This is totally and completely McGee’s fault. If he weren’t so…McGee, I wouldn’t have been so tempted to mess with him. If I hadn’t been so tempted, I wouldn’t have gone to Abby for her assistance. And, of course, if I hadn’t gone to Abby, we wouldn’t be in this pickle.

“I am sooo sorry,” Abby moans yet again, burrowing her face into the crook of my neck as she presses against me.

“Abby,” I try once again to regain her attention. I peer down at her until she looks up to meet my gaze, her expression filled with remorse. She chews her lip slightly as though she is expecting me to be angry. “This is not your fault,” I assure her once more, while silently cursing McGee for making her feel guilty like this.

“Yes it is!” she insists. “I didn’t think it would work this fast so I didn’t bring any of the...it shouldn’t have worked this fast! Why did it? I must have added too much of the…” I nod knowingly at whatever chemical she rattles off. As if I know what the hell she’s talking about. I may have a basic working knowledge of chemistry but this stuff is a bit over my head. Whatever it is, apparently it’s at fault (in addition, of course, to McGeek) for our predicament.

I assess to make sure that I won’t make our situation worse and then carefully drop my chin to rest momentarily on top of her head, nuzzling a little bit to assure her that we’re okay. I can feel her lips curving up a little bit against my neck and try not to take notice of the way her breath tickles and warms my skin.

I have to admit that despite the situation--and the knowledge that help is at least a few hours away--there are far worse ways I can imagine spending the night than being stuck to Abby Sciuto.

Literally stuck, courtesy of Abby’s homemade (rather lab-made) glue.

Neither of us had the foresight to bring the…antidote stuff along with us; she apparently didn’t expect it to bond so quickly, and to be honest I never even really thought about that sort of thing at all. All we were going to do was coat a few of McGoo’s things with the stuff. And it wasn’t like I wouldn’t have made sure to have the remover ready in the morning when he got himself stuck to his chair, his keyboard, his stapler, and/or his phone. Well, okay, so I probably wouldn’t have had it at my desk or anything, but I trusted that it would be right downstairs in Abby’s lab since she’s the type who would only let him stick for a minute or two before she’d start feeling all guilty and put an end to it.

It didn’t occur to either of us that Abby might accidentally trip and spill the goop elsewhere.

When precisely that happened, I instinctively reached out to try and catch her and just that fast my hand became stuck. Similarly, one of her hands is now stuck to my shoulder and the other to my thigh. Despite all that, if it weren’t for the fact that in my rush to catch my balance I’d gotten my other hand stuck to McGee’s desk, we would’ve been able to get back to the lab and she’d be able to fix this problem with no one the wiser.

Of course that just doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

“So what’re we going to do?” Abby asks. Her brow furrows as she ponders the question a few moments before she brightens. “Gibbs usually comes in early.”

Damnit, McGee! 

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that it would be Gibbs who would eventually come to our rescue. Although I haven’t called attention to it--and Abby has so far tactfully ignored it--the position of my hand has not completely escaped my attention. Honestly, I’ve tried not to think about it too much at the risk of making the situation even more awkward.

Yes, there are far worse ways to spend a night than with my hand stuck to Abby Sciuto’s breast, but the consequences when Gibbs discovers us is another story, entirely.

I wonder who’ll give my eulogy.

That’s it. We need to find our own way out of this.

I look around, trying to find anything that can help. Due to the glue-y mess that is McGoo’s desk, everything on it--including the phone (not that we’d be able to dial anyway since our hands are all out of commission)--is completely out of the question.

Stupid McGlue.

Unfortunately we’re not near enough to my desk to attempt to get to anything over there, either.

I carefully try once again to pull my hand free from the desk. And once again Abby scolds me for it. “Quit! You’re going to rip the skin off your hand.” Between that option and getting caught by Gibbs, I’m not sure the injury wouldn’t be worth it. I tug a little less carefully. “You’ll be on desk duty until it heals!”

Point taken.  Death is better than desk duty.

I sigh, reluctantly accepting defeat for the moment.

“So, what were you going to do tonight?” she asks softly.

“Nothing much,” I’m embarrassed to admit. Truth be told, I haven’t gone out much lately. Or at all, if I’m completely honest. If I weren’t here, I’d be home in front of the TV. “Sorry you’re going to miss out on clubbing,” I guess at her plans for the night by the sexy corset-top dress she’s wearing.

