Straight Lines And Curve Balls, 11/15
Title: Straight Lines and Curve Balls - Chapter 11
Fandom: NCIS
Beta: Unbetaed. But I proofread obsessively, if that helps?
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, humour, a little light angst
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, more's the pity. If I did I'd share...
Description: In which Abby happens.
Warnings: None
Tony wasn't sure what he was more grateful for - that he was finally settled onto Gibbs sofa with no immediate prospect of having to move again, or that as soon as they'd got him there, Gibbs and Abby both left to get his stuff from the car.
No, not true. There was no contest. Five minutes alone gave him a much needed chance to regather his scattered equilibrium.
Or it would, except for the fact he had no idea where to start, because whatever he tried didn't seem to stand a chance against the feel of a pleasantly heavy, solid arm snaking down across his back and fingers curled into his waist, grip so firm it was just right and almost too much at the same time.
Thank God for Abby, because he had a horrible feeling that without her there, he might have protested when Gibbs let go. Might have held on too long. Might have pulled him down next to him. Might have said something that would have felt right for all of thirty seconds, but could never be unsaid when the other shoe dropped.
No, a chaperone was definitely the way to go, and if that made him Elizabeth Bennett, so be it. At least Gibbs would make an excellent Mr Darcy.
Thing was, despite what he'd said to Ducky, his knee hurt - a lot. There was no doubt that he needed the extra help. Hell, he needed the painkillers, but contrary to popular opinion he could spot a bad idea at a hundred paces. At least sometimes.
Which left him here. Exhausted. In pain. Horny. His mental defences were flapping in the breeze, which left him prey to any passing... person... with a gruff in your face bedside manner and a pair of surprisingly expressive blue eyes.
On second thoughts, he should probably scrub any thoughts involving the word bed. Not that beds were a necessity exactly, but the word conjured certain... thoughts, that... well, chair, for example, didn't.
And why did he have to go and think that? Seriously, why? That was a thought, right there, that he hadn't needed to have, and - however alluring its potential - he could have lived very happily without. At least while the living in question was under the same roof as Gibbs.
Oh God. He was doomed.
“Hey, Tony! Comfy? Of course you are. That sofa is, like, the most perfect sofa ever, don't you think? I swear, you could sleep on there for, like, a month, without a single back twinge. Or not sleep, if you had a better offer. I'd cheat on my coffin with that sofa. Oh no - don't tell him, will you?”
Apparently, thanks to Abby he was going to have to scrub 'sofa' from his vocabulary as well. “Don't tell who?”
“Vladimir, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Promise.”
“Abby, I promise not to tell your coffin that you have a soft spot for Gibbs sofa.”
“Good. I brought takeout.”
“I love you.”
“It's Thai though - Ducky banned pizza. He said you had to have some nutritional value in your day.”
“S'ok. I'm so hungry I'd eat something McGee cooked.”
“You got a death wish, DiNozzo?”
“No boss. Just a healthy growing app... appetite.”
There were going to be no words left in his repertoire. He'd have to resort to communicating in grunts.
Oddly enough, that mental image didn't help either.
Fortunately he had food to distract him, and not a minute too soon. The smell coming from the carton was heavenly. Apparently he was even hungrier than he thought he was, and for a few minutes silence reigned as they ate.
Which meant he could concentrate on not watching the firm lines of Gibbs' lips flexing and stretching with each bite he took.
Unsurprisingly, it was Abby who rekindled the conversation. “Bet you can't believe you missed all the fun, Tony! Ziva said she'd never seen any interview like it.”
God bless her, and her uncanny ability to rescue him from himself. “Huh?”
She squeaked. “You didn't hear? How could you not hear? Apparently Gibbs went in to interview Dale Parker, and got as far as putting the file down, and Parker just told him everything. And by everything, I mean everything! Ziva said that he was obviously trying to make a good impression.”
“You got a point, Abs?”
“Me? No?”
“Abs?”
“Who needs a point, Bossman? He asked Ziva for your name. And your number. And then for you to come back and finish processing him. He said he was a sucker for a powerful man, and that you were-”
“Abby.”
Tony, absently choking on a knot of noodles, took comfort in the fact that Gibbs voice was a little - strangled.
“But-”
“No.”
“But-”
“No!”
“You said you were open to any partner, as long as I thought you wouldn't want to kill them. Or them you.”
“You did? Boss? Ow! Hey, she started it - give her the headslap!”
“How old are you? Ten?”
“He did, when he was asking me to find him someone to date. He never said no men. Just no one I thought he might be tempted to marry.”
“You get Abby to organise your dates? Wow, Boss. You're braver than I thought.”
“And what to you mean by that, buster?”
“Nothing. Ow! Abby!”
