A/N: I've watched NCIS since the pilot premiered, but this is my first fanfic offering for that universe. I've always loved the Gabby possibilities. Takes place after "Honor Thy Father." Please, read and review. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own or operate NCIS.

"Roses," Gibbs thought. Abby smelled like roses. He had never noticed until now.

Gibbs never watched TV, but he did tonight. He couldn't concentrate on anything, and he was a little disgusted with himself. He couldn't get his brain around how depressed he had been after his father passed away. They hadn't talked as often as they should have. He had brushed his dad off too many times because he was "busy" with a case. It all came back to him now, and he sipped his bourbon, feeling miserable. Someone knocked on the door. Who was that?

Gibbs stood and went to the door. He looked through the peephole. It was Abby. What the…?

He opened the door to see his chief lab tech standing at the door. She wore some kind of long, black dress, not surprisingly, and held a cheerful, colorful casserole carrier that was completely at odds with her usual gothy self.

"Hi Gibbs!" she chirped. "I brought you something."

"I see that. Come in," he answered.

"Thanks." She grinned at him and went straight to the kitchen. She opened the carrier and took out one of those disposable aluminum baking pans. It looked heavy. "It's lasagna. My foster mother's recipe. I thought you might not feel like going out, so I brought dinner to you. If you don't want it now, it freezes great. I just thought, well, you know…" her voice trailed off.

"I know Abbs. Thanks. I appreciate it. It smells great."

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" she replied, her enthusiasm stoked again. "I hope it's good. I just wanted to do something, and since I don't exactly have a green thumb and I didn't have time to knit something for you, and I'm not sure whether something knitted would be appropriate, anyway…"

"It's fine. I know it will be good."

"Oh. O.K. Well…" she paused. "Gibbs? Can I talk to you? Really talk to you?"

"Sure, Abby."

"All right. I just want you to know how really, really sorry I am, but you know that. But I can tell you're not doing well. I'll bet you've lost 20 pounds. I know you haven't been eating, and you're drinking. I can smell it on you. Please Gibbs, will you talk to me, or talk to somebody? I know you miss your dad so much. I miss him too. He was a great man. He gave the best hugs." Her face was sincere.

Gibbs gave her one of his rare smiles. "Abby, you're a gem, you know that?" And he folded her into his arms.

"Thanks Gibbs," she murmured. She loved hugging Leroy Jethro Gibbs, but it was tough on her libido, too. He was so strong, so masculine, and she'd had a case for him for years.

And as Jethro put his cheek against her hair, he smelled – roses. He kissed her hair, as he had done many times. That was safe. That was not against the Rules. But something was different this time, as he held her. Abby's body was soft in his arms and the scent of roses was enticing. He moved his head down and kissed her cheek as he had, again, many times before. But this time was different and they both knew it.

Abby felt the change in Jethro's body as soon as he nosed her hair. Suddenly, he wasn't hugging her anymore. No. Now, he was holding her. Embracing her. And from her cheek, he trailed his lips down her jawline and to her mouth. His kiss was exquisitely tender, soft, hot – until she kissed him back. Then they were holding desperately to each other, kissing as though their very lives depended on it. Jethro pushed her against the tall cabinet and kissed her throat and down to her collarbone. He had her securely pinned against the door. There was no way she could escape – and she didn't want to. In her secret heart, she had always wanted a virile man to kiss her until she was helpless in his arms. Too many romance novels when she was a teenager. But Gibbs was virile, for sure.

Jethro was in a lust-induced haze. This was what he needed. And Abby welcomed him into her arms, welcomed his mouth on hers, on her skin. He raised his head, his blue eyes glazed with desire.

Abby was panting. She had not planned on this. She was going to drop off the lasagna, give Jethro a hug and leave. But now. Now what? His fingers found the buttons on her blouse. "This is a really bad idea," she quavered.

"Terrible idea. Worst ever," was his steady reply, but his fingers did not stop flicking buttons out of their moorings. He pulled the blouse out of the skirt and pushed it off her shoulders.

Abby closed her eyes, then opened them to see Jethro looking at her with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

"A corset, Abbs? Why?"

"Um, well, when you wear, like Victorianesque clothes, they like, fit better, and stuff."

"I see." Now she got the crooked grin. "Well, it has to come off."

She could feel a crimson wave flush her skin at Jethro's words. "Gibbs, I, um, um."

"Gibbs? Is that the best you can do?" Amusement was in his voice.

"J-Jethro," but as she said it, a fresh wave of scarlet swept over her. Using his given name was so intimate.

