You're My Probie, ch. 6 (Tony/McGee, NCIS)
cross-posted to kissmeprobie and ncisfanfic
Title: You're My Probie, Chapter 6
Author: writinginct & smackalalala
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: DiNozzo/McGee
Rating: NC-17 (only chapter 5)
Warnings: Slash
Categories: First Time, Humor
Feedback: Love it? Hate it?
Disclaimer: I don’t own the recognizable characters; I’m just inspired by them. Hopefully they’ve had fun playing in my sandbox.
Summary: Tony's always had nicknames for McGee; what's so different about this one?
Author's Note: Tony's parts are written by the dear CJ; McGee's by yours truly. Just so we're clear. :)
Status: COMPLETE! It's finally all here. :) I was waiting for some response to chapter 5 before posting this, and now that I have some, here ya go.
Both men snuggled together even closer and drifted off to a contented sleep.
McGee waved his hand drunkenly, trying to stop the noisemaker from, well, making noise. He was trying to sleep! And it was post-coital blissful sleep - only the best kind to exist.
When the noise only grew louder in nature, he pried open an aggravated eye and peeked out, expecting to find a palm tree laden with coconuts swaying in the breeze. What he saw, however, defied all explanation. He opened his eyes the rest of the way and shook Tony. "Tony, wake up. You gotta see this."
Before Tony had even cracked an eye open, he realized he was cold. Well, cold where Timothy's body wasn't pressed up against his. He opened his eyes lazily, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep and recharge for a second round with Timothy, and a third and a fourth . . . But Timothy's tone alerted him that there was something wrong. And when he finally opened his eyes all the way and forced them to focus, the first words out of his mouth were, “What the hell? Weren't we just . . .” He didn't even finish the sentence, figuring that Timothy would think he was nuts.
Their island paradise was gone and they were back in the cold car still stuck in a ditch. The first pink light of morning was peeking through the window, accented by the strong beam of a rescue worker's flashlight. The same rescue worker that was impatiently knocking on the window.
Timothy had scrambled to the other side of the rear seat, trying to give some semblance of propriety to their rescuers. Tony tried to force his stiff body to move and found that his knee was still on the injured list. But as he tried to get himself in some form of order, he noticed something mortifying. His boxers were sticking to him, in a cold clammy way that could only mean one thing. Tony just prayed that Timothy had slept through whatever embarrassing thing he had done in his sleep.
"Tony, what happened?" McGee hissed, trying to make some sense out of the island . . . and now being in the backseat of . . . "That was just a dream, wasn't it?"
“Define 'that', Timothy. Because I'm starting to wonder if I hit my head somewhere along the way.”
A deep blush spread its way across McGee's face. That . . . dream, if that's what they were calling it, had been very graphic and, oh shit . . .
"I need to get out of here so I can change my pants," McGee muttered, closing his eyes in embarrassment.
Tony's head whipped around and he squinted in disbelief at Timothy. “That makes two of us. But I don't understand. Weren't we just on an island?” The insistent tapping on the window was making him crazy and he indicated to their would-be-rescuer that they needed a minute.
McGee narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze to the floor, thinking. "I clearly remember palm trees and sand and the ocean and . . ." He looked up at Tony. "You're telling me I'm not the only one who . . . imagined this? But how is that possible?"
Tony's voice went up an octave, indicating his stress. “How should I freakin' know? But we'd better get our story straight in the next thirty seconds or else they're going to lock us up in a little padded room and throw away the key, Timothy.”
McGee nodded quickly, his analytical brain churning out possibility after possibility. His mind was a machine - he surely could think of a way out of this. "Well, we could just . . . uh, tell them . . ." He sighed, looking forlornly at Tony. "I don't know, Tony. This is just . . . impossible! We can't tell them what really happened, obviously."
Tony took charge, his instinct for self-preservation kicking in. “Okay, we crashed, we fell asleep, we had to share the one blanket . . . No, wait, scratch that, they don't need to know that. Okay, we crashed, we fell asleep, they found us. End of story. At least officially. Unofficially I think you and I have a date to talk about this later and figure out what the hell happened.”
