NCIS fic: Don't Mean a Thing If You Ain't Got That-, Tony/Tim, Adult
So 
oxoniensis is hosting The Fall Fandom Free-For-All and I figured just because I'm lousy at asking for things (Really. SO BAD. There is stuff I want, but will I ask for it? No. Hai! Have you met me? I'm English.) doesn't mean I can't give. So.
ladyyueh wanted Tony/Tim. Tony/Tim I can do. Especially when there's a
soupytwist to cast her eyes over it and provide thumbs in an upward position.
Her prompt went thusly:
NCIS, Tim/Tony, Tim's drunk and being hit on by a guy! Tony to the rescue! Only, McPissy is angry because Tony is cockblocking. Tony's surprised to find out McNotsoStraight is slightly bent, but whatever, he's still the same McGeek, right? Only, it seems that now that he's looking for it, an awful lot of guys are sending McGee some mighty appreciative looks and Tony doesn't like it. Not that he's jealous, or anything.
And so this happened. 5000 words, adult, Tim/Tony, Tony/OMC (don't panic, bat fans!), set somewhere around S5/6. Major spoiler for S4 but other than that, nada.
Tony checked his watch; it was late. The kind of late that was making up its mind if it wanted to throw up its hands, give it up as a bad job and call itself early. Abby had said that was it, they'd made it through an entire month without anyone getting injured, framed, kidnapped, lost in the Smithsonian, sent on a Siberian Death March (Tony had no idea where that one had come from) or catching some deadly virus, so they were going to go out and get drunk whether they liked it or not. Mostly, they liked it. Even Gibbs had stuck around for a drink or two before muttering something about lathes and disappearing back to his basement.
Ziva had vanished next, then Palmer, then Ducky (who showed surprising stamina for his age, probably something to do with all the formaldehyde, Tony figured), which left Tony, Tim and Abby. These days Tony didn't drink so much so he was reasonably sober when he said,
"McGee's been an awful long time with the drinks. I knew he was unsteady. Never trust an unsteady Eddie. Not to remember your complicated girly drink order anyway."
"I asked for a beer, Tony," said Abby, reasonably, twisting on her bench to survey the bar. Tony watched as her frown of concentration dissolved into a knowing grin. "Huh," she said. "That explains it."
"What explains what?" Tony followed her gaze and, discounting the bleached apparition in leopard print and the guy with the tattoo of an eagle disappearing into his ass crack (and what the hell was that about?) he finally found what she was looking at. It was McGee. McGee loose and slouched against the bar, the drinks they were waiting on at his elbow. Some neatly pressed guy with swept back dark hair and a cashmere sweater (which, it was late, where did he get off looking like he'd just stepped out of a catalog?) was leaning in towards him, touching his arm and saying something that made McGee's face light with a grin.
He turned back to Abby. "Am I going blind or is Mr. Brooks Brothers hitting on McGee?"
"Your eyesight's just fine," Abby swiveled back around and grinned at him. "I wasn't thirsty anyway."
Tony was the senior partner; of course he was going to get all defensive when one of his agents was out there, vulnerable to attack. Okay, so with Gibbs being Papa Bear that kinda put Tony in Mama Bear position and he wasn't too sure how he felt about that, but still. His agent. Unprotected from preppy attempts at seduction which Tony was willing to bet he hadn't even figured was the goal.
"I better go rescue him before this gets ugly," he said, getting to his feet. "Don't want McClueless pulling his weapon out in public." He stopped, considering. "That sentence ended up somewhere different than I thought."
He started across the floor but Abby grabbed his wrist. "He doesn't need rescuing, leave it."
Tony looked across at the bar. If McGee got any looser he'd be horizontal. No wonder he wasn't moving the guy's hand on his thigh. The guy's hand was on his thigh! He'd better act quick or bad things would happen. He wasn't exactly sure what the bad things were, but they were things and they were bad and that was good enough for him.
"I know McUptight, Abby. He needs to respect himself in the morning. I'm saving him hours of therapy." He shook her off and wove his way through the tables towards the scene of impending debauchery.
Tactics, he needed tactics. Being the expert strategist he was Tony quickly discounted tapping the guy on the shoulder and punching him out. Far too dramatic. Plus? Hitting hurt--they never taught you that in the movies. He'd need more than the concerned colleague angle, too, he'd been at the receiving end of that one enough times and it never worked. There was only one sure-fire option as far as Tony could see and, reaching the bar, he went for it.
Sliding an arm around McGee's shoulders he pressed a kiss to his temple, reaching around him for his drink and taking a long sip. "Hey, honey, you've been gone a while. I was missing you."
McGee didn't have time to do much more than blink at Tony because Cashmere Sweater was moving back, making smooth apologies that Tony would have appreciated if he'd been giving them more than half an ear, taking his drink and leaving. Tony swung into the vacated stool and beamed.
"You're welcome," he said.
"What? Was that?" McGee didn't look relieved or puzzled and he'd lost the loose, blurry edge he'd been wearing just a few seconds ago. He looked pissed.
"Er, I was ridding you of unwelcome attention?" And damn, Tony'd meant that to come out as a definitive statement, not a question.
"Who said it was unwelcome?"
"It wasn’t?" Which, what? What?
"He was really hot, Tony," and now there was both belligerence and a whine in McGee's voice and, okay, Tony wasn't drunk but still there seemed to be a fog in his brain that he was having trouble clearing.
"He was wearing pastels, McGee."
"What does that even mean?"
The thing was, Tony had no idea. He apparently had no idea about anything. Okay, so he'd spent the last whatever--forever--joking around with McGee about all the girly things he did that made him totally gay but it wasn't like he'd meant it. But McGee had always said no, no he wasn't and why wouldn't he admit it if he was? It wasn't like Tony had a problem, none of them did, and McGee's dad might be in the military but McGee wasn't so Don't Ask Don't Tell didn't even come into it and... He stopped, shaking his head.
"Just ask, Tony," said McGee and he sounded tired. He looked it, too. Eyes a little red-rimmed from the lateness of the hour and the alcohol, shoulders slumped and pulled in like he was trying to disappear in on himself.
