A/N: those responsible know who they are ;-p

Dumbass

Tony couldn't remember ever being simultaneously so excited and so... well, kinda terrified, if he was honest. After making Tony come harder than he'd come in a really long time, Gibbs'd given him one of those inscrutable looks, cleaned him up and tucked him away, and if Tony hadn't also seen Gibbs mop come off of his own fingers and then, with a sideways look that sent a jolt down Tony's spine, actually lick at some which had somehow ended up on the back of his hand, Tony would've been tempted to decide he'd imagined the whole thing.

Tony had always considered himself as straight as a piece of spaghetti. Straighter than straight, but capable of getting pretty bent when he got in hot water. It was a comfortable way of dismissing youthful indiscretion and college experimentation. Everyone in his frat house was straight; getting off a buddy or letting a buddy get him off, that was just to relieve tension or frustration. It wasn't something to ever talk about or pursue. It didn't mean anything.

Then Gibbs'd stuck his tongue in Tony's mouth and his hand down Tony's pants, and suddenly there was more hot water than there'd been in Tony's entire life, and he was torn between hoping Gibbs planned to slather him in sauce and devour him, or getting in his car to drive back to his safe spaghetti jar as fast as he could.

McGee and Kate had been shooting concerned glances at him for an hour and a half, so he figured he looked just as flustered as he felt. Gibbs, on the other hand, had been working intently, apparently unaffected despite having blown Tony's brain.

It all seemed decidedly unfair.

He spent the last thirty minutes of the official workday alternately praying for a case and wishing the time would go faster, but the clock continued to crawl along at the same infuriating pace, and when quitting time finally came around, the phones hadn't rung once.

Tim left, then Kate, and the office was mostly deserted. He looked up at Gibbs for the thousandth time, but for the first time in hours, Gibbs was actually looking back at him. Tony swallowed. After a long moment, Gibbs gathered his things, without breaking the eye contact for even a second, then he was standing in front of Tony's desk, still not saying a word, still watching Tony with what seemed as much amusement as anything else. He cocked an eyebrow, beckoned.

Fear. Excitement. Tony didn't have a lot to gather, and he was following Gibbs to the elevator, and the memory of Gibbs jerking him off, of those cool blue eyes turning dark as Gibbs watched him fall apart, made Tony want to run and hide and also made him want to do whatever it took to make it happen again.

They rode down to the parking garage in silence, and Gibbs didn't even touch Tony except to guide him to Gibbs' own car. Tony swallowed, nervous again, but he couldn't help the ingrained obedience. The journey to Gibbs' house happened in the same eerie silence, and Tony started to wonder again if he'd hit his head and the whole Gibbs-boxers-hand scenario was some kind of trauma induced wet dream. Given how damn good it had been, that would definitely be a disappointment, but it would make a hell of a lot more sense of Tony's afternoon.

By the time they got inside, Tony no longer had any clue what was going on, and when he found himself pushed up against Gibbs' door, Gibbs' tongue in his mouth, Gibbs' body pinning him, it was almost a relief.

It was also a little overwhelming. He wasn't used to a sparring partner who decidedly had the upper hand. He was used to being the aggressor. He wasn't used to following instead of leading, or to big hands tugging at his clothing and pawing greedily at his skin. It was different and slightly scary. He wasn't sure if it was a good or a bad thing to also find it... really hot.

After his initial shock wore off, he did his best to reciprocate, or at least to keep up. He still didn't understand what this was, what was going on, but it was undeniably good. Really good. Mind-meltingly fantastic, in fact. Not the kind of thing he could bring himself to turn down.

How, how was it possible Gibbs wanted him with this kind of intensity and Tony had never even suspected? It was needy, almost desperate - which was shocking in itself. Tony'd never known Gibbs to do needy before.

Working on instinct, he grabbed Gibbs' ass in both hands, squeezed, pulled him in closer. Ground their crotches together, shuddered at the feel of Gibbs' erection against his. Fuck. He dug his fingers in harder, forcing their bodies closer with everything he had, and Gibbs let out a deep, raw rumble of a moan into his mouth.

When they broke apart, Tony was panting, and it was another relief that Gibbs was, too. The inscrutable expression which had been bewildering Tony the last few hours had been replaced by one that was wild-eyed and hungry, the kind of look Tony was more familiar with seeing on some young woman's face after feeling her up in the back of a cab.

Seeing it on Gibbs' face was... bizarre. In a surprisingly enticing way.

They stared at each other for a few seconds - or at least Tony assumed it was a few seconds, but he was so befuddled, so distractingly aroused, it could easily have been his imagination any staring was happening at all, or it could've been several days.

Then, finally, "Come."

It was the first word Gibbs'd spoken to him in hours. Tony fought back the facetious comment that was trying to make a break past his vocal cords and simply obeyed again.

Even as he followed, he was trying to make sense of it, but the pieces that had seemed so clear with Gibbs' hand wrapped around his cock had all gotten scattered and messed up, despite that kiss. Gibbs led him down the hall and up the stairs, and it wasn't that Tony didn't want to - oh God did he want to - he just wasn't sure it was a good idea breaking one of Gibbs' cardinal rules on the basis of one (admittedly spectacular) handjob and two brief (if intense) makeout sessions.

