(see warnings and tags in chapter 1)

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Attainment

March 30, 2009, Washington, DC, cinema parking lot

"Please," Tony mumbles into Gibbs' mouth, reluctant to break off the kiss that's making his knees weak and his dick hard. "Not here."

Apparently Gibbs doesn't sense any curious eyes in the cinema's desolate parking lot, or else he doesn't care. Tony figures it's the second one when Gibbs leans into him and rolls his hips suggestively. "So we make out in the car," Gibbs says with a wicked smile.

Being fucked inside the car, cramped though it may be, would be preferable to being fucked outside in the cold night air, yet Tony frowns and gives Gibbs a hard time. "You think one of these days we might actually do it in a bed? You know, one of those big, soft things that normal people sleep in? With fine sheets and big feather pillows, and a chenille comforter that feels so good when you slide your naked butt across it? I mean, it's been a few weeks since we got back from Arizona and so far we've done it on the couch, on the floor, the basement and in the kitch–"

Tony lets out a surprised sound when Gibbs grabs his arm, opens the door of the Challenger, pulls the back of the seat forward and unceremoniously pushes him into the back.

"Just get in the damned car, DiNozzo."

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March 29, 2009, NCIS, Washington, DC

On occasion, Tony has caught Abby looking at them speculatively when he and Gibbs are in the same room. Tony is positive that he doesn't show any outward sign that he's the luckiest man in the world because for the past six weeks Gibbs has fucked him on a regular basis, and he lets Tony suck his dick in the shower. She can't possibly know any of this though. After all, Tony has been undercover his entire adult life, and Gibbs is extremely good at keeping his cards close to the vest. He'd never give any sign they had something going on outside the office, no familiar glances, no on-the-sly touches, no blowjobs in the stalled elevator. If anything, Gibbs is harder on him at work, due to their relationship. Not that Gibbs would use that word – relationship. But they are together, connected in some deeper way. After hours, anyway, having sex, and a lot of it. Wasn't that the definition of a relationship?

But Abby is observant and possesses strong deductive powers, so Tony is extra cautious when he's around her. Of course she knows that he and Gibbs are friends outside of work – the 'Tony leaves right after the football game on TV is over' kind of friends, not the 'Gibbs fucks Tony over the back of the couch until he screams' kind of friends. If she knew, or even suspected, that they are that second type of friends, she'd be all over them asking intrusive questions. Plus, once Abby knows, or even thinks she knows what's going on between them, that'll be the end of the big secret.

Tony does not want there to be even slightest hint of suspicion that he is gay, or bi-sexual, so he is glad that Gibbs agrees on keeping it private. He isn't ashamed of being Gibbs' lover, not at all, but he doesn't want their teammates to know. It's not just about worrying about the reaction from people he works with, the speculation, curiosity, or even distaste for what he and Gibbs are doing together. It's more than that; he's afraid how Tim and Ziva, and even Jimmy and Ducky, will react once it registers that he has been lying about a lot more than his relationship with Gibbs.

If they look closely, they'll see him for the fraud he is. His whole life, he's been careful about what he allows others to know about him; even those who are closest to him don't get the real deal. His therapist says he doesn't want to be appraised and found lacking, that he has "an unhealthy belief that the real Tony DiNozzo isn't someone anyone would even care to know." This Tony DiNozzo they see every day, this is the personality he started to develop when he was barely twelve. This Tony is the character who loves the ladies, classic movies, and '80s TV detectives. He's the guy who puts on a show, who is talkative and hardworking and loyal. He is the entertaining guy, too, the one who can all-too-quickly become annoying when he takes things too far. That's the guy they see, and that's exactly how Tony wants to be perceived.

"Abby's my best friend, Gibbs," Tony said, just that morning over coffee in Gibbs' kitchen. "What's going to happen when she asks me outright? I hate lying to her." Knowing Abby, she'll probably catch on right away anyway. "If…when she finds out, she's going to be really hurt." He dreaded that moment. Abby might forgive Gibbs, but she would never forgive him.

"DiNozzo…" Gibbs admonished.

In a small voice, Tony said, "I know we've only been together a few weeks, but…" He didn't want to think about how long this was going to last. Not long enough, if he knew the way of the world. Gibbs seemed to be serious, and think this was long term, but then he'd felt that way about all his marriages. Funny to think that Gibbs was the positive one in this relationship.

"Not anyone's damned business, not even Abby's," was Gibbs' opinion on the matter. After a pause he added, almost under his breath, "I thought Iwas your best friend."

