My apologies for leaving you all for so very long. In fact, I've been writing a few things that took all of my attention but you will see much more from this account in the near future!
This was a random one shot which is totally PWP with delicious angsty feels built in for Summersquares birthday (belated).
Contains SLASH (this should be no surprise by now) so if it isn't your thing just move along.
Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS, its characters, etc. This is just a fun little hobby and not used to generate any kind of revenue. Don't sue a fangirl pretty please.
He doesn't hear the slick slide of the deadbolt, the quick careful quiet footfalls across the expensive hardwood of his living room, doesn't see the shadow flit between walls or feel the heat of an ice blue stare against the muscles of his bare back. In fact, it is only the scent of the invader that is his split second warning, the pleasantly familiar musk of half a day spent under the beating sun and the other half under pounding pressure, of work and clean sweat and a dozen other things that assault his senses in the flash of an instant before rough hands wrap around his upper arms in an almost too-tight grip.
Hips pressed forward, head bent back, fingers that have been immersed in tepid soapy water now scramble against the cold marble as he fights the hold just a little, just enough.
"What did I tell you?" The voice that sounds right below his earlobe is a thunderous purr of tenuously asserted control.
"Jethro, I…" The grip around his biceps tightens and he gasps at the pleasure-pain of it. The fingers circling his flesh know just where to clasp to make sure he can still wear short-sleeves without having to answer uncomfortable questions, know that he loves the impassioned pressure of the restraint that may or may not mark him.
"One rule, DiNozzo. No touching. Was that so fucking hard?" Lips strain and chafe against the sensitive curve of his ear and the curse vibrates down his spine, pauses to tug at each vertebra in turn until it meets the cleft of his ass where it worms inside his body and makes him shudder.
He doesn't even try to make an excuse this time, knows exactly what he's done.
Since they've started dating or fucking or whatever the hell it is they're doing now-because most of him knows that whatever it is doesn't have a word, won't fit into any kind of category that's been invented yet-Gibbs has only given him one rule.
Just one.
Oh, there are still the 40 or 50 others-Jethro has yet to really give him an accurate count and he secretly suspects the other man adds rules as they fit his needs-to memorize and adhere to on a daily basis but those are for everyone.
This one is all his.
And like any of Gibbs' rules, you follow it. You follow it without asking questions or you learn the reason for its existence the hard-and usually painful-way.
But he's broken it. Perhaps innocently, perhaps willfully, he's not really sure of which himself, but it's been done.
It wasn't much. Just the idle trailing of his fingertips over the heated bare skin around a puckered spot in the collar of Jethro's t-shirt, across a flared tendon that drew his eye and held it unmercifully. No one was watching. He'd made certain of it. And even if they were he could brush it off as an accidental movement.
Usually he can restrain himself but today, today…Three dead kids in a shed. That was more than he could be expected to take, right? More than anyone could. He'd needed…well, he'd needed something. Something to take his mind off of the smell of dried blood and fertilizer in the hot sun, the memory of white sheets over small bodies, tiny score-marks of soft fingernails against paint and aluminum and…
He shakes his head to clear the image. This is not one he wants to hang on to.
And so he poked the sleeping bear.
But he'd known it was a mistake right away, had felt the initial and unconscious press into his touch before the violent and perhaps inevitable recoil. They hadn't spoken in all but the most perfunctory sense for the rest of the day and even when they had, Jethro had avoided his eyes like never before. And at the end of the day he'd just…disappeared. Had left without word or instruction to anyone. Tony had blown it off to the team, had made easy excuses because the truth was, they were all a little shaken today and Gibbs was just being…Gibbs. With maybe a little extra Gibbs on top.
But he'd known better.
And now he'll pay the price for breaking the rule. Though, so far, the punishment is anything but. And he senses something different about Jethro tonight. Something that says this barely controlled little scene isn't just contrived for his benefit, that perhaps this tiny broken rule has broken open something in Gibbs that's been lurking just beneath the surface. That's been straining the leash to breaking longer than either of them sensed.
