Spoilers: Takes place after South by Southwest, 6x17
Genre: slash, first time
Warnings: rough sex, homophobic slurs
Rating: adult, M
Spoilers: 6x17 South by Southwest
Style: varying tenses, changes between time periods
Chapters: 4
Tags: mute Gibbs, dirty talking Gibbs, dominant and submissive roles on the job and in everyday life, first time, rough sex, car sex, homophobia, Philly cops, Tony's past, hiding he's gay, angst, fear of being outed.
Thanks to Betas: firesign10 and Jacie!
. . . .
Chapter 1
Pursuance
March 30, 2009, Washington, DC, cinema parking lot
On a freezing cold night in March, a month after they return from tracking down Dina Risi in Arizona, Tony takes Gibbs to the late-night movie at the Regal. They're showing a restored version of The Bridge on the River Kwai. Tony wishes it was North by Northwest, which would tie in with their trip out west and being shot at by a killer in a helicopter. Still, Gibbs seems to enjoy the movie, and that's what really matters.
Gibbs comes out of the cinema as horny as hell. Maybe it's the sights and sounds of war that gets him all revved up, with the massive explosions, heart-pounding action and acts of bravery. More likely, it is due to seeing a bare-chested, defiant William Holden sweating under the hot Burmese sun. Either way, they barely make it back to the car before Gibbs shoves Tony against the cold hard metal and starts kissing him.
Tony would never say no to a make-out session with Gibbs, but he squirms because the door handle is digging into his back. Lips locked, and with Gibbs' tongue doing things that make his knees go weak, Tony makes a high, undignified sound. Gibbs' response is to grunt and dig his fingers into Tony's hips, keeping him still while he kisses his way across Tony's face to a soft spot just under his ear.
Tony gasps and takes in a lungful of cold night air. "Jethro?"
Gibbs is busy sucking Tony's neck, and from his vague "Mmm…" response, it seems as if he isn't really listening.
"Jethro? Uh, this is…oh fuck…really nice but I'm…oh that's good… Can you stop? Can you…? C'mon, I'm freezing my balls off."
There's a non-committal grunt as Gibbs' hand rubs Tony's crotch through his wool trousers. Gibbs, intent on sex, is not so different from Gibbs intent upon a case: focused, passionate, taking what he wants.
Tony lifts his chin to give Gibbs better access for soft, sucking kisses, and he closes his eyes, momentarily yielding to the sensation. Despite the heat emanating off Gibbs' body, Tony shivers. He opens his eyes and focuses on the vapor from his breath rising in the frigid night. Much more of this and his lungs will start to hurt, but he can't stop Gibbs, who is now fondling his balls. The wind cuts through Tony's warm clothing, even though he's wearing boots with wool socks, corduroys, his favorite Versace turtleneck in steel gray cashmere, and a long leather coat topped with a Burberry scarf and gloves.
Gibbs doesn't give a shit about designer labels, and he's shocked at the prices Tony pays for clothes, but right now there is reverence in his touch when he slides a hand under the cashmere sweater and strokes Tony's stomach with one big hand. He pushes the sweater up under Tony's armpits and mouths a nipple, sucking on it until Tony's toes curl in his designer shoes. Gibbs soon tires of being gentle. He latches onto the hardened nub with his teeth and tugs until Tony squeals.
As always, Gibbs is relentless when it comes to sex. He captures Tony's gloved hands when Tony tries to pull his sweater down, and after a brief struggle Gibbs pins Tony's hands at his sides. "You gonna fight me on this?" Gibbs growls.
Gibbs loves it when he fights back, the harder the better, so Tony struggles to get away. He knees at Gibbs' groin, but Gibbs counters it, chuckling.
"It's too cold." Tony twists, trying to move past Gibbs even though his hands are still pinned.
It's as if Tony hasn't even spoken. Gibbs uses his weight, pushing him against the unforgiving, cold car. He kisses him hard, slipping his hot tongue between Tony's parted lips. Gibbs' erection is pressing insistently against his thigh. Tony can feel it even though Gibbs is wearing heavy Sears' trousers. Gibbs' slick tongue explores his mouth, hot and wet, inducing a low moan from him.
He takes in Gibbs' heat as if it's a lifesaver, and finds himself melting under his insistent kisses. Gibbs' mouth is on his neck again, nipping and then biting hard, and when Tony makes a small grunt of protest, Gibbs moves on to his earlobe, his chin, his lower lip. For a while Tony forgets how exposed they are in the open parking lot and simply savors being the center of Gibbs' attention. Eventually he gets his hands free and pushes at Gibbs' chest, meaning it this time.
"Someone'll see us," says Tony, breathing heavily.
"We're alone," Gibbs mutters.
It's true; there's nobody around. They're parked in a dark spot, way at the back of the lot. By now all the other late-night moviegoers have located their cars and set off for their warm homes, without ever seeing the two men locked in an ardent embrace. Even so, Tony is skittish about being seen. Gibbs is well aware he doesn't want anyone to know they're lovers, but he doesn't know the reason why.
•-•-•-•
1998-1999, Philadelphia, ten years earlier
Philadelphia was bad. The dirty looks and homophobic slurs were rampant, all because his fellow officers' locker room mentality carried out into the streets. The leaders allowed it, which was incredibly stupid, because it made for a tense, dangerous work environment for everybody. If you were a gay cop, or if some asshole decided you must be a fag for whatever reason, you were on your own. You didn't get backup when you called for it. Someone would withhold the necessary information and you'd find yourself walking into a deadly situation. You never knew what was around the corner or who would be delivering the next blow.