Her nose wrinkles. “It’s okay. I was looking for a reason not to go, anyway. It’s my friend Ronnie’s birthday.” At my questioning look, she smiles wryly. “He always wants a birthday spanking, so you know…awkward!”  Yeaah. Okay then. Sometimes it’s just best not to discuss what Abby does during the off hours. “I’d much rather be here with you,” she adds, sounding sincere.

“So then my evil plan is working,” I tease in a low voice.

She grins, a mischievous glint lighting in her eyes.  “Your evil plan?” she replies, her eyebrow quirking as she challenges me.

“You didn’t think I’d waste so much energy on McGee did you?” Her eyes narrow with mock suspicion. “It’s all about getting some Abby-time.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize that they’re true. Maybe I hadn’t consciously thought about it, but since when did I need Abby’s assistance to torture McGoober? No. It wasn’t about McGee at all, but about having a moment like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this--next time I’d preferably forgo the glue--but about reconnecting with Abby. I’ve always loved having a little silly childish fun, but it’s never as much fun without a partner in crime. Not just any partner; Abby.

I didn’t even realize until just now how much I’ve missed her.

No. That’s not right; how can I miss her when neither of us has been gone?

“Aw! I’ve missed you too!” she coos, unwittingly echoing my thoughts. Maybe they weren’t as inaccurate as I thought. “But you didn’t have to go through all this just for me,” she teases coyly.

“How else was I to get you to stay with me?”

“All you had to do was ask,” she replies, looking up at me through her eyelashes. “Now that you’ve got me, what do you want to do with me?” she asks wickedly, her sultry voice sending an unexpectedly pleasant shiver up my spine.

I swallow hard and my mouth goes inexplicably dry as I catch myself staring at her dark cherry lips. The thoughts that immediately surge through my mind and the answer on the tip of my tongue are things I definitely shouldn’t voice. I wouldn’t be entirely kidding, and if it freaked her out, we’d still be stuck to each other and have to spend the night with a whole new level of awkwardness between us.

And what if it didn’t freak her out…? I may be going through a dry spell lately, but even if I weren’t I imagine I’d still be having trouble keeping little (make that not-so-little) DiNozzo under control without adding the idea that there was an actual possibility of something happening between us. Not that there is one, of course. In the years I’ve known Abby we’ve flirted, but it’s never gone beyond harmless innuendo. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’ve been more than a little attracted to her, and it’s not that the possibilities have never crossed my mind.  Fortunately, she’s way too smart to fall for a guy like me or I would’ve screwed up our relationship years ago.

“Tony?” Abby asks, her voice normal again. I blink and realize that in not voicing my wildly inappropriate thoughts, I’ve stayed silent, probably placing me on about the same level of creepy as her weirdo friend, Ronnie.

“Sorry,” I apologize breezily, flashing an exaggeratedly lecherous grin in an attempt to continue the game. “Just considering my options,” I add as my tongue quickly flicks out to wet my lips.

“Bad boy,” she chides me, though her smirk returns.

“What?” I feign innocence. “I was just thinking about…dancing,” I lie, then proceed to begin humming a random tune while I sway her a little bit, and dip her backward. Without real use of my hands, it’s harder than I expected to keep us balanced, so I have to struggle to quickly get us both upright again. Oh yes, very smooth, DiNozzo.

“Of course you were,” she sardonically replies.

“Well, it was either that or entertain you with a rousing game of ‘I Spy’,” I justify my activity choice.

She lights up at the game suggestion and I am really glad that I didn’t seriously consider telling her the truth about what I was really thinking. “I spy with my little eye…something orange.”

The walls. Got to be the walls. I know her too well for me to suspect anything else. But that’s no fun, so instead I suggest, “Gibbs’ clown nose?”

She gives me an amused look, but plays along, “Sorry can’t see that from here. Besides, I think that’s purple.”

“The gum under Ziva’s desk?”

“Are you sure you’re not color blind?”

“I thought we were playing I Spy, not 20 questions,” I feign confusion before continuing the game by ‘guessing’ random things until at last I ‘finally’ come up with the correct answer and have to come up with an item of my own. “I spy with my little eye…”

Salvation? I tilt my head a little bit as I catch sight of the item on top of McGee’s file cabinet just a few feet away. Yes, that could definitely work. I grin triumphantly and murmur, “Something blue and silver.”

“You’re not thinking naughty things again are you?” Abby asks suspiciously.