McGee's lip twitched at Tony's choice of words. "A date, huh?" He nodded to himself. "I'm thinking maybe this snowstorm wasn't such a bad thing, after all."
The rescue worker knocked again and this time Tony opened the door.
It took half the day, but eventually the car was pulled out of the ditch and towed back to the NCIS lot. It had been a cramped, uncomfortable ride back and Tony's knee was screaming at him and threatening to buckle. It finally did in the elevator and he had to lean on Timothy. He could see that Timothy had been trying to sort out what had happened in that ginormous CPU that was his brain, the little frown telling Tony that he still hadn't made any sense out of it. Casually, while trying not to fall, he reached over and flipped the emergency switch on the panel. Timothy had barely flinched and didn't meet Tony's eyes. With his one arm still around Timothy's shoulder holding himself up, he used the other to gently tug on Timothy's chin to meet his eyes. Gently he said, “Everything is going to be alright, Timothy. We'll figure it out. We'll figure us out. I promise.” Softly, he pressed his mouth to Timothy's to seal the promise. The gentleness of the kiss lasted only a moment before Timothy's other hand gripped the back of Tony's head and he turned the kiss into something hungry.
McGee brought his hand down to rest on Tony's chest, willing it to not trail any further down his partner's body, because if it did, well, the need to change his boxers would be even more pressing. His tongue dipped inside Tony's mouth for a moment, exploring the hot wetness therein, and just when he was really getting into the kiss, Tony pulled away gently.
McGee gave him a look of confusion. "Tony? What's wrong? Did I do something . . ."
Tony smiled, that playful little imp smile that could melt an iceberg. “No, we just can't do this here.” He reached over to the switch and asked, “Ready?”
McGee tried to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. "Yeah, let's get back to the squadroom."
Tony flipped the switch with a wink and gave Timothy one more quick peck on the lips. “You realize Ducky's going to yell at me for not going to the emergency room?”
McGee suddenly grew worried, almost as if he had just remembered where they had come from. "Tony, we gotta get you to the hospital! Your knee! And you've had the plague . . ." He trailed off, his face wrought with concern.
“I'm fine. Honest. I'll have Ducky take a look at my knee and see if he thinks it warrants a trip to the ER or if I just need some drugs and an Ace bandage.”
They reached their floor and as the doors opened Tony teased, “Showtime. Ready to go back to being my probie?”
McGee managed a tiny smile. "I'll be waiting for the pranks, Tony."
The tale of their rescue was shared around the bullpen, and Tony turned it into the life or death situation of the year. Gibbs had finally had enough of the increasingly tall tale and sent them down to have Ducky check them over, especially Tony's knee.
Ducky poked and prodded and tsk-tsked over them both, and ultimately sent them on their way, giving Tony strict instructions to stay off his leg for the next couple of days and no driving. A spare pair of crutches that Ducky had stashed away in the supply room were dug out and adjusted for Tony.
When Ducky's back was turned away, Tony winked at Timothy and asked, “So Probie, think I can mooch a ride home?”
McGee smirked. "That depends - you're not gonna have me stopping at every fast food joint along the way, are you?"
Tony grinned. “I'll limit myself to three, how's that sound?”
McGee shook his head. "Come on. We better get out of here before Gibbs asks for our case reports." He walked over to where Tony was standing, watching as his dream lover struggled to his feet and nearly fell over. He quickly grabbed for Tony's arm, helping him stand, then walked him to the elevator.
---------------
By the time they reached the living room of Tony's apartment, Tony was ready to throw the crutches out the window. He had forgotten how much of a hassle they truly were. He shucked his overcoat and collapsed gingerly on the couch. He caught Timothy's face, masked with concern and tried to smile. “Hey.”
McGee gave him a small smile. "You gonna be able to handle yourself tonight, or do you need me to stick around, you know, nurse you back to health?"
“I'm fine, don't need a babysitter. But I want you to stay. I think we need to talk about . . . things.” Tony's thoughts flickered to the soiled pants now rolled up in his knapsack that needed to hit the laundry hamper; the past twenty-four hours had been more than weird.
McGee frowned. Tony's tone of voice worried him. "Um, okay." He nodded. "I think I get it, Tony."
