Chapter 3: What Tony Needed
Marissa Tucker's phone vibrated in her hip pocket. In her position as a dispatcher, it would be a serious breach of regulations to have a personal phone ring on the job. But tonight when her shift ended at midnight, she was hoping to hook up with a guy she met at a wedding last weekend and now, at twenty til, she hoped that was him, telling her where to meet him. When she saw it was Fern, on duty at the entrance station, she slumped back in her seat. Damn. And then sat bolt upright again when she saw the message.
::Gibbs' team caught a case at a dump. And it's raining. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill. The pigeon is in the nest. I can't leave. Make me proud. I want details.::
Marissa stood up suddenly. Bergenson looked over from his station. "I'm going to the head, okay?" He shrugged and waved her off.
Heather had gone home but she was pretty sure Olivia was working late. She walked faster.
Marissa could not stop the excited grin from curling across her face. Tony DiNozzo had to take a shower. Here and now. Not only were they going to get an eyeful, sure to fuel fantasies for months but they would get a little revenge on the man for his relentless but so far fruitless flirting.
Tony should have been in a foul mood. Gibbs and Kate had been working interviewing witnesses, dry and warm in the hotel, leaving he and McGee to process the scene, including one of the smelliest, most disgusting, dumpsters ever to grace the nation's capitol. No brainer, right? McGee would get in the dumpster. But. McGee had won the bet. The bet where the loser won a one-way trip to the shittiest assignment of the winner's choice. At a time of his choosing. So. Tony got the dumpster. Fortunately, when the call came in, he was home and had changed into jeans and a t-shirt, so he didn't ruin shoes or suit. In fact, he had been heading over to Gibbs' house to watch a game. Granted, it was hardly even bleacher seats at Nationals Park. In fact, every time he watched a game on Gibbs' TV, he expected the game to be interrupted by breaking news reports from Edward R. Murrow or for I Love Lucy to be ending just as the game came on. "Or for it to take 8 minutes to warm up." Tony muttered and groused as he painstakingly sorted through the top layer of garbage. He was enjoying his grumbling, actually. And while he took great delight in delegating all small tasks to probies, he actually loved the painstaking police work part of the job. Part of him was glad to be the one searching methodically.
But then, as if things weren't hard enough, the penetrating fog—cold and so thick that Tony only knew he wasn't alone by the murmur of other people talking out of sight—changed to a blinding downpour. The water ran in sheets and glowed white in the hallogen glow of the single high-powered floodlight set up over the dumpster. Tony called for a couple of techs and they rigged a canopy across but the damage was done. The evidence was swimming and Tony was soaked through. When he finally couldn't reach any more bags from outside the bin, he climbed in, his feet slipping and sliding on the wet plastic. He barely repressed a yell as one leg suddenly punched right through a soggy carton of rotten vegetables.
So really, he should be in a terrible mood. But Gibbs had invited him over to watch a game. Well, maybe invitation was too strong a word. Just mentioned that the door was open. That a game was on. Months had passed and not only had no mention been made of either of the two occasions on which they had had sex, but if anything, they seemed even more in tune. Kate, now almost nine months in to her assignment at NCIS, had started asking lately how Tony knew what Gibbs was going to say or ask them to do. Obviously, the woman wanted to know as well, and as much as Tony liked her, respected her—and he did like and respect her, more than he allowed her to know at this point—he wasn't about to give her another edge. She stood up to Gibbs from the beginning and the man obviously respected her profiling skills. Never had he seen Gibbs accept someone into their team of two so readily. The grounds of the Navy yard were littered with the bodies of probies and interns and agents temporarily assigned to assist them. And now McGee too. Gibbs seemed intent on forming a whole unit, one little happy family.
So he was in pretty good spirits. In fact, after deftly maneuvering matters so that Kate had to drive him back to the yard, he was in an even better mood. Her car would stink for weeks. Along with Kate, McGee, and even Gibbs, Tony loped through the building to first Ducky's lab and then Abby's. Despite the warm car ride home, Tony was dripping, a puddle forming at his feet as he stood in Abby's lab, helping unpack.
"DiNozzo. Go clean up, would ya?" Gibbs looked up and jerked his head toward the door.
