Straight Lines And Curve Balls, 9/15
Title: Straight Lines and Curve Balls - Chapter 9
Fandom: NCIS
Beta: Unbetaed. But I proofread obsessively, if that helps?
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, humour, a little light angst
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, more's the pity. If I did I'd share...
Description: In which Gibbs and Tony come face to face.
Warnings: None
“Come on, Ducky. I'm fine. Can't you just let me go?”
Dr Mallard slowly turned back from the cupboard he was searching through, and merely looked at his patient.
“Ok, maybe not fine exactly, but good enough. You didn't see him. If I don't get back up there, Gibbs is gonna-”
“Gibbs is going to what?”
Tony jumped a foot - as usual - and just managed to stop himself falling off the table he was sitting on. That was good, as he needed to carefully guard every shred of dignity he still possessed. They were rapidly getting away from him.
Of all the times for his Gibbs-dar to take a break.
“Uh... come looking for me, Boss. And here you are. Right on cue.”
Gibbs strode into view, expression saying loud and clear that he knew that was so much BS.
Didn't matter really. Not only had he been expecting it, but to be quite honest, he was more interested in Gibbs in full on bastard mode.
The man was magnificent.
It was no secret that he'd always been attracted to people - to girls - with attitude. He liked a partner who could give as good as they - she - got. When it came down to it, he liked a bit of a fight as foreplay.
Aside from the whole male and straight thing, Gibbs fit that bill very well.
Standing there, still dressed head to foot in the uniform black of the stakeout, the adrenaline of a well executed operation visible in the lift of his chin and the set of his shoulders, he looked...
His eyes were burning with an ice clear gleam that would put a fresh cut diamond to shame. Every muscle was taut and trained, and the whole ensemble made him look like he had Bond in his DNA. Connery Bond, at that.
He looked battle ready, he looked furious, he looked on fire.
He looked like the most enticing, touchable, vital thing Tony had ever seen. To reach out, run his fingers down that neck, glide across the shoulders...
To turn all that focus, aggression and sheer life onto himself and bathe in it...
He'd felt many things many times before, real and not real, but never like this. Never this desperate need to catch lightening in a bottle, to learn every mood and expression by touch and breath and need.
It was official. He was in way over his head.
He was beginning to suspect that he may not be as straight as he had thought. At least not when he was anywhere near Gibbs. He was...
He was in serious danger of giving Ducky something rather unexpected to note down as he was finishing patching him up.
It took an effort to drag his attention away from drowning in Gibbs, but the thought of Ducky finding the evidence just about gave him the impetus to do so. And apparently it was in the nick of time, as his Boss quit running a critical eye over him -
...do not even go there, DiNozzo...
- and spoke.
“Well?”
Ducky stared hard at Tony for a moment, then turned to Gibbs.
“No need to worry, Jethro. A couple of weeks of rest and care, and a course of antibiotics, and he’ll be fine. The knee's a bit of a mess right now, but it’s been worse. As for the gash on his arm, it’s impressive to look at, and no doubt somewhat painful, but it was a clean tear, and I don’t expect it to give us any problems.”
“See? Fine, like I said.”
“You're fine when Ducky says you are, and not before.”
The comment was snapped at him with a single brief glare that had enough force behind it that Tony would swear it singed him wherever it touched. He thought it was probably a bad sign that that just made him want more. In fact, he was vaguely disappointed that Gibbs had already moved his attention back to Ducky.
“Rest?”
“Yes indeed. Keep the weight off the knee for a fortnight at least. Do you still have the crutches from last time?”
“Ah. Well. Er... they might have met with a small accident.” An accident that had involved Abby, a bottle of vodka, a can of luminous paint, a vintage Harley Davidson, two bananas and a dress shirt.
Gibbs and Ducky were sporting twin frowns that suggested both had a fair idea of the basic nature of the 'accident'. Tony tried his hardest to look innocent. Unfortunately that had stopped working at around age seven.
“I see.”
“Don't worry, Duck. I'll take him by the hospital in the morning and get him to buy a new pair. See if that makes him take better care of them.”