"That's a lot better. I like the way you say my name, with that catch in your voice." He kissed her again.

Abby could not think when Jethro's lips were on hers. Everything rational fled from her mind, and her universe collapsed to nothing but this man's kiss. His hand was on her neck, his thumb caressing her jaw. She had dreamed of having his hands on her skin. But they could not do this. "Jethro, we have to stop."

"Yes we do," he agreed, as his mouth captured an earlobe, making her shiver and whimper.

"This can't happen," she protested, her body betraying her at every turn.

"Nope, it can't. But it looks like it's going to," and he pulled her to his mouth again.

Abby held on to him, grasping a handful of his gray USMC T-shirt. Suddenly, he swung her up into his arms. "In fact, I'd say it's definitely going to happen," he said against her lips.

In his bedroom, Jethro deposited Abby on the bed and grinned at her again. "A corset." This time, he chuckled. He pulled his T-shirt over his head and Abby gasped. She knew his body had to be honed and lean, and it was. The only light was a small lamp on the nightstand, but it was more than enough.

He was barefoot, and knelt beside the bed. He took Abby's left foot, unlaced her very prim, black, Victorian boot and took it off. He did the same for the other foot. Then, he drew her to her feet. He felt behind her at her waist and found the zipper for her skirt. He undid the fastenings and her skirt pooled at her feet. He actually laughed aloud at what he saw. Abby's black stockings were thigh-high and attached to garters on her corset.

"What's so funny?"

"You. Who would have thought there was all this seduction under the lace and ruffles? But I like it. I like it a lot. Do you wear corsets to work, Abbs?" He dipped his mouth to her neck. "Tell me the truth. Do you?"

Her mind was mush. "Not usually," she sighed.

"Good. I don't want to think about you in a corset underneath your lab coat," he answered. She sat on the bed, quite simply because her legs would no longer support her.

Jethro unhooked her stockings from the garters and gave the corset some study. He could see how it hooked in front and swiftly had it open and on the floor. Now, her short T-shirt she wore under the thing. He plucked it away from her body.

Abby bit her lip. A corset and garters were nothing to a man who had survived by being able to put together a high-powered sniper's rifle in the dark. His fingers were long, deft, as befitted a man who worked with wood, who could type much faster than he ever let on, who could elicit heat from her, just by running a finger down her cheek, as he was doing now. She allowed her gaze to run over his chest. It was criss-crossed with faint lines, and less faint, round wounds. He had taken more than one bullet, this brave, fiercely private man. His blue eyes had always mesmerized her, as much as his mouth with its full lower lip. She reached to cup his cheek in her hand, seeing the lines around his eyes, but not thinking them unattractive. They were part and parcel of a face she loved very much. They spoke of long days and nights behind the sight of a rifle, of worrying about a squadron of Marines, of worrying about his team at NCIS. No, the lines were earned honestly.

Jethro watched Abby look at him as a woman looks at a man for the first time. Her cat-green eyes roamed his face, his body, and he saw nothing but desire there. He stood back and unfastened his jeans and let them fall to the floor. Her eyes met his and he saw uncertainty there.

"Are you all right, Abby? We haven't done anything we can't take back." As much as his hormones were buzzing like a teenager's, he would not, would not touch Abby unless she wanted it, too. Unless she said it was all right. He smiled. "There's not even 20 years separating us."

"Close enough," she answered.

Jethro chuckled. "That doesn't really bother you, now does it? Not really. You've called me a silver fox often enough."

A fresh wave of blushing washed over her. "You weren't supposed to know about that. But you're Leroy Jethro Gibbs. You know about everything," she replied. She dropped her gaze, then looked at him from underneath her lashes. "No, the age thing doesn't matter to me at all."

"Me either." He knelt beside her and brought her forehead to his. "Your decision, Abigail. You're a grown woman, and it's your right to say yes or no. I'll abide by it."

Abigail. He called her Abigail. And he was giving her complete freedom of choice. She raised her green eyes to look into his impossibly blue eyes and knew this moment had been in the making for years. "Y-yes, Jethro. Make love to me. Please." She slid her palms up his chest, the feeling making her close her eyes. Her arms came around him and she pulled his mouth to hers again.

Kisses didn't get much hotter than this, Jethro thought. But he had known. There was no hold-back in Abby. Where she chose to give her passion, she was utterly generous and unrestrained. She tasted of the cinnamon mints she chewed, of coffee, of herself. She took the initiative and started kissing his neck, not missing his chest and even his nipples. It was fiery and delicious and he wanted a lot more of it. He allowed her explorations for a few moments, then suddenly had her T-shirt over her head and was on top of her. He found the pins holding her hair up and took them from her, fanning her jet tresses over the pillow.