Tony caught the nervous twitter in Timothy's voice and realized that Timothy probably thought that Tony was regretting things or was going to tell him that it was all a mistake. Seeing Timothy's chin practically on his chest, Tony did the mature thing and chucked a throw pillow at him. “You think you get it? What I think is that you need to come over here and kiss me, then we'll eat that pizza you're holding and figure out exactly how we went from being stuck in a blizzard to having mind-blowing sex on a tropical island to being stuck back in the blizzard. Cause not for nothing, that confused me a little.” He gave the cushion on the couch next to him a little pat and curled a finger at Timothy, gesturing for him to sit down.
A smile crossed McGee's face as he slid over next to Tony and tried to stifle the relief he felt upon hearing Tony's words. There was no real reason for him to be so worried about Tony backing out of this, but the thought kept crossing his mind.
He did as Tony asked and gave him a small kiss before stating, "Yeah, that whole desert island thing was pretty raunchy, huh?"
Not satisfied with just that little peck, Tony took Timothy's face in his hands and made a much more thorough job of it. When he paused for the briefest of moments, he teased, “It was a little fuzzy, but it's all coming back to me now. I think we need to re-enact each step just to be sure we're really remembering the same thing.” He didn't let Timothy answer, just went back to trying to map his mouth with his tongue, while his hands were scrambling at the buttons of Timothy's shirt.
"Mmm, Tony," McGee mumbled into Tony's mouth. The other man reluctantly pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes. "You sure you're gonna be up to that? Because from what I remember, well, your leg's gonna be in a whole hell of a lot of pain if we recreate the scene."
Tony reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a bottle of pills, and shaking it for effect, he teased, “I got the good stuff, trust me, the leg will be fine. It'll be other parts of me in pain if we don't recreate the scene.”
McGee chuckled. "I thought you wanted to talk?" he teased.
Tony leaned in and nipped Timothy's bottom lip playfully. “I vote for raunchy re-creation now, pillow talk after.” He emphasized his intentions by placing a row of feathery kisses from Timothy's mouth to his earlobe, which also got a playful nibble just before Tony whispered in it, “What's your vote?”
McGee's eyes fell happily closed at Tony's ministrations. "Mmm, I don't think I can make any decisions at the moment. I guess I'll just have to have you decide what we do."
Tony let out a wicked little chuckle and a moment later Timothy found himself sprawled on top of Tony, their groins pressing together with delicious friction. Tony reclaimed Timothy's mouth and his hands were squirreling away under Timothy’s t-shirt to knead and claw at his back.
"Aw, shit," McGee muttered, not out of dismay, but in pleasure. He brought his hands up to run through Tony's hair, kissing him fervently. He hadn't realized how horny he actually was until Tony started kissing him, not to mention the feeling of his crotch pressed against Tony's.
He briefly removed his lips from Tony's, long enough to announce, "I think it's time we take this into the bedroom, wouldn't you say?"
Tony sighed blissfully. “Mmmm . . . okay, talked me right into it.”
Timothy reluctantly stood up and helped Tony to his feet, and soon they had made their way to Tony's bedroom. Standing in the doorway, Timothy paused, just staring at the bed. Tony leaned in and sucked Timothy's earlobe into his mouth playfully for a second before chuckling and breathing into Timothy's ear, “That reminds me, you are SO buying me a king-sized Ferrari bed for my birthday.”
McGee dipped his head, laughing softly at Tony's antics. "Maybe I'll have to have Agent Tommy receive a present from McGregor in my next book. Something like," he shrugged, "a full-sized Corvette bed."
He noticed the lack of reaction from his partner and turned to face him, noticing Tony had frozen in his spot. "Tony. Relax. I'm just joking." Tony visibly let his body go slack, and McGee pulled him into him, nibbling on his ear and whispering, "The only present I'll have McGregor give Tommy is himself."
“I like that idea,” Tony said huskily, his desire evident in his voice. He wasn't sure if he did it or if Timothy did it, but somehow they finally ended up stretched out side-by-side on the bed, making out like two teenagers. Tony felt one of Timothy's hands working the zipper on his pants and the next thing he knew his growing erection was gently caressed. “Oh, god, that feels so good . . .”