"You don't have any idea what you do to me." There is a sense of…warning, in this. And not the kind Tony's used to. Not the kind that he gets with a look or a bark of orders on a routine basis. This feels heavier somehow, hits him in his gut and makes his dick harder all at the same time.
"I think I do," he says brazenly. The heat below his belly flares as hardened hip bones push close, grind possessively against the curve of his ass.
"You don't." The two syllables are barely a feral growl.
"How do you…" Tony knows defiance is not his ally but cannot bring himself to submit to such an assertion without just a little fight.
The fingers of one hand are suddenly below his chin, squeezing, pulsing. "Because if you did, you wouldn't even think about letting me touch you right now. Woudn't let me this close if you knew even half of what I wanted to do to you. What I want you to do to me."
"You don't scare me, Jethro." He keeps his tone even despite the betraying quaver he feels lingering below his Adam's apple. Tony presses forward against the fingers that hold him, challenges the tight grip which loosens almost imperceptibly, predictably, at least to him.
"I should," Gibbs affirms, voice low and laden along its edges with…confusion? Self-loathing? Tony can't decide nor can he understand.
But the harsh rasp feels incomplete so he waits.
"I fucking scare myself." The shudder that ripples through Gibbs at the admission gives Tony a satisfaction he's never known.
"I…ohhh…" He's about to form some kind of feeble protest or reassurance but it dies on his lips as the mouth that has been alternately admonishing and seducing him with words suddenly latches on to the thin skin of his throat, begins to suck hard, hurtfully, to draw blood to the surface without remorse or respite.
Tony's hands reach backward blindly, anchor in Jethro's hair, fist and pull with purpose at the spare fabric in the hip of his jeans.
Gibbs' mouth is unrelenting even as the hand still clinging to flexing and straining muscle loosens its grip and fumbles between their bodies to unclasp the belt that is the only thing preventing Tony from tearing the denim from his lower half. The older man's movements seem far more frantic, less practiced than he's used to but as Jethro's jeans finally come away in response to his eager tugs, as Gibbs thrusts against his crack through the thin fabric of two sets of boxers like he's not even going to wait to get inside him to come, he doesn't fucking care who the unchained creature is that's wearing Jethro's skin.
A tiny little corner of his ADD brain is counting the number of high necked sweaters in his wardrobe and wondering if he's got enough for the weeks' worth of hickey that's being sucked and nibbled onto his flesh. The rest of him is trying to cling to anything sane against the onslaught of Jethro's lips.
The fingers fisting in his hair wrench his neck, bend him and twist him until his lips are parted by the thrust of a dangerously demanding tongue. For one of the first times in his life he's not kissing, only being kissed, being invaded, being possessed and the heady thrill of it, the cock pulsing heat of a hungry mouth feasting on him sends a masculine rumble of need tearing from deep in his throat.
At this sound the game changes and Tony can feel Jethro stiffen, can feel the swell of urgency that courses through him and sends trembling fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pushing , tearing, not mindful of the fact that his dick is caught painfully in the struggle for a moment before it springs free. Gibbs' knee is between his, widening his stance irresistibly, bringing his long legs down the few inches Jethro needs to get the right angle and before he can think, can pause, can breathe, skilled fingers are probing his hole unceremoniously.
Tony feels the quick shift as Gibbs raises his fingers to his lips, licks, and then presses back in. The second retreat comes with just as little warning but this time the slick fingertips against his twitching hole are replaced by the familiar feel of Jethro's cock, thrusting into him fast and hard and deep and painful. He loses his breath to the heat of it, to the shocking burn that ebbs only slightly before Gibbs takes him again. There is a violence in the meeting of their hips, in each stuttering plunge, that has him riding the edge, trying to wrap his head around exactly what's going on. But there is no room for thought in a head so full of lust and need and Jethro that he feels like he might just explode with it.
Fingers twitch against his scalp, teeth rasp along his jaw, and the hand pressed tight to his belly shakes and curls with each shattering thrust. His own nails sink into the hard muscle of Jethro's hip but when he reaches down to stroke his leaking cock, his hand is batted away even as the breath against his ear turns ragged and broken.