"On it, Boss." Tony double-timed it out of the room, grinning back at Abby and winking at Kate as she gingerly pulled the wet evidence bags out of the duffle. He was pretty sure that he had left some clothes in the locker room. This time of night, no one was around, so Tony stripped down by the lockers, thinking about just trashing the clothes rather than washing them. He knew he wouldn't though. Old habits died hard and at one time in his life, he cared for every item of clothing as if it was his last. As it might have been. So he gave a little salute to his filthy designer jeans—unbelievable what some people dropped off at Goodwill—and his favorite faded OSU t-shirt, and stalked naked to the showers—towel, sweatpants, t-shirt in hand. No boxers but he'd live.
Laying his dry things carefully on the bench, he stepped gratefully into the shower, flipping the controls to hot and let the steam fill his lungs and the heat soak into his muscles.
The MaMa pajama rolled outa bed and she ran to the police stationWhen the PaPa found out he began to shout and he started the investigation.
Over the sound of the water, and his singing, Tony thought he heard something. A giggle? But it could have been the squeak of his feet on the shiny tile. He shuffled his foot. It made a squeaky sound.
"McGee? Kate?" Nothing.
Well it's against the lawIt was against the lawWhat the mama sawIt was against the law
No sound this time but he didn't feel...alone. Damn. Shortest shower in the history of showers. He soaped up his hair and pits and other parts and rinsed quickly, snapping off the water and rubbing hands up his face and slicking his hair back. He blinked and pushed the curtain open, but didn't see his clothes or towel.
"McGee...Kate...this isn't funny!" Definitely a giggle. More than one. Female giggles. Ah. Hm. Tony crept slowly forward and peaked around the corner into the locker portion of the room.
He should have known. Marissa. And Olivia. Both women had been flirting shamelessly with him for weeks but despite his Cassanova image, he really did try to not actually get hot and heavy with people he worked with. Oh he went out a lot and was as ready as the next guy to dance and drink and hang out, especially in a group, but really, did they have no sense at all?
He spotted his towel and clothes, sitting lonely in the center of a bench 20 feet away. The two women perched on their own bench nearby, as if front row at a Bruce Springsteen concert. Or next to the stage at a bachelorette party, more like it.
Tony tried reason. "Ladies, okay, you've had your fun. Either toss me my clothes or go find your own locker room, okay?"
Neither woman moved and Marissa tilted her head and raised her chin in challenge.
"Well, I can stay here all day...night, I mean. In fact, maybe I'll go back and finish the shower that was so rudely interrupted." Belatedly he realized that this would mean putting himself into an even more vulnerable position.
"Seems to me, the man asked nicely." Both women's faces were suddenly horrified. The gruff voice behind them was unmistakable. And now Tony had a different problem.
At the sound of the other man's voice, his cock had started to harden. Fuck. Why now? Other than those two times, and they were entirely unpremeditated and spur of the moment, at least on his part, and honestly, he was sure on Gibbs' part as well, he hadn't had any trouble being around Gibbs at work, on the job. At night, in his dreams, that was another matter, but—his head was spinning, trying to think how to get himself out of this. As he would have anticipated—and he heard the door open and shut behind them—the two women had already slunk from the room and Tony hoped that he had enough time to calculate hard-on deflating squares—15 squared was 225, 16 squared was 256, 17 squared was 289, 18 squared was...okay, uh...8 times 8 was sixty four carry the six...324—"
"DiNozzo? You want your towel?"
"Just...just leave it there, Boss. They cut my shower short and I was pretty dirty. I should probably get back in. I think they've learned their lesson. I was gonna kick their asses but thanks for stepping in—" Tony tipped his head back and closed his eyes, stopped babbling. Gibbs' voice was the key. Any ground he had gained, so to speak, in the not-being-stark-raving-naked-with-a-hard-on department was lost again when Gibbs spoke. And now, Tony heard nothing but silence. Which could only mean one thing.
The man was right in front of him.
He opened his eyes and jerked his head downward, his eyes meeting Gibbs' bright blue ones. Gibbs looked...inquisitive. And then a little smile, instantly repressed, caught Tony's attention. Despite his predicament, Tony asked, "What?"
Gibbs pursed his lips a little, jerked his chin at Tony. "You blushing?"
Tony pressed his lips together, caught, and irritated with it. "Boss…"
"Just...thought you might have taken advantage of that little situation." He nodded toward the door, referring to the women, Tony assumed.
"Why?" Tony blurted out, grateful that Gibbs' eyes hadn't once flicked down during this conversation. He was close enough that he would really have to look down to see anything, but on the other hand, his closeness wasn't helping matters any and on the third hand, if he got any closer, he wouldn't have to look down. Tony's dick'd be poking him.
