Title: Straight Lines and Curve Balls - Chapter 12
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 is feeling the heat.
Warnings: None
The basement was safe harbour for Gibbs. There was a peace he could find there that was rare in his life.
But tonight, it was different. Tonight, all the air in the basement flowed in one direction. Each wall seemed to only exist to channel his attention to a single point.
In short - and however good he might be disguising it - all Gibbs' legendary focus was on the man sitting on the bottom of the stairs, watching him as he concentrated on shaping the timber under his hands.
Tony'd been there for about an hour now, helped down in a flurry of Abby. Nothing new, in itself. Hell - more than that, it was a favourite form of relaxation for both of them. They could have whole conversations in the sound of the wood being worked and the house settling easily around them.
And that was half the problem. In all the time they'd been doing this - the cases tough on Tony, where he'd come looking for somewhere to lick his wounds until he was ready to face the world again; the cases tough on himself where his friend had sat in silent vigil until he was sure all was well - he'd never struggled to find his centre the way he was now.
This time, he was too aware of the other man's presence. Instead of being a comfort, it was...
...a loose end.
Gibbs didn't like loose ends. Every question had an answer. Every problem a solution.
Tony was unpredictable. An enigma. It upset the order of his world.
He liked that.
Usually, the familiar ebb and flow of his craft - the freedom of not having to do anything other than let his hands take over - would ease his soul. It soothed him. Tempered aggression into determination, depression into resolution. It wasn’t just the wood he worked down here.
But not tonight. Instead of settling into the trance-like rhythm that would take him away from anything he didn't want to think about, his mind kept slipping back to Tony's casual tease about trying with a guy, and the look in his eye when he hadn't replied. Something had slipped, from joke to not, and he'd mostly expected the other man to retreat to the TV for the rest of the night.
Instead he'd appeared on the stairs, as usual, and watched him work, as usual.
And there was absolutely nothing usual about it. Gibbs found himself labouring on automatic. His fingers felt flesh and muscle. His eyes saw skin, and heat, and want.
He was distracted enough just by Tony's presence that almost without thinking he was keeping the half formed framework between himself and the stairs. That way nothing unexpected was on show.
Abby was long gone. Had disappeared almost as soon as she'd brought Tony down to join him. In the quiet she left behind he found himself wondering again if this arrangement had been a good idea, because he was here, and Tony was here, and no one else was here, and all this effort and sweat and space could be put to much better use.
Another time, another life, and he would have done something about this. If he'd come across Tony in a bar. If there hadn't been nearly ten years worth of water already passed under that bridge. He'd have seen him, wanted him, and set out to get him. Closed the gap between them, Caught his face in the lightest of grips, dipped in and taken a kiss. Then more.
So easy. Too easy. Too difficult. Too much at risk. Tony was a good friend, an exceptional agent, an outstanding second. Couldn't risk losing all that in the pursuit of self interest. He didn't have the right personality to make that sort of juggling act work for more than five minutes after they got out of bed.
And more. Couldn't explain how out of the blue he'd had to re-evaluate most of what he knew about himself, when he'd suddenly realised that the single most important relationship of his life in the last few years was with this man. And that he didn't really care, because his gut was telling him this was right, and that overrode any argument his mind came up with.
Shaking himself free from his thoughts, he looked up from the wood, gaze unerringly latching on to Tony’s. He couldn't turn away, looking on as the other man dropped his head to one side, and gave him a slow, lazy grin that lit up the very air, and burned its way into his chest.
Gibbs was certain that he was a long way out of his depth. And still swimming.
He gave himself a mental shake. God only knew if he was resorting to cliches like that then he might as well just shoot himself before he succumbed to terminal cheesiness.
Or shoot Tony. This was his fault, anyway. A smile like that should be licensed. It was lethal.
Then again, maybe it was just Tony that was lethal.
Gibbs shot a quick glare at the jar of Bourbon, and refused to notice that it was still his first, and he’d only had a couple of sips, because apparently he didn’t want to be intoxicated tonight.
He was already relaxed, and he was pretty sure he should leave it there. On current evidence, fate was altogether too willing to be tempted.
Regardless, this all had to be the fault of the alcohol. Because he certainly felt drunk. Midwinter drunk - a warm, comfortable, easy drunk that just needed a log fire. And a rug. And a locked door.
Maybe DiNozzo wouldn't notice if he snuck out for a quick phone call to Ducky to get his head on straight again.
He probably would though. And Ducky would only tell him what he already knew anyway.
Might as well stay put and bask in Tony while he could.
Chapter 13