"You're not done yet," Gibbs chokes out as his hand squeezes hard.
Tony hisses in pain and frustration, desperate to come as he feels Jethro's hips stutter, feels the flood of the older man's hot release painting his insides.
Gibbs is a mess of sweat-slicked skin and heavy breath behind him but the grip around his cock doesn't lessen.
"Please," he begs, less worried about coming now than his balls turning blue from the pressure. Finally, finally, Jethro relents, slides out of him and releases. But it's clear whatever the fuck is going on right now isn't even close to over and for the first time tonight he sees the undone look in Gibbs' eyes, the focused need that doesn't seem a bit slaked. For a split second he thinks maybe he should have paid more heed to the warning because this is Jethro on the edge like he's never seen him. And then the cold angled marble of the countertop is slicing into his back, bracing him painfully as Gibbs leans in, licks up a tendon to the curve of his ear and grips the square of his jaw tight.
"You're gonna fuck me." There is no doubt in Tony's mind that this is an order. "You're gonna fuck me hard and deep until I beg you to stop and then you're gonna keep going just a little more, do you understand?" Teeth latch onto his earlobe, tug hard.
Shit.
He needs to say something, feels like he should. Because they've never gone here before. Not once. Not even close. He's made the play once or twice, tentatively, not pushing, but Jethro's thrown the penalty flag each time and taken charge like usual.
Not that he minds. One thing he learned fast about Gibbs was that the man knows how to fuck.
But Jethro's hand is tugging as his slightly waned erection and the older man is rutting against his thigh like he's ready to go now and Tony says the only thing he can.
"Bedroom." He wishes the word sounded more assertive because it is only his fingers tugging insistently at Jethro's scalp that forces the other man to relinquish his assault. "Bedroom," he repeats more forcefully, using the greater mass of his body to push them away from the counter. This time he can tell the words register and there is a barely discernible nod from Gibbs before they collide with the next object in their path a handful of seconds later.
The few-feet's journey to the French-doored bedroom is one of violence and desperation. His back collides with the wall, his shins with a dining room chair, Jethro's shoulders with a shelf that doesn't stand a chance against the force of their passion.
Tony knows he has the advantage. This is his space, his home, and he knows it well, knows it in the darkness around them far better than Jethro does. And just before they stumble into the bed he's pushing. Pushing Jethro, pushing boundaries, waiting for the protest that doesn't come as Gibbs' eyes catch the streetlight through the window and blink up at him.
Fuck but he wants to take him like this, on his back, knees pressed to his shoulders, mouth open and begging. But in the bare seconds it takes him to reach into his bedside table and grab the KY Gibbs is already shifting, moving onto his knees and tugging at his half-hard cock.
Yanking at the older man's hips, he brings Jethro's knees to the edge of the bed, faces him toward the long mirror that is less shrouded in grey now that his eyes have adjusted to the feeble light. If he had balls or patience or presence of mind he'd turn on the lights because the only thing in the world he can imagine that would be better than fucking Jethro right now is watching himself fuck Jethro right now.
But that particular pleasure will have to wait.
Hands on Gibbs' back, he can feel the older man bracing, stiffening. But he's not ready yet, not ready to give up this chance, to see if he can undo Gibbs just that much more.
Tony drops to his knees, takes a tight hold and licks up the cleft of Jethro's ass. His fingers dig in and he follows as Gibbs tries to pull away, tries to retreat from the sensation that is most definitely not what he was expecting in this moment. Another swipe and a swirl of his tongue at the older man's hole and Jethro is moaning, pressing back into Tony's satisfied smile as he suckles the sensitive spot beneath his balls.
A handful of moments later he's reaching for the little tube beside him, slicking his cock and his fingers as his tongue flicks relentlessly. He's heard nothing from Gibbs but half-anxious grunts of pleasure since his initial protest and Tony's mouth has been far to occupied for idle chit chat.
Muscles that have only now begun to relax suddenly tauten again.