Great. Just great. Getting back into that car with that man was everything he didn't need right now. He'd spend every second of the journey remembering the goddamned stakeout. And he didn't mean the job related bits.
“Thank you Jethro. However, that still leaves us with the logistics of tonight to be determined.”
“No problem. I'll double as the crutch. He'll be staying at mine anyway.”
“Hey, I am still - what?”
“You're staying at mine. Gimme your keys - Abby'll get your stuff.”
He could feel himself gaping, and forced his muscles into shutting his mouth. The early part of the evening had been bad enough, and he could still feel the after effects whenever he let his mind drift. Staying with Gibbs was just... no. No way. Fate could not hate him that much.
“Problem, DiNozzo?”
Hell, yes. Five more minutes alone with you looking like that and I'm gonna propose peeling that polo off with my teeth. “Nope. No. Not at all.”
“Then give me your keys.”
Hell, no. “I was actually just going to go back to my place. No need to put you out.”
“You live on the fourth floor.”
“Well, yes.”
“The elevator isn't working.”
Oh crap. He’d forgotten they’d had that conversation. He'd forgotten the damn thing was on the fritz, come to that. Gibbs had been in the grey suit, with the pale blue shirt, and his mouth had gone on to autopilot while the rest of him took in the sight. He’d said whatever came into his head to give him chance to keep staring for a bit longer.
No wonder Gibbs was giving him that look.
“It should be fixed soon?”
“Rest, DiNozzo. Or have you suddenly developed a problem with staying at my place?”
There was a clipped edge to Gibbs' words, and a flatness about his lips, that told Tony the other man had had enough of this conversation. One more protest, and he'd come after the reason Tony didn't want to stay over.
He had no ready reason other than the truth, and that wasn't an option.
Apparently fate could hate him that much.
Oh well. Might as well approach his doom with those scraps of dignity on duty. “No problem at all, Boss. I'd hate to deprive you of my rapier wit and scintillating company in your hour of need.”
Gibbs fixed him with that scorcher of a glare again, and all Tony's inner censor could do was come up with the incredibly unhelpful suggestion of a blindfold.
It was going to be a very long night.
Chapter 10
Fandom: NCIS
Beta: Unbetaed. But I proofread obsessively, if that helps?
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, humour, a little light angst
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, more's the pity. If I did I'd share...
Description: In which Gibbs and Tony come face to face.
Warnings: None
“Come on, Ducky. I'm fine. Can't you just let me go?”
Dr Mallard slowly turned back from the cupboard he was searching through, and merely looked at his patient.
“Ok, maybe not fine exactly, but good enough. You didn't see him. If I don't get back up there, Gibbs is gonna-”
“Gibbs is going to what?”
Tony jumped a foot - as usual - and just managed to stop himself falling off the table he was sitting on. That was good, as he needed to carefully guard every shred of dignity he still possessed. They were rapidly getting away from him.
Of all the times for his Gibbs-dar to take a break.
“Uh... come looking for me, Boss. And here you are. Right on cue.”
Gibbs strode into view, expression saying loud and clear that he knew that was so much BS.
Didn't matter really. Not only had he been expecting it, but to be quite honest, he was more interested in Gibbs in full on bastard mode.
The man was magnificent.
It was no secret that he'd always been attracted to people - to girls - with attitude. He liked a partner who could give as good as they - she - got. When it came down to it, he liked a bit of a fight as foreplay.
Aside from the whole male and straight thing, Gibbs fit that bill very well.
Standing there, still dressed head to foot in the uniform black of the stakeout, the adrenaline of a well executed operation visible in the lift of his chin and the set of his shoulders, he looked...
His eyes were burning with an ice clear gleam that would put a fresh cut diamond to shame. Every muscle was taut and trained, and the whole ensemble made him look like he had Bond in his DNA. Connery Bond, at that.
He looked battle ready, he looked furious, he looked on fire.
He looked like the most enticing, touchable, vital thing Tony had ever seen. To reach out, run his fingers down that neck, glide across the shoulders...
To turn all that focus, aggression and sheer life onto himself and bathe in it...
