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Careful Touch

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“Hey!” The shrill warning makes me jump and snatch my hand away from the evidence table. “Don’t touch that!” From behind the bank of computers, Abby’s lanky frame pops up, a scowl on her face. “That’s evidence. If you get your grubby fingers all over it, we’ll never prove a thing.”

Not understanding ‘grubby’, I cross my arms and scowl back, once again distracted by this singularly unusual woman. “Gibbs wanted my opinion on this.”

Rolling her eyes in annoyance at whatever I am missing in this odd conversation, Abby strides over on those ridiculous thick soled boots, and unexpectedly grabs my right hand. Too startled to object, I allow her to yank my captured hand up between our eyes, twisting my wrist so that my palm faces her. “Yeah,” she muses, once again startling me when she lays her hand against mine, pressing my fingers straight. “About the same size.” The warmth of her skin is strangely distracting, but before the feeling can sink in, I am spared when she turns away to rummage for something.

This has been going on nearly since our first meeting, this odd… energy. I have no explanation for it. It drives me crazy, truth be told. Suddenly, Abby is back in my face, having never released my hand.

“If you’re going to come down here and fondle evidence,” she lectures and flaps loose latex gloves at me. “You practice safe sex. Got it?” A pair of gloves are slapped into my hand. Somehow, the purpose of the things are eluding me at the moment, and Abby looks at me as though I am mentally deficient. “Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes, and I can only watch stupidly as she snatches back the gloves.

And dresses my hand in the thin latex.

Feeling the press and caress of her fingers over mine, the membrane separating our skins, suddenly brings something into focus.

It is desire that beats under my skin, licking like fire. Illicit and dangerous, like a distraction on duty, or opening a box and finding wires and a pipe inside. Once acknowledged, it is akin to poking a cobra, and that hot desire coils and hisses, making my guts flutter queasily. All those times I have strayed too close to this bundle of energy, and gotten singed.

Those intriguing eyes have turned curious. The storm clouds that normally make her eyes as grey as they are green, have cleared some, letting that hypnotic earthy color take effect. This cannot be wise, laying a good mystery at the feet of this talented woman.

Panic sets in; must escape!

Then her fingers, still pressed to mine, slide over the latex surface, tickling the powder and nervous sweat over my skin. Jumping in reaction, heat radiating along my skin, I almost escape.


My knuckles crack as my four fingers are captured in a vice grip, anchoring me to her. Why does she make me so weak? It’s as if I must submit or do something stupid, like slap her or make her angry.

But, somehow, we are pressed together, and this time it feels different than being close for shooting lessons, or a birthday hug. Abby’s hips nestle with mine, and there is a stutter of breath escaping me, and I silently curse my lack of control. A smile, secretive, knowing, almost smug, curls the dark-painted mouth, turns those storm and jungle eyes even paler.

“Nothing says warm and toasty like a millimeter of latex (1),” smirks past that sensual mouth, leaving me senseless with… whatever this was.

Then, suddenly, she is gone, striding away from me on those ridiculous boots that are so… her.

++ time passes ++

The strange incident has passed, but not from my memory. Every time I see her, something in me quivers. Not exactly vulnerability, not exactly need, not exactly curiosity, but a whirlwind of energies that only a lifetime of practice keeps in a box marked ‘Pandora’.

Things will have to break. Part of me knows this.

Part of me dreads it.

It’s a surprise attack that would normally make me jump and go animal, guns, blades, fists, teeth, whatever it took to fight back. Not this time, as something in me recognizes the small hand on my sleeve, catching at my skin, jerking me around in some half-deserted corner of the NCIS building. That wiry body presses against me, and my breathing is shallow, her hand pressed over my lips, their touch as caressing as they are a hint of threat.

I smell the latex, feel the tug of it at my skin, taste a hint of the invasive flavor.

“You’re avoiding me,” she purrs in the dim, the mysterious eyes blackened in the bad light. I am weak, I am powerless in the force of this whirlwind, her energies mingling with mine like the body heat between us. Sensual, teasing, Abby traces the shape of my mouth, making me hyper aware of my flesh and the way I tremble and grow weak.

Her mouth, painted darker than her sweet face, curls in feline delight as some small, vulnerable sound escapes me. To survive this, my eyes must close to allow my brain the false escape of denial.

Then her breath looms close, tickling over my mouth that she continues to stroke so delicately. With a small moan, she is close enough to kiss, only the presence of her caressing fingers separating us, the press of her breasts and belly heavy and intoxicating.

Run damn you!

But the conflict is too great and I am paralyzed, shaking like a trapped bird in the claws of a playful cat, unsure of my fate and how long it will take.

The hot swipe of her tongue between her fingers and across my upper lip is some kind of final barrier.

And she once again walks away with a playful, triumphant bounce to her step.

I actually have to slide to the floor to catch my breath.

++ the final countdown begins ++

There have been hints dropped. Subtle clues and not-so-subtle looks that the boys seem thankfully unaware of. Except Gibbs of course. That man is irritatingly and admirably aware of his surroundings, but seems content to remain a silent observer. Whatever this game of cat and mouse brings out in Abby and myself, he seems to be willing to let us carry on.