(He didn't like to think about the possibility Gibbs was willing to jeopardise their working relationship for a quick fuck.)

"Boss?"

Gibbs stopped, turned back. Tony suddenly felt small - tiny, in fact, from his spot two steps down. He cursed himself and his crappy sense of timing for starting the conversation halfway up the stairs.

He took a deep breath, and his mind went blank, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to ask. He didn't plan it, didn't have any idea what would come out of his mouth until he was already speaking. "Boss... what the hell is this? You kiss me and you jerk me off and then you ignore me and then- seriously, what the hell, Gibbs?"

"Tony..." There was that crack in Gibbs' voice - fear again. A chink in his armour. He looked weary, broken. More vulnerable than Tony had ever seen him. He took a breath, then let it out with a shake of his head, as if he couldn't find the words he needed.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying no, I'm just saying-" Tony shrugged. "I'm saying I'm really fucking confused."

Gibbs stared at him for a couple of seconds, then laughed, suddenly, disbelievingly. "You think I ain't confused, DiNozzo?"

Tony raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it again... "You're confused?"

Gibbs gave him a look Tony could only interpret as 'Sometimes I forget you're a dumbass, and then you say something like that and prove how damn stupid you are all over again'.

Tony pouted. "You sure didn't act confused all afternoon."

This time the look was more 'God, you're lucky you're pretty'. "Whaddya expect, DiNozzo? Think I was gonna proposition you in the middle of the damn bullpen? Make eyes at you with Kate an' McGee watchin'?"

"Oh." That... made an annoying amount of sense. "And the drive over here?" he asked, somewhat less bolshy now.

Gibbs reached out and touched Tony's cheek, more delicately than Tony had expected. "Ever heard of drivin' safely? 'Specially when I bin up two nights chasin' your sorry ass God knows where, worryin', tryna make sure we got you back in one piece."

"Worrying? About me?" It was still hard to grasp.

Gibbs' expressive eyeroll suggested he didn't think that was even worthy of a response.

"Oh."

"Ya dumbass." Gibbs' smirk was fond.

Tony thought maybe he could deal with being insulted when the tone of voice was so affectionate. And he was strangely pleased with himself for correctly guessing what Gibbs was mentally calling him. "But-"

"Tony... do you got any idea...?" Gibbs shook his head. "Knowin' you were out there with that crazy bastard, and you had no idea who an' what he really was?" He leaned in closer, and his voice grew softer. "Tryin' to find you off of guesswork an' false clues an' a cellphone trace we hoped was you?" Closer, softer. "Seein' all that blood?" His eyes roamed, as if he still needed to reassure himself Tony was in one piece, and his hand clasped at Tony's shoulder, hard, his fingers digging in. Tony couldn't decide if it was possessive or just desperate. Maybe both. "For a second there, I thought-" Gibbs shook his head. "God, Tony, I thought..."

"Oh."

"Ain't gonna force ya into my bed, Tony." He shrugged helplessly. "I kinda got the impression... maybe you wanted..." A low sigh, and Gibbs' fingers were on his face again, tracing his eyebrow and cheekbone and jaw with such aching tenderness. "But I ain't always right," he whispered. "Can't blame an old man for wishful thinkin'..."

Tony climbed up one step. "I told you I wasn't saying 'no'."

Gibbs blinked once, slowly. "Yeah, ya did." He frowned.

"So, we breaking rule twelve or what?" Do you want my body, or do you want me? He didn't know how to ask that question out loud. Not to his boss, his mentor. Didn't want to risk hearing the rejection if this was just Gibbs' way of proving to himself Tony was alive, or maybe proving to himself Tony was still his subordinate or... But he needed to know.

Gibbs have him a sardonic look. "What do you think?" He sounded like he was running out of patience. "You think I wanna sleep with you for sport?"

Tony steeled himself, stood his ground. He needed to know. It was that simple. "I think I'd like a straight answer." He replayed the sentence in his head, and had to stifle another facetious comment about the applicability of the word 'straight' in this context.

Gibbs' jaw worked for a few seconds, like he was trying (and pretty much failing) to keep a hold on his frustration. (Tony half expected a slap upside the head.) "Then... then you can take rule twelve and stick it up your damn ass!" He scowled, though he looked more bewildered than angry.

Promises, promises. Tony realised he was grinning. "Well, maybe if you ask me real nice." He stepped up again, and now they were back on an even playing field (more or less). He stood there for a few moments, just looking, just reassuring himself he understood this man like he thought he did. Then, when he was satisfied, he tilted his head, leaned in, initiating a kiss for the first time.

Gibbs stiffened for a second, surprised, then relaxed against his mouth with a sigh, and all the day's misunderstandings and tensions seemed to dissolve in one quiet moment. It was brief, a little uncertain, almost shy, but it was... satisfying.

When he drew back, Gibbs was smirking again, bordering on smiling.

"Takin' that as a yes." Given the smirk, Tony was surprised again by the gentleness of his voice.

"Pretty sure this is a dumb idea. But seeing as it's me..."

Gibbs chuckled. Now it was definitely a smile, a relieved smile, and Tony looked down, startled, as Gibbs tentatively took his hand.

"C'mon, then, dumbass."

And they climbed the last few stairs together.

~ fin ~