Tony wasn't sure whether to be happy that the conversation lapsed or otherwise. He shelved the debate, glancing up and around instead. Abby was spooning up her Pad Thai and attempting to look innocent. Gibbs was staring hard at his plate - it was possible that there was smoke rising from the spot in the firing line.
And himself? God only knew. Because for everything Abby had said, she hadn't actually said anything, so whatever he was feeling - be it jealousy, possessiveness, hope, or utter astonishment - was no more than a mirage, really.
And to be honest, he was having more than enough trouble with his fantasy life lately, without Abby throwing petrol on the flames.
How did he ever get himself into these situations? None of the rest of the team showed such a talent for undermining themselves. Take Ziva - she would never find herself in this kind of situation. Just look at the guy she met at the wedding. They'd been on several dates now, and Tony was almost certain that it was chiefly because he was too terrified to say no.
Not that it mattered. Ziva's approach was all well and good, but the chances of him - or anyone else - intimidating Gibbs into bed were about on a par with those of surviving a nuclear explosion by hiding in a fridge.
Once again, Abby's voice dragged his meandering mind back into the here and now. “Oh, oh, oh! I forgot! You're meeting Siobhan Roscoe at The Marinas next Saturday. At eight. With a yellow rose, and a bottle of champagne.”
“A yellow rose?”
“Mm hmm. It's her favourite flower.”
“Tell me she's not expecting him to remember that?” Gibbs caught his eye then, warmth and approval, and Tony felt himself grin back without thought.
“What he said.”
“Of course she is. C'mon Gibbs, you have to put some effort in. We might love your taciturnity, but try it on a date and you won't even get to one hit wonder!” She careered to a halt, and blushed, just a little.
“So what you're saying is that to succeed with a woman, he has to act entirely out of character while paying through the nose for the privilege? You, know, Abs might have a point Boss. Maybe you should try a guy. At least you wouldn't need a yellow rose. Probably not the champagne, either.”
Belatedly, he realised he'd said the last part out loud. Abby was staring a perfect round 'O' at him, and Gibbs had his head cocked to one side, in that way he had that left you feeling he was reading the inside surface of your brain.
“Just saying.”
After another long pause, with Abby looking back and forth between them as if they were a tennis match,Gibbs lips twitched, and he straightened up.
“You suggesting I hook up with the perp now?”
“No Boss.” “Good. Abs'll help you settle in. I'll be downstairs.”
Gibbs collected up the remains of the take out, brushing a cold hot shiver across Tony's back as he passed, but saying nothing else.
Tony had precisely no idea if that was a good outcome or a bad one.
Chapter 12
Fandom: NCIS
Beta: Unbetaed. But I proofread obsessively, if that helps?
Rating: R
Genre: Slash, humour, a little light angst
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, more's the pity. If I did I'd share...
Description: In which Abby happens.
Warnings: None
Tony wasn't sure what he was more grateful for - that he was finally settled onto Gibbs sofa with no immediate prospect of having to move again, or that as soon as they'd got him there, Gibbs and Abby both left to get his stuff from the car.
No, not true. There was no contest. Five minutes alone gave him a much needed chance to regather his scattered equilibrium.
Or it would, except for the fact he had no idea where to start, because whatever he tried didn't seem to stand a chance against the feel of a pleasantly heavy, solid arm snaking down across his back and fingers curled into his waist, grip so firm it was just right and almost too much at the same time.
Thank God for Abby, because he had a horrible feeling that without her there, he might have protested when Gibbs let go. Might have held on too long. Might have pulled him down next to him. Might have said something that would have felt right for all of thirty seconds, but could never be unsaid when the other shoe dropped.
No, a chaperone was definitely the way to go, and if that made him Elizabeth Bennett, so be it. At least Gibbs would make an excellent Mr Darcy.
Thing was, despite what he'd said to Ducky, his knee hurt - a lot. There was no doubt that he needed the extra help. Hell, he needed the painkillers, but contrary to popular opinion he could spot a bad idea at a hundred paces. At least sometimes.
Which left him here. Exhausted. In pain. Horny. His mental defences were flapping in the breeze, which left him prey to any passing... person... with a gruff in your face bedside manner and a pair of surprisingly expressive blue eyes.
On second thoughts, he should probably scrub any thoughts involving the word bed. Not that beds were a necessity exactly, but the word conjured certain... thoughts, that... well, chair, for example, didn't.
And why did he have to go and think that? Seriously, why? That was a thought, right there, that he hadn't needed to have, and - however alluring its potential - he could have lived very happily without. At least while the living in question was under the same roof as Gibbs.
Oh God. He was doomed.
“Hey, Tony! Comfy? Of course you are. That sofa is, like, the most perfect sofa ever, don't you think? I swear, you could sleep on there for, like, a month, without a single back twinge. Or not sleep, if you had a better offer. I'd cheat on my coffin with that sofa. Oh no - don't tell him, will you?”
Apparently, thanks to Abby he was going to have to scrub 'sofa' from his vocabulary as well. “Don't tell who?”