There were half a dozen cops at the 22nd who ganged together to harass anyone who didn't meet their criteria for what made a man a man. They were all seasoned policemen, and apparently Captain Cerrone was willing to turn a blind eye to their escapades. There were plenty of officers who didn't join in, and didn't agree with the bullying that went on, but they did nothing to stop it either.
One of the detectives, Bob Bartley, homed in on Tony from the get-go. The first time Bartley directed a crude remark about homosexuals at Tony, he didn't know what to make of it. He thought it was an ugly hazing ritual he had to get through. But when other officers at the precinct joined in, Tony realized he was in trouble.
Tony tried hard to be one of the boys in the hope it would get the bullying cops off his back, but it seemed like the harder he tried, the less they believed him. They said, "Sure, prove you're not gay," and pushed him to join in, to get on the case of anyone they decreed was a fag. Tony refused, so they did their best to make his life miserable. While Tony had never looked at another man with interest, he ended up on the shit list anyway.
He tried countering the jokes and insults, saying something clever in return. The homophobic stuff kept coming so Tony avoided the men and did his best to ignore their jibes. It didn't work; they were persistent.
Bartley and his friends treated Tony like crap on a regular basis; there were stupid jokes and whispered insults, dirty things said behind his back. They left demeaning cartoons, dog crap, jock straps, dildos, and whatever their Neanderthal brains thought was funny in his locker. Tony gave up using his locker at work and kept his personal stuff in his car. When his car was vandalized right in the police station parking lot, he started to use public transportation. Tony kept a few things like toiletries and a clean shirt in his desk, all easily replaceable, and he made sure to lock the drawers. Nobody broke into his desk; apparently the cops weren't willing to commit a crime in the squad room where the captain might see them.
Tony wasn't the only one being harassed; he was aware of three men at the precinct who were being hassled the same way. He suggested they should work together to stop the persecution, but none of the others would even talk to him. Complaints to the captain only made things worse, and Tony soon learned he had to fight his own battles.
It was as if he had a target on his back, and he had no clue why. Where had this come from, this assumption that he was gay, and an easy target, Tony wondered? He was positive he hadn't portrayed himself as anything but fun loving, skirt-chasing, jock Tony DiNozzo. Heterosexual straight down the line, that was him.
He had been going out with women since he was fifteen. Admittedly, he'd been ignoring the side of him that wanted to dip his toe in the boy's side of the pond, but no way anyone could know that, certainly not the women he dated. Tony knew how to satisfy the ladies; dinner, dancing, and they all said he was a wonderful lover. Well, almost all of them. A few of his affairs had ended unpleasantly, usually because the woman was pissed off at his juvenile comments or lack of commitment. Yeah, he could think of one or two if his former dates who might start a rumor out of spite.
Still, Tony did his job as well as he could. He was assigned a beat in a down-and-out neighborhood, but he made a point of getting to know the shopkeepers and residents. Now and then he'd be paired up with another patrol cop but it never lasted long; they kept getting reassigned. There were plenty of illegal goings-on to keep him busy, and Tony made more arrests while working solo than many of the more experienced police in the precinct. Tony made the best of a bad situation, and he learned to be streetwise by keeping his eyes open.
Four cops, including Bartley, cornered Tony in an empty interrogation room one day; it left him badly shaken. Whether their intention was just to rough him up, or if they planned to rape him, Tony never found out. They tried some heavy groping, but he got in a couple of good punches and managed to break Bartley's nose. He made so much noise that the desk sergeant busted in and put a stop to it. A report was filed and wrists were slapped, but Tony knew that nothing would really change.
Tony got a lucky break soon after. Detective Bartley, nose still heavily bruised, got shot in the leg on the way into his own apartment building one night. He almost bled to death before he got help, and ended up with enough plates and screws in his shattered leg to end his career.
They never caught his assailant.
From the way Tony's fellow officers stared angrily at him and gave him wide berth, they must have believed he had something to do with it. Tony just gave them a tight smile and let them think what they wanted.
The harassment eased after that, but everyone shunned him. Nobody wanted to partner with Tony, not that he ever minded working on his own. He hadn't had a steady partner since he'd started in Philly, anyway. They'd say, "I like you, DiNozzo, but…sorry, I just can't risk it. I got a wife, a family," just before they abandoned him.
They wanted to drive him out, but Tony had been a detective for three years by then, two of them in Peoria, and he had one of the best records in the precinct. He refused to give in, to walk away. He talked Chief Inspector McManus into assigning him to a special crimes unit who worked out of a different precinct, and spent the next year working on one undercover assignment after another.
As soon as an opportunity opened up in Baltimore, Tony took it and never looked back. His new partner, Danny Price, was exactly what he needed. Danny was positive and brash and didn't put up with any crap. He said what he thought, but never said a mean thing to anyone. He told Tony that you had to accept two things: that the world was a cesspool, and that you needed to build an unsinkable boat.
At least in Baltimore, the police had better things to worry about, like dealing the city's unchecked violence and crime, and a huge workload that never diminished. Tony made some solid friends and had a supportive captain, and things slowly looked up. When rumors of his alleged sexual preferences caught up with him months after he'd moved to Baltimore, Tony panicked – until he realized that nobody seemed to care. He was, he told himself, strong enough to shrug off any negative shit, but little came his way.
If anyone asked outright, which was rare, Tony denied and deflected, using skills he had perfected while working undercover in Philly. Like an actor preparing for a major role, Tony worked at his craft, creating a persona so good, so deep, that even he came to believe it.
•-•-•-•