“Only if cutting off our clothes is naughty,” I reply with a smirk. Her brow furrows as she tries to follow my gaze, and then her eyes widen as she spots the scissors I’ve spied.

“Ooooh!” she squeals with excitement. Then she suddenly looks guilty. “I mean. Not that I don’t want to spend time with you, but…”

“But it’d be a lot more fun if we weren’t standing here glued to each other?” I supply in a serious tone. “Not that that doesn’t have its merits,” I pretend to consider. “Well, aside from also being glued to McGee’s desk…” 

“If not for that,” she agrees with a throaty laugh that makes me almost wish that I hadn’t spotted the scissors. I could stand to listen to it for at least a few more hours…

Of course seeing the scissors and actually getting to them are entirely different things. I step as far away from the desk as I can, but we’re just not close enough for Abby to reach them. I can feel the fabric of my shirt pulling away from my shoulder, but it can only move so far.

“Maybe if we unbutton it,” I suggest. “Then I can maybe slip my arm out a bit.”

Abby nods seriously, but quickly realizes that unbuttoning my shirt is much easier said than done. The fabric just won’t pull enough for her to get her hands close to the buttons. She looks frustrated for just a moment, then grins as an idea strikes.

When her head lowers to my chest it takes me a few moments to realize what she’s doing. I suck in my breath as her teeth tug at the button of my collar. The first button gives way and she drops down to the next button. I flinch a little bit as I feel her tongue flick against my skin as it pushes the second button through its hole.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, likely thinking that it wasn’t welcomed. The problem wasn’t that at all. It was a little too welcomed. I close my eyes and try to think about something else--anything else--as she continues her downward trek. Think about…McGee. This entirely his fault. So think about that, I mentally suggest, trying not to acknowledge the tickle of her breath against my belly, a sensation that generally only precedes...

I bite my tongue as hard as I can in an attempt to stop that line of thought and keep (not-so) little DiNozzo under control. This is Abby, and she’s not…she’s…I gasp involuntarily as I feel her lips on skin near my navel. Fortunately the sound is drowned out by…did she just give me a zerbert? I blink a few times as I look down and see her playfully grinning up at me, her lips still sealed against my flesh. She did. I can’t help but grin back as the absurdity of the moment sinks in.  There shouldn’t be anything even remotely sexy about someone blowing a raspberry against your stomach, but (not-so) little DiNozzo apparently totally disagrees. As Abby gets back to work on my shirt, I know there’s absolutely no way she doesn’t know exactly what her ministrations are doing to me. I hold my breath and concentrate on not making that particular situation worse as I feel her teeth tugging my shirt up until the tails are free from my pants.

“Was it good for you?” she teases me a little bit as she rises back to her feet once her task is completed.

“That’s not a banana in my pocket if that’s what you’re asking,” I retort brightly, relieved that she’s making light of the situation rather than acting awkward about it.

“No? Darn, I was actually feeling kind of hungry…” she pretends to pout, and I know she knows what she’s doing to me.

“Maybe once we get out of this, I’ll feed you,” I shoot back, fully aware of how it will sound.

“Promises, promises,” she murmurs silkily, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. I can’t quite decipher the look in her eyes, but for the first time I wonder if maybe she’s not just toying with me. Perhaps, she’s a little turned on by the situation, too. But even if she is…it’s a line that I probably shouldn’t cross with her, no matter how much I’d like to…

I let out a deep breath and try to focus back on reality again. “I’m going to try to get my arm…” I explain what I’m doing as I try to pull my arm a little bit out of the sleeve. The problem quickly becomes apparent. I can’t pull my arm out far enough for her to be able to reach the scissors while my hand is still attached to her dress.

Once again our eyes meet as we both come to the same conclusion.

For the first time in all the time I’ve known her, Abby looks utterly embarrassed. Though one would never guess by looking at her usual attire (or witnessing her often bawdy humor) she’s a surprisingly modest girl at heart. “You’re going to have to…” she informs me, the playfulness suddenly absent from her tone.

“Abs…we don’t have to do this. We can just stay here,” I assure. I’m quite okay with that, in fact.

“No we can’t,” she replies, her discomfort growing more apparent as she shifts her body away from mine as much as she can.

I feel the blood drain from my face as I realize that she must not have been so comfortable with my teasing after all. “God, Abs, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean an--"

Her eyes light again as she shakes her head. “No!” she lets out a small laugh. “It’s definitely not that,” she adds insistently, flashing a grin that can only be described as sinful. “It’s just that I had like…six, maybe nine Caf-Pows today. I was fine until I thought we were getting out and I let myself think about it…” she admits, her cheeks pinking at the confession. 

