NCIS. Tony DiNozzo/Tim McGee. 079. When?
Title: Rules and Guidelines
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony/Tim
Prompt: 79. When?
Word Count: 1,037
Rating: PG13
Summary: Coffee is spilt, time is stolen, and everybody breaks the rules. LDT.
Disclaimer: I don’t own NCIS, and don’t make any money from this. But if McGee, Tony or Gibbs wants to haul me in for questioning, I wouldn’t mind.
Cross posted at FF100.
Tony has rules. His own personal set of rules, that is, the kind he doesn’t mention at work. Some are obscure, like: Don’t wear socks with the same pattern three days in a row. But most are self-explanatory, such as: Gordon’s Torpedo Chilli should be part of no more than one meal per day.
Or: No fooling around while you’re on the clock working a case.
*
Tony gingerly touched the burgundy spine of one of Tim’s old books. The name on the spine was faded off completely, so he tipped it outward, squinting to read the name of the author.
“Yeats?” he muttered with a grimace. “Oh, boy.”
He let the book fall back into place with the others of its kind, frowning at the small cloud of dust that escaped at impact.
“Don’t tell me you’re reading that.”
Tony grinned at Tim’s comment and turned to face him. Tim had just emerged from his bedroom, and was in the middle of buttoning up a fresh shirt. A call from Gibbs had just put an end to five hours of surveillance on a corner business in downtown Silver Spring, only a few blocks away from Tim’s apartment building. They’d flipped for locations; one in the car, the other in a diner across the street. Tim had got the diner, and he’d also got a trainee waiter and a lapful of this morning’s coffee. Decaf.
They’d switched spots after that, Tim drying stiffly in the car while Tony enjoyed a large triple berry muffin inside.
Gibbs had called soon after to let them know the hunt was off. The suspect had met up with his partner at Kalorama Park instead, and Ziva had taken them both down with some poor kid’s Frisbee. They had both lawyered up immediately, before they had even been bundled up in the back of the car, and Gibbs had grudgingly admitted that this time there really was nothing they could do until their suspects’ lawyers showed up.
So Tony mentioned the diner and the coffee, and how Tim needed to change, and that he hadn’t really had much to eat today besides that muffin, and...
“Be back in an hour,” Gibbs had said, cutting Tony off before he got into the nitty gritty details of his diet. He hung up then, and Tony could tell Gibbs was already annoyed with the thought that he’d have to deal with two lawyers for just the one case, not that he wouldn’t try to get around them. Tony, on the other hand, preferred to look on the positive side.
“We have time to go back to your place,” he said to Tim, who was puttering around in the passenger’s seat with the look of a man dealing with sticky things in inopportune places.
Tim made a noise of distracted acknowledgement, said something to the effect of really, really wanting to get out of these coffee-stained clothes (he also mentioned something about starting an OxyClean soak that Tony chose to ignore).
Tony was silent for a moment after that, an oddity in itself that had made Tim look up, curious, only to see Tony sporting a wicked smile that made Tim’s blood run cold and then very, very hot when Tony slid a hand down Tim’s thigh and said, “You should probably have a shower too.”
Tim stared, his eyes glued to Tony’s hand as it journeyed along Tim’s leg, and then they swung to Tony’s face as he removed his hand and placed it lightly on the steering wheel.
“Tony,” Tim said in what Tony recognized as his best (and most frequently used) warning voice.
Tony’s smile just widened, and he began to hum as he pulled into traffic.
*
“These books? Definitely a turn-off.”
Tim looked up from his progress on his shirt buttons. “And why’s that?”
“It feels like they’re watching us!” Tony exclaimed. “I can’t take advantage of you with them watching! I can feel their beady, prudish Victorian eyes on me.”
Tim’s hands stilled on the buttons, half-way done, and he gave Tony a look. It was the one that said Tony, don’t be ridiculous or Tony, don’t touch that. It was all about context, really.
“My books aren’t watching you,” Tim muttered, attention quickly reverting back to the task at hand. As did Tony’s.
It was a smooth approach, Tony decided in his head. Smooth and stealthy and mysterious. Tim didn’t look up until Tony was within arm’s length, toying with the tails of Tim’s shirt.
“Not now, Tony,” Tim said, giving Tony that look again, only this time a little more wary, as if Tony’s ability to break his resolve was directly proportional to his proximity. Which it probably was.
Tim decided to just ignore him then, a very difficult task given Tony was only a few inches away but Tim made a valiant attempt nonetheless. He continued to do up his buttons, fixing his gaze on a point over Tony’s shoulder even as Tony crowded closer. This worked fine until he reached the last button, that very tricky one at the top, and he had to look down to fit it into place, only to see that Tony, stubborn, stealthy, and insatiable as he was, had begun to undo Tim’s shirt buttons, from the bottom, one by one.
“Tony, we have to get to back to work.”
“We have time.”
“Yeah?” Tim challenged. “How much?”
Tony glanced over Tim’s shoulder at the clock on his nightstand, leaning closer into Tim’s personal space as he did so.
“Thirty-five minutes,” he said softly into Tim’s ear.
He felt Tim hesitate then, and his Scout’s Honour work ethic crumble. He sucked in a breath as Tony gently pulled back the collar of his shirt and ghosted his lips over the exposed skin of his shoulder. His lips moved down then, and Tony sank to his knees, dragging his hands down Tim’s chest until they were pressed flat against his stomach.
Tony looked up then and grinned, his hands beginning to work on the button of Tim’s pants. “You have no idea what I can do in thirty-five minutes.”
