Ficlet: Sneaky Kisses - Bait and Switch (NCIS McGee/DiNozzo)
Title: Sneaky Kisses - Bait and Switch
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: McGee/DiNozzo
Rating: Not porny
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to frater_x for the idea. I couldn't sneak the voyeurism in, but I'll write you some hot Ziva/Abby action at some point, I promise.
"Uh, I don't think we're supposed to do that," Tim says as Ziva opens the door to the storage closet. She merely glances around them again, measuring the back hallway of the bar like she's expecting a terrorist cell to come storming out of the kitchen.
"Get in, quickly," she says, and before Tim can argue again, she wraps her strong little hand around his shirt front and tugs. He's not sure if he could have resisted her sober, so he simply concentrates on not tripping over anything while she pulls him in behind her.
"What exactly are we doing in here?" he asks once he's certain he's not going to step on any of bottles of cleaner or smack his face on a mop.
"We are doing nothing." Ziva pats his chest, then tips up on her toes so she can purr into his ear, "Abby was very clear on that point. But if you wait here, and you are a very good boy, you will get a reward."
Tim gulps. "Reward? What do you mean by reward?"
Ziva raises her eyebrow. A very sexy eyebrow.
"Oh." He should protest that he's a federal agent, that he shouldn't be playing Abby's games in (semi) public. That he and Abby haven't had that kind of relationship in a very long time, and he's not sure if he's interested in getting burned trying to touch those flames again. But he doesn't. He's drunk and a little horny and a lot lonely, and, well, kind of depressed, and the way Ziva's looking at him already has him sweating. "Oh, right. A reward."
"Good boy." Ziva pats him on the cheek, then reaches behind her to flick off the light switch. "No peeking."
"Why--"
"And no talking, either." She presses a finger against his lips. "Stay quiet the whole time, or you'll gay the deal."
Queer the deal, he wants to tell her, but he keeps his mouth shut. Ziva disappears out of the closet with one last knowing chuckle. And then he's alone. Alone in the middle of a storage closet, swaying on his tired feet, blinking against the dark and wondering how he keeps getting himself into these kind of situations. The scent of that pink industrial hand soap tickles at his sinuses, and he swears that he can taste damp paper towels along with the green apple martini on his tongue. He should get out of here and go home. It's been a long day, made longer by the fact that Tony looked extra good today. Not to mention extra into women. Tim knows that they never would have made the bust without the DiNozzo special touch, but sometimes it hits him hard, seeing what he knows he'll never have, played out like an after school special made just for him.
Tim sighs. God, he's maudlin tonight. He never should have let Abby talk him into drinks with the team. Definitely shouldn't have let Ziva drag him back here. He reaches out, searching for the lightswitch, but before he finds it, footsteps scuffle in the hall. He hears a low feminine giggle, and then the rumble of a man's voice. Then, "Shhhhhh."
That's Abby, definitely.
The door opens. The light that hits his eyes is a thousand times brighter than what he was expecting, and before he can decide to push his way out, the silhouette slips inside and shuts the door again.
Tim's brain finally catches up to his eyes. That wasn't Abby. He's pretty damn sure that wasn't a woman at all. For half a second, he thinks about calling it all off--but hey, if Abby and Ziva really think that he needs to spend seven minutes in Heaven with some strange guy... Well. It's about time he explored that side of his personality.
The guy doesn't make a move, though. Just sort of shifts around in the small space like he's not sure what he's doing there. Tim wonders exactly what story Abby fed this guy. If he's even expecting Tim to be the one in here. It'd be exactly his luck to get stuck in here with some homophobic asshole who reacts to a joke with his fists. Tim's debating whether to spill the beans, try to explain his way out of the situation, when the guy's hand lands on Tim's shoulder.
They both freeze; Tim holding his breath while he waits for the guy to put the pieces together. But instead of pulling back for a punch, the hand gropes upward. Up along the slope of Tim's trapezius, skimming over his open collar, gliding over his throat. Tim's pulse starts to race, the heat of arousal burning away the alcohol fog. The guy's fingertips land on the stubble of Tim's jaw. There's no mistaking his gender now. But he keeps moving until he's touching Tim's lips.
Tim can't stop himself. He opens his mouth, flicks his tongue out to taste peanuts and salt.
The guy drops his hand to Tim's shoulder. He steps forward, so that they're chest to chest. Their shoulders are of a height, and this close Tim can smell beer on the guy's breath. Beer, and beyond that, the guy's cologne.
Tony's cologne.
"Oh, God," he groans, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
"Shhh," Tony whispers into his ear. Tim can feel his cheek pressing against his. "Didn't they give you rules?"
Tim nods. His heart is pounding now--from fear (is Tony joking around with him?), from desire (oh, God, Tony), from anticipation (please, let it happen). The silence drags out, neither one of them moving, until Tim thinks he's going to collapse from the weight of the moment.
