Author's Note: This was written for Kay, for her birthday. Which was a looooong time ago - so sorry, Kay! A very merry unbirthday to you!

"Now, Abby…"

Gibbs' authoritative tone cuts across my latest monologue, and I store away the thoughts for later, beginning to bring up a new search window to run the set of prints he's given me.

"Wow, Gibbs… it's like we've been in a D/s relationship for years," I say wryly, watching him out of the corner of my eye, sure that his response will be either a blank look or a change of subject.

When he raises an eyebrow and tells me, "Your fault for always doing what I ask, Abbs…", all I can do is gape.

"Wait. You understand what I just said?"

"Mmm-hmm…" He watches me, waiting for the inevitable question of how? But I already know it'll do me no good to ask. Gibbs doesn't share things about his personal life just because someone wants him to. He volunteers information when he chooses. After years of poking and prodding, I've learned to accept it.

Instead, I try shock tactics. And a little wishful thinking. "You know, Gibbs, D/s starts out with orders, but then a lot of scenes move on to-"

"Not now, Abbs."

It's not a no. How come it's not a no? Gibbs knows I want him – I'm not naïve enough to think otherwise – but he's never encouraged me before. "How about later?"

"We'll see," he says, heading for the door.

I shrug, as if it's just a cup of coffee he's proposing. Acting like my heart's not trying to pound its way through my ribcage. "Well, you know where I'll be…"

"And you'll know where the elevator is when I call," he throws back over his shoulder.

I almost drop the file I'm holding.

"McGee, surveillance footage. DiNozzo, take Ziva and go pick up the Admiral's wife."

In less than fifteen seconds, the rest of the team have vacated the lab. Gibbs turns to me, and a tiny voice in my head imagines his next words. McGee, surveillance. DiNozzo, protection detail. Abby, the elevator.

It's been a couple of weeks since our D/s conversation. There's been no sign of that elevator summons yet. I wonder if I can speed things up a little?

Gibbs turns to me. "Abby-"

I already know he's gonna ask me to check the rest of the evidence, but I can't resist shooting him a seductive smile. "Yes, sir?"

"Trying to force my hand, little tease?" That time I called him my 'silver-haired fox' in front of the rest of the team, he gave me a certain Gibbs-patented look. Kind of an intrigued reprimand. And right now, it's back.

"Gibbs, I'm shocked! I'm simply trying to give my superior the respect he deserves – really, it's as if you don't know me at all!" Grinning, I reach for a bag of evidence, storing away his 'little tease' comment to analyse later. Cause if I think about how hot that is right now, I'll have to take the rest of the afternoon off.

"Oh, you weren't?" he says, with a mild surprise that's just as faked as my innocent indignation. "That's a damn shame."

Whoa – he's good. Better than me, even. "And trying to force your hand, sir."

I know I've missed my chance this time – if the chance was even there to start with. "Too late," he tells me, tugging on one of my pigtails and heading for the elevator. Alone.

Damnit!

"Lab."

"Elevator, little tease. Now." The phone cuts off before I even comprehend the words.

Dropping everything, I do as he says, jamming my finger down on the button for the third floor, fidgeting impatiently as I wait for the elevator to arrive at its destination.

Gibbs steps inside with barely a glance at me, and I can tell by his body language that he still hasn't caught a lead on the case we've been working this week. The elevator doors slide shut, and immediately his hand slams down on the emergency stop button, halting its descent.

When he turns to me, the frustration in his eyes startles me. But I know exactly what he needs, and I couldn't want it more. "Bad day, sir?" I ask, offering the opportunity to vent.

He didn't call me in here to talk about his day, and we both know it. And when he just shakes his head, dismissing the question, and backs me into the corner of the elevator, I'm not surprised.

He doesn't kiss me, not at first. Our bodies are pressed close together; the elevator's handrail digs into my back, but I relish the discomfort and the knowledge that it's what he wants.