He'd felt many things many times before, real and not real, but never like this. Never this desperate need to catch lightening in a bottle, to learn every mood and expression by touch and breath and need.
It was official. He was in way over his head.
He was beginning to suspect that he may not be as straight as he had thought. At least not when he was anywhere near Gibbs. He was...
He was in serious danger of giving Ducky something rather unexpected to note down as he was finishing patching him up.
It took an effort to drag his attention away from drowning in Gibbs, but the thought of Ducky finding the evidence just about gave him the impetus to do so. And apparently it was in the nick of time, as his Boss quit running a critical eye over him -
...do not even go there, DiNozzo...
- and spoke.
“Well?”
Ducky stared hard at Tony for a moment, then turned to Gibbs.
“No need to worry, Jethro. A couple of weeks of rest and care, and a course of antibiotics, and he’ll be fine. The knee's a bit of a mess right now, but it’s been worse. As for the gash on his arm, it’s impressive to look at, and no doubt somewhat painful, but it was a clean tear, and I don’t expect it to give us any problems.”
“See? Fine, like I said.”
“You're fine when Ducky says you are, and not before.”
The comment was snapped at him with a single brief glare that had enough force behind it that Tony would swear it singed him wherever it touched. He thought it was probably a bad sign that that just made him want more. In fact, he was vaguely disappointed that Gibbs had already moved his attention back to Ducky.
“Rest?”
“Yes indeed. Keep the weight off the knee for a fortnight at least. Do you still have the crutches from last time?”
“Ah. Well. Er... they might have met with a small accident.” An accident that had involved Abby, a bottle of vodka, a can of luminous paint, a vintage Harley Davidson, two bananas and a dress shirt.
Gibbs and Ducky were sporting twin frowns that suggested both had a fair idea of the basic nature of the 'accident'. Tony tried his hardest to look innocent. Unfortunately that had stopped working at around age seven.
“I see.”
“Don't worry, Duck. I'll take him by the hospital in the morning and get him to buy a new pair. See if that makes him take better care of them.”
Great. Just great. Getting back into that car with that man was everything he didn't need right now. He'd spend every second of the journey remembering the goddamned stakeout. And he didn't mean the job related bits.
“Thank you Jethro. However, that still leaves us with the logistics of tonight to be determined.”
“No problem. I'll double as the crutch. He'll be staying at mine anyway.”
“Hey, I am still - what?”
“You're staying at mine. Gimme your keys - Abby'll get your stuff.”
He could feel himself gaping, and forced his muscles into shutting his mouth. The early part of the evening had been bad enough, and he could still feel the after effects whenever he let his mind drift. Staying with Gibbs was just... no. No way. Fate could not hate him that much.
“Problem, DiNozzo?”
Hell, yes. Five more minutes alone with you looking like that and I'm gonna propose peeling that polo off with my teeth. “Nope. No. Not at all.”
“Then give me your keys.”
Hell, no. “I was actually just going to go back to my place. No need to put you out.”
“You live on the fourth floor.”
“Well, yes.”
“The elevator isn't working.”
Oh crap. He’d forgotten they’d had that conversation. He'd forgotten the damn thing was on the fritz, come to that. Gibbs had been in the grey suit, with the pale blue shirt, and his mouth had gone on to autopilot while the rest of him took in the sight. He’d said whatever came into his head to give him chance to keep staring for a bit longer.
No wonder Gibbs was giving him that look.
“It should be fixed soon?”
“Rest, DiNozzo. Or have you suddenly developed a problem with staying at my place?”
There was a clipped edge to Gibbs' words, and a flatness about his lips, that told Tony the other man had had enough of this conversation. One more protest, and he'd come after the reason Tony didn't want to stay over.
He had no ready reason other than the truth, and that wasn't an option.
Apparently fate could hate him that much.
Oh well. Might as well approach his doom with those scraps of dignity on duty. “No problem at all, Boss. I'd hate to deprive you of my rapier wit and scintillating company in your hour of need.”
Gibbs fixed him with that scorcher of a glare again, and all Tony's inner censor could do was come up with the incredibly unhelpful suggestion of a blindfold.
It was going to be a very long night.
Chapter 10