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kageygirlWritten for the Porn Battle, prompts:
Tony/Tim, exposure, and Tony/Tim/Abby, spying. This is the unabridged version.
Titled unrepentantly swiped from Tennyson's Locksley Hall.
A Mute Observance
In the spring, a young woman's fancy turns to thoughts of hacking.
Well, okay, at the moment it's winter, and Abby's thoughts turn to hacking pretty much any time someone else's system refuses to give up the goods. But it's one of the rare -or-famine times in L-Abby's world of forensic evidence, and while the team's out there trying to get something for her babies to chew over, she's bored.
Plus, Mister MIT's been even more superior than usual lately. Really, teaching him a lesson by remotely cracking his laptop means doing a favor for everyone. Sister Mary Catherine insists that humility is good for the soul. (And for picking up a 7-10 split.)
She cracks her knuckles, rubs her hands together to warm up, and she's off.
It takes less than half a Caf-Pow! to tunnel into McGee's system, and she's almost disappointed. Then again, a), she really is that good, and b), this means she can totally give McGee shit about his security. It's pretty much a win-win.
She starts poking through his files, but there's nothing all that exciting--standard-issue boilerplate software: surveillance stuff, satcom uplink, yadda yadda. There are a few recent audio files recorded through the parabolic mic, and that gives her a wonderful, awful idea.
With a few well-placed keytaps and a flourish, she activates the built-in webcam, and settles in to watch...
... an empty chair. In a featureless, empty apartment.
Wow. Stakeout: NCIS Style is way less interesting than she'd imagined.
She makes sure the mic's on, but there's just white noise. If she hadn't checked the IP address, she'd think she had the wrong laptop.
"You find 'em yet?" comes through the speakers after a second, distorted, but totally recognizable to someone who's filtered more audio than you can shake a compression codec at. Tony.
There's a crackly rummaging sound, and then, "Yeah, got 'em." McGee walks across the screen, left to right, and hands a pair of binoculars off-screen.
"Thanks." A few seconds of dead air, while McGee glances between what she assumes are disembodied Tony and the equally unseen window. "Yeah, that is definitely some absolutely nothing going on over there."
"If only there were a hot preoperative transsexual to watch."
There's a long pause--Abby can practically see that DiNozzo glare--and then Tony says, "Go sit over there. I'm not talking to you anymore."
Which is totally her cue for a bathroom break.
~
By the time she gets back to the lab and unminimizes the window, somehow the Undiscovery Channel has turned into the Spice Network. Abby widens her eyes, plugs in the headphones she almost never uses... and makes sure the feed is recording to the hard drive.
The chair formerly known as empty is now filled with McGee--and overflowing with Tony, who's got one hand braced on the back of the chair, next to McGee's head, and the other one hard at work in McGee's lap. No pun intended.
In a separate window, Abby punches up the video feeds for the cameras in the hallway leading to her lab. Usually, she likes to be surprised by visitors, but--well, she's not going to be the one to out the guys.
Tim gives a deep moan, and Tony cuts him off with a kiss. Abby shifts in her seat. The chains on her belt jingle.
Tony's got Tim's pants open now, and he's shifted off to one side, kneeling beside Tim, murmuring into his ear, low and continuous. And giving Abby a perfect view of his hand on Tim's cock. Abby's seen it before, of course, but never like this. She takes a deep breath, pressing her thighs together.
Tim takes his own deep, shuddering breath, and his legs fall further apart as Tony works him over. So not fair, Abby thinks, and she punches up the feed for her own lab camera.
And makes sure her back is to the camera, and that the monitor's totally blocked by her body, before spreading her own legs and slipping her left hand up under her skirt.
Over the headphones, Tim's moaning and Tony's egging him on with those beautiful hands and that honeyed voice, but Abby's quiet as a church on Tuesday as she circles her clit with two fingers, a little clumsy but good enough to catch her up. That good ol' fear of discovery is egging her on, as her eyes flick between camera feeds, Tim's hand job to empty hallway to her own back to the lab camera. The resolution's just good enough to see her right hand moving on the mouse, but not enough to tell that she's trembling, not working.
Tim gives a cry she's heard before and she looks up to see him coming over Tony's hand, head buried against Tony's shoulder, and it's enough to push her over, sucking in a breath and arching her back a little.
On the monitor, it looks like she's stretching.