As if reading my mind, he takes my hands and places them on the rail at either side of me, giving me something to hold on to. I read the meaning in the wordless gesture. Stay. My palms resting on the cool metal, I give a tiny nod.

With one foot between mine, he nudges my legs apart, then steps back, surveying me. His stare is so penetrating that I feel like I'm being fucked by his eyes, my skin tingling as he looks me over.

For long moments, he keeps me guessing, affirming that there's still one aspect of today that he's in control of. Then, with a slight smile, he begins to unfasten the buttons of my skull-and-crossbones shirt, agonisingly slowly. I bite my lip as he pushes the material off my shoulders, tapping each of my hands in turn to get me to lift them off the handrail for long enough to strip off the shirt.

The cool air hits my skin, sending a light shiver through me. Gibbs steps in closer, his lips an inch from mine as he reaches around behind me to unsnap my bra. The garment joins my shirt on the floor, and I close my eyes, the intensity of the moment almost too much for me.

His hands come to rest on my shoulders and stroke down my arms, back up again, the touch firm and confident. When he continues over my hips, up my sides, then over my breasts, I have to suck in a shaky breath to keep from begging him for more.

His fingers trail away, down my navel, over my skirt, and then up under it to rest two fingertips against my inner thigh. When his free hand begins undoing his pants, I clutch the handrail tighter, trying not to crumble under the weight of the unbearable anticipation that's pounding its way through my veins. And when I feel him pressed up against me, his fingers dragging aside the cloth of my thong, I can't help the tiny, encouraging whimper that tears from my throat.

His lips finally find mine as he drives into me, the rough desperation of his embrace causing me to cry out. I grip the handrail tightly, bracing myself against it to meet him thrust for thrust. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist, supporting my weight on my hands, and gasp as the new angle gives me exactly what I need.

Over and over, he slams into me, the motion pushing me further and further into insanity. It's only when I'm about to lose it that I remember we're in a D/s scenario, and gasp with frustration as I realise I need his permission to come. "Sir…?" I whimper, trying to remember how to speak.

He knows exactly what I'm trying to say, but feigns ignorance. "'Sir' what, little tease?"

His pet name for me sends an additional spark of need right to my core, and I arch against him before I realise what I'm doing, the move sending me dangerously close to the edge. "Fuck!" I whisper, trembling, my mind frantically searching for the right words. "Please, sir, I need-"

"Need what?" he asks, and this time it's impossible to miss the amusement in his voice.

Oh, god, I need to come-

The words must have made it past my lips, because he gives his assent without letting up. "Go on, little tease."

Crying out with relief, I stop holding back, shaking with the force of the orgasm that knocks every thought out of my head. As the aftershocks begin to subside, Gibbs grinds me into the wall, fingers tightening on my flesh as he finds his own release.

As soon as my feet touch the floor again, I wrap myself around him, still drifting on the adrenaline high his touch has evoked in me. "Thank you, sir," I whisper, and he kisses me, letting me know without words how pleased he is with me.

"Worth the wait?" he asks softly, kissing his way down my stomach as he picks up my bra and shirt from the elevator floor.

"Yes, sir!" Officially my second-favourite phrase of the year, right behind 'little tease'.

I pull on my clothes; he neatens his, then sets the elevator back on course for my lab. Back to work, as if I could concentrate. When the doors open, the bleep that signifies a positive match is emanating from my computer speakers, and I raise an eyebrow at Gibbs.

"Permission to blow this case wide open, sir?" I ask, and at his nod make a beeline for my computer. Whoa, the partial Ducky and I lifted from the victim's neck actually came up with a match! I love it when long shots pay off.

Calling up the AFIS file on our murderer, I beam up at Gibbs. "Lance Corporal Andrew Caine. Come across him before?"

"No. Where can I find him?"

"I'll have the details emailed to McGee by the time you get upstairs," I tell him.

He signs something to me, his fingers grazing my flesh, and heads for the elevator. I begin to tap out an email to McGee, unable to stop the grin that stretches over my face.

My girl has a whole new meaning, now.