---------------
Tony was moaning and writhing on the bed in his sleep, apparently in the midst of an extremely erotic dream, tossing and turning, his body trying to find some bit of friction to rub his engorged member against. His bed partner had been awoken by the mewing and looking at Tony so completely turned on, had also gotten very aroused. And being in a playful, frisky mood, Gibbs simply reached over and encased Tony's aching erection in a steely fist.
Tony immediately arched into that tight grip, and as Gibbs skillfully worked him, Tony's moans of pleasure got louder. Gibbs knew that Tony was close, his balls up high and tight against his body, and sure enough, after one particularly tight squeeze, Tony was coming in his hand. Tony's moans had reached a peak just before he came, but the gentle, “Timothy,” that he breathed out as he came caught Gibbs completely by surprise.
"What the hell was that?" a husky voice sounded from Gibbs' backside. He turned to look at Abby, who was looking at the two of them with half-lidded sleepy eyes. She rested her head on Gibbs' shoulder and focused her eyes on the still-sleeping Tony. "Did I just hear him say . . ." Gibbs nodded and she giggled. "Well, now I know what we can get him for his next birthday."
---------------
They all had their morning routines, but all of three of them congregated around the coffee pot before starting them. Tony kept looking between his lovers, both of them looking a little like the cat that ate the canary. But he wasn't overly concerned. That look typically meant that Abby had learned something new that she had tried on Gibbs first and he had apparently liked it. Tony knew his turn would come.
Tony sipped his coffee and Gibbs teased, “We're getting you your own blanket, Tony. You kept kicking them off last night and then stealing all of them.”
Tony looked a little sheepish. “Sorry, guys. Not used to sharing.” He sipped more coffee and wondered if the blankets were the cause of his weird dream last night, going from warm to cold to hot to cold to warm again. That had to be it, it was the blankets. Because if it wasn't the blankets, then he had a big problem, a problem named Timothy.
Abby was sipping her own coffee, and teased with a little angelic smile, “So, Tony, that was some dream you were having, wanna share with the rest of us?”
Tony looked her dead in the eye and knew that somehow they knew, and that there was a double edge to Abby's words.
---------------
The End . . . for now.
Title: You're My Probie, Chapter 6
Author: writinginct & smackalalala
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: DiNozzo/McGee
Rating: NC-17 (only chapter 5)
Warnings: Slash
Categories: First Time, Humor
Feedback: Love it? Hate it?
Disclaimer: I don’t own the recognizable characters; I’m just inspired by them. Hopefully they’ve had fun playing in my sandbox.
Summary: Tony's always had nicknames for McGee; what's so different about this one?
Author's Note: Tony's parts are written by the dear CJ; McGee's by yours truly. Just so we're clear. :)
Status: COMPLETE! It's finally all here. :) I was waiting for some response to chapter 5 before posting this, and now that I have some, here ya go.
Both men snuggled together even closer and drifted off to a contented sleep.
McGee waved his hand drunkenly, trying to stop the noisemaker from, well, making noise. He was trying to sleep! And it was post-coital blissful sleep - only the best kind to exist.
When the noise only grew louder in nature, he pried open an aggravated eye and peeked out, expecting to find a palm tree laden with coconuts swaying in the breeze. What he saw, however, defied all explanation. He opened his eyes the rest of the way and shook Tony. "Tony, wake up. You gotta see this."
Before Tony had even cracked an eye open, he realized he was cold. Well, cold where Timothy's body wasn't pressed up against his. He opened his eyes lazily, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep and recharge for a second round with Timothy, and a third and a fourth . . . But Timothy's tone alerted him that there was something wrong. And when he finally opened his eyes all the way and forced them to focus, the first words out of his mouth were, “What the hell? Weren't we just . . .” He didn't even finish the sentence, figuring that Timothy would think he was nuts.
Their island paradise was gone and they were back in the cold car still stuck in a ditch. The first pink light of morning was peeking through the window, accented by the strong beam of a rescue worker's flashlight. The same rescue worker that was impatiently knocking on the window.