Gibbs expression said he didn't know what Tony was asking.
"Why do you think I would have taken advantage of the situation?" Tony, suddenly, wanted to know if Gibbs really thought he would have got it on with two coworkers in the men's locker room at the beginning of an investigation.
Again, Gibbs answered without words. This time by reaching out and stroking up Tony's cock with a finger. Tony wanted to melt, to groan, to push into Gibbs' hand, to make him press harder, faster, to taste his mouth again...
But he didn't. He stood up to Gibbs, because that was one of his freaky gifts, like knowing when an empty house was occupied, like being able to see the movements of a killer in the final minutes of a murder. He stood up to Gibbs, was able to and knew when, even if he didn't know why. Now.
Tony kept his face impassive. Rarely did he put on a mask special for Gibbs. And he could see that Gibbs was surprised by it now. My hard-on? Not for the women, Gibbs. For you. But he didn't say the words. And Gibbs didn't say anything back. Just turned and left.
And two days and long nights later, in the afternoon when the case was finally closed, Gibbs was picked up by the mysterious red-headed woman in a pretty blue sports car. He waved slightly to Kate and Tony as they drove off.
Kate gave Tony a puzzled glance. "Why're you so happy?"
He smirked easily. "What, can't a guy be happy that his boss is getting laid by a mysterious red-headed woman in a blue sportscar? Kate, are you really so petty that you don't wish Gibbs well in his love life?"
"I try not to think about it, Tony," Kate raised an eyebrow, her eyes were shining and mouth smirking, "and I succeed. Who is she anyway?"
Tony winked and jogged off toward the parking lot, turning and walking backwards to answer her, "No one knows, Katie. It's a mystery! But not one I am intending to solve tonight. Gibbs is off, we're off. C'mon, let's go…"
He wished Gibbs good luck with that but knew that if Gibbs was anything like him, until they finished what had been started in that locker room, no redhead was going to stop the dreams…
Gibbs spent more time with Tony outside of work than he did with anyone else. Which is not to say it was a lot of time. But if he wasn't alone, it was most likely Tony keeping him company. Oh, he had dinner with Ducky occasionally. And he had even eaten a surprisingly companionable dinner with Fornell who had insisted on it after the Travis murders. But more often than not, increasingly, Tony came by to sit on the steps of the basement, or on the couch to watch a game, or even, to cook something in his kitchen.
People would be surprised to find that Tony spent as much time as he did at Gibbs' house, given that Tony seemed to occupy all of his time elsewhere. The man was renowned for clubbing, arranging bowling parties, playing in pick up football games. If it was an activity, and it was social, Tony was involved. And yet. At least once a weekend and sometimes during the week, Tony opened the unlocked front door and made himself at home. Once he made chilli. With corn. Gibbs liked corn.
People would also be surprised that Tony didn't usually say much more than Gibbs himself did, which might explain his presence at Gibbs' house as opposed to functions that required a lot of talking. Gibbs smiled a little, thinking about it, but even alone he only let his lips curl a bit. Except when he sat on the stairs. When Tony sat on the stairs, he would talk. A lot. Just for a while, running out of words eventually, but he...chattered. An almost entirely one-sided conversation with himself, and incidentally, Gibbs. What would have infuriated Gibbs in someone else, he tolerated with Tony, knowing the younger man would wind down soon enough. Knowing he needed it, somehow. Gibbs liked being needed.
He did not, however, like needing. He liked wanting. Choosing. Deciding.
He was confused by the sex. He hadn't...known, that he could do that, enjoy that, but he guessed it was like most everything else in this world, not up to him ultimately. He was surprised, though, at how little impact, none really, it had on their working relationship. Maybe they even understood each other a little better. Maybe it was a guy thing. Hell, if it was this easy, it was a wonder all men weren't gay.
He didn't figure he was gay, though. He still enjoyed being with a woman, had certainly proven that many times over in the last several months. But the memory of the sex with Tony—and it was really only handjobs and blowjobs, some rough humping, did that even count?—kept him awake at night. Or rather, it didn't keep him awake. It woke him up. Hard and hot and sweaty, moaning and rolling over onto his stomach to press into the couch cushion, seeking greater pressure and friction. Desperate. Wrapping his hand around his cock, he'd jerk himself off, coming into the sweaty shirt he pulled over his head, coming hard, images of Tony's mouth wrapped around him, sucking, playing in memory, and the climaxes were good, really good for just jacking off, but were faint echoes of the pleasure that ripped through him like a knife when he had been with the other man.