"You are!" Tony hugged Gibbs, arms tight around his shoulders, and said vehemently, "You're more than just a friend to me, Jethro. You'reeverything." Gibbs pulled back and scowled at the sappy comment, but Tony could tell that he was pleased.

Tony knows that there is no point in pushing Gibbs to express how he feels, like in actual words. He finds it odd that any son of the garrulous Jackson Gibbs would be quite so inarticulate. Surprisingly, Tony finds he doesn't really mind that Gibbs can't say the word love, can't even say,'Tony, I care about you.' Hell, he rarely calls him Tony, not even in bed. Still, he knows that Gibbs cares about him, even loves him – in his own way – and that's enough. He can live with that, so long as he can live with Gibbs.

Besides, Tony reasons, Gibbs thinks of him as his best friend, and they both know that friendships last longer than lovers. "Want to go to a movie tonight? The Bridge on the River Kwai is showing."

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February 28, 2009, at Gibbs' house in Alexandria, the day they return from Arizona

"My place, dinner," Gibbs ordered, the minute the plane from Phoenix touched down at Reagan. He strode off to get the car without even looking at Tony, his dark gray overcoat flapping behind him like wings.

Being told to come to dinner might have been a suggestion because Gibbs rarely ordered Tony around outside of work, but it sounded like an order – so Tony obeyed. "Now I'm Pavlov's dog," he muttered, as he picked up his bags and dragged his ass – still sore from negotiating rocky trails on horseback – after his boss.

A few hours later, after stopping at the Navy Yard to write their reports and file evidence, the two men were eating dinner at Gibbs' kitchen table. Gibbs managed to put together a decent meal of leftovers: cold steak and piping hot fried potatoes, coupled with ice-cold beer, and it wasn't half bad.

The unflattering fluorescent lights made the freckles on Gibbs' forehead stand out, Tony observed, as he finished the last of the crispy fried potatoes on his plate. The Arizona sun had been strong. Despite using a liberal amount sunscreen, their faces had been sunburned, though Tony had come away with more of a tan. Gibbs glared at him from across the table, his blue eyes looking washed out in his sunburned face. He'd been nothing but grouchy the whole trip. Tony wondered what the hell had gotten into his boss, but he was, frankly, too tired to ask. He wasn't too sure he even wanted to know.

Before they'd left work, Tony had revealed to the team that Uncle Clive's fortune had been left to his cousin, Crispian. Tony had told them that he had to make good on an IOU he wrote while back in college, but he'd shrugged off both the lack of any inheritance and his outstanding debt.

Ever since the inheritance had first been mentioned, Gibbs had been sending Tony these odd looks, as if he didn't believe him. It seemed as though Gibbs couldn't get a handle on what was going on with him, even though Tony had told them the truth. It suddenly struck him that perhaps Gibbs was so used to him throwing up smokescreens that he assumed Tony was always lying. Tony found it very troubling that Gibbs didn't believe him when he was actually being sincere. Of all people, Gibbs should be able to tell the difference.

So there they sat at the kitchen table, empty plates pushed aside, yet another beer in hand, and not talking. After a few minutes, Tony had had enough silence so he cleared his throat and asked directly, "You pissed at me about something, Boss?"

Gibbs dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. His jaw worked when he met Tony's eyes, but he remained mute.

Okay, that didn't look very hopeful. Tony tried again. "Look, Boss, I'm sorry I slowed things down because I'm a greenhorn, as Sheriff Boyd so kindly pointed out. I haven't been on a horse since I was ten, at my cousin's birthday – although technically that was a pony and not some frisky mustang – but I think by the end of our trek I… well, I sort of got the hang of it. I mean, we were trotting along at a pretty good clip at one point when we were being buzzed by the crazy guy in the helicopter and not only did I not fall off, but I kept Dina Risi safe while you were busy taking the bad guy down. On a side note, I'd like to take this opportunity to say your shooting was pretty darned impressive." Tony nodded effusively even though he'd started to get angry halfway through his speech.

After a lot of scowling and clearing of his throat, Gibbs finally grunted, "Damn it, DiNozzo…"

And there the conversation stalled.

Tony gave a deep sigh. Well, this seemed like a good time to leave. He was dying to get home so he could wash the particles of Arizona desert out of his butt-crack because it was really uncomfortable, sort of like sitting on sandpaper, and it didn't look like Gibbs was going to spit out whatever was on his mind anytime soon. Exhausted and saddle-sore from their trek through the badlands of Arizona, and more than a bit preoccupied about how he was going to find the money to repay the IOU, Tony threw caution to the wind and blurted, "Jesus, Gibbs, if this is all I'm ever gonna get out of you, maybe I should've stayed in England after the funeral last month. There's always a spot for me in the family business." It was an empty threat, but Gibbs wouldn't know that.