As soon as her knees are steady, she minimizes the stakeout feed, kills the in-building windows, and eases herself to her feet to wash her hands. By the time she gets back, McGee's debauchery chair is empty again, but there's a messenger window blinking for her attention.
Next time, don't forget to mask your port scan.
***
(And just for the heck of it, the deleted scene, since I had to write it out anyway to get things organized in my head.)
***
"We've been hacked."
"By Richardson?" Tim looks over to see Tony's head whip around, confusion and disbelief making him frown. "How does he even know we're here?"
"It's not Richardson. It's..." Tim checks the IP address, blinks, checks it again to make sure it's not being cloned or redirected. "It's Abby."
"Abby?" Tony relaxes a little--which is what makes Tim realize, belatedly, how tense he was--but the frown is still there. "Why wouldn't she just call? Or--it pains me to say this, but I don't actually mean this in a sexual way--ping you?"
"I--don't know." Tim sends a query back to Abby's system, and it comes back idle--just background processes. He debates disabling the active mic and webcam, then decides not to let her know he knows.
Instead he takes the low-tech way out--stands up, walks over to Tony, leans down and whispers in his ear. "I think she just decided our surveillance needed some--surveilling."
Tony looks up and over his shoulder at Tim. "Kinky," he says, in a hushed tone. His eyes sweep up and down Tim briefly, and a smile curls the corner of his mouth. "Want to give her a little something for her troubles?"
Tim feels his cheeks flush. "We-we're on duty," he says, "and--she might not be alone."
"The camera's running, we'll be quick, and Abby's smarter than that," Tony says, abandoning the binoculars on the windowsill and negotiating a slow spin on his stool, a gleam in his eye. "You're not afraid, are you?"
Afraid--no, Tim's not afraid. Apprehensive, nervous, taken aback by the idea of--in front of his ex--in front of Abby... but, "No," he says, crossing his arms, and now Tony's grinning a Cheshire grin.
"I gotcha, baby," Tony murmurs, still grinning. He slides one hand up Tim's thigh to cup the burgeoning heaviness at his groin and slips the other one behind Tim's neck, pulling him into a deep, dirty kiss.
Tim hardly notices he's being backed across the room until the desk chair hits him below the knees.
Tony/Tim, exposure, and Tony/Tim/Abby, spying. This is the unabridged version.
Titled unrepentantly swiped from Tennyson's Locksley Hall.
A Mute Observance
In the spring, a young woman's fancy turns to thoughts of hacking.
Well, okay, at the moment it's winter, and Abby's thoughts turn to hacking pretty much any time someone else's system refuses to give up the goods. But it's one of the rare -or-famine times in L-Abby's world of forensic evidence, and while the team's out there trying to get something for her babies to chew over, she's bored.
Plus, Mister MIT's been even more superior than usual lately. Really, teaching him a lesson by remotely cracking his laptop means doing a favor for everyone. Sister Mary Catherine insists that humility is good for the soul. (And for picking up a 7-10 split.)
She cracks her knuckles, rubs her hands together to warm up, and she's off.
It takes less than half a Caf-Pow! to tunnel into McGee's system, and she's almost disappointed. Then again, a), she really is that good, and b), this means she can totally give McGee shit about his security. It's pretty much a win-win.
She starts poking through his files, but there's nothing all that exciting--standard-issue boilerplate software: surveillance stuff, satcom uplink, yadda yadda. There are a few recent audio files recorded through the parabolic mic, and that gives her a wonderful, awful idea.
With a few well-placed keytaps and a flourish, she activates the built-in webcam, and settles in to watch...
... an empty chair. In a featureless, empty apartment.
Wow. Stakeout: NCIS Style is way less interesting than she'd imagined.
She makes sure the mic's on, but there's just white noise. If she hadn't checked the IP address, she'd think she had the wrong laptop.
"You find 'em yet?" comes through the speakers after a second, distorted, but totally recognizable to someone who's filtered more audio than you can shake a compression codec at. Tony.
There's a crackly rummaging sound, and then, "Yeah, got 'em." McGee walks across the screen, left to right, and hands a pair of binoculars off-screen.
"Thanks." A few seconds of dead air, while McGee glances between what she assumes are disembodied Tony and the equally unseen window. "Yeah, that is definitely some absolutely nothing going on over there."
"If only there were a hot preoperative transsexual to watch."