Gibbs realized he had been sitting on the old camp stool for twenty minutes, staring into space as the baseball game droned in the background. He rubbed his hands over his face, tired. Maybe he should just go to bed.
Instead, he put aside his thoughts and picked up a planer. Tomorrow was the start of another work week. Best clear his head.
"Wait, wait," Gibbs said breathlessly. "Tony, stop. Stop. Stop." But his mouth couldn't overtake his body and in fact, it wouldn't stop kissing the younger man, and Tony was the aggressor here, obviously, considering the fact that he had attacked Gibbs in his own house just as Gibbs entered, but at the same time Tony was curiously pliant, almost boneless, his body flush against Gibbs', the wall supporting them both, and Tony was leaning fully against him. Tony's forearms rested against the wall, bracketing Gibbs' face, but again, there was no force there. Gibbs' head was spinning. Tony was taking him down fast, with long, deep kisses. They had spent most of the day together, at work. Neither had brushed his teeth or taken a shower since this morning. Tony's kisses tasted like Tony, like a man who had talked and smiled, eaten lunch and chewed gum, drank coffee, maybe drank a beer or two. Tony's tongue delved deep and his mouth invited Gibbs to do the same. His mouth was so mobile, kissing and kissing and kissing and then pulling back just enough to pull on Gibbs' lips, lick and suck along the line of his jaw, nuzzle underneath his ear, tongue sneaking out to taste. Again, Gibbs couldn't believe that he tasted great at this point in the day and yet Tony was so hard. Even as the other man melted against him, Gibbs could feel the hard chest and ribs beneath Tony's t-shirt; his elbow poking down onto Gibbs' shoulder as he pressed against him; his cock hard and thick against the front of his own extremely tight jeans. Tony wanted him.
Gibbs felt anxiety, suddenly. He almost didn't recognize it for what it was. He was used to fear, hatred, anger, even panic, when one of his team was in danger. But anxiety was a suffocating, sneaky fear. He didn't feel that way usually. He didn't expect the best from the world so he didn't experience emotions related to anticipation. He, in fact, expected the worst, so the presence of anxiety, what did that mean? It could only mean one thing. The reappearance of hope in his life. Something to lose.
Now, panic. The panic of a threatened animal, and he flipped them so that Tony was below him, so Gibbs could punish him or hurt him, and cut the cord that was feeding him hope. No, just no.
Tony's warm hands, much rougher than they had any right to be given the lifestyle he purported to live, hadn't bothered to push off Gibbs' jacket, but had pulled the shirt from his pants and were snaking below to pull his...boss? mentor? lover? boyfriend? fuck? Jesus, he had no idea what to even call himself. Man, came to mind. Tony's hands had now spread wide on his back and pulled at the man he had not stopped thinking about since two o'clock and the case was closed.
Gibbs couldn't help it. He groaned and forced himself why did he have to force himself he wanted Tony to stop stop making him feel this way to yank hard on Tony's elbows until he could reach Tony's wrists and slam them hard harder than he had planned, why wasn't he in control against the wall. It took him all he had to pull his mouth away from Tony and even then he couldn't make himself move far.
"Tony. What, what are you doing? Tony, what—" Tony's head was tipped back and Gibbs glared, his face close, so close, to the younger man's. Tony's eyes were only open a bit and the green glint was intent and fearless, completely unaffected by Gibbs' glare. Their breath mingled and tasted, smelled, like sex, like man, like Tony. Tony felt it too and his eyes slammed shut and his body arched against Gibbs, as if all it would take was one more exhalation from Gibbs to make him come.
Gibbs' anger suddenly focused on Tony. It wasn't going to be that easy. He wasn't going to make it that easy. "Off." He growled, tugging once at Tony's shirt and stepped away from the man. Tony gasped a little at the loss of contact. Gibbs turned and walked back to the door, locking it and pulling the curtains closed along the front of the house. Tony stood, waiting, until Gibbs turned, came back for him. He didn't pull the younger man into the living room by the hand, but came around behind him, reached out to push him into the room with a hand at his back. At the first touch of the tips of Gibbs' fingers in the hollow of his naked back, Tony moved quickly forward, as if shocked that Gibbs had slipped his hand under the edge of his t-shirt.
