Straight Lines And Curve Balls, 13/15
Title: Straight Lines and Curve Balls - Chapter 13
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 Tony should maybe have taken the painkillers.
Warnings: None
It was odd, Tony mused, how something normally so comfortable in it’s familiarity could all of a sudden feel more alien than… well, Alien. The fact was, the two of them had done this exact same thing a hundred times before. Granted, the injuries varied - and on a really good day, didn't exist at all. But the basic still frame - Tony sitting on the fourth step from bottom in Gibbs' basement, nursing a beer and watching as his boss worked - had been created many a time. It was their refuge. An isolated bubble of safety and tranquillity.
Not this time.
This time it was muscles moving under shirt sleeves, sweat in the air. It was want, a want that burned through him, but in a good way, leaving sparks and glory in its wake. A want that was made of desire and anticipation.
Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that by the time he was considered fit enough to return to his own place, his own space, that want would have intensified, rising up and sliding over the top, leaving him mired in a want that ate away at him. A want made of unresolved wishes, and of might haves.
He firmly closed that door. He could worry about that as and when it happened. There was no need to waste prime Gibbs-ogling time brooding over maybes. Not when his tongue was itching at the glistening of the other man's throat.
He took a deep breath, savouring the faintly musty, dusty aroma. This place had been his bolt hole almost from the moment he made the move to DC. When the world went wrong, he'd come down here and lose himself in the smell of wood and bourbon. In the solid reassuring presence of Gibbs.
A year almost to the day after he'd joined NCIS, he'd learned that even Gibbs could get knocked off balance by a case. And he'd happily repaid the favour, more than a little surprised that Gibbs let him.
Two days afterwards, and Ducky's pat on the shoulder and soft “Well done, my boy.” into his ear was still one of his most cherished memories.
But despite all the precedents, never had the basement felt as small as it did tonight. No, not small exactly. Enclosed. Intense. Gibbs by nature was always intense, but not in this way. There was a... something... about him this time. He hadn't settled to the wood the way he normally did, instead approaching it in fits and starts, picking up a tool, using it for a few minutes, putting it down, flicking Tony a glance, picking up something else...
The glances were frequent, and inscrutable. But they were most definitely intense. Each one that came his way had his breathing quickening, his skin prickling, his spine straightening.
They also left him wondering if Gibbs had managed to see behind his accidental throwaway comment earlier, or if he was looking. And a little, utterly focused part of his brain took that possibility, and ran with it, and imagined.
Oh man, it imagined. Hands and taste and breathing and lips and movement and whispering and skin and touch and please and strength and them.
His imagination was good. Good enough to lay a twitch in every muscle. To leave him ever so slightly tense - in that keyed up, predatory way where the blood in your veins felt like quicksilver. Good enough to make the fantasy of getting up, crossing the floor and laying his best opener on his Boss just, just, tangible enough that it left him deliciously on edge.
That damn stakeout had a lot to answer for. Talk about getting him primed and ready to go. Whichever deity had set that one up was no doubt laughing his ass off at Tony DiNozzo right about now.
Maybe that was what had gotten under Gibbs’ skin as well. The reason for the glances, and the restlessness. It was possible. That particular interlude was probably enough to destabilise even Yoda’s zen.
Then again, Gibbs didn’t seem wound particularly tight. Just - off.
And Tony had done this dozens of times before, and this was exactly the same, because it was him, and Gibbs. Just him and Gibbs, and it was right. It fit.
Just a few short weeks ago, he would have told you that he was a damn good investigator, and straight, and not thought twice about it.
But now things were different. Because apparently this had been coming for a long time. Possibly even from the moment he'd chased down a suspect and stopped him with a flying tackle, only to come face to face with greying hair, blue eyes and a scowl that put his Chief's to shame.
He hadn't seen it then, hadn't noticed since, but this Gibbs addiction had apparently been maturing long enough to qualify as vintage. And wasn't it just his luck to finally find himself in a position that might, in the right kind of light, qualify as some form of commitment, only for him not to have noticed it happening, the other party to be even more oblivious, and therefore for him to get all the heavy stuff without any of the... benefits.
Really, how did he get himself into these situations?
A cough from the other side of the basement dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked up straight into Gibbs' gaze - head cocked to one side, eyebrow raised.
There was something about these looks that he couldn't pin down. Something not standard issue Gibbs. Something that was hovering there in front of him, just tantalisingly out... of... reach...
Uncertainty. That was it. That was what he'd spent the past hour trying to pin down. That was why Gibbs was off. What was missing. Normal service Gibbs could tell you that Luke was Vader's father and you wouldn't dream of considering that he might be off base. But tonight's Gibbs didn't have that an underline in his eyes. He had a question.
Unfortunately he didn't have the first clue what the question was. Or the answer.
What he did know was that if Alpha male 'I'll go nuclear on your ass if you so much as blink' Gibbs was a turn on, then if you introduced a hint of vulnerability -
(and of course he was reading too much into it, but this was his fantasy life, and if he was going to poke a toe down the path of danger, then he might as well go the whole nine yards)
- it was a turbo charge to his libido.
Time to face facts, Tony. You have a choice. Get over there and jump him, or...
“Time for me to turn in, Boss. Need my beauty sleep, ya know?”