Tony's mouth was dry, and for some reason his heart was pounding. Apparently his body thought this was a momentous occasion even if his head was wondering whether it was too late to pretend this whole thing hadn't happened. "Are you gay?"
"No."
"But..."
"You never ask the right question, Tony. Or, at least, you never listen to the answer. And to think you're a senior field agent."
The memories poured in then and McGee was right, Tony sucked at detective work. Gibbs should kick him out on his ass. "You're bi." And finally he'd got the definitive statement thing down.
"There you go, case closed," said McGee, straightening up and sliding off his stool. He picked up his wine glass and downed the contents in one long gulp. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Tony's hand shot out and grabbed McGee's arm, almost of its own volition. Seriously, this body autonomy thing could go too far, Tony thought. "Where are you going?"
McGee narrowed his eyes and pushed out his bottom lip as he looked from Tony's hand to his face. Grimacing, Tony let go.
"I'd let you work it out," McGee said, "Only you're obviously having trouble with that. So here, let me spell it out for you. I'll use short words because I'm drunk and you're stupid. I'm going to find Greg--that's the guy you scared off--explain that you're crazy, ask him back to my place and give him the best blowjob of his life. And then, who knows, if I feel like it, I might fuck him, too. See you on Monday, Tony." And, with that, he walked off, spoiling his exit by stumbling a little, but Tony barely noticed because McGee had exploded a flashbang in his face and he was still shaking the freeze-frame vision and the swimming sensation in his head.
Tony barely felt Abby's chin hit his shoulder and her arms go around his waist. "Not a damsel in distress, right?" she said.
"No," agreed Tony, shaking himself back awake. "You knew?"
"Yeah," said Abby, coming around him and settling herself between his legs. She scrunched up her face. "I used to sleep with him, remember. You find stuff out."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Abby pressed her lips together in a frown. She shook her head at him, even her pigtails looked disappointed. "Okay, Tony, three things. First, not everything is about you. I know that's a concept that troubles you, but grab onto it with both hands and life will be easier in the long run, I swear. Second, it's not my information to share, it's Timmy's. And third, why should he have to make a statement about his sexuality anyway? Do you declare yourself straight? No. Like the world doesn't have enough double standards."
"But..." Tony found himself saying for the second time in just a few minutes.
"Tony, Tony, Tony," Abby pinched his cheeks. "Do you really have any arguments that won't make you sound dumb?"
"No," Tony admitted. Actually, he didn't have any arguments at all. So McGee was bi, so what? He was still the same McGeek, smart as a whip, overlord of all the elves, height-phobic, desperate to please, doggedly persistent, maker and appreciator of dorky jokes and endearingly easy to glue to stuff. So he liked to shtup guys as well as women. Why should that change anything?
"Good boy," said Abby, and kissed him on the nose.
And it didn't change anything, at least not from McGee's end. He came into work on Monday with a cheery greeting for Ziva and a slightly wary one for Tony, but whatever worries he had seemed to dissolve after the third piece of paper Tony threw at his head. Situation Normal.
Only then, things started intruding on Tony's awareness, things that had not been there before. Like he'd never paid any attention at all to whether women liked McGee or not, if Tony was in the room poor McGeek didn't stand a chance anyway, but first there was the male barista in some randomly chosen coffee shop slipping McGee a free muffin (and what kind of come on was that? Here, get fat so no one else will want to sleep with you?) and then there was the six foot four, built like a brick outhouse LEO guarding the acid vat containing the remains of a very dead lieutenant oohing and aahing over McGee's apparently superhuman powers of observation (anyone could have found the piece of gum and it wasn't like Tony was actually going to step on it whatever McPicky might say) and doing everything short of stripping off and yelling "Take me! Take me, now!" And that was just the start of it.
Everywhere they went, it seemed, some guy's attention was on McGee and not for professional reasons. And, sure, maybe he was imagining some of them (the 80 year old security guard who clasped McGee's hand in thanks for catching him before he hit the ground was borderline, for example) because it wasn't like the whole male population had turned gay overnight, it was just...It was just there was a lot of it, or it felt like there was a lot of it, and it made Tony itchy.
"I'm not having a homophobic freak-out or anything," he told Abby.
"Swab," she said, and he mopped her brow, tossing the dampened piece of cotton into the trash. It was a delicate operation, more along Ducky's line, trying to ease a bone out carefully without disturbing the rest of the body.
"It's just I see gay people."
Abby laughed and a buzzer sounded, red light flashing. "Dammit, I lost the Wish Bone. Stop making me laugh, Doctor DiNozzo." She handed him the tweezers. "Your turn."
Tony snapped his gloves. "Bring it on," he said and bent over the board.
"I'm not sure I see the problem. They're not hitting on you, so you can't be straight-boy-threatened. And you said yourself you and McGee are getting along just fine. So."
"Aha!" said Tony, brandishing the plastic piece aloft and holding out his hand. "Six hundred dollars, if you please."
Abby paid it out, one note at a time, withholding the last note and waving it in the air. "Not until you tell me what's going on. Really."
"I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking," said Tony, quickly.
"Well, I wasn't thinking that, but now I am." Abby handed over the note then clasped her hands and bounced up and down, which, considering she was kneeling up looked kind of odd. "Does someone in this room have a little crush?"
"No, someone doesn't," declared Tony with more conviction than he felt. Lately he'd found his mind wandering to what McGee had said in the bar, looking at the guys who were eyeing him up and wondering if they were having thoughts about McGee's mouth wrapped around them. It was a good mouth, and it never occurred to Tony to doubt that McGee knew just how to use it. He'd tried to stop thinking about it, but then the dreams started, and it might be random, composite guys McGee was sucking off in them, but it was Tony who was waking hard and aching and coming fast to the fading memories.
"You know, Tony," said Abby, picking up another card and studying it carefully, though there was barely anything on it to read, "if you're having some bicurious phase and you decide to try it out on McGee just to see what 'the gay sex' is like, I will kill you. Terms and conditions apply, please read the small print."
