry."
"It's how she would have wanted..." She bites back the words, and stuffs them into the grief inside herself. Ziva would understand. "Mark me."-
ncis_love asked for and received (though maybe not what she was thinking)He looks across the bedroom at Tony, and Abby on her knees between them, ass stuck sweetly into the air moving rhythmically back and forth.
He wipes the sweat out of his eyes, his arms almost feeling weak. Tony meets his eyes with a wicked grin at the same time Abs gives him a naughty smile over her shoulder.
She keeps painting the baseboard, and Tony the walls. Gibbs rolls his shoulders with a groan and gets back to painting the ceiling. Habitat wasn’t exactly what he had in mind when Abby suggested a dirty, sweaty weekend away. He watches her ass for a moment longer, and decides that there’s always next weekend.-
Tick tick tick… One.
She kisses his left cheek, then his right, teasingly. They nuzzle their cheeks close together, bodies pressed close but hands at their sides, still.
Tick tick tick… Two.
He whispers that this is ridiculous. She answers that he needs more silly in his life. He’s been too serious lately.
His hands skim the air over her arms, not quite touching, while he tells her that he really loved Jeanne. She says she knows.
Tick tick tick… Three.
He brushes her bangs back and kisses her tenderly, sweetly, and takes what she offers: a gentle reprieve, soft reassurance.
Tick tick tick… Four.
When he stops searching for a taste he won’t find in her mouth, he feels less desperate.
Tick tick tick… Five.
She gives him the control he craves, lets him pin her wrists gently to the door behind her while he explores her mouth and body. He wants, so much, to give, so she takes.
Tick, tick, tick… Six.
She keeps it light. Escapism, high school style, tracing his face with soft fingertips and soothing his burning eyes and twisting soul.
Tick, tick, tick… Seven.
The door opens to Abby’s cheering, if slightly drunk, friends. He lands a last soft kiss on her lips as they step out of the linen closet. She’s given him more than seven minutes. She’s given him his heart back.-
imacartwright asked for While Gibbs tended to hate occasions where dress clothes were required, he made it a point to never complain when he was asked to stand in at Veteran affairs.
Real veterans, that was. Not politicians. But for the real men who served, who fought, who died, who wished they could… For them he would wear the blue.
He smirked, just a tiny bit, looking out at the twilight beyond his bedroom window, not remembering his uniform being that tight.
His cover was already off, gloves neatly hanging off the edge of the dresser, and his white belt was wound tightly next to them.
He started to pop the buttons at his high stiff collar, and worked his way down, half-distracted thinking about the day, the old comrades he had seen, banded together by the blue that was in his veins, in his heart.
He hadn’t even heard the door open, but he did eventually hear the floor creaking just behind him. He turned to see Abby’s mouth half-open in greeting.
Gibbs was a practical man, he saw Abby every day, and he saw her in less than this. But it felt different, he realized, his hand poised on a button halfway down his chest.
She hadn’t spoken yet, her eyes had snagged on his fingers, and when she met his gaze, hers was almost feral; hot and wanting in a way that actually shocked him.
Abby was a flirt, with all of them, even Ziva. He always let her remarks slide, appreciating them, maybe storing them up for rainy days. Abby had a way of making anyone feel better.
But the way she was looking at him was unmistakable. All woman, all open, no holds barred, aching want.
His eyebrow twitched up, a fraction, and he let his fingers slowly move a button through its slitted home. He willed the tremor away, hoping he was right, that she wanted this.
Him.
Her pupils encroached dangerously on the jade of her eyes and she unconsciously licked her lips, her breath catching when he mimicked her, unthinking. She reached a hand out and he took one neat step back, holding her still with his eyes while he unhurriedly unbuttoned his entire tunic, his standard white crewneck underneath.
He felt like he had been rewarded when she swallowed, hard, as he trailed his hand flat down his chest, to pop the tab on his trousers.
As he drew down the zipper, though, the broken moan, from simply staring, looking at him, strained his erection against his standard white cotton boxers.
“Abby…” Her name drew her to him like a leash, and he couldn’t stop the smirk when she answered him fervently.
“Yes. Sir.”