NCIS fiction: Dare, Double-Dare
Dare, Double-Dare [NCIS, Timothy McGee/Tony DiNozzo, R, 647 words, written for Porn Battle IX, prompts: mocking, public, originally posted here. Beta thanks to aryas_zehral.]
It starts out as a dare, a stupid, childish dare, because what other sort is there?
Tony calls him McFraidycat and McBaby and McChicken and Tim knows better than to let Tony get to him, he does, except this time Tim's determined to win and all sense flies out of the window. Instead of just going one better than Tony's kiss (closed mouth, on the cheek, barely even a proper kiss - Tim rates it feeble), he ups the stakes and goes for broke. He moves in, watching Tony's face all the time, grins - because he can do smug almost as well as Tony thank you very much - and sticks his hand down the front of Tony's pants.
Right there in the bullpen.
The room's empty, and it's night, sure, but anyone could walk in. The Director could be upstairs, for all Tim knows, or Gibbs lurking somewhere around. He just doesn't care, because he isn't afraid, and he isn't going to back down. Tony doesn't move away either, so Tim just keeps on going. He unzips Tony's fly to give him more room, wraps his hand around Tony's cock - hard now, and Tony's not looking him in the eye any more - and jerks him off, sure and fast because he's planned this and he knows exactly how it goes. Tony's cock is heavy in his hand; it feels good and Tim's hardening in response, and okay, so he hadn't expected this. In all his planning, he hadn't considered that maybe he's been playing the game for other reasons than just because he wants to win. Like maybe this is the scenario he was secretly hoping for when the game of gay chicken first started.
Tim keeps his eyes focused on a potted plant in the corner. He tries to keep his breathing slow and his hands steady, and he doesn't think about his dick, or think about rubbing up against Tony, or asking Tony to return the favor, or how good Tony's mouth would feel around his dick, because he isn't planning on giving Tony any more ammunition. Not thinking about any of that isn't stopping him getting hard though.
At least Tony's shut up for once, completely silent right until the very last moment when he comes really, really loudly.
If there's anyone left in the building, they heard that.
"Beat that," Tim says, after, once he's sure he can manage the words without any embarrassing break in his voice. There's simply no way Tony's going to push this any further, which means Tim has won. Take that, Tony DiNozzo.
Tony tucks himself back in, leans against his desk, and finally looks Tim in the face. He looks sleek and relaxed - the exact opposite of how Tim feels - and then he actually smirks. A full on, patented, annoying, Tony-smirk. He looks Tim up and down, lingering on his groin - and Tim's reaction to the handjob has to be obvious - and then winks. Tim's heart should sink, because that is nothing like the look of a defeated foe. Defeated foes don't wink at their vanquishers. His heart isn't sinking, though, and other parts of him aren't sinking either. He's excited, and waiting for Tony's next move.
It wasn't supposed to go like this.
"I've got lube in my drawer," Tony says, and his grin gets impossibly wider. He pats the desk behind him, as though he's imagining what he's considering doing on it. Tim has a very vivid mental image of being bent over it and fucked, and by the look on Tony's face, that's exactly the sort of mental image he's supposed to be getting.
Of course, Tony thinks Tim's going to back down now.
Tim juts his jaw. "Lube's no use if it's still in the drawer," he says. He isn't going to lose this dare.
//
It starts out as a dare, a stupid, childish dare, because what other sort is there?
Tony calls him McFraidycat and McBaby and McChicken and Tim knows better than to let Tony get to him, he does, except this time Tim's determined to win and all sense flies out of the window. Instead of just going one better than Tony's kiss (closed mouth, on the cheek, barely even a proper kiss - Tim rates it feeble), he ups the stakes and goes for broke. He moves in, watching Tony's face all the time, grins - because he can do smug almost as well as Tony thank you very much - and sticks his hand down the front of Tony's pants.
Right there in the bullpen.
The room's empty, and it's night, sure, but anyone could walk in. The Director could be upstairs, for all Tim knows, or Gibbs lurking somewhere around. He just doesn't care, because he isn't afraid, and he isn't going to back down. Tony doesn't move away either, so Tim just keeps on going. He unzips Tony's fly to give him more room, wraps his hand around Tony's cock - hard now, and Tony's not looking him in the eye any more - and jerks him off, sure and fast because he's planned this and he knows exactly how it goes. Tony's cock is heavy in his hand; it feels good and Tim's hardening in response, and okay, so he hadn't expected this. In all his planning, he hadn't considered that maybe he's been playing the game for other reasons than just because he wants to win. Like maybe this is the scenario he was secretly hoping for when the game of gay chicken first started.
Tim keeps his eyes focused on a potted plant in the corner. He tries to keep his breathing slow and his hands steady, and he doesn't think about his dick, or think about rubbing up against Tony, or asking Tony to return the favor, or how good Tony's mouth would feel around his dick, because he isn't planning on giving Tony any more ammunition. Not thinking about any of that isn't stopping him getting hard though.
At least Tony's shut up for once, completely silent right until the very last moment when he comes really, really loudly.
If there's anyone left in the building, they heard that.
"Beat that," Tim says, after, once he's sure he can manage the words without any embarrassing break in his voice. There's simply no way Tony's going to push this any further, which means Tim has won. Take that, Tony DiNozzo.
Tony tucks himself back in, leans against his desk, and finally looks Tim in the face. He looks sleek and relaxed - the exact opposite of how Tim feels - and then he actually smirks. A full on, patented, annoying, Tony-smirk. He looks Tim up and down, lingering on his groin - and Tim's reaction to the handjob has to be obvious - and then winks. Tim's heart should sink, because that is nothing like the look of a defeated foe. Defeated foes don't wink at their vanquishers. His heart isn't sinking, though, and other parts of him aren't sinking either. He's excited, and waiting for Tony's next move.
It wasn't supposed to go like