Timothy had scrambled to the other side of the rear seat, trying to give some semblance of propriety to their rescuers. Tony tried to force his stiff body to move and found that his knee was still on the injured list. But as he tried to get himself in some form of order, he noticed something mortifying. His boxers were sticking to him, in a cold clammy way that could only mean one thing. Tony just prayed that Timothy had slept through whatever embarrassing thing he had done in his sleep.
"Tony, what happened?" McGee hissed, trying to make some sense out of the island . . . and now being in the backseat of . . . "That was just a dream, wasn't it?"
“Define 'that', Timothy. Because I'm starting to wonder if I hit my head somewhere along the way.”
A deep blush spread its way across McGee's face. That . . . dream, if that's what they were calling it, had been very graphic and, oh shit . . .
"I need to get out of here so I can change my pants," McGee muttered, closing his eyes in embarrassment.
Tony's head whipped around and he squinted in disbelief at Timothy. “That makes two of us. But I don't understand. Weren't we just on an island?” The insistent tapping on the window was making him crazy and he indicated to their would-be-rescuer that they needed a minute.
McGee narrowed his eyes and turned his gaze to the floor, thinking. "I clearly remember palm trees and sand and the ocean and . . ." He looked up at Tony. "You're telling me I'm not the only one who . . . imagined this? But how is that possible?"
Tony's voice went up an octave, indicating his stress. “How should I freakin' know? But we'd better get our story straight in the next thirty seconds or else they're going to lock us up in a little padded room and throw away the key, Timothy.”
McGee nodded quickly, his analytical brain churning out possibility after possibility. His mind was a machine - he surely could think of a way out of this. "Well, we could just . . . uh, tell them . . ." He sighed, looking forlornly at Tony. "I don't know, Tony. This is just . . . impossible! We can't tell them what really happened, obviously."
Tony took charge, his instinct for self-preservation kicking in. “Okay, we crashed, we fell asleep, we had to share the one blanket . . . No, wait, scratch that, they don't need to know that. Okay, we crashed, we fell asleep, they found us. End of story. At least officially. Unofficially I think you and I have a date to talk about this later and figure out what the hell happened.”
McGee's lip twitched at Tony's choice of words. "A date, huh?" He nodded to himself. "I'm thinking maybe this snowstorm wasn't such a bad thing, after all."
The rescue worker knocked again and this time Tony opened the door.
It took half the day, but eventually the car was pulled out of the ditch and towed back to the NCIS lot. It had been a cramped, uncomfortable ride back and Tony's knee was screaming at him and threatening to buckle. It finally did in the elevator and he had to lean on Timothy. He could see that Timothy had been trying to sort out what had happened in that ginormous CPU that was his brain, the little frown telling Tony that he still hadn't made any sense out of it. Casually, while trying not to fall, he reached over and flipped the emergency switch on the panel. Timothy had barely flinched and didn't meet Tony's eyes. With his one arm still around Timothy's shoulder holding himself up, he used the other to gently tug on Timothy's chin to meet his eyes. Gently he said, “Everything is going to be alright, Timothy. We'll figure it out. We'll figure us out. I promise.” Softly, he pressed his mouth to Timothy's to seal the promise. The gentleness of the kiss lasted only a moment before Timothy's other hand gripped the back of Tony's head and he turned the kiss into something hungry.
McGee brought his hand down to rest on Tony's chest, willing it to not trail any further down his partner's body, because if it did, well, the need to change his boxers would be even more pressing. His tongue dipped inside Tony's mouth for a moment, exploring the hot wetness therein, and just when he was really getting into the kiss, Tony pulled away gently.
McGee gave him a look of confusion. "Tony? What's wrong? Did I do something . . ."
Tony smiled, that playful little imp smile that could melt an iceberg. “No, we just can't do this here.” He reached over to the switch and asked, “Ready?”
McGee tried to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. "Yeah, let's get back to the squadroom."
Tony flipped the switch with a wink and gave Timothy one more quick peck on the lips. “You realize Ducky's going to yell at me for not going to the emergency room?”
McGee suddenly grew worried, almost as if he had just remembered where they had come from. "Tony, we gotta get you to the hospital! Your knee! And you've had the plague . . ." He trailed off, his face wrought with concern.
“I'm fine. Honest. I'll have Ducky take a look at my knee and see if he thinks it warrants a trip to the ER or if I just need some drugs and an Ace bandage.”