Tony's fingers tighten on his shoulder. He turns his head, lips sliding across Tim's cheek--and then they're kissing. Honest to God kissing. Open-mouthed, tongues touching. There's no way Tony can play this off as accidental. Not with the way his hand has come up to cradle the back of Tim's head. Feeling daring, Tim pushes even closer, pressing his hard cock against Tony's thigh.
Tony's just as hard.
Tony breaks the kiss with a gasp. "Later," he whispers. He's breathing hard, as hard as Tim, and his lips linger against the lobe of Tim's ear. But then he steps back, hands hard on Tim's shoulders almost like he's pushing himself away. He lets go after another long second, and Tim can hear the rustle of him straightening his shirt. Tim takes the opportunity to reach down to adjust himself.
Someone bangs on the door. Tim jumps, but Tony just turns around like he was expecting it. He opens the door without bothering with the light. Abby and Ziva peer around the frame, both with expectant grins on their faces.
"Very funny, ladies," Tony drawls. "But the probie really isn't my idea of a good time."
Abby pouts. "Are you sure? Because there's this thing he does with--"
"Abby!" Tim yelps, finally catching up with the unwritten script. "TMI!"
Abby's pout gets even more exaggerated, but she doesn't say anything else, thank goodness. Ziva smirks up at Tony. "Did you really think I would be waiting for you in there? Like some teenage girl in one of your movies, waiting for her football prince?"
Tony snorts. "No, but I figured our waitress would have to wander in at some point. I emptied the napkin dispensers on three of her tables."
Ziva punches his arm, hard enough that his whine sounds real. She smiles smugly, then links her arm with Abby's and skips off back towards the seating area. Tim starts to follow them, but Tony catches him by the wrist.
"Later?" he asks, and it's definitely a question this time, loaded with uncertainty Tim never would have expected from him.
Tim nods. "My place?" he offers, like it's no big deal that they're arranging a clandestine rendezvous.
"Nah, better make it mine." Tony pulls keys out of his pocket and dangles them in front of Tim's face. "You rode with me, remember?" Then he smacks Tim on the ass with his other hand and jogs away. "As much fun as that little adventure wasn't," Tim hears him call out to Abby and Ziva, "I'm going to have to call it a night."
Tim shakes himself out of his stupor and takes off after Tony, grin growing on his face.
He doesn't want to miss his ride, after all.
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: McGee/DiNozzo
Rating: Not porny
Spoilers: None
Notes: Thanks to frater_x for the idea. I couldn't sneak the voyeurism in, but I'll write you some hot Ziva/Abby action at some point, I promise.
"Uh, I don't think we're supposed to do that," Tim says as Ziva opens the door to the storage closet. She merely glances around them again, measuring the back hallway of the bar like she's expecting a terrorist cell to come storming out of the kitchen.
"Get in, quickly," she says, and before Tim can argue again, she wraps her strong little hand around his shirt front and tugs. He's not sure if he could have resisted her sober, so he simply concentrates on not tripping over anything while she pulls him in behind her.
"What exactly are we doing in here?" he asks once he's certain he's not going to step on any of bottles of cleaner or smack his face on a mop.
"We are doing nothing." Ziva pats his chest, then tips up on her toes so she can purr into his ear, "Abby was very clear on that point. But if you wait here, and you are a very good boy, you will get a reward."
Tim gulps. "Reward? What do you mean by reward?"
Ziva raises her eyebrow. A very sexy eyebrow.
"Oh." He should protest that he's a federal agent, that he shouldn't be playing Abby's games in (semi) public. That he and Abby haven't had that kind of relationship in a very long time, and he's not sure if he's interested in getting burned trying to touch those flames again. But he doesn't. He's drunk and a little horny and a lot lonely, and, well, kind of depressed, and the way Ziva's looking at him already has him sweating. "Oh, right. A reward."
"Good boy." Ziva pats him on the cheek, then reaches behind her to flick off the light switch. "No peeking."
"Why--"
"And no talking, either." She presses a finger against his lips. "Stay quiet the whole time, or you'll gay the deal."
Queer the deal, he wants to tell her, but he keeps his mouth shut. Ziva disappears out of the closet with one last knowing chuckle. And then he's alone. Alone in the middle of a storage closet, swaying on his tired feet, blinking against the dark and wondering how he keeps getting himself into these kind of situations. The scent of that pink industrial hand soap tickles at his sinuses, and he swears that he can taste damp paper towels along with the green apple martini on his tongue. He should get out of here and go home. It's been a long day, made longer by the fact that Tony looked extra good today. Not to mention extra into women. Tim knows that they never would have made the bust without the DiNozzo special touch, but sometimes it hits him hard, seeing what he knows he'll never have, played out like an after school special made just for him.