"I'll take it easy, okay?" He manages, feeling like it's an impossible promise.
"Don't want you to." Jethro's voice is a raw whisper.
"We'll see." Because Tony's been in enough locker rooms and chat rooms and back rooms to know with confidence that he's not a small man by any definition of the word and he's fucked a few size queens in his day who walked a little gingerly when he was done with them.
He pulls Jethro's hips just a little, uses a hand to massage his balls and he circles him with a well-slicked finger. Pressing into tight heat, he's floored when Gibbs opens for him a little, pushes down to let him inside like this is something they do every day, like it's something he's practiced. He bites his lip at the thought, at the image that flashes of Jethro testing his own limits, searching the parts of his body that have remained off limits until now.
It gives him confidence and he works in further. In and out, in and out, in and…
Jethro's body convulses as Tony's finger arcs down, presses forward. The other man's breath leaves his body in an explosive rush and he feels Gibbs shift, feels the tight clasp of fingers above his wrist pulling him out.
For a moment he's afraid it's over, that Jethro's somehow gathered his scattered senses. But when the hand around his wrist releases it's suddenly groping blindly for something else, feeling up the inside of his thigh.
"No more." Tony feels the flood of disappointment until Jethro meets his eyes in the mirror. "Jesus, will you just…just fuck me already…I need…" He leaves this last piece hanging and fists his hands in the sheets, clearly unable to ask for exactly what it is he does need.
Breath coming quick and shallow, Tony presses his knees to the mattress but keeps his feet. He wants to wrap his arms around Gibbs, to mold their bodies together as he slides inside but he senses instinctively that this isn't what Jethro's asking for tonight, that this is more than he could tolerate.
He tries to go slow, really he does, but once his head has breached Gibbs' body he's being pulled inside relentlessly and Jethro is hissing in pain even as he presses back, forces him deeper still. He can feel skin and muscle and tissue stretching around him, tightening and pulsing and he holds on desperately, fights for control.
But tonight is not about control and Gibbs lets him know it, retreating a little and then practically impaling himself on his cock despite obvious pain. For a moment he considers pulling out, telling Jethro he won't take him this way, not like this, not the first time, but he settles for digging his fingers into the soft skin above Gibbs' hips, forcing him to stop, to calm.
Tony's got just a few seconds of advantage and he uses them, uses them to retreat a few inches, to pulse quick and short against the sweet spot that overrides Jethro's discomfort and has him tearing at the covers against the sensation that's almost too much.
He makes his strokes longer but still shallow, flees right to the edge and pushes in again knowing that the burn will lessen with time, knowing that the pain will ebb in the face of pleasure if only Gibbs will be patient.
Jethro's moaning now, circling his hips like some wanton thing but letting Tony keep the reins. He grows bolder with each ecstatic gasp, goes just a little deeper but always comes back to the same spot like a bloodhound with a scent. He's learning Gibbs' body anew, learning it from the inside this time and the tight heat stroking his dick has got his balls aching so bad he's pretty sure he's gonna fill buckets when he finally does come.
Tony can feel himself moving toward the inevitable but by the way Jethro's writhing and moaning he's not worried that this is going to be a marathon. He leans forward, hands circling beneath Gibbs' furred belly, twining through the dense mat of silver curls. One set of fingers move north, pinch and twist and flick at a flat nipple, while the other caresses downward, finds Jethro's rock hard and leaking cock and begins to stroke.
All bets are suddenly off and Gibbs drives unmercifully onto Tony's cock. He picks up Jethro's rhythm, fucks him fast and hard now, the way he's been ordered, the way he's desperately wanted to. He knows they can't keep this up for long, not the way Jethro's thighs are trembling and contracting against his.
He doesn't need a warning to know the moment when Gibbs' body finally gives up, gives in. The body beneath him, around him, suddenly stiffens, quakes, stiffens again to the accompaniment of shattered cries. At the third peak he pulls out just a little, aims dead at Jethro's prostate and pulses his hips until he feels the tightness in his belly coalesce into something heavy and irresistible that spills out into each limb in wave after uncontrolled wave as he empties into the trembling heat of Gibbs' body.