"I wouldn't...I'd never..." Tony bristled for the briefest of seconds before deflating again. He wouldn't, but he wanted...What exactly did he want? How was he supposed to know? McGee was team, Tony'd do anything for him, even step in front of a bullet. But he'd do that for any of them. He enjoyed hanging out with him outside work, overseeing McGee's movie education, trying McGee's patience with his poor co-ordination in every videogame ever made. But he had plenty of friends he liked hanging with. Apparently, though, his body (way ahead of his brain again) was itching to get into McGee's pants and that gave him three for three. No one else scored more than two. This could mean everything or it could mean nothing at all. Tony scratched the base of his skull.
"Fuck, Abby, what am I going to do?"
Abby pulled a face. "I don't know. Maybe sleep with a guy that isn't McGee? Which, I can't believe I'm telling you to experiment on some poor soul. That's mean. I'm not mean. It isn't in my nature to be mean, I'm made from pop rocks and cookie dough, though not together 'cause- Oooh! Wait. That could be a taste sensation, exploding cookies in my mou- " She careered to a halt, pursing her lips and crinkling her eyes, then clearing her throat and putting her serious expression back on. It was like having your own personal theater company, Tony thought. "Okay, so clear boundaries, that should do it. And use a condom."
"Just for the sake of disambiguation, you're advocating I have casual sex with a guy who has no expectations to see if I like it or want to run screaming into the night?"
"Exactly."
"And then tell McGee it's okay, I really do want to sleep with him because I got in some practice first, and it turns out cock-sucking is on my list of 'things I like' along with piña coladas and walks in the rain?"
"Um. You could not mention that part. Or work on your presentation."
"You think?"
"Well, it's up to you. But whatever you choose, be careful, Tony. No one needs this." And, biting her lip, Abby laid her card face up on the table.
It was a broken heart.
Another week passed while Tony worked up the courage to figure out whether he swung both ways or was hinged to open inwards only. A week in which McGee sauntered into the office managing to look both smug and surprised at the same time.
"Greg?" asked Tony with forced humor.
"Nope," McGee replied. "Charlotte. I met her at a party at my publishing house. She's...rather lovely, actually."
"Rather lovely? What kind of description is that McShakespeare?" Tony's brain hurt from the screeching change of tracks back to McGee and women. He knew what bi meant, he wasn't stupid, he'd just forgotten with all the looking and the men flirting and the, the, the dreams.
And, oh god, now was not the time to remember that he'd jerked himself off in the shower this morning, horny but having worked himself hard over recent weeks finding it difficult to get off. His failsafe fantasy involving Angelina Jolie, Michelle Pfeiffer and a gallon of mint choc chip ice cream had ground to an unresolved halt and it was only by conjuring up the image of McGee's hands bracketing Tony's hips, his mouth taking Tony's cock deep, that he'd finally come, the image burned on his retina as the water washed him clean, a flashbang fantasy that left him disoriented and choking on the water he gulped in as he tried to recover.
"You're not even listening are you, Tony?" complained McGee and no, no, Tony wasn't.
"Sorry, Probie. Say again?"
"I said I think this might go somewhere," said McGee and Tony's stomach plummeted like he'd been thrown out of an airplane at 50000 feet. He was going to have to work fast.
Tony'd never cruised for a guy before but he figured how different could it be? He'd been through DC's gay district enough to know where the main bars were and headed straight there. He picked one at random and went in. It wasn't his first time in a gay bar, but he'd always been working before. This one pumped out loud high-energy music, but there were no bodies gyrating in cages, no sequined drag queens and the only leather accessories Tony could see were collars on a group of Goths over in one dark corner. They obviously shopped at the same store as Abby. Sure, there were barely any women to be seen (and those mostly in pairs) but it was an ordinary bar and Tony was man enough to admit he'd been scared of what he'd find. He'd slap himself around the head later for being so pathetic.
He took one of the only vacant seats at the bar and signaled the bartender.
"A beer," he said loudly, over the music and the bartender nodded.
It took two beers in quick succession before Tony felt he could relax enough to look around. It took another couple before he was ready to return the eye contact he was getting from various quarters. There were some hot guys here, he was ready to admit. He tried to imagine them naked, like he was used to doing with women, and it was an interesting exercise but it wasn't getting him all hot and bothered and that had to be a prerequisite, didn't it?
"Hey," said a low voice in his ear.
Tony turned around, looking at the stranger leaning on the bar next to him. He was handsome, with mussed dark hair that must have taken hours to get looking perfectly random (Tony admired that kind of dedication to your art) and wore a blue t-shirt pulled tight across his chest with some indecipherable logo on the front. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
"Do I know you?"
"We've met."
"Want to elaborate?"
"Not really. Want a beer?"
"Sure."
Ten minutes later Tony could feel the fizz starting up low in his stomach because this was going to be it. This was going to fix things, one way or another. He'd found it surprisingly easy to get his flirt on; the guy seemed willing and ready to be amused and his body language bypassed Tony's higher thought processes and whispered 'Come and get it,' in Tony's ear.
Another ten minutes in which Tony still couldn't figure out where he'd seen this guy before and the guy was saying "I need to take a leak," and moving off before Tony could reply, casting a look back with a clear 'follow me' command. Tony followed, half-terrified, half-excited, half-hard, wondering why it wasn't this easy with women and why wasn't every guy in the world doing this? A mouth was, after all, a mouth.
He found out exactly why when the guy locked the cubicle door behind Tony, kissed him roughly then pushed him to his knees. Someone else's steel-hard cock, up close and personal? Turns out that's some scary shit if you're not expecting it.
"Suck me, then," said the guy.
And, okay, so maybe Tony'd been hoping to ease into this whole thing by being the suckee, but he was here for a reason and he could man up and get this thing done. He reached out a tentative hand and touched the dick that was bobbing more or less at his eye level. It was smooth and warm, not much different to his own and really, what the hell else was he expecting? It to writhe and spit at him like a snake? He needed to watch way less schlock horror. He took a proper grip, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and stroking up, the skin shifting over the hardness underneath. Fuck it, he thought. Fuck it all to hell. And he opened wide, slid the head into his mouth and sucked.