“Nothing much,” Abby giggles to McGee’s inquiry to her weekend plans. “Three days off seems like a vacation, huh? Just gonna hang around, goof off, maybe spend all weekend in bed, or finish a project I’ve been working on.” While her playfully waggling eyebrows make him laugh, that strange energy buzzing in the room focuses on me like a swarm of cartoon bees.

As if I needed more proof of my fate, Abby passes by me, pausing to step in close enough to brush against me, smiling in devilish innocence that she just needs something off of my desk.

I can’t even glower at Tony when he chuckles in perverse male amusement.

For nearly a day, I prowl the confines of my little apartment, feeling like the zoo cats, trapped and restless. Like this, I will do something dangerous and stupid, left with blood on my hands, or find myself in a hospital. There is only one safe alternative, and I try so desperately to fight it. Just the power of it makes me fight. I haven’t even reached a point where I will need to deal with whatever psychological and professional repercussions there will be.

Like a taut string, thin but implacable, she pulls me to her. Helpless, I obey, racing through the darkness to stand at her doorstep, terrified to knock, terrified to flee. That string pulls my hand like a puppeteer, the trembling tap of my knuckles loud in my ears.

Abby’s bare face startles me possibly even more than whatever it is going on between us. Always so deliberately and carefully painted, the uniform terrain of her unadorned skin cracks my resistance further. For the first time since this game began, it also shows that she too, is uncertain.

Heartened, I lunge, she retreats, the door is blindly slammed shut and locked without my gaze ever leaving hers.

Neither of us move, trapped there like a photograph, our story stark on our faces. Then Abby finally reaches out, once again tracing the shape of my mouth, brushing my nose and chin and ear. Magnetized, I stumble away from the solidness of the door and all chance of escape.

A hand on my chest stops me a breath away. “Safe,” she whispers harshly and I am confused. With her hand on my chin to hold me in check, Abby kisses me delicately; the brush of her closed mouth calms me with the jolt of realization. There will be a tomorrow, even though I can barely process the thought through the sexual haze. When that tomorrow comes, we will need to have minimized the repercussions.

The physical will be easy compared to the emotional and professional.

Avoiding the now-forbidden temptation of her mouth, I trail my curious mouth; eyes blindly shut, over the enticing bare terrain of her face, hands sliding around her, liking the softness of her pajamas, liking the warmth beneath even more.

For long moments, I am allowed the intimacy, before urgent hands jerk at my shirt, nearly sending both of us sprawling. "Come," she hisses and I obey.

Some part of me notes the strange room, so akin to Abby's strangeness. Black walls, strange carvings and fetishes of cultures long gone, pictures strange and perhaps even disturbing. When her hands leave mine, sense tries to batter at my mind, but the snap of latex stops that dead.

This is how this began. Endless times I have watched hands dressed in the protective gloves, at crime scenes, at hospitals, at the morgue. But watching this woman's hands go through the motions, the snap of the latex, all ripple across my nerves, settling uneasily in the growing burn of need.

"C'mere," Abby hisses urgently, and I pause at how… desperate she sounds. Oddly, it relaxes me, that she is as unnerved by this as I am. And that she needs this too. Feeling somewhat more in control of this situation, I lunge at Abby, making her squeak in near-alarm and recoil just a bit. The move also makes the mercurial eyes flare hotter. Only millimeters from her taller body, I blindly reach for the limp pile of gloves beside the bed.

The feel of my hands brushing our bodies as I dress them, makes both of us breathe harder. It takes longer than normal, as she once more touches my face, caressing my sweaty skin. The cocktail of rubber and my own sweat in my mouth nearly drops me to my knees. Half sensual and half businesslike, Abby studies the surfaces of my mouth critically.

This is the strangest foreplay I have ever participated in.

Safe sex for me has always been a condom and keeping it quick, but this is a careful examination, and one that is turning me on. Even as her thumbs trace over my gums and tongue, her fingers caress my cheeks, mouth so close that I can nearly taste her.

"I'm clean," she whispers hoarsely. "But you can check."

Nodding, I repeat her exam, not because I don't trust her, but because it sounds like a safe idea. That, and it is far too entertaining to get her more worked up. When the woman finally moans, the sound vibrating my thumbs, I growl in response and finally give into the temptation to kiss her.

Really kiss her.

Fierce and hot, the clash of lips and teeth and tongue quickly unbalances me and I stand no chance to avoid Abby's sudden, rough shove. Something hard catches at the back of my knees, but a luxuriously soft surface thankfully breaks my fall.

"You drive me nuts," Abby is growling, almost angry-sounding. "But in all ways, some good, maybe some bad. I've been fantasizing about this pretty much since I accepted that Kate was really gone." In one swift move, her pajama top is whisked over her head and her weight is straddling my hips. For a brief moment, I am treated the sight of her smooth, curvy torso, before she looms over me, bottle-black hair draping around us like a curtain. "And I knew what you did for her."