“Okay…” I can see exactly where this is going. I consider for a few moments. “Okay, but there are alternatives,” I suggest carefully. I can’t help but chuckle at her rather indignant look, but I quickly sober up as her scowl deepens. I nod toward McGee’s trash bin. “I’ll close my eyes,” I assure her with complete sincerity.

She considers for a moment, but then shakes her head. “No. This is stupid. Just…do it,” she insists, looking down at the lace tying up her bodice.

“All you have to do is tell me to stop,” I reassure her once again before I set to my task. I hold her gaze a few moments longer, making sure she’s really okay with the situation. I can tell that she isn’t and I’m pretty sure I know the reason why; it’s because it’s me with her.

I can’t say I blame her.

It’s not like I’m known for being courteous like McGoodyTwoShoes. Or no-nonsense like Gibbs. Not that either of them would ever get themselves into this situation, I suppose. The thing is, she doesn’t trust me not to go blabbing the story to everyone we know; more than likely embellishing the tale. Hell she probably expects that I’ll be sending out stills from the surveillance tapes on my Christmas cards this year. I wouldn’t. She’s probably just about the only woman I wouldn’t even tease about doing it. The last thing in the world I would ever want to do is hurt her.

Not just because Gibbs would kill me, but because I love her. Not the traditional romantic flowers, chocolates, and poetry sort of love--except, of course, for black roses on her birthday and occasional cheer-me-ups. Okay, and who could possibly resist the way she gets so excited about fudgy treats? But absolutely no poetry. Unless you count the occasional dirty limerick that we both can appreciate.

Fine so it is that kind of love, maybe. But it’s totally different than the lustful frantic and fleeting sort of love I’ve had for other women who’ve come into and gone out of my life. What I feel for Abby is hard to define, but possibly it’s a more…honest love. And more…respectful.

“Okay?” I ask softly. At her hesitant nod, I lean forward and give her a chaste kiss on her forehead. Like I think Gibbs would do.  And it seems to be exactly the right thing; I feel her relaxing slightly against me.

I cautiously lower my mouth to the lace, catching the end of it in my teeth.  I tug experimentally and am relieved to find that it wasn’t knotted and easily comes undone.

Under normal circumstances, I would probably find the prospect of unlacing Abby’s corset with my teeth incredibly erotic and exciting. And admittedly on one level it is, but knowing that she’s not entirely happy about it also makes it somewhat daunting. I have to tread carefully and not…not live up to what I suspect are her expectations of me being an immature ass about this.

Ignoring every eager, lustful impulse, I treat undressing Abby as a task of absolute reverence as I gently work the lace through the eyelets, slowly working my way down. Though she probably thinks it’s just so I have an excuse to grope her a little bit, I do my best to hold the dress firmly in place until she’s ready for it to drop. I don’t even tease her when I realize that much like when our positions were reversed, she’s not entirely unaffected by the intimacy of the situation or my breath’s inadvertent assault on an apparent erogenous zone as I work nearer to her navel. I can’t help but smile just a little bit as her eyes close and her head tilts back slightly. It takes sheer willpower to not stop what I’m doing and give in to the primal urge to kiss her bared neck. Push her back onto the desk. Ravish--

No! Stop thinking about that! Think about…ew. Absolutely the wrong moment to think about McGoofy. Or the right moment, as the case may be. Damn it, McGee!

As soon as the lace is loosened enough that the dress should be able to fall past her hips I stop and rise back to my full height, waiting for Abby to give me a sign of approval. Her eyes are slightly dilated as they open to meet mine. My heart races as her tongue darts out and moistens her lips. For just a moment I feel my resolve crumbling. I want her. And I’m pretty sure at the moment she wants me, too.

But it’s only for this moment, I remind myself, effectively killing any urge. Nothing can happen. Not like this. Not when I know she’d regret it, and it would destroy the only female relationship I’ve ever been able to maintain for more than a few months. And not if it means admitting that I want her--but only if I can keep her. And I know that will never happen.

She’s far too smart to fall for a guy like me.

I realize that once again my stare has lingered a few moments too long and killed her mood, too. I can’t quite interpret the look she’s giving me. I don’t think it’s disgust or anything, but…perhaps regret? I force a small grin, hoping it doesn’t look as uncomfortable as I feel. “Ready?”