"Abbs, I want you. Like I've wanted few women in my life." His voice was rough, but his hands were tender, as he slid the black lace panties off her hips.

"Is it OK if I tell you I've wanted this for years and years?" Abby said.

Jethro laughed. "It's OK. We wasted too much time. You should have jumped my bones a long time ago."

"Jethro!" Abby gasped, a little scandalized. "I do have some morals, you know!"

He chuckled again and nibbled her ears. "Lots of morals – good ones. You want to help me get rid of these boxers or do I have to do all the work here?" he teased.

"I ought to rip them right off. Makes me wish I had some scissors," she retorted. But she worked them off and Jethro laid his bare body all along hers, his elbows taking his weight. Abby had completely forgotten how intense it was to have a man's body next to hers. There had only been a couple, and none for a long, long time. But Jethro was so warm, so sexy. She felt complete in his arms.

Jethro could feel Abby's hips nudging his, urging him to get the train out of the station. He smiled inwardly. He licked up the full length of her neck, ending with a nip on her chin. He gave her nipples the attention he felt they needed with his mouth and hands, feeling Abby writhe underneath him and hearing her soft gasps and moans. This wasn't casual sex, for the release. He could do that anytime, himself. This was real lovemaking and he was in it for the long haul. One of the perks of age was self-control.

Abby ran her hands up and down his back, over his rear and back through the silver hair she loved so much. Jethro was taking his own sweet time and her body was simply roaring. Fire licked through her blood. Finally, he touched her, slowly placing one finger inside and then drawing the moisture up to there. Abby wasn't thinking any more. She was only feeling. "Please Jethro. Now. Please, please," she begged.

A feeling of pure male, animal lust washed over him. Nothing was better than having a woman out of her mind and begging for you. Slowly, he guided himself to her entrance and pushed inside. Abby bucked underneath him, chanting his name. He murmured, "Stay with me, Abbs. We've got a little ways to go yet." Her hips met his, thrust for thrust, and he found a rhythm he could maintain for as long as it took for her to find release. Of course, stroking that sweet little button didn't hurt either.

Abby couldn't have formed a coherent thought to save her life, and she could feel the beginnings of an epic climax build inside her, from the pit of stomach, coiling around her breasts. She clung to Jethro as he kept up that steady, relentless pace, insisting she find release, no matter how much she wanted to delay it. But her body was in control, not her mind, and it was her body that needed release, fulfillment, completion. Her orgasm crashed over her and she screamed, cried, pleaded for Jethro to stop, to keep on, to do whatever he pleased with her body.

As her climax rocked them both, Jethro lost his mind when he felt her body contract around his and he started thrusting more rapidly, harder, until he also found his release into her sweet, hot core. He collapsed, hardly able to catch his breath. He rolled to the side and pulled Abby close to hold her still-shuddering form.

She was shattered – in the best possible way. The walls were down, gone to dust as if they had never existed. Jethro was stroking her back, whispering into her tangled hair. Their lips met again in an achingly sweet, soul-sharing kiss and they both must have dozed for a few minutes.

Abby had to get up and as she went to the bathroom, she hissed at the ache between her legs. It had been a long, long time. When she got back, Jethro was awake and watching her. "T-shirts are in the dresser," he said. Abby grinned at him and plucked his own shirt from the floor. "This will work," she answered, pulling it over her head.

"It definitely works," he answered.

She lay back down and noticed his boxers were back on. Jethro was nothing if not a realist, and he knew one of the disadvantages of his age was that he could have sex once, and then the old boy was ready to bed down for the night. Two-fers were a thing of the past. But when you had Abigail Sciuto in your bed, that once was the best.

"What will we do, Jethro? We broke all the Rules."

He turned to her and gathered her close. "Yeah, we did. Busted them all to hell."

"So what do we do?"

"It's Friday night. How about we love each other for two days and then talk about it? I'll even turn off my cell phone." Well, that was commitment, for sure.

Abby smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"I thought you'd like it."

She stroked his face. "Jethro, I love you. I really do."

His eyes were wonderfully soft and liquid. "I love you too, Abigail. Ready for me to turn out the light?"

She nodded and the room was dark. The world outside could wait. If two days was all they ever had, she could live on that for a long time. Right now, all was exceptionally right in her own particular space.

Jethro held Abby until he fell into sleep, feeling happy and contented for the first time since he could remember. Love is where you find it, after all.

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