They reached their floor and as the doors opened Tony teased, “Showtime. Ready to go back to being my probie?”
McGee managed a tiny smile. "I'll be waiting for the pranks, Tony."
The tale of their rescue was shared around the bullpen, and Tony turned it into the life or death situation of the year. Gibbs had finally had enough of the increasingly tall tale and sent them down to have Ducky check them over, especially Tony's knee.
Ducky poked and prodded and tsk-tsked over them both, and ultimately sent them on their way, giving Tony strict instructions to stay off his leg for the next couple of days and no driving. A spare pair of crutches that Ducky had stashed away in the supply room were dug out and adjusted for Tony.
When Ducky's back was turned away, Tony winked at Timothy and asked, “So Probie, think I can mooch a ride home?”
McGee smirked. "That depends - you're not gonna have me stopping at every fast food joint along the way, are you?"
Tony grinned. “I'll limit myself to three, how's that sound?”
McGee shook his head. "Come on. We better get out of here before Gibbs asks for our case reports." He walked over to where Tony was standing, watching as his dream lover struggled to his feet and nearly fell over. He quickly grabbed for Tony's arm, helping him stand, then walked him to the elevator.
---------------
By the time they reached the living room of Tony's apartment, Tony was ready to throw the crutches out the window. He had forgotten how much of a hassle they truly were. He shucked his overcoat and collapsed gingerly on the couch. He caught Timothy's face, masked with concern and tried to smile. “Hey.”
McGee gave him a small smile. "You gonna be able to handle yourself tonight, or do you need me to stick around, you know, nurse you back to health?"
“I'm fine, don't need a babysitter. But I want you to stay. I think we need to talk about . . . things.” Tony's thoughts flickered to the soiled pants now rolled up in his knapsack that needed to hit the laundry hamper; the past twenty-four hours had been more than weird.
McGee frowned. Tony's tone of voice worried him. "Um, okay." He nodded. "I think I get it, Tony."
Tony caught the nervous twitter in Timothy's voice and realized that Timothy probably thought that Tony was regretting things or was going to tell him that it was all a mistake. Seeing Timothy's chin practically on his chest, Tony did the mature thing and chucked a throw pillow at him. “You think you get it? What I think is that you need to come over here and kiss me, then we'll eat that pizza you're holding and figure out exactly how we went from being stuck in a blizzard to having mind-blowing sex on a tropical island to being stuck back in the blizzard. Cause not for nothing, that confused me a little.” He gave the cushion on the couch next to him a little pat and curled a finger at Timothy, gesturing for him to sit down.
A smile crossed McGee's face as he slid over next to Tony and tried to stifle the relief he felt upon hearing Tony's words. There was no real reason for him to be so worried about Tony backing out of this, but the thought kept crossing his mind.
He did as Tony asked and gave him a small kiss before stating, "Yeah, that whole desert island thing was pretty raunchy, huh?"
Not satisfied with just that little peck, Tony took Timothy's face in his hands and made a much more thorough job of it. When he paused for the briefest of moments, he teased, “It was a little fuzzy, but it's all coming back to me now. I think we need to re-enact each step just to be sure we're really remembering the same thing.” He didn't let Timothy answer, just went back to trying to map his mouth with his tongue, while his hands were scrambling at the buttons of Timothy's shirt.
"Mmm, Tony," McGee mumbled into Tony's mouth. The other man reluctantly pulled away, just enough to look into his eyes. "You sure you're gonna be up to that? Because from what I remember, well, your leg's gonna be in a whole hell of a lot of pain if we recreate the scene."
Tony reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a bottle of pills, and shaking it for effect, he teased, “I got the good stuff, trust me, the leg will be fine. It'll be other parts of me in pain if we don't recreate the scene.”
McGee chuckled. "I thought you wanted to talk?" he teased.
Tony leaned in and nipped Timothy's bottom lip playfully. “I vote for raunchy re-creation now, pillow talk after.” He emphasized his intentions by placing a row of feathery kisses from Timothy's mouth to his earlobe, which also got a playful nibble just before Tony whispered in it, “What's your vote?”
