Chapter 6: Gibbs mows the lawn
It was early afternoon still. Until today, one or the other of them would spend the day pretending that this night, like most weekend nights, would not end in the other's bed, only giving in when the sun was down, when the cover of night seemed some small protection. Tonight was different. Maybe Tony began the hours of pretending early. Since it was a Saturday, he could do that. And maybe, when he showed up at Gibbs' and it was still light out, it threw him off schedule to find the man outside, mowing the lawn. He could still have turned around, driven off again, but he was sure he had seen Gibbs look up, see him. So he parked and went around back, curious. He had never seen Gibbs' back yard.
There wasn't much to see, just a medium-sized lawn. No sign of a garden or croquet set. It was because of this last thought that Gibbs caught him smiling.
Gibbs raised his voice, to be heard over the mower. Tony didn't know much about mowers but he was pretty sure this might have been one of the very first mowers ever made. Gas-powered but Gibbs was obviously doing all of the pushing. As Tony watched, Gibbs paused and raised his arm smoothly to wipe his forehead on the edge of his sleeve. Beads of sweat still tracked down the side of his face.
"You just gonna stand around or are you going to help?"
Tony spread his hands wide and smiled. I'm all yours. He didn't mean it like that, he promised himself. Yeah, DiNozzo, even you don't believe that. But he waited the few moments while Gibbs adjusted the mower and and then started pushing again. "Weed Wacker is in the garage!"
"On it, boss!" Tony's response was automatic but brought a grin to the other man's face. Tony could see that the yard was overgrown, but not by much, and they had been plagued by weeks of time-consuming cases. Probably Gibbs hadn't had much time for yard work. And it's not like the man would pay someone to do it for him.
Didn't take very long to do the whole yard, maybe an hour, but in that time, the grass was cut and edged and together they got the small rock wall along the back edge propped back up. While Gibbs went in the back door of the garage to put the mower away, Tony stood out back and called in to him.
"You know, Gibbs, you should get a grill out here." He could hear the last of the tools and machines being put in place in the garage and then Gibbs came out, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Beer?" Deflection or thirst? Undeterred, Tony pushed as they took the steps up to the back door into the kitchen.
"There's enough room for it on the porch and you could grill even in the winter. And now, for instance, you could put burgers on. Sausages, chicken, even vegetables. I went out with this girl who grilled pizza." As he talked, he followed Gibbs into the house, the kitchen. He took the beer the other man held out, popped the cap.
They each leaned against the counter, facing one another across the small space. Gibbs' kitchen was small and dated, but clean and neat. Serviceable. Tony thought Gibbs might ask him why he was here, but instead he said, "You are talking a lot about food. You hungry?"
And Tony was hungry, he was, but he suddenly couldn't face another couple hours of perfectly enjoyable company, eating, drinking, maybe catching the end of a game, or sitting on the steps while Gibbs worked, pretending, hoping that somehow he'd find a way to get what he really needed.
oh shit oh shit oh shit
The refrain was familiar and one of the ways Tony got through difficult situations. People thought he was so confident, undercover, flirting with beautiful women, mouthing off to authority. And he was confident, because well, you know, it usually worked out. But didn't mean it was comfortable or that he thought it was going to work out every time. You decided to go for it and you just didn't back away from it, whatever it was. Bluffed and joked and pushed your way to it, with your mind, your sense of humor, your body.
oh shit oh shit oh shit
Tony took a couple steps forward. In the tiny kitchen, it brought him pretty close to the other man. Gibbs face didn't give anything away, but his chin tipped up a little and his eyes locked on Tony's. As if on autopilot, Tony raised his bottle, already half empty, to his lips and drank, still watching Gibbs watching him. As he lowered the bottle, he stopped, held it out, offering.
That got a little huff of disbelief and an almost imperceptible tightening of lips and eyes. A smile, in Gibbs' world. Still propped up against the counter, Gibbs shifted his own bottle to his left hand and took Tony's, his eyes flicking down to it. Their hands didn't touch. Tony found he couldn't look away from Gibbs and when the other man raised Tony's beer to his lips, he had to repress a shudder when the blue eyes were suddenly back on his as he drank. It only took a few swallows before the bottle was empty and Gibbs turned his head and reached out with his right arm to drop it in the sink.