Gibbs looked like he was about to explode. Suddenly he thumped his fists on the table, rattling their empty dinner plates and causing their forks to jump in the air. "No! You belong here." And then he took hold of Tony's wrist in his iron grip and dragged him out of his chair. Before he could protest, Tony was pulled around the table and into Gibbs' arms, and Gibbs – Gibbs! – was kissing him in the middle of the damned kitchen.

Tony stiffened with surprise, and he may have resisted a bit because getting grabbed by Gibbs was the last thing he'd ever expected, but then the heat and passion of the kiss pulled him out of his stupor, and he angled his head and kissed Gibbs right back, tongue and all. Gibbs could kiss, good Lord could he ever, but Tony gave him a run for his money, using his tongue and teeth and plenty of encouraging noises. The arms around him tightened and there was a brief struggle for dominance, but Gibbs won – so easily that Tony knew he was being reeled in by a pro. Tony melted into Gibbs' arms, sensing that he'd never stood a chance in the first place.

Their mouths were still melded together when, with one sweep of his arm, Gibbs blindly sent everything on the table crashing to the floor. Tony was enthralled; they were acting out a scene from The Postman Always Rings Twice – the 1946 version. He could hear Cora laying into Frank Chambers, 'So, your mind's made up? Without even talking it over with me, your mind's made up.'

Without warning, the kiss was over; it was as if someone had hit the pause button. They stood there panting, with broken crockery crunching under their feet, Gibbs' hands gripping Tony's upper arms, probably to prevent him from running for the door. Wild-eyed, Tony trembled with trepidation and although his mouth was hanging open he couldn't think of a single thing to say. His tongue swept across his swollen lips in a long, languid gesture and he met Gibbs' stare full on. The older man's pupils were so large it was impossible to determine that his eyes were blue, but it was the raw emotion in them, the fire and lust in their depths that shook Tony. And that's when he knew: this was for him, because of him.

"Oh God," Tony whispered, suddenly afraid of where this was going, and what Gibbs would discover when he was laid bare for the world to see.

Gibbs didn't speak. He stripped Tony of his shirt and sweater, and yanked his pants and underwear down and off with efficiency and purpose. Tony found himself manhandled. A hand on his back pressured him to bend at the waist, and he found himself face down over the kitchen table with his cheek plastered to the well-worn wood before it fully sunk in what Gibbs intended to do. Tony was shocked and terribly turned on. He had never imagined anything like this would happen between them. And why would he? This was Gibbs, he thought, and Gibbs had that rule, number…whatever the hell number it was, and Gibbs does not fuck the people he works with.

Gibbs pressed up behind him, leaning over him, so close Tony could feel the roughness of his jeans rubbing against his bare ass. Tony closed his eyes and muttered a broken, "Fuck…"

His hardening dick was squashed against the even harder surface of the table, and even though the shaft twitched, practically begging to be handled, Tony had no way of touching himself, not with Gibbs weighing heavily on his back. Gibbs imprisoned Tony's hands within his callused grasp, guiding him to stretch out his arms and hold onto the far edges of the table. Without uttering a word, Gibbs made it clear that Tony was not to let go by pressing his palms against the backs of his hands. This only served to make Tony even harder and his attempt to buck his hips a little was halted when Gibbs took a firm hold of his waist and growled in his ear, "Stay," before releasing him with a smack on his rear.

It was an order that Tony knew enough to obey; it never entered his head that he could resist. Hell, he badly wanted to do whatever Gibbs told him to do, and right then and there Tony knew that if the man ordered him to jump off the proverbial cliff, he would do it.

The kitchen was quiet except for the ticking of the clock over the stove and the sound of Tony's ragged breathing. He should run for the door. Now, before Gibbs comes back. Go ahead, run for it…

A second later Gibbs returned. Still gripping the edges of the table, Tony raised his head and caught sight of Gibbs walking towards him with a very large tube of lubricant in one hand. Gibbs had lost his pants along the way and was now barefoot and clad in only a white t-shirt, and as if that wasn't enough to freak Tony out, Gibbs' dick was erect and bobbing as he approached.

Tony swallowed hard and moaned, "Oh shit."

Gibbs was right up behind him again. He kissed Tony's bare shoulders and along his spine to the back of his neck, his mouth warm and moist, and stroked him up and down his flanks with hands rough from woodworking. Within minutes, he had Tony panting and whining. "Now," Gibbs said in a husky voice. "Now I'm going to fuck you. You think you're ready for that?"

Tony nodded obediently, unable to speak.

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