Chapter 14
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 Tony should maybe have taken the painkillers.
Warnings: None
It was odd, Tony mused, how something normally so comfortable in it’s familiarity could all of a sudden feel more alien than… well, Alien. The fact was, the two of them had done this exact same thing a hundred times before. Granted, the injuries varied - and on a really good day, didn't exist at all. But the basic still frame - Tony sitting on the fourth step from bottom in Gibbs' basement, nursing a beer and watching as his boss worked - had been created many a time. It was their refuge. An isolated bubble of safety and tranquillity.
Not this time.
This time it was muscles moving under shirt sleeves, sweat in the air. It was want, a want that burned through him, but in a good way, leaving sparks and glory in its wake. A want that was made of desire and anticipation.
Unfortunately, he was fairly sure that by the time he was considered fit enough to return to his own place, his own space, that want would have intensified, rising up and sliding over the top, leaving him mired in a want that ate away at him. A want made of unresolved wishes, and of might haves.
He firmly closed that door. He could worry about that as and when it happened. There was no need to waste prime Gibbs-ogling time brooding over maybes. Not when his tongue was itching at the glistening of the other man's throat.
He took a deep breath, savouring the faintly musty, dusty aroma. This place had been his bolt hole almost from the moment he made the move to DC. When the world went wrong, he'd come down here and lose himself in the smell of wood and bourbon. In the solid reassuring presence of Gibbs.
A year almost to the day after he'd joined NCIS, he'd learned that even Gibbs could get knocked off balance by a case. And he'd happily repaid the favour, more than a little surprised that Gibbs let him.
Two days afterwards, and Ducky's pat on the shoulder and soft “Well done, my boy.” into his ear was still one of his most cherished memories.
But despite all the precedents, never had the basement felt as small as it did tonight. No, not small exactly. Enclosed. Intense. Gibbs by nature was always intense, but not in this way. There was a... something... about him this time. He hadn't settled to the wood the way he normally did, instead approaching it in fits and starts, picking up a tool, using it for a few minutes, putting it down, flicking Tony a glance, picking up something else...
The glances were frequent, and inscrutable. But they were most definitely intense. Each one that came his way had his breathing quickening, his skin prickling, his spine straightening.
They also left him wondering if Gibbs had managed to see behind his accidental throwaway comment earlier, or if he was looking. And a little, utterly focused part of his brain took that possibility, and ran with it, and imagined.
Oh man, it imagined. Hands and taste and breathing and lips and movement and whispering and skin and touch and please and strength and them.
His imagination was good. Good enough to lay a twitch in every muscle. To leave him ever so slightly tense - in that keyed up, predatory way where the blood in your veins felt like quicksilver. Good enough to make the fantasy of getting up, crossing the floor and laying his best opener on his Boss just, just, tangible enough that it left him deliciously on edge.
That damn stakeout had a lot to answer for. Talk about getting him primed and ready to go. Whichever deity had set that one up was no doubt laughing his ass off at Tony DiNozzo right about now.
Maybe that was what had gotten under Gibbs’ skin as well. The reason for the glances, and the restlessness. It was possible. That particular interlude was probably enough to destabilise even Yoda’s zen.
Then again, Gibbs didn’t seem wound particularly tight. Just - off.
And Tony had done this dozens of times before, and this was exactly the same, because it was him, and Gibbs. Just him and Gibbs, and it was right. It fit.
Just a few short weeks ago, he would have told you that he was a damn good investigator, and straight, and not thought twice about it.
But now things were different. Because apparently this had been coming for a long time. Possibly even from the moment he'd chased down a suspect and stopped him with a flying tackle, only to come face to face with greying hair, blue eyes and a scowl that put his Chief's to shame.
He hadn't seen it then, hadn't noticed since, but this Gibbs addiction had apparently been maturing long enough to qualify as vintage. And wasn't it just his luck to finally find himself in a position that might, in the right kind of light, qualify as some form of commitment, only for him not to have noticed it happening, the other party to be even more oblivious, and therefore for him to get all the heavy stuff without any of the... benefits.
Really, how did he get himself into these situations?
A cough from the other side of the basement dragged him out of his thoughts, and he looked up straight into Gibbs' gaze - head cocked to one side, eyebrow raised.
There was something about these looks that he couldn't pin down. Something not standard issue Gibbs. Something that was hovering there in front of him, just tantalisingly out... of... reach...
Uncertainty. That was it. That was what he'd spent the past hour trying to pin down. That was why Gibbs was off. What was missing. Normal service Gibbs could tell you that Luke was Vader's father and you wouldn't dream of considering that he might be off base. But tonight's Gibbs didn't have that an underline in his eyes. He had a question.
Unfortunately he didn't have the first clue what the question was. Or the answer.
What he did know was that if Alpha male 'I'll go nuclear on your ass if you so much as blink' Gibbs was a turn on, then if you introduced a hint of vulnerability -
(and of course he was reading too much into it, but this was his fantasy life, and if he was going to poke a toe down the path of danger, then he might as well go the whole nine yards)
- it was a turbo charge to his libido.
Time to face facts, Tony. You have a choice. Get over there and jump him, or...
“Time for me to turn in, Boss. Need my beauty sleep, ya know?”
Chapter 14