It was...well, freaking weird is what it was, but not unpleasant, not at all. Tony licked up the underside of the cock and over the top of it, pointing the tip of his tongue to add a little pressure. The guy moaned his pleasure and the sound went straight to Tony's groin, swelling him. He'd always found it hot to be in control of getting someone off, the parts may have changed, but this was no different. He sucked again, taking the cock a little deeper, imagining what sounds McGee would make when Tony- When- And for a split second he was torn between the violent urge to jerk himself off right now, no waiting, and to do the whole run screaming into the night thing. He settled for dropping the guy's dick as if it had burned him and stumbling backwards onto his ass.
"Shit. Fuck. Sorry, it's not you, or this," he said, looking up and expecting disappointment if not out and out shit-kicking wrath.
But the guy was laughing.
"What?"
"Say hi to Tim," the guy said, carefully readjusting himself inside his pants. "I think he'll be pleasantly surprised."
"I...what?"
"Greg," said Greg, sticking out a hand and pulling Tony to his feet. "The one you tried to warn away?"
"Oh," said Tony. 'Mr. Brooks Brothers. You don't look- No wonder I didn't- No, wait. What?"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," said Greg. "The way Tim talked about you, I thought maybe there was more to this thing than met the eye. And then you were here and I thought I'd have a little fun. Freak out the straight boy or turn him. Either way works for me."
"The way McGee talked about me?"
"Oh, come now, don't be coy," said Greg, shaking his head. "Are you blind?"
"I-" Tony squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars then opened them again. "Possibly? Are you saying that he-?"
"I'm saying nothing. What's the verdict, then? Given you didn't bite my dick off I'm thinking it's not queer fear."
Tony shook his head. "It felt like cheating," he said, surprising himself with both the answer and his honesty.
Greg raised his eyebrows and turned down the corners of his mouth. "That's almost sweet," he said. "You should probably fuck off now."
Tony fucked off.
He thought about fucking off to McGee's apartment but even he knew you couldn't semi-suck off one guy and turn up at another guy's place without at least brushing your teeth. And besides, there were things to think about. Like 'the way Tim talked about you'. Did that mean McGee was already on board the DiNozzo train waiting for the whistle to blow and the pistons to get going? And, really, Tony needed to come up with some less phallic imagery or he was going to be a walking erection and his brain needed the blood at the best of times.
So it turned out it wasn't a bicurious thing he had for McGee, it was a real thing, a real one that meant he wanted to do stuff to McGee, and not just the sex stuff either. He wanted to take baths with him, watch TV and poke fun at all the bad procedurals with their flimsy science, go to ballgames together and spend the time making up ridiculous stories about the fans who appeared on the big screen. He wanted...everything. And it was crazy, and it was so far against the rules that Tony could hardly stand it, but after Jeanne he'd sworn to himself never to live with regrets again and he could pretend there was a choice, but there wasn't, not really.
How to let McGee know, that was the problem, and it kept Tony up half the night, wracking his brains for something that wasn't dumb or clichéd or would transfer the run-screaming-into-the-night gene across to McGee.
In the end, he didn't plan it at all.
"I've got a date with Charlotte tonight," said McGee, staring out of the car window through binoculars at the alleged drop point.
"Don't go," said Tony before he could stop himself.
McGee jerked around to stare at Tony, binoculars held frozen in the air.
"Where do you get off-" he started but Tony held up a hand.
"No, listen," he said, and leaned in to press their mouths together in a kiss. McGee stiffened but Tony persisted, drawing the tip of his tongue lightly along the crease of McGee's lips, hand gripping McGee's neck, and then, like his strings had been cut, McGee relaxed into it, mouth opening under Tony's, spreading his fingers over Tony's thigh.
The kiss lasted only a short while because McGee drew away, garbling something about the case and stuck the binoculars back in front of his face, but his other hand stayed where it was and Tony laid his over the top.
"I know this is totally the wrong time and place," he said, "and we can do it all again later, if you like, but I need you to know now, I'm not going through a phase. I mean this."
McGee lowered the binoculars again, looking at Tony so fiercely it was like being under a spotlight.
"You need to be sure about this, Tony. You never tried to kiss me before you figured out I'm bi, and you could have, you know. Pretty much any time."
"I know I didn't, but...what did you say?"
"It hasn't exactly escaped my notice that you're hot, Tony," said McGee with a wry smile. "Also a jackass. But a smart, loyal, funny, Fugitive-quoting, crazy jackass. And I kind of- There may be some fee- Yeah, I probably shouldn't freak you out any more, should I?"
Tony's heart, as far as he could tell, was doing some whole musical number with the singing and the tap dancing and the big smiles and jazz hands. It was fairly ridiculous but he was good with that. Ridiculous was his middle name. Well, no, his middle name was ridiculous (the ninja turtle was named after him thank you very much), but that wasn't the point right now.
"Look, I admit this might feel a little sudden to you, maybe even opportunistic but I swear to you, this isn't an overnight decision. This is, this is...I had to factor in some things I didn't know before and it got me to a different place. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense to you, but I need you to know it doesn't freak me out. None of it. Not the thing where I want to put your dick in my mouth and, you know, other places that--we don't need to talk about that right now--nor the thing where you apparently love me and that's okay because I'm right there with you, the whole love thing, not even the thing where I want to take bubble baths with you. Bubble baths, McGee! That smell good!"
By the time he'd finished, Tony was grinning widely, his hand intertwined with McGee's and McGee was staring back at him, looking pretty much like someone had given him a Christmas present and that present turned out to be a wet fish and then someone had slapped him in the face with it only it still managed to be the awesomest present ever (yeah, he was going back to the phallic imagery just as soon as he could pull it back together).
"Well?" urged Tony as McGee failed to reply.
McGee licked his lips slowly and deliberately and Tony gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for not jumping him right then and there. "Drop," said McGee. "We've got-" he checked his watch, "Forty three minutes of duty left."
"Then what?"
McGee grinned, raised the binoculars once more, and looked out of the window.
"Then I tell you that you're crazy, ask you back to my place and give you the best blowjob of your life. And then, who knows, if I feel like it, I might fuck you, too."
Tony's brain went offline, but his body was on it and he squeezed McGee's hand in assent before letting go. Good thing some part of him was in control.
Forty two and a half minutes now.
Tony leaned forward, rested folded arms on the dash, his head on top of his arms, looked out of the corner of his eye at a smirking McGee, took a deep breath and started counting.