Rubbery knees that won't support him any longer find purchase on the mattress and he clamors onto it, collapses half on and half off Gibbs who is curled ball-like onto his side with his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Tony isn't sure how long they lie there like that. Somewhere in all of it Jethro finally stops quaking, stops making the little sounds that are so completely un-Gibbs like. He's almost ready to try and move them into a position they might actually sleep in when the man beside him finally speaks in a tone that's more akin to one he actually recognizes.
"Do you know that I spend my whole day trying not to touch you sometimes? That even in the middle of the worst case we've ever seen it's right there…that need to just…shit, Tony, it's never been like this before. Never. And I don't…sometimes I'm afraid I won't be able to stop. That it won't ever be enough." The sentence trails off into near nothingness at its end.
"I didn't…I didn't know that, Jethro." And he's floored by it. Floored by the fact that he can still hear unfulfilled need in the other man's voice even after all of this. Because Jethro needing sex is one thing but Jethro needing him…really fucking needing him, isn't an admission he ever thought he'd be confronted with.
Gibbs rolls over in the near darkness and Tony can see the eyes that have been hidden from him for most of the day. "When you touch me and we're not alone…today I almost didn't care that Ducky and Ziva and Tim were 20 feet away. It took everything I had, everything, not to drag you around the side of the van and beg you to fuck me." There's genuine fear in his words, something else he never expected to hear from Jethro.
He reaches out, pushes sweat dampened hair from the older man's forehead. "You have me, you know. Not just tonight, not just…you have me, Jethro." He can feel Gibbs studying him, weighing and measuring the words one by one.
"I want everything, Tony. Not just the parts you're willing to give. All of it. And the part that scares the shit out of me is that sometimes I think I'm willing to drag it out of you, to fight you for it…maybe to hurt you for it."
"This thing…it works both ways, Jethro." Because Gibbs is right. He holds back. Maybe less with Jethro than with anyone else that's ever been in his life, but still. And the thing that's worked so far, made this seemingly perfect, is that they each have their own little isolation rooms inside. The places no one gets to go.
And now Jethro is asking for access.
A nod. That's all he gets as a promise, but it's enough for now and it closes the conversation, at least for the night.
"And if you wanted to take me behind the truck and make me fuck you, well, I wouldn't be able to say 'no', no matter who was watching." It almost comes off as glib but there's a sincerity in it as well. "But next time, we do this my way, okay? It can be better, you know." He's a little afraid he may have put Gibbs off the idea of bottoming forever.
"Needed it this way," Jethro shrugs.
"Someday you're going to have to explain that to me." He leaves the opening but there doesn't seem to be anything more forthcoming tonight. Perhaps both of their worlds have been rocked enough.
"You staying?" he asks when enough time has passed and he has to suppress a yawn.
"You inviting?"
"Think I might be insisting," Tony ventures, suddenly aware that there isn't a single part of him that wants Jethro to leave his apartment before daybreak. This is a new thing and he's not up for giving it too much thought right now.
"Okay," Jethro acquiesces, shifting on the mattress with a wince.
"I've got something for that," Tony offers. "And a hot shower doesn't hurt either."
"Later. Just point me in the direction of a washcloth for the moment." Gibbs pads into the bathroom as Tony heads to the kitchen for water. When he comes back with two glasses, Jethro's already thrown off the comforter and climbed beneath the thin sheet. His satisfied smirk is partly for the sight of Gibbs in his bed and partly for the heady smell of sex that permeates the room and the heaviness sated heaviness that's still living in his limbs.
Once he's crawled in, curled up back to chest with Gibbs he finally lets it sink in.
"You have me, Jethro," he repeats once more into the darkness, his only answer the feeling of solid arms tightening around him.
If you were looking for a deeper meaning here I apologize for disappointing you! This was just all about the smut. Hope that's okay ;)
Thank you so much for reading and letting me read YOUR thoughts!
Kat