McGee's eyes fell happily closed at Tony's ministrations. "Mmm, I don't think I can make any decisions at the moment. I guess I'll just have to have you decide what we do."
Tony let out a wicked little chuckle and a moment later Timothy found himself sprawled on top of Tony, their groins pressing together with delicious friction. Tony reclaimed Timothy's mouth and his hands were squirreling away under Timothy’s t-shirt to knead and claw at his back.
"Aw, shit," McGee muttered, not out of dismay, but in pleasure. He brought his hands up to run through Tony's hair, kissing him fervently. He hadn't realized how horny he actually was until Tony started kissing him, not to mention the feeling of his crotch pressed against Tony's.
He briefly removed his lips from Tony's, long enough to announce, "I think it's time we take this into the bedroom, wouldn't you say?"
Tony sighed blissfully. “Mmmm . . . okay, talked me right into it.”
Timothy reluctantly stood up and helped Tony to his feet, and soon they had made their way to Tony's bedroom. Standing in the doorway, Timothy paused, just staring at the bed. Tony leaned in and sucked Timothy's earlobe into his mouth playfully for a second before chuckling and breathing into Timothy's ear, “That reminds me, you are SO buying me a king-sized Ferrari bed for my birthday.”
McGee dipped his head, laughing softly at Tony's antics. "Maybe I'll have to have Agent Tommy receive a present from McGregor in my next book. Something like," he shrugged, "a full-sized Corvette bed."
He noticed the lack of reaction from his partner and turned to face him, noticing Tony had frozen in his spot. "Tony. Relax. I'm just joking." Tony visibly let his body go slack, and McGee pulled him into him, nibbling on his ear and whispering, "The only present I'll have McGregor give Tommy is himself."
“I like that idea,” Tony said huskily, his desire evident in his voice. He wasn't sure if he did it or if Timothy did it, but somehow they finally ended up stretched out side-by-side on the bed, making out like two teenagers. Tony felt one of Timothy's hands working the zipper on his pants and the next thing he knew his growing erection was gently caressed. “Oh, god, that feels so good . . .”
---------------
Tony was moaning and writhing on the bed in his sleep, apparently in the midst of an extremely erotic dream, tossing and turning, his body trying to find some bit of friction to rub his engorged member against. His bed partner had been awoken by the mewing and looking at Tony so completely turned on, had also gotten very aroused. And being in a playful, frisky mood, Gibbs simply reached over and encased Tony's aching erection in a steely fist.
Tony immediately arched into that tight grip, and as Gibbs skillfully worked him, Tony's moans of pleasure got louder. Gibbs knew that Tony was close, his balls up high and tight against his body, and sure enough, after one particularly tight squeeze, Tony was coming in his hand. Tony's moans had reached a peak just before he came, but the gentle, “Timothy,” that he breathed out as he came caught Gibbs completely by surprise.
"What the hell was that?" a husky voice sounded from Gibbs' backside. He turned to look at Abby, who was looking at the two of them with half-lidded sleepy eyes. She rested her head on Gibbs' shoulder and focused her eyes on the still-sleeping Tony. "Did I just hear him say . . ." Gibbs nodded and she giggled. "Well, now I know what we can get him for his next birthday."
---------------
They all had their morning routines, but all of three of them congregated around the coffee pot before starting them. Tony kept looking between his lovers, both of them looking a little like the cat that ate the canary. But he wasn't overly concerned. That look typically meant that Abby had learned something new that she had tried on Gibbs first and he had apparently liked it. Tony knew his turn would come.
Tony sipped his coffee and Gibbs teased, “We're getting you your own blanket, Tony. You kept kicking them off last night and then stealing all of them.”
Tony looked a little sheepish. “Sorry, guys. Not used to sharing.” He sipped more coffee and wondered if the blankets were the cause of his weird dream last night, going from warm to cold to hot to cold to warm again. That had to be it, it was the blankets. Because if it wasn't the blankets, then he had a big problem, a problem named Timothy.
Abby was sipping her own coffee, and teased with a little angelic smile, “So, Tony, that was some dream you were having, wanna share with the rest of us?”
Tony looked her dead in the eye and knew that somehow they knew, and that there was a double edge to Abby's words.
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The End . . . for now.