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Glassware

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He was peripherally aware that they'd shattered something to his kitchen floor. And at first, he wanted not to care, but the sound snapped his attention taut and wired as he jerked his mouth sharply up from her collarbone.

Both his hands steel trap stalled her, palms pressing against the sides of her face as he looked up from where he'd been avoiding her glance completely. “Don't move.”

“I wasn't going to.” She murmured slowly, her eyes wide and bright, as though she'd only just realized what they'd done.

He knew her feet were bare.

She'd lost one of her heels in his hall.

He'd kicked the other one aside when they'd half caught up kissing along his dining room table.

“Don't go anywhere.”

He could have phrased it differently, he knew.

It had been an intentionally made duality, two directives whispered as one as he'd dropped his forehead into hers.

Just in case a scatter of broken glass was to remind her that he was generally in pieces.

Just in the event that the sound of something falling apart reminded her that he was clumsy with delicate things.

“I'm not going anywhere.” The words were whispered in the same volume, but she managed so much more certainty than he could muster. He wasn't entirely sure how they'd so subtly switched places, so quietly turned the strength of him into the surety of her hands curling up the fabric of his shirt into fistfuls.

“Kate - ”

“I'm not.” Her skin was flushed warm as she argued, her head barely making its back and forth shift with the way he was still pressing sweat to her warm forehead. “You can't make me.”

He wanted to laugh into how smartly (insolent and belligerent and damn feisty) she'd said it, wanted to breathe out a relaxed chuckle and watch her dimples dimple in return.

He adored her when she was his I'll-take-no-shit-from-you-sir girl. Because that's how they'd met, that's how she was when he half dreamed her in the middle of the sleepless night(s), that's how he saw her when he closed his eyes and allowed himself to see her at all.

For some reason, though... he could only manage a charmed smile as he studied her mouth, his eyes roving how prettily her top lip curved and bowed.

He knew it made her nervy when he stared too long.

God, he couldn't help himself, though. Sometimes... he just couldn't help it.

He also knew, somehow, that if he waited too much longer... his water glass wasn't the only thing that would be shattered to his worn out kitchen floor.

Because the sound had echoed a pause, and that pause had allowed them to think.

“It's just a glass, Gibbs.”

She was obviously ignoring any semblance of logic or reason.

Her teeth nervously nipping along her bottom lip brought him abruptly to the same unspoken conclusion.

Screw this. I want her.

The smile went broader, fuller and true as he tipped his head into looking up at her changeling eyes. “Don't move.”

 


 

 

Dark and feral and if she had to describe it to someone who had no idea who he was... she'd say he was also looking at her like... something fragile. Something delicate and cherished and purposefully handled in a way that kept it from being broken. Kept it from coming apart by way of trauma or any abrupt end. Because his hands were suddenly much slower than they had been moments before, fingertips brushing and tracing along her clothing like he wasn't just going to learn her, he was educating himself on the very fibers of the fabric she wore.

It made her damn near choke, her fingers rubbing unconsciously along the side of his head as he stroked large hands along every curve he could find between her hips and shoulders. He was counting his fingertips up her ribs just before his thumbs rubbed up under her breasts and she couldn't keep from trying to find his kisses again.

Because, well, they'd been damn good ones. Grazing from warm and languid to chastely rushed, near desperate. Teeth and tongue and groaning from the door to the table to the counter and -

“Don't.” One unyielding palm grabbed onto her thigh quickly, stopping the shift she hadn't even realized she'd been trying to make. “Kate, don't. You're not wearing shoes.”

“It's okay.” she shook off, reaching for his wrist and pausing instantly into the glaring he brought up over her, the minute shake of his head that told her to still just as easily as it did when there was a legitimate danger involved.

He was legitimate danger.

In an unforeseen number of ways.

And the guarding of his palm as he stroked the side of her skirt down her thigh made her sigh out a moaned noise of unintentional appreciation.

“Don't.” Once she'd realized his intention her hands caught against his shirt and tugged up despite his downward movement and his uninterrupted watching.

He went to his knees anyhow, crunching down on glass and both hands running her thighs as he just shrugged into the way her fingers were grasped into fabric. She dipped her head, jaw shifting back and forth as she watched his eyes slim, his thumbs catching the bottom hem of her shirt.

“Don't move.” He tugged on the fabric before he smiled, using long and slow fingers to slide it bunched along her hips. The groan he gave into her pelvis when he leaned in had her hand catching into the back of his head, gripping into his hair and tugging.

“You're hurting yourself.”

“It's cute that you seem to think I even notice right now. Especially when I'm this close to just...”

His face nuzzled into the front of her her underwear, one palm curled on a hip and the other hand skidding down the side of her leg to catch her ankle.

A last breath attempt to somehow save him from any form of pain flooded her voice. “Gibbs.”

“Don't move.”

She certainly hadn't planned to – not when his fingers curled her ankle like she was something delicate and meant to be touched with care.

She didn't plan to move away from him.

Not really, not ever.