It's a totally inappropriate memory here, with this woman and what we're doing, but it explodes up from my brain anyway. Pulling the trigger that ended my half-brother's life.

Yet, Ari's death was not just an ending… but a beginning as well.

Tears gather in my eyes, reminding me of my incomplete mourning. Abby tenderly brushes away the moisture, not moving from her possessive crouch over my smaller body, but not pressuring me either. It is usually so hard for me to reach out for succor from anyone, but I find myself wrapping arms around this woman and squeezing tight.

I think I may have dozed off, blearily registering that I am on my side now, still clinging to Abby's lanky body. "Hey," she whispers, but I don't move from my little dark, warm place beneath her chin.

"Hey," I manage to mumble, shocked at how rough my voice is. Even the little release of emotional pressure makes me feel lighter, and I burrow in closer, looking for something to get her back in the mood. Kisses along Abby's jaw work immediately, her head lolling back as I go exploring. This time, I'm on top, and I shove fear and nerves away to suckle at the creamy expanses of soft skin.

Normally, I'm as impatient in the bedroom as I am in all aspects of my life. Sex has always felt like an obligation, and there was little reason to linger. Abby makes me feel different, as I linger over her trustingly exposed throat and … lower.

Repercussions will wait. Tomorrow will wait. The screaming voice of reason and dogma will wait! By all that is holy and good in the world, she feels so good, so soft and willing that I feel a little crazy with the headiness of it all.

There is a hard pink nipple between my teeth and I suck avidly, intoxicated by her steady stream of encouraging sounds, and her hands yanking desperately at my shirt. Once stripped, I want to return to where I had been tormenting her, but the tables are turned now. It is me this time, moaning quietly, hands in her hair as she does things to my throat and chest that leave me senseless.

"Do it," I rasp, barely recognizing my own voice. "Fuck me, Abby."

My grasp of English may have a few holes, but this is not one of them. Grinning impishly, Abby shows me what it means to be teased, her latex-covered hands tormenting my skin, her mouth wreaking havoc across my nerves. I am hypnotized by the curving arch of her spine as she hovers over me, by the intricate lines of black tattooed into her skin.

As her tongue coils playfully into my navel, I finally cry and beg for her, tensed and ready for the burn to be snuffed out. The brush of her chin against the curly hairs protecting my sex nearly makes me grab her hair, but I hold back.

"Next time," Abby whispers seductively, placing a last kiss on my abdomen before crawling back up my body. I'm huffing and whining before she even gets back to my open mouth, for one rubber-sheathed hand has tickled into the wet heat between my legs.

It doesn't take much effort to set me crying out, pleasure convulsing through me.

"I see that you respond to teasing well," Abby smirks wryly, but I take no offense, too winded and too pleased. The look on her face is priceless as I curl a pair of fingers into her groin, her seashore eyes going wide. The soft and heat of her feels amazing, and I wish that I could feel the wet too, but that will have to wait…

until next time.

I think that I like that thought. As Abby hunches up to meet my curious touch, breathing harshly into my mouth, I think that I like that thought a lot.


"So," Tony crows arrogantly and I grind my teeth for a moment. "How was your weekend, Ziva?"

Thankfully, he cannot read the memories in my eyes, far too wrapped up in himself, as always. The long weekend in Abby's arms was not to be shared. As though conjured up by my thoughts, my new lover seems to appear out of nowhere, Gibbs at her side.

Both McGee and I gasp in shock as she smacks Tony hard in the back of the head. "Stop messing around Tony. Leave Ziva alone."

This is the first time that Abby has come to my defense, and I smirk smugly at the openly gaping Tony. Gibbs is merely smirking in that coy way of his, obviously delighted with Abby, as always. There is a long pause, where Tony desperately tries to get his brain back on even footing. The bravado takes a moment, but it reasserts itself and he bluffs at Abby's irate glower, "what, did you kiss and make up or something?"

I can't help but bark with laughter at the comment, and Abby's irritation evaporates at the sound. Let Tony's puerile little mind make what leaps it would. Nothing I or Abby could say or do will change that. One of the first lessons of the kind of cop I am is: hide in plain sight.

Abby startles me by stalking over and rubbing her nose against mine affectionately, lips barely brushing, before stalking off with a superior, "humf!"

Once again, I am reduced to hysterics by the woman. In plain sight, she has reduced his curiosity to mere stupidity by hiding behind the truth they all want to see. Unless we are caught making out in one of the interrogation rooms or something like that, we are safe.

Flustered, Tony retreats to his desk, and a glare sends McGee's gaze skittering back to his own workspace. I'm not at all surprised when Gibbs leans over my desk, eyes dancing with amusement and deadly seriousness. His low voice is for my ears alone. "If you screw this up, you're both fired. Don't make me do that."

And he walks away, while I can only chuckle to myself in delight at these new twists and turns in my life. Sure, I still have years of dogma and psychological programming to work through, but the fun of this makes the prospect seem much more manageable.

Note to self; thank Abby properly.

My pleasure!



(1): Mike Rowe, on the Discovery Channel show, “Dirty Jobs”. We heard him say this not long after signing up for this challenge and found it hysterical.