Sure, Tony has rules. But the exceptions are always so much more gratifying.
Fandom: NCIS
Characters: Tony/Tim
Prompt: 79. When?
Word Count: 1,037
Rating: PG13
Summary: Coffee is spilt, time is stolen, and everybody breaks the rules. LDT.
Disclaimer: I don’t own NCIS, and don’t make any money from this. But if McGee, Tony or Gibbs wants to haul me in for questioning, I wouldn’t mind.
Cross posted at FF100.
Tony has rules. His own personal set of rules, that is, the kind he doesn’t mention at work. Some are obscure, like: Don’t wear socks with the same pattern three days in a row. But most are self-explanatory, such as: Gordon’s Torpedo Chilli should be part of no more than one meal per day.
Or: No fooling around while you’re on the clock working a case.
*
Tony gingerly touched the burgundy spine of one of Tim’s old books. The name on the spine was faded off completely, so he tipped it outward, squinting to read the name of the author.
“Yeats?” he muttered with a grimace. “Oh, boy.”
He let the book fall back into place with the others of its kind, frowning at the small cloud of dust that escaped at impact.
“Don’t tell me you’re reading that.”
Tony grinned at Tim’s comment and turned to face him. Tim had just emerged from his bedroom, and was in the middle of buttoning up a fresh shirt. A call from Gibbs had just put an end to five hours of surveillance on a corner business in downtown Silver Spring, only a few blocks away from Tim’s apartment building. They’d flipped for locations; one in the car, the other in a diner across the street. Tim had got the diner, and he’d also got a trainee waiter and a lapful of this morning’s coffee. Decaf.
They’d switched spots after that, Tim drying stiffly in the car while Tony enjoyed a large triple berry muffin inside.
Gibbs had called soon after to let them know the hunt was off. The suspect had met up with his partner at Kalorama Park instead, and Ziva had taken them both down with some poor kid’s Frisbee. They had both lawyered up immediately, before they had even been bundled up in the back of the car, and Gibbs had grudgingly admitted that this time there really was nothing they could do until their suspects’ lawyers showed up.
So Tony mentioned the diner and the coffee, and how Tim needed to change, and that he hadn’t really had much to eat today besides that muffin, and...
“Be back in an hour,” Gibbs had said, cutting Tony off before he got into the nitty gritty details of his diet. He hung up then, and Tony could tell Gibbs was already annoyed with the thought that he’d have to deal with two lawyers for just the one case, not that he wouldn’t try to get around them. Tony, on the other hand, preferred to look on the positive side.
“We have time to go back to your place,” he said to Tim, who was puttering around in the passenger’s seat with the look of a man dealing with sticky things in inopportune places.
Tim made a noise of distracted acknowledgement, said something to the effect of really, really wanting to get out of these coffee-stained clothes (he also mentioned something about starting an OxyClean soak that Tony chose to ignore).
Tony was silent for a moment after that, an oddity in itself that had made Tim look up, curious, only to see Tony sporting a wicked smile that made Tim’s blood run cold and then very, very hot when Tony slid a hand down Tim’s thigh and said, “You should probably have a shower too.”
Tim stared, his eyes glued to Tony’s hand as it journeyed along Tim’s leg, and then they swung to Tony’s face as he removed his hand and placed it lightly on the steering wheel.
“Tony,” Tim said in what Tony recognized as his best (and most frequently used) warning voice.
Tony’s smile just widened, and he began to hum as he pulled into traffic.
*
“These books? Definitely a turn-off.”
Tim looked up from his progress on his shirt buttons. “And why’s that?”
“It feels like they’re watching us!” Tony exclaimed. “I can’t take advantage of you with them watching! I can feel their beady, prudish Victorian eyes on me.”
Tim’s hands stilled on the buttons, half-way done, and he gave Tony a look. It was the one that said Tony, don’t be ridiculous or Tony, don’t touch that. It was all about context, really.
“My books aren’t watching you,” Tim muttered, attention quickly reverting back to the task at hand. As did Tony’s.
It was a smooth approach, Tony decided in his head. Smooth and stealthy and mysterious. Tim didn’t look up until Tony was within arm’s length, toying with the tails of Tim’s shirt.
“Not now, Tony,” Tim said, giving Tony that look again, only this time a little more wary, as if Tony’s ability to break his resolve was directly proportional to his proximity. Which it probably was.
Tim decided to just ignore him then, a very difficult task given Tony was only a few inches away but Tim made a valiant attempt nonetheless. He continued to do up his buttons, fixing his gaze on a point over Tony’s shoulder even as Tony crowded closer. This worked fine until he reached the last button, that very tricky one at the top, and he had to look down to fit it into place, only to see that Tony, stubborn, stealthy, and insatiable as he was, had begun to undo Tim’s shirt buttons, from the bottom, one by one.
“Tony, we have to get to back to work.”
“We have time.”
“Yeah?” Tim challenged. “How much?”
Tony glanced over Tim’s shoulder at the clock on his nightstand, leaning closer into Tim’s personal space as he did so.
“Thirty-five minutes,” he said softly into Tim’s ear.
He felt Tim hesitate then, and his Scout’s Honour work ethic crumble. He sucked in a breath as Tony gently pulled back the collar of his shirt and ghosted his lips over the exposed skin of his shoulder. His lips moved down then, and Tony sank to his knees, dragging his hands down Tim’s chest until they were pressed flat against his stomach.
Tony looked up then and grinned, his hands beginning to work on the button of Tim’s pants. “You have no idea what I can do in thirty-five minutes.”
Sure, Tony has rules. But the exceptions are always so much more gratifying.