Tony pulled the shirt over his head and Gibbs got an eyeful of the man's beautiful back, muscled and lean, brown from outside work or play. Tony turned around, hands at the buttons of his fly. Paused to let Gibbs come closer. Gibbs could see that Tony's pupils were blown and hazy with arousal. When he blinked, they were long and slow. Gibbs noticed that Tony's feet were bare and he thought about taking the other man, about being clothed, having shoes on, when Tony wasn't, didn't. His own cock pulsed angrily at its confinement. It wanted out.
"Do it." He ordered. Tony slowly unbuttoned his jeans, hooked his fingers in the waistband and tugged. No underwear. Figures. Tony was trying to kill him. The sharp bones of Tony's hips became visible and Gibbs wanted to lick them, take his time tasting them. The soft denim fell to the floor in a heap.
Where he, Gibbs, was angry, driven by a lust that he wasn't sure he wanted and that thread of fear, Tony was...not. Not angry, not afraid. He was...was...Gibbs didn't know what he was. Soft. He was doing everything Gibbs asked, and he hadn't spoken a word yet. Suddenly, Gibbs' chest was tight, breath short, and fucking seriously, he was ready to goddamn come in his pants without even a hand laid on him if Tony even made a sound.
Gibbs didn't recognize his own voice it was so low and breathy and hungry, not demanding, pleading, "What do you need?
And Tony smiled, stepped into him close, closer, closer, until the smooth marble texture of his skin was under Gibbs' fingertips on his back, stroking down his ass, between his legs to touch his balls from behind, exploring, driving the younger man higher. And instead of moaning and grinding or rolling against him, Tony just...gave in. Took everything Gibbs had to give. Immediately, his weight came to rest against Gibbs heavily and Gibbs moved them backwards against the wall until they were in a very similar position to when he first entered the house. Gibbs against the wall, Tony boneless against him. But now, Tony was naked and hot and hard. And absolutely at Gibbs' mercy.
Gibbs stroked his back, learning the shape of it. Tony pressed his face against Gibbs' neck and shoulder and let him. Gibbs played more with Tony's balls from behind, between his legs. Tony opened his mouth and suckled gently along Gibbs' neck. Gibbs brought his palms up to stroke rough lines up Tony's sides, pressed his thumbs into his armpits in circles. And if Tony's lips pressed harder, mouth opened more widely, wetter, almost in a silent cry, he still didn't make a sound.
"What do you need?" Gibbs whispered in his ear and Tony's body didn't shudder or buck...it rippled, and Gibbs had to clutch him to keep him.
And for the first time, in all of this, Gibbs felt Tony's hand on his. Wrapped tightly in Gibbs' convulsive embrace, Tony slipped his hand down and threaded his fingers through Gibbs'. He pulled him forward, across the room, into the hallway, bent, reached into his backpack and pressed a small bottle into the older man's hand. In the dim light, as Tony straightened, Gibbs could see the shadow of whiskers on Tony's face. Even though Gibbs wasn't kissing him—nownownow, said the wolves howling in his gut—Gibbs felt as if he actually was kissing Tony right now. He knew what the rough traces of beard would feel like against his face, knew that Tony was all man, admitted somewhere that he enjoyed seeing Tony naked, the play of muscles in the flat stomach, the long legs, so different than a woman. But the bottle. Lubrication.
And then Gibbs was beyond thought. Only feeling. He bent Tony over the couch, stroked the soft skin of his back in a couple long sweeps, to gentle or calm but Tony was calm. He was breathing hard, but his body was so soft; he was so open to Gibbs. And Gibbs, for the first time ever, wet his fingers and touched Tony the way he wanted, noticing, even in his inexperience, that Tony was already ready and now, now, Tony spoke.
Unbearably aroused, Gibbs pressed forward slowly into Tony and when his body curled and pressed against the other man, and when he started to move, it was with one hand locked in Tony's, both of them braced against the back of the couch, and the other reaching around to stroke the man's cock. Tony held on to his hand, his grip painful, panting and starting to moan, making little high-pitched noises of need and desperation. And before either of them wanted, they lost themselves to each other, their climaxes almost painful, crystalline and sharp, in contrast to the soft, sweaty heat of rolling hips, and Gibbs' mouth pressing soft kisses into Tony's back.