Gibbs in profile. Firm jaw, Saturday stubble, the tanned skin of his neck, right arm outstretched to discard the bottle, left crooked back and braced beside him against the counter, knuckles holding the neck of his own bottle loosely. Tony couldn't have resisted if he had tried, and he wasn't really trying.
He moved in fast, but not in a hurry, pressing up against Gibbs and trapping his outstretched arm by catching Gibbs' wrist tight with his left hand. He held it, hard, against the edge of the counter. He didn't know what his own face revealed, but Gibbs turned to look at him calmly, flexing his arm—muscles rippling all the way up and back down in a show of strength—and then releasing without struggling. Making his point. You can hold me, but only because I let you.
"You think you could take me, boss?" Tony didn't recognize his own voice, low, almost a growl.
"Oh, I know I could, DiNozzo." Gibbs' voice was unnervingly normal, unaffected almost, as if he was used to being held captive against his own kitchen counter, as if the urgent press of Tony's hips against his own was his own idea.
By now, Tony was speaking against Gibbs' neck, below his ear, in his ear. He didn't kiss the man, but he did lean deeper in, leaned forward and caught hold of the soft skin of his earlobe with his teeth, let his tongue touch briefly. Now, Gibbs reacted, bucked a little against Tony and Tony knew that, if he looked, Gibbs' eyes would be shut. Breathing hard, tortured with the thought of Gibbs' mouth so close, Tony reached out blindly with his free hand and took the beer bottle from Gibbs, fumbling it onto the counter and pushing it away with shaking fingers.
Tony had hoped, could practically feel, that Gibbs would slip his free hand under Tony's shirt to touch the bare skin of his stomach or back, or would reach up to hold his face, wind his fingers into his hair...but the man stayed passive. Even through his disappointment, Tony thrilled to the submission.
"Gibbs—" Tony began, but the other man cut him off.
"Jethro, Tony." Jethro Tony Jethro Tony Jethro Tony, Tony's mind supplied unhelpfully.
"Jethro," Tony shivered at the sound of his own voice and opened his mouth wide to suck on the tendons of the other man's neck. He kept his hand firm, almost painful, against Jethro's wrist, but licked and sucked with slow, soft swipes of his tongue and lips. Gibbs, for his part, stayed still but for tilting his head to give Tony better access. The small movement was an invitation that the beast in Tony wanted to accept; Tony had to hold his own hips steady by force of will.
More than peace, Tony wanted the control, wanted to drive…
He bit down on the side of the older man's neck, letting him feel teeth, thrilled to the small shudder that rippled through Gibbs' body.
Tony slipped his right hand under the edge of Jethro's shirt and spread his fingers wide in the hollow of the other man's back, let his thumb stroke and then ran it's edge down Jethro's spine. He was rewarded with a moan barely contained.
Finally, Tony thrust his hips forward even as he slid his hand down past the waistband of Gibbs' jeans in the back to pull him closer still. He kissed upwards until he was breathing hard and hot against Jethro's mouth. Jethro was almost panting himself and his eyes were shut. When Tony paused though, hovering over his lips, blue eyes almost sleepy with passion and arousal opened slowly to meet his.
Tony smiled in triumph, knew that this smile was almost cruel with satisfaction. I did this. Mine. He held his own desire in ruthless check and thought over the possibilities, letting Jethro wait, let the tension wind a little tighter. As if in answer to the steel in Tony's expression, Gibbs was curiously pliant and...not soft, no never soft...patient. Again, to these signs of submission, Tony wanted to growl, wanted to spring and push and bite, and now he felt his control waver, saw the watchful acceptance in Gibbs'...Jethro's...gaze sharpen.
"What do you want?" Gibbs ground out.
Tony's control took another hit at the question, and to regain it, he pressed his mouth to the other man's, delving deep with his tongue and pushing hard enough that Jethro's head was bent back, neck bared further. Tony's right hand came to rest on the other man's throat, curling gently around even as the strength of his fingers against windpipe and cartilage was ripe with the potential for violence. Gibbs moaned and his mouth moved hungrily under Tony's.
Tony lifted his lips just enough that he could meet Gibbs' eyes again. Gibbs' eyes continued to meet his, unafraid but lambent, hazy, and half-closed. Tony saw, felt, Jethro swallow, and rasp out again.
"What. Do you. Want?"
Tony sealed his mouth to the other man's again, his right hand sliding up thread through hair to cup and hold Jethro's face against his. Jethro didn't seem to want to escape, though, and let the younger man take what he wanted even as his own left hand came to rest at Tony's waist.