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comments.)
oxoniensis is hosting The Fall Fandom Free-For-All and I figured just because I'm lousy at asking for things (Really. SO BAD. There is stuff I want, but will I ask for it? No. Hai! Have you met me? I'm English.) doesn't mean I can't give. So.
ladyyueh wanted Tony/Tim. Tony/Tim I can do. Especially when there's a
soupytwist to cast her eyes over it and provide thumbs in an upward position.
Her prompt went thusly:
NCIS, Tim/Tony, Tim's drunk and being hit on by a guy! Tony to the rescue! Only, McPissy is angry because Tony is cockblocking. Tony's surprised to find out McNotsoStraight is slightly bent, but whatever, he's still the same McGeek, right? Only, it seems that now that he's looking for it, an awful lot of guys are sending McGee some mighty appreciative looks and Tony doesn't like it. Not that he's jealous, or anything.
And so this happened. 5000 words, adult, Tim/Tony, Tony/OMC (don't panic, bat fans!), set somewhere around S5/6. Major spoiler for S4 but other than that, nada.
Tony checked his watch; it was late. The kind of late that was making up its mind if it wanted to throw up its hands, give it up as a bad job and call itself early. Abby had said that was it, they'd made it through an entire month without anyone getting injured, framed, kidnapped, lost in the Smithsonian, sent on a Siberian Death March (Tony had no idea where that one had come from) or catching some deadly virus, so they were going to go out and get drunk whether they liked it or not. Mostly, they liked it. Even Gibbs had stuck around for a drink or two before muttering something about lathes and disappearing back to his basement.
Ziva had vanished next, then Palmer, then Ducky (who showed surprising stamina for his age, probably something to do with all the formaldehyde, Tony figured), which left Tony, Tim and Abby. These days Tony didn't drink so much so he was reasonably sober when he said,
"McGee's been an awful long time with the drinks. I knew he was unsteady. Never trust an unsteady Eddie. Not to remember your complicated girly drink order anyway."
"I asked for a beer, Tony," said Abby, reasonably, twisting on her bench to survey the bar. Tony watched as her frown of concentration dissolved into a knowing grin. "Huh," she said. "That explains it."
"What explains what?" Tony followed her gaze and, discounting the bleached apparition in leopard print and the guy with the tattoo of an eagle disappearing into his ass crack (and what the hell was that about?) he finally found what she was looking at. It was McGee. McGee loose and slouched against the bar, the drinks they were waiting on at his elbow. Some neatly pressed guy with swept back dark hair and a cashmere sweater (which, it was late, where did he get off looking like he'd just stepped out of a catalog?) was leaning in towards him, touching his arm and saying something that made McGee's face light with a grin.
He turned back to Abby. "Am I going blind or is Mr. Brooks Brothers hitting on McGee?"
"Your eyesight's just fine," Abby swiveled back around and grinned at him. "I wasn't thirsty anyway."
Tony was the senior partner; of course he was going to get all defensive when one of his agents was out there, vulnerable to attack. Okay, so with Gibbs being Papa Bear that kinda put Tony in Mama Bear position and he wasn't too sure how he felt about that, but still. His agent. Unprotected from preppy attempts at seduction which Tony was willing to bet he hadn't even figured was the goal.
"I better go rescue him before this gets ugly," he said, getting to his feet. "Don't want McClueless pulling his weapon out in public." He stopped, considering. "That sentence ended up somewhere different than I thought."
He started across the floor but Abby grabbed his wrist. "He doesn't need rescuing, leave it."
Tony looked across at the bar. If McGee got any looser he'd be horizontal. No wonder he wasn't moving the guy's hand on his thigh. The guy's hand was on his thigh! He'd better act quick or bad things would happen. He wasn't exactly sure what the bad things were, but they were things and they were bad and that was good enough for him.
"I know McUptight, Abby. He needs to respect himself in the morning. I'm saving him hours of therapy." He shook her off and wove his way through the tables towards the scene of impending debauchery.
Tactics, he needed tactics. Being the expert strategist he was Tony quickly discounted tapping the guy on the shoulder and punching him out. Far too dramatic. Plus? Hitting hurt--they never taught you that in the movies. He'd need more than the concerned colleague angle, too, he'd been at the receiving end of that one enough times and it never worked. There was only one sure-fire option as far as Tony could see and, reaching the bar, he went for it.
Sliding an arm around McGee's shoulders he pressed a kiss to his temple, reaching around him for his drink and taking a long sip. "Hey, honey, you've been gone a while. I was missing you."
McGee didn't have time to do much more than blink at Tony because Cashmere Sweater was moving back, making smooth apologies that Tony would have appreciated if he'd been giving them more than half an ear, taking his drink and leaving. Tony swung into the vacated stool and beamed.
"You're welcome," he said.
"What? Was that?" McGee didn't look relieved or puzzled and he'd lost the loose, blurry edge he'd been wearing just a few seconds ago. He looked pissed.
"Er, I was ridding you of unwelcome attention?" And damn, Tony'd meant that to come out as a definitive statement, not a question.
"Who said it was unwelcome?"
"It wasn’t?" Which, what? What?
"He was really hot, Tony," and now there was both belligerence and a whine in McGee's voice and, okay, Tony wasn't drunk but still there seemed to be a fog in his brain that he was having trouble clearing.
"He was wearing pastels, McGee."
"What does that even mean?"
The thing was, Tony had no idea. He apparently had no idea about anything. Okay, so he'd spent the last whatever--forever--joking around with McGee about all the girly things he did that made him totally gay but it wasn't like he'd meant it. But McGee had always said no, no he wasn't and why wouldn't he admit it if he was? It wasn't like Tony had a problem, none of them did, and McGee's dad might be in the military but McGee wasn't so Don't Ask Don't Tell didn't even come into it and... He stopped, shaking his head.
"Just ask, Tony," said McGee and he sounded tired. He looked it, too. Eyes a little red-rimmed from the lateness of the hour and the alcohol, shoulders slumped and pulled in like he was trying to disappear in on himself.
Tony's mouth was dry, and for some reason his heart was pounding. Apparently his body thought this was a momentous occasion even if his head was wondering whether it was too late to pretend this whole thing hadn't happened. "Are you gay?"