There's a long pause--Abby can practically see that DiNozzo glare--and then Tony says, "Go sit over there. I'm not talking to you anymore."
Which is totally her cue for a bathroom break.
~
By the time she gets back to the lab and unminimizes the window, somehow the Undiscovery Channel has turned into the Spice Network. Abby widens her eyes, plugs in the headphones she almost never uses... and makes sure the feed is recording to the hard drive.
The chair formerly known as empty is now filled with McGee--and overflowing with Tony, who's got one hand braced on the back of the chair, next to McGee's head, and the other one hard at work in McGee's lap. No pun intended.
In a separate window, Abby punches up the video feeds for the cameras in the hallway leading to her lab. Usually, she likes to be surprised by visitors, but--well, she's not going to be the one to out the guys.
Tim gives a deep moan, and Tony cuts him off with a kiss. Abby shifts in her seat. The chains on her belt jingle.
Tony's got Tim's pants open now, and he's shifted off to one side, kneeling beside Tim, murmuring into his ear, low and continuous. And giving Abby a perfect view of his hand on Tim's cock. Abby's seen it before, of course, but never like this. She takes a deep breath, pressing her thighs together.
Tim takes his own deep, shuddering breath, and his legs fall further apart as Tony works him over. So not fair, Abby thinks, and she punches up the feed for her own lab camera.
And makes sure her back is to the camera, and that the monitor's totally blocked by her body, before spreading her own legs and slipping her left hand up under her skirt.
Over the headphones, Tim's moaning and Tony's egging him on with those beautiful hands and that honeyed voice, but Abby's quiet as a church on Tuesday as she circles her clit with two fingers, a little clumsy but good enough to catch her up. That good ol' fear of discovery is egging her on, as her eyes flick between camera feeds, Tim's hand job to empty hallway to her own back to the lab camera. The resolution's just good enough to see her right hand moving on the mouse, but not enough to tell that she's trembling, not working.
Tim gives a cry she's heard before and she looks up to see him coming over Tony's hand, head buried against Tony's shoulder, and it's enough to push her over, sucking in a breath and arching her back a little.
On the monitor, it looks like she's stretching.
As soon as her knees are steady, she minimizes the stakeout feed, kills the in-building windows, and eases herself to her feet to wash her hands. By the time she gets back, McGee's debauchery chair is empty again, but there's a messenger window blinking for her attention.
Next time, don't forget to mask your port scan.
***
(And just for the heck of it, the deleted scene, since I had to write it out anyway to get things organized in my head.)
***
"We've been hacked."
"By Richardson?" Tim looks over to see Tony's head whip around, confusion and disbelief making him frown. "How does he even know we're here?"
"It's not Richardson. It's..." Tim checks the IP address, blinks, checks it again to make sure it's not being cloned or redirected. "It's Abby."
"Abby?" Tony relaxes a little--which is what makes Tim realize, belatedly, how tense he was--but the frown is still there. "Why wouldn't she just call? Or--it pains me to say this, but I don't actually mean this in a sexual way--ping you?"
"I--don't know." Tim sends a query back to Abby's system, and it comes back idle--just background processes. He debates disabling the active mic and webcam, then decides not to let her know he knows.
Instead he takes the low-tech way out--stands up, walks over to Tony, leans down and whispers in his ear. "I think she just decided our surveillance needed some--surveilling."
Tony looks up and over his shoulder at Tim. "Kinky," he says, in a hushed tone. His eyes sweep up and down Tim briefly, and a smile curls the corner of his mouth. "Want to give her a little something for her troubles?"
Tim feels his cheeks flush. "We-we're on duty," he says, "and--she might not be alone."
"The camera's running, we'll be quick, and Abby's smarter than that," Tony says, abandoning the binoculars on the windowsill and negotiating a slow spin on his stool, a gleam in his eye. "You're not afraid, are you?"
Afraid--no, Tim's not afraid. Apprehensive, nervous, taken aback by the idea of--in front of his ex--in front of Abby... but, "No," he says, crossing his arms, and now Tony's grinning a Cheshire grin.
"I gotcha, baby," Tony murmurs, still grinning. He slides one hand up Tim's thigh to cup the burgeoning heaviness at his groin and slips the other one behind Tim's neck, pulling him into a deep, dirty kiss.
Tim hardly notices he's being backed across the room until the desk chair hits him below the knees.