Tony had to stop, or this would be over, over too soon, and he reared back, ripping his mouth from Jethro's, gaining just enough distance to confess.
"I want your mouth on my cock. That's what I want." And Tony waited, and when Jethro didn't say anything, didn't move, just looked steadily at Tony, he released the older man from his hold, leaving him free to decide.
Tony's stomach dropped when Jethro slipped out around him, stalking to the door. So shaken was he by thwarted arousal and disappointment that he had fucked this up that he wouldn't get any closer tonight—closer to what?— that he had to brace himself against the counter, warm from Jethro's hands. His head hung as he tried to regain breath and the will to move, to go—
He spun at the sound of Gibbs' voice. Gibbs eyebrows were up in question and his eyes danced with laughter, knowing what Tony thought. But his mouth was kind and rueful and twitched a little before he was gone. The sound of Gibbs' feet padding up the stairs was the sweetest sound Tony had heard all day.
They hadn't broken any of the rules they had set yet, not the spoken ones anyway. But Tony thought that it probably was an unspoken rule that they not have sex in the daytime. That said, Tony didn't think he had ever experienced anything more arousing than watching Jethro go down on him in the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows of the bedroom. All the experience in the world would not have made it better and when he had taken Tony to a place beyond his wildest grownup fantasies, Jethro finally let Tony go, let Tony's soft cock slip from the warmth of his mouth. His lips kissed a trail from hip to neck where he rested, letting his body stretch and press against Tony's.
Tony pushed and Jethro fell back, head between the two pillows of the double bed, and Tony kissed his eyes shut.
"Tony, you...your hand, just...just…" Tony knew the words and even now, even though the other man was all but lost in a sexual trance, he could see that Jethro wasn't comfortable with them—touch me, jack me—and he moved to meet his lover's need, fumbling for the button and zipper of his jeans but otherwise not trying to take his pants off. Pulling it out, Tony wrapped his palm around Jethro's cock, hard and tight and wet at the tip, and bent forward to draw Jethro's pleasure out with his mouth on the other man's mouth. He whispered between kisses. "Let go. Jethro. Let me make you feel good, feel as good as you made me feel. Jesus, ba—- your mouth on my cock. You should have seen it. I could have come just from watching. Are you with me, Jethro? With me? Let go, Jethro. Let go let go let go."
And Jethro arched violently up, his body bent backwards even as he hooked a hand around Tony's neck to keep their mouths fused together and Tony swallowed his lover's high holy moans of release and ecstasy, shivering a little at the intimacy and thinking that nothing nothing had ever felt as good as this.
While Jethro lay quiet and spent, Tony retrieved a washcloth, cleaned his lover's body best he could, and tossed the cloth toward the bathroom door. He put his jeans on, and climbed back onto the bed. He reclined on his side of the bed—he had a side? —and reached out to thread the fingers of his left hand through Jethro's right, otherwise not touching.
Tony couldn't believe that Jethro had given up control the way he had and felt renewed desire even now pooling at the thought of it. He also acknowledged to himself that he had almost called Gibbs an endearment which might be the craziest fucking thing yet in this strangely functional relationship.
Tony felt Gibbs squeeze his hand twice, then release him and sit up just as his own stomach growled. Gibbs grinned down at him, and then swung his legs off the bed to stand and zip up. Tony stayed where he was, enjoying the sight of his lover dressing. Gibbs knew it, too, because he ostentatiously put on his own shirt before bending to grab and toss Tony's own at him where he lay.
"Want to get something to eat?"
Tony couldn't help but tease him, the ease of being together and the satisfied light in Gibbs' eye tempting him. "Oh, I don't know. I really only came over to get laid. Now that I got what I came for— AHHHHH!" Tony screamed like a girl as Gibbs launched himself onto the bed. Jesus. Playful Gibbs was even better than Sexy Gibbs, Tony thought before he started laughing, Gibbs kissing his neck and face until Tony cried uncle.
"Damn, Gibbs, when you let go, you really let go." Breathless, Tony sat up. Gibbs, always surprisingly fast, was already up and shoving his feet into the oldest pair of sneakers Tony had ever seen.
"You coming?" the older man shot a look over his shoulder before heading downstairs.
"Yep." Pleasantly uncertain of what would happen next, Tony followed.