“Vladimir, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Promise.”
“Abby, I promise not to tell your coffin that you have a soft spot for Gibbs sofa.”
“Good. I brought takeout.”
“I love you.”
“It's Thai though - Ducky banned pizza. He said you had to have some nutritional value in your day.”
“S'ok. I'm so hungry I'd eat something McGee cooked.”
“You got a death wish, DiNozzo?”
“No boss. Just a healthy growing app... appetite.”
There were going to be no words left in his repertoire. He'd have to resort to communicating in grunts.
Oddly enough, that mental image didn't help either.
Fortunately he had food to distract him, and not a minute too soon. The smell coming from the carton was heavenly. Apparently he was even hungrier than he thought he was, and for a few minutes silence reigned as they ate.
Which meant he could concentrate on not watching the firm lines of Gibbs' lips flexing and stretching with each bite he took.
Unsurprisingly, it was Abby who rekindled the conversation. “Bet you can't believe you missed all the fun, Tony! Ziva said she'd never seen any interview like it.”
God bless her, and her uncanny ability to rescue him from himself. “Huh?”
She squeaked. “You didn't hear? How could you not hear? Apparently Gibbs went in to interview Dale Parker, and got as far as putting the file down, and Parker just told him everything. And by everything, I mean everything! Ziva said that he was obviously trying to make a good impression.”
“You got a point, Abs?”
“Me? No?”
“Abs?”
“Who needs a point, Bossman? He asked Ziva for your name. And your number. And then for you to come back and finish processing him. He said he was a sucker for a powerful man, and that you were-”
“Abby.”
Tony, absently choking on a knot of noodles, took comfort in the fact that Gibbs voice was a little - strangled.
“But-”
“No.”
“But-”
“No!”
“You said you were open to any partner, as long as I thought you wouldn't want to kill them. Or them you.”
“You did? Boss? Ow! Hey, she started it - give her the headslap!”
“How old are you? Ten?”
“He did, when he was asking me to find him someone to date. He never said no men. Just no one I thought he might be tempted to marry.”
“You get Abby to organise your dates? Wow, Boss. You're braver than I thought.”
“And what to you mean by that, buster?”
“Nothing. Ow! Abby!”
Tony wasn't sure whether to be happy that the conversation lapsed or otherwise. He shelved the debate, glancing up and around instead. Abby was spooning up her Pad Thai and attempting to look innocent. Gibbs was staring hard at his plate - it was possible that there was smoke rising from the spot in the firing line.
And himself? God only knew. Because for everything Abby had said, she hadn't actually said anything, so whatever he was feeling - be it jealousy, possessiveness, hope, or utter astonishment - was no more than a mirage, really.
And to be honest, he was having more than enough trouble with his fantasy life lately, without Abby throwing petrol on the flames.
How did he ever get himself into these situations? None of the rest of the team showed such a talent for undermining themselves. Take Ziva - she would never find herself in this kind of situation. Just look at the guy she met at the wedding. They'd been on several dates now, and Tony was almost certain that it was chiefly because he was too terrified to say no.
Not that it mattered. Ziva's approach was all well and good, but the chances of him - or anyone else - intimidating Gibbs into bed were about on a par with those of surviving a nuclear explosion by hiding in a fridge.
Once again, Abby's voice dragged his meandering mind back into the here and now. “Oh, oh, oh! I forgot! You're meeting Siobhan Roscoe at The Marinas next Saturday. At eight. With a yellow rose, and a bottle of champagne.”
“A yellow rose?”
“Mm hmm. It's her favourite flower.”
“Tell me she's not expecting him to remember that?” Gibbs caught his eye then, warmth and approval, and Tony felt himself grin back without thought.
“What he said.”
“Of course she is. C'mon Gibbs, you have to put some effort in. We might love your taciturnity, but try it on a date and you won't even get to one hit wonder!” She careered to a halt, and blushed, just a little.
“So what you're saying is that to succeed with a woman, he has to act entirely out of character while paying through the nose for the privilege? You, know, Abs might have a point Boss. Maybe you should try a guy. At least you wouldn't need a yellow rose. Probably not the champagne, either.”
Belatedly, he realised he'd said the last part out loud. Abby was staring a perfect round 'O' at him, and Gibbs had his head cocked to one side, in that way he had that left you feeling he was reading the inside surface of your brain.
“Just saying.”
After another long pause, with Abby looking back and forth between them as if they were a tennis match,Gibbs lips twitched, and he straightened up.
“You suggesting I hook up with the perp now?”
“No Boss.” “Good. Abs'll help you settle in. I'll be downstairs.”
Gibbs collected up the remains of the take out, brushing a cold hot shiver across Tony's back as he passed, but saying nothing else.
Tony had precisely no idea if that was a good outcome or a bad one.
Chapter 12