"No."
"But..."
"You never ask the right question, Tony. Or, at least, you never listen to the answer. And to think you're a senior field agent."
The memories poured in then and McGee was right, Tony sucked at detective work. Gibbs should kick him out on his ass. "You're bi." And finally he'd got the definitive statement thing down.
"There you go, case closed," said McGee, straightening up and sliding off his stool. He picked up his wine glass and downed the contents in one long gulp. "Now, if you'll excuse me."
Tony's hand shot out and grabbed McGee's arm, almost of its own volition. Seriously, this body autonomy thing could go too far, Tony thought. "Where are you going?"
McGee narrowed his eyes and pushed out his bottom lip as he looked from Tony's hand to his face. Grimacing, Tony let go.
"I'd let you work it out," McGee said, "Only you're obviously having trouble with that. So here, let me spell it out for you. I'll use short words because I'm drunk and you're stupid. I'm going to find Greg--that's the guy you scared off--explain that you're crazy, ask him back to my place and give him the best blowjob of his life. And then, who knows, if I feel like it, I might fuck him, too. See you on Monday, Tony." And, with that, he walked off, spoiling his exit by stumbling a little, but Tony barely noticed because McGee had exploded a flashbang in his face and he was still shaking the freeze-frame vision and the swimming sensation in his head.
Tony barely felt Abby's chin hit his shoulder and her arms go around his waist. "Not a damsel in distress, right?" she said.
"No," agreed Tony, shaking himself back awake. "You knew?"
"Yeah," said Abby, coming around him and settling herself between his legs. She scrunched up her face. "I used to sleep with him, remember. You find stuff out."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Abby pressed her lips together in a frown. She shook her head at him, even her pigtails looked disappointed. "Okay, Tony, three things. First, not everything is about you. I know that's a concept that troubles you, but grab onto it with both hands and life will be easier in the long run, I swear. Second, it's not my information to share, it's Timmy's. And third, why should he have to make a statement about his sexuality anyway? Do you declare yourself straight? No. Like the world doesn't have enough double standards."
"But..." Tony found himself saying for the second time in just a few minutes.
"Tony, Tony, Tony," Abby pinched his cheeks. "Do you really have any arguments that won't make you sound dumb?"
"No," Tony admitted. Actually, he didn't have any arguments at all. So McGee was bi, so what? He was still the same McGeek, smart as a whip, overlord of all the elves, height-phobic, desperate to please, doggedly persistent, maker and appreciator of dorky jokes and endearingly easy to glue to stuff. So he liked to shtup guys as well as women. Why should that change anything?
"Good boy," said Abby, and kissed him on the nose.
And it didn't change anything, at least not from McGee's end. He came into work on Monday with a cheery greeting for Ziva and a slightly wary one for Tony, but whatever worries he had seemed to dissolve after the third piece of paper Tony threw at his head. Situation Normal.
Only then, things started intruding on Tony's awareness, things that had not been there before. Like he'd never paid any attention at all to whether women liked McGee or not, if Tony was in the room poor McGeek didn't stand a chance anyway, but first there was the male barista in some randomly chosen coffee shop slipping McGee a free muffin (and what kind of come on was that? Here, get fat so no one else will want to sleep with you?) and then there was the six foot four, built like a brick outhouse LEO guarding the acid vat containing the remains of a very dead lieutenant oohing and aahing over McGee's apparently superhuman powers of observation (anyone could have found the piece of gum and it wasn't like Tony was actually going to step on it whatever McPicky might say) and doing everything short of stripping off and yelling "Take me! Take me, now!" And that was just the start of it.
Everywhere they went, it seemed, some guy's attention was on McGee and not for professional reasons. And, sure, maybe he was imagining some of them (the 80 year old security guard who clasped McGee's hand in thanks for catching him before he hit the ground was borderline, for example) because it wasn't like the whole male population had turned gay overnight, it was just...It was just there was a lot of it, or it felt like there was a lot of it, and it made Tony itchy.
"I'm not having a homophobic freak-out or anything," he told Abby.
"Swab," she said, and he mopped her brow, tossing the dampened piece of cotton into the trash. It was a delicate operation, more along Ducky's line, trying to ease a bone out carefully without disturbing the rest of the body.
"It's just I see gay people."
Abby laughed and a buzzer sounded, red light flashing. "Dammit, I lost the Wish Bone. Stop making me laugh, Doctor DiNozzo." She handed him the tweezers. "Your turn."
Tony snapped his gloves. "Bring it on," he said and bent over the board.
"I'm not sure I see the problem. They're not hitting on you, so you can't be straight-boy-threatened. And you said yourself you and McGee are getting along just fine. So."
"Aha!" said Tony, brandishing the plastic piece aloft and holding out his hand. "Six hundred dollars, if you please."
Abby paid it out, one note at a time, withholding the last note and waving it in the air. "Not until you tell me what's going on. Really."
"I'm not jealous, if that's what you're thinking," said Tony, quickly.
"Well, I wasn't thinking that, but now I am." Abby handed over the note then clasped her hands and bounced up and down, which, considering she was kneeling up looked kind of odd. "Does someone in this room have a little crush?"
"No, someone doesn't," declared Tony with more conviction than he felt. Lately he'd found his mind wandering to what McGee had said in the bar, looking at the guys who were eyeing him up and wondering if they were having thoughts about McGee's mouth wrapped around them. It was a good mouth, and it never occurred to Tony to doubt that McGee knew just how to use it. He'd tried to stop thinking about it, but then the dreams started, and it might be random, composite guys McGee was sucking off in them, but it was Tony who was waking hard and aching and coming fast to the fading memories.
"You know, Tony," said Abby, picking up another card and studying it carefully, though there was barely anything on it to read, "if you're having some bicurious phase and you decide to try it out on McGee just to see what 'the gay sex' is like, I will kill you. Terms and conditions apply, please read the small print."
"I wouldn't...I'd never..." Tony bristled for the briefest of seconds before deflating again. He wouldn't, but he wanted...What exactly did he want? How was he supposed to know? McGee was team, Tony'd do anything for him, even step in front of a bullet. But he'd do that for any of them. He enjoyed hanging out with him outside work, overseeing McGee's movie education, trying McGee's patience with his poor co-ordination in every videogame ever made. But he had plenty of friends he liked hanging with. Apparently, though, his body (way ahead of his brain again) was itching to get into McGee's pants and that gave him three for three. No one else scored more than two. This could mean everything or it could mean nothing at all. Tony scratched the base of his skull.
"Fuck, Abby, what am I going to do?"
Abby pulled a face. "I don't know. Maybe sleep with a guy that isn't McGee? Which, I can't believe I'm telling you to experiment on some poor soul. That's mean. I'm not mean. It isn't in my nature to be mean, I'm made from pop rocks and cookie dough, though not together 'cause- Oooh! Wait. That could be a taste sensation, exploding cookies in my mou- " She careered to a halt, pursing her lips and crinkling her eyes, then clearing her throat and putting her serious expression back on. It was like having your own personal theater company, Tony thought. "Okay, so clear boundaries, that should do it. And use a condom."
"Just for the sake of disambiguation, you're advocating I have casual sex with a guy who has no expectations to see if I like it or want to run screaming into the night?"
"Exactly."
"And then tell McGee it's okay, I really do want to sleep with him because I got in some practice first, and it turns out cock-sucking is on my list of 'things I like' along with piña coladas and walks in the rain?"
"Um. You could not mention that part. Or work on your presentation."
"You think?"
"Well, it's up to you. But whatever you choose, be careful, Tony. No one needs this." And, biting her lip, Abby laid her card face up on the table.
It was a broken heart.
Another week passed while Tony worked up the courage to figure out whether he swung both ways or was hinged to open inwards only. A week in which McGee sauntered into the office managing to look both smug and surprised at the same time.
"Greg?" asked Tony with forced humor.
"Nope," McGee replied. "Charlotte. I met her at a party at my publishing house. She's...rather lovely, actually."
"Rather lovely? What kind of description is that McShakespeare?" Tony's brain hurt from the screeching change of tracks back to McGee and women. He knew what bi meant, he wasn't stupid, he'd just forgotten with all the looking and the men flirting and the, the, the dreams.
And, oh god, now was not the time to remember that he'd jerked himself off in the shower this morning, horny but having worked himself hard over recent weeks finding it difficult to get off. His failsafe fantasy involving Angelina Jolie, Michelle Pfeiffer and a gallon of mint choc chip ice cream had ground to an unresolved halt and it was only by conjuring up the image of McGee's hands bracketing Tony's hips, his mouth taking Tony's cock deep, that he'd finally come, the image burned on his retina as the water washed him clean, a flashbang fantasy that left him disoriented and choking on the water he gulped in as he tried to recover.
"You're not even listening are you, Tony?" complained McGee and no, no, Tony wasn't.
"Sorry, Probie. Say again?"
"I said I think this might go somewhere," said McGee and Tony's stomach plummeted like he'd been thrown out of an airplane at 50000 feet. He was going to have to work fast.
Tony'd never cruised for a guy before but he figured how different could it be? He'd been through DC's gay district enough to know where the main bars were and headed straight there. He picked one at random and went in. It wasn't his first time in a gay bar, but he'd always been working before. This one pumped out loud high-energy music, but there were no bodies gyrating in cages, no sequined drag queens and the only leather accessories Tony could see were collars on a group of Goths over in one dark corner. They obviously shopped at the same store as Abby. Sure, there were barely any women to be seen (and those mostly in pairs) but it was an ordinary bar and Tony was man enough to admit he'd been scared of what he'd find. He'd slap himself around the head later for being so pathetic.
He took one of the only vacant seats at the bar and signaled the bartender.
"A beer," he said loudly, over the music and the bartender nodded.
It took two beers in quick succession before Tony felt he could relax enough to look around. It took another couple before he was ready to return the eye contact he was getting from various quarters. There were some hot guys here, he was ready to admit. He tried to imagine them naked, like he was used to doing with women, and it was an interesting exercise but it wasn't getting him all hot and bothered and that had to be a prerequisite, didn't it?
"Hey," said a low voice in his ear.
Tony turned around, looking at the stranger leaning on the bar next to him. He was handsome, with mussed dark hair that must have taken hours to get looking perfectly random (Tony admired that kind of dedication to your art) and wore a blue t-shirt pulled tight across his chest with some indecipherable logo on the front. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
"Do I know you?"
"We've met."
"Want to elaborate?"
"Not really. Want a beer?"
"Sure."
Ten minutes later Tony could feel the fizz starting up low in his stomach because this was going to be it. This was going to fix things, one way or another. He'd found it surprisingly easy to get his flirt on; the guy seemed willing and ready to be amused and his body language bypassed Tony's higher thought processes and whispered 'Come and get it,' in Tony's ear.
Another ten minutes in which Tony still couldn't figure out where he'd seen this guy before and the guy was saying "I need to take a leak," and moving off before Tony could reply, casting a look back with a clear 'follow me' command. Tony followed, half-terrified, half-excited, half-hard, wondering why it wasn't this easy with women and why wasn't every guy in the world doing this? A mouth was, after all, a mouth.
He found out exactly why when the guy locked the cubicle door behind Tony, kissed him roughly then pushed him to his knees. Someone else's steel-hard cock, up close and personal? Turns out that's some scary shit if you're not expecting it.
"Suck me, then," said the guy.
And, okay, so maybe Tony'd been hoping to ease into this whole thing by being the suckee, but he was here for a reason and he could man up and get this thing done. He reached out a tentative hand and touched the dick that was bobbing more or less at his eye level. It was smooth and warm, not much different to his own and really, what the hell else was he expecting? It to writhe and spit at him like a snake? He needed to watch way less schlock horror. He took a proper grip, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and stroking up, the skin shifting over the hardness underneath. Fuck it, he thought. Fuck it all to hell. And he opened wide, slid the head into his mouth and sucked.
It was...well, freaking weird is what it was, but not unpleasant, not at all. Tony licked up the underside of the cock and over the top of it, pointing the tip of his tongue to add a little pressure. The guy moaned his pleasure and the sound went straight to Tony's groin, swelling him. He'd always found it hot to be in control of getting someone off, the parts may have changed, but this was no different. He sucked again, taking the cock a little deeper, imagining what sounds McGee would make when Tony- When- And for a split second he was torn between the violent urge to jerk himself off right now, no waiting, and to do the whole run screaming into the night thing. He settled for dropping the guy's dick as if it had burned him and stumbling backwards onto his ass.
"Shit. Fuck. Sorry, it's not you, or this," he said, looking up and expecting disappointment if not out and out shit-kicking wrath.
But the guy was laughing.
"What?"
"Say hi to Tim," the guy said, carefully readjusting himself inside his pants. "I think he'll be pleasantly surprised."
"I...what?"
"Greg," said Greg, sticking out a hand and pulling Tony to his feet. "The one you tried to warn away?"
"Oh," said Tony. 'Mr. Brooks Brothers. You don't look- No wonder I didn't- No, wait. What?"
"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist," said Greg. "The way Tim talked about you, I thought maybe there was more to this thing than met the eye. And then you were here and I thought I'd have a little fun. Freak out the straight boy or turn him. Either way works for me."
"The way McGee talked about me?"
"Oh, come now, don't be coy," said Greg, shaking his head. "Are you blind?"
"I-" Tony squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars then opened them again. "Possibly? Are you saying that he-?"
"I'm saying nothing. What's the verdict, then? Given you didn't bite my dick off I'm thinking it's not queer fear."
Tony shook his head. "It felt like cheating," he said, surprising himself with both the answer and his honesty.
Greg raised his eyebrows and turned down the corners of his mouth. "That's almost sweet," he said. "You should probably fuck off now."
Tony fucked off.
He thought about fucking off to McGee's apartment but even he knew you couldn't semi-suck off one guy and turn up at another guy's place without at least brushing your teeth. And besides, there were things to think about. Like 'the way Tim talked about you'. Did that mean McGee was already on board the DiNozzo train waiting for the whistle to blow and the pistons to get going? And, really, Tony needed to come up with some less phallic imagery or he was going to be a walking erection and his brain needed the blood at the best of times.
So it turned out it wasn't a bicurious thing he had for McGee, it was a real thing, a real one that meant he wanted to do stuff to McGee, and not just the sex stuff either. He wanted to take baths with him, watch TV and poke fun at all the bad procedurals with their flimsy science, go to ballgames together and spend the time making up ridiculous stories about the fans who appeared on the big screen. He wanted...everything. And it was crazy, and it was so far against the rules that Tony could hardly stand it, but after Jeanne he'd sworn to himself never to live with regrets again and he could pretend there was a choice, but there wasn't, not really.
How to let McGee know, that was the problem, and it kept Tony up half the night, wracking his brains for something that wasn't dumb or clichéd or would transfer the run-screaming-into-the-night gene across to McGee.
In the end, he didn't plan it at all.
"I've got a date with Charlotte tonight," said McGee, staring out of the car window through binoculars at the alleged drop point.
"Don't go," said Tony before he could stop himself.
McGee jerked around to stare at Tony, binoculars held frozen in the air.
"Where do you get off-" he started but Tony held up a hand.
"No, listen," he said, and leaned in to press their mouths together in a kiss. McGee stiffened but Tony persisted, drawing the tip of his tongue lightly along the crease of McGee's lips, hand gripping McGee's neck, and then, like his strings had been cut, McGee relaxed into it, mouth opening under Tony's, spreading his fingers over Tony's thigh.
The kiss lasted only a short while because McGee drew away, garbling something about the case and stuck the binoculars back in front of his face, but his other hand stayed where it was and Tony laid his over the top.
"I know this is totally the wrong time and place," he said, "and we can do it all again later, if you like, but I need you to know now, I'm not going through a phase. I mean this."
McGee lowered the binoculars again, looking at Tony so fiercely it was like being under a spotlight.
"You need to be sure about this, Tony. You never tried to kiss me before you figured out I'm bi, and you could have, you know. Pretty much any time."
"I know I didn't, but...what did you say?"
"It hasn't exactly escaped my notice that you're hot, Tony," said McGee with a wry smile. "Also a jackass. But a smart, loyal, funny, Fugitive-quoting, crazy jackass. And I kind of- There may be some fee- Yeah, I probably shouldn't freak you out any more, should I?"
Tony's heart, as far as he could tell, was doing some whole musical number with the singing and the tap dancing and the big smiles and jazz hands. It was fairly ridiculous but he was good with that. Ridiculous was his middle name. Well, no, his middle name was ridiculous (the ninja turtle was named after him thank you very much), but that wasn't the point right now.
"Look, I admit this might feel a little sudden to you, maybe even opportunistic but I swear to you, this isn't an overnight decision. This is, this is...I had to factor in some things I didn't know before and it got me to a different place. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense to you, but I need you to know it doesn't freak me out. None of it. Not the thing where I want to put your dick in my mouth and, you know, other places that--we don't need to talk about that right now--nor the thing where you apparently love me and that's okay because I'm right there with you, the whole love thing, not even the thing where I want to take bubble baths with you. Bubble baths, McGee! That smell good!"
By the time he'd finished, Tony was grinning widely, his hand intertwined with McGee's and McGee was staring back at him, looking pretty much like someone had given him a Christmas present and that present turned out to be a wet fish and then someone had slapped him in the face with it only it still managed to be the awesomest present ever (yeah, he was going back to the phallic imagery just as soon as he could pull it back together).
"Well?" urged Tony as McGee failed to reply.
McGee licked his lips slowly and deliberately and Tony gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back for not jumping him right then and there. "Drop," said McGee. "We've got-" he checked his watch, "Forty three minutes of duty left."
"Then what?"
McGee grinned, raised the binoculars once more, and looked out of the window.
"Then I tell you that you're crazy, ask you back to my place and give you the best blowjob of your life. And then, who knows, if I feel like it, I might fuck you, too."
Tony's brain went offline, but his body was on it and he squeezed McGee's hand in assent before letting go. Good thing some part of him was in control.
Forty two and a half minutes now.
Tony leaned forward, rested folded arms on the dash, his head on top of his arms, looked out of the corner of his eye at a smirking McGee, took a deep breath and started counting.
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