I keep my eyes locked firmly on hers as I lower the dress and she steps out of it. My gaze doesn’t falter as I carefully roll the dress up and pull it through my shirt sleeve, allowing Abby to move enough to reach the scissors.  My attention remains focused on the task at hand as she hands me the scissors. I press my fingers and the material of Abby’s dress through the handle so that I can cut a patch out of my shirt to free her. And then my eyes return immediately to her face, never once giving in to the almost overwhelming temptation to look down at her nearly naked body and see for myself just how many tattoos she has on that flawless porcelain skin.

“There’s a shirt you can use in the top drawer,” I inform Abby as I reach down and unbutton my jeans, to which other hand is still fastened. She may have modesty issues, but lack of modesty has always been one of my strong points…or faults, if you listen to some. I am glad, though, that I didn’t go commando today. I kick off my shoes so that she can easily get my pants off.

“Thanks, Tony,” she murmurs as she rises back to her feet, using my jeans to cover her chest. I’m a little surprised when she doesn’t immediately head over to my filing cabinet to retrieve the promised shirt. Instead, she stands before me, biting her lip as though she’s battling with herself deciding whether or not to say something.

I bet it’s a ‘friendly reminder’ of what she could do to me if I tell anyone about this--or try to procure a copy of the security tape. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath for a few moments, trying to think of just how to assure her that I would never do that. She’s seen how I am. Just telling her will never work. I wouldn’t even believe me!

“Abby…I…” I feel really stupid. I try again. “I wouldn’t…”

I feel the odd sensation of material being pressed against my lips and realize that she’s holding her finger there to silence me. I open my eyes and see her staring back at me. And once again I’m not sure how to read her expression.

That is, until she whispers, “I know.” And then suddenly she’s pressing her whole body flush against me, her lips pressing against mine in a passionately fiery kiss. For a moment I lose all train of thought and almost find myself glued to McGee’s desk as I let her push me back against it. In all likelihood, if that had been her intention, I would’ve fallen for it, but she was one step ahead of me and managed to avert that particular disaster by pulling away just as suddenly as she’d pounced. She grins wildly as she realizes that she’s rendered me utterly speechless. “Hold that thought.”

What thought? I think I may possibly be completely incapable of thought…

I watch in a daze for a few moments as she scurries over to get my shirt. Then I remember myself and force myself to look away. And try really hard not to think about that kiss. Or how much I want another one. And another.

I’m just greedy that way.

But I can’t think about that! I have to think of…McGee. And how this is all his damn fault. And…

Then Abby’s in front of me, again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as sexy as Abby Sciuto wearing one of my Brunelli button-downs and her club boots. “I’ll be right back,” she assures me. “And then we can get out of here!”

I find myself a little disappointed by the prospect. Not that I want to spend the night stuck to McGee’s desk…at least not now that Abby isn’t. But I don’t want her to leave. That must show on my face because she quickly adds, “We’ll go back to my place.” She risks getting stuck all over again as she leans in and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me in one of her infamous Abby-hugs. And giving me another of the searing kisses I know I’ll probably crave for the rest of my life; I suspect that nothing else will ever measure up.

“Next time let’s just use handcuffs,” she whispers tantalizingly into my ear. Before I can even respond, she’s gone, spiriting away down the hall and disappearing into the stairs heading down to the lab. Leaving me to stare after her in a blissful stupor…and trying to not think too much about those kisses, and the prospect of obtaining more of them.

Right. So…have to think about something else.

Like about…maybe how I should thank McGee in the morning. After all, if he weren’t so…McGee, I wouldn’t have been so tempted to mess with him and this never would have happened. But then, he didn’t really do anything. So why give him credit? Eh.

I freeze as I hear the elevator doors sliding open. It’s much too quick for Abby to be back and too early for it to be anyone but…I turned around slowly and sure enough. There. Standing at the edge of the bullpen-- catching me with no pants, one hand stuck to McGee’s desk and Abby’s dress dangling from the other--is Gibbs. I wonder if he forgot something earlier and came back for it, or if he couldn’t sleep and came in to do some catch-up paperwork. Or possibly it was just another case of him having that sixth-sense that tells him the precise timing to show up and catch me in compromising positions that brought him here. Regardless, he’s here.  

We stare at each other for a few moments without a word.

Really what could one say? 

“You’re unbuttoned, DiNozzo.”

Well. There is that.

Damn, McGee. This is all his fault.