Tony DiNozzo could pinpoint the exact moment he knew he was in trouble.

He was leaning on the bar, whisky in hand, absently looking out at the dance floor. He had finally managed to escape from Abby for five minutes by pleading a twinge in his bad knee and whirling her towards McGee.

It wasn't that dancing with Abby wasn't fun – just that he wasn't as young as he used to be. Every now and again it was worth taking some time out to slow his heart rate down and get his breath back.

McGee was not pleased. Every time he caught sight of Tony – whenever there was a lull in the whirling in fact - he was staring daggers at him.

Actually, McGee? Daggers were far too low tech. He needed a whole new expression. Staring lasers at him. He should be a crispy burned piece of toast by now.

He let his attention slide away, idly scanning the guests: cataloguing bridesmaids (four in total: two children, one married, one worth a try) and trying to work out which ladies were both available and not colleagues when his eye caught and held. He didn't even realise he was staring until he heard the voice in his ear.

"That is a mighty fine ass, is it not?"

Hell yeah. Firm, round, delectable…

"Of course, if she catches you looking at it like that, she may well break your arm, hmmn?"

She?

And that was the point, right there. Right where Ducky's assumption that it was Ziva he was gawking at made him realise that it wasn't.

It was much worse than that.

Much, much worse.

It was Gibbs.

Tony was too busy mentally staring at himself in horror to register another word of the conversation with the M.E. Luckily, Ducky being Ducky he could handle most of the talk on his own, leaving Tony merely to throw in the occasional grunt.

As soon as Ducky had wandered on, no doubt in search of a more dedicated listener, he bolted outside, double checked no-one was following him, and then found a nice quiet, hidden bench where he could have a crisis in private.

He'd been sitting there blankly staring at a nearby tree for more than five minutes when a fly landing on his nose snapped him out of it. He gave himself a firm mental shake, and told himself to damn well get on with his crisis before someone came looking for him. And – worse - found him.

He'd been staring at Gibbs' ass. Gibbs' ass.

How the hell had that happened?

Well, probably because he'd been looking around, and he'd thought – that was a damn fine suit. And Gibbs' profile had been looking down at Ziva's and actually smiling at something she had said to him, and he'd thought – you should smile more often.

And he'd thought: you should wear suits like that more often. Accentuates broad shoulders, tapers down to neat waist, clings nicely onto –

- Gibbs' ass.

The man had a damn fine ass in that damn fine suit.

No, no, no, no, no. This crisis was not working. Focus here, Tony. The question at hand was how the hell had that happened, as in you're straight.

He knew he was straight. He had been absolutely, resolutely, arrow-like straight for his entire life. Had he been in any doubt, he was pretty certain he'd slept with enough women to sort out any confusion.

He was a highly trained federal investigator. He'd like to think he would have noticed if he'd woken up one day not straight.

And he'd been working for Gibbs for many more years than should strictly have been possible. He'd never noticed anything in their professional working relationship that would have indicated a desire to check out Gibbs' ass.

To be fair, given the sheer quality of the ass in question, anybody trained to be observant would have checked it out at some point.

Scrub that thought. Not only did it not really hold together in the 'wake up and see sense' part of the equation, but the image of the entire ranks of NCIS- plus a fair few FBI- ogling Gibbs' rear view made him want to wash his brain out with bleach and lock his Boss in an unoccupied, windowless room in equal parts.

He wasn't entirely sure that the second part of that was on the list of things he should be thinking.

Well that was easy enough to deal with. Just don't think it. Think something else. Preferably something female and curvaceous.

This was a… a fleeting distraction, brought on by a particularly well cut suit. No more and no less.

Right, there we go. Tony, time to get yourself back in there before Abby comes looking, and make like the ladies man you are.

He should have known it wouldn't be that simple. Oh, getting back inside went smoothly enough, and he flirted quite successfully with the girl behind the bar while he got a refill. He hadn't so much as looked to see where Gibbs was, and Sondra was very friendly, and he thought what the hell, and he said, "Make it a double."

And a quiet, deep, very familiar voice right behind his ear said:

"Make it two."

The man was close enough that he could feel the warm whisper of breath on his ear and neck, and he focused, very deliberately, on Sondra – on her waist, and her ass, and her… oh yeah. Straight, see? Men didn't have them. None of that soft, curvaceous responsiveness. Oh no. Just solid, unrelenting muscle. Firm, no-nonsense… heated, soft skin over strong, safe planes of…

Oh God.

It was no use. He could look at those all night…

…and to be honest, he could look at those all night…

...but it wasn't going to change the fact that right now, every cell in his body was standing to attention for the man behind his right shoulder. He could feel the line of Gibbs' body, just by the prickling of his skin and the direction the blood was flowing in.

"You going to pay the lady, DiNozzo? Or try and keep her standing in your eyeline a bit longer?"

There was a touch of amusement in the voice, and a touch of impatience, and Tony didn't really pay much attention to either, because that voice was doing horrible, evil, delicious things to his spine, and every time Gibbs spoke he stiffened from head to foot.

And yes, stiffened was maybe not the wisest choice of word, but it was true, damn it. He kept his back to Gibbs, and his front to the bar, and his eyes on Sondra, and wondered if a small prayer would be entirely inappropriate, or if he'd get away with it.

Belatedly, he realised everyone was still waiting for him to pay for the drinks, and he pulled out his wallet, handed over the cash with an apologetic grin, and nearly jumped out of three layers of skin when Gibbs leant forward, one hand casually leaning on Tony's shoulder, and grabbed his glass.

"Abby's looking for a dance partner."

No way was he going anywhere near Abby right now. The woman had a sixth sense for things like this. She'd be in his head, rooting through his life and arranging a go-forward plan before he could say, 'But…'.

He needed a plan B. Quickly. Between Gibbs' hand burning a hole straight through his shoulder, the line of fire running clean down to his calves from where other body parts were intermittently touching, and the fact that Abby would take one look at him and know,-he needed an out. Now.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She was still standing there, despite him having paid.

He smiled, the slow, lazy smile that very rarely failed to raise a reaction, and beckoned at her to come a little closer. She grinned back, leaned forward quite spectacularly, and offered him an ear.

"So, Sondra? You working all night? Or do they let you out early enough to… party?"