Tim sighs. God, he's maudlin tonight. He never should have let Abby talk him into drinks with the team. Definitely shouldn't have let Ziva drag him back here. He reaches out, searching for the lightswitch, but before he finds it, footsteps scuffle in the hall. He hears a low feminine giggle, and then the rumble of a man's voice. Then, "Shhhhhh."
That's Abby, definitely.
The door opens. The light that hits his eyes is a thousand times brighter than what he was expecting, and before he can decide to push his way out, the silhouette slips inside and shuts the door again.
Tim's brain finally catches up to his eyes. That wasn't Abby. He's pretty damn sure that wasn't a woman at all. For half a second, he thinks about calling it all off--but hey, if Abby and Ziva really think that he needs to spend seven minutes in Heaven with some strange guy... Well. It's about time he explored that side of his personality.
The guy doesn't make a move, though. Just sort of shifts around in the small space like he's not sure what he's doing there. Tim wonders exactly what story Abby fed this guy. If he's even expecting Tim to be the one in here. It'd be exactly his luck to get stuck in here with some homophobic asshole who reacts to a joke with his fists. Tim's debating whether to spill the beans, try to explain his way out of the situation, when the guy's hand lands on Tim's shoulder.
They both freeze; Tim holding his breath while he waits for the guy to put the pieces together. But instead of pulling back for a punch, the hand gropes upward. Up along the slope of Tim's trapezius, skimming over his open collar, gliding over his throat. Tim's pulse starts to race, the heat of arousal burning away the alcohol fog. The guy's fingertips land on the stubble of Tim's jaw. There's no mistaking his gender now. But he keeps moving until he's touching Tim's lips.
Tim can't stop himself. He opens his mouth, flicks his tongue out to taste peanuts and salt.
The guy drops his hand to Tim's shoulder. He steps forward, so that they're chest to chest. Their shoulders are of a height, and this close Tim can smell beer on the guy's breath. Beer, and beyond that, the guy's cologne.
Tony's cologne.
"Oh, God," he groans, the words slipping out before he can stop them.
"Shhh," Tony whispers into his ear. Tim can feel his cheek pressing against his. "Didn't they give you rules?"
Tim nods. His heart is pounding now--from fear (is Tony joking around with him?), from desire (oh, God, Tony), from anticipation (please, let it happen). The silence drags out, neither one of them moving, until Tim thinks he's going to collapse from the weight of the moment.
Tony's fingers tighten on his shoulder. He turns his head, lips sliding across Tim's cheek--and then they're kissing. Honest to God kissing. Open-mouthed, tongues touching. There's no way Tony can play this off as accidental. Not with the way his hand has come up to cradle the back of Tim's head. Feeling daring, Tim pushes even closer, pressing his hard cock against Tony's thigh.
Tony's just as hard.
Tony breaks the kiss with a gasp. "Later," he whispers. He's breathing hard, as hard as Tim, and his lips linger against the lobe of Tim's ear. But then he steps back, hands hard on Tim's shoulders almost like he's pushing himself away. He lets go after another long second, and Tim can hear the rustle of him straightening his shirt. Tim takes the opportunity to reach down to adjust himself.
Someone bangs on the door. Tim jumps, but Tony just turns around like he was expecting it. He opens the door without bothering with the light. Abby and Ziva peer around the frame, both with expectant grins on their faces.
"Very funny, ladies," Tony drawls. "But the probie really isn't my idea of a good time."
Abby pouts. "Are you sure? Because there's this thing he does with--"
"Abby!" Tim yelps, finally catching up with the unwritten script. "TMI!"
Abby's pout gets even more exaggerated, but she doesn't say anything else, thank goodness. Ziva smirks up at Tony. "Did you really think I would be waiting for you in there? Like some teenage girl in one of your movies, waiting for her football prince?"
Tony snorts. "No, but I figured our waitress would have to wander in at some point. I emptied the napkin dispensers on three of her tables."
Ziva punches his arm, hard enough that his whine sounds real. She smiles smugly, then links her arm with Abby's and skips off back towards the seating area. Tim starts to follow them, but Tony catches him by the wrist.
"Later?" he asks, and it's definitely a question this time, loaded with uncertainty Tim never would have expected from him.
Tim nods. "My place?" he offers, like it's no big deal that they're arranging a clandestine rendezvous.
"Nah, better make it mine." Tony pulls keys out of his pocket and dangles them in front of Tim's face. "You rode with me, remember?" Then he smacks Tim on the ass with his other hand and jogs away. "As much fun as that little adventure wasn't," Tim hears him call out to Abby and Ziva, "I'm going to have to call it a night."
Tim shakes himself out of his stupor and takes off after Tony, grin growing on his face.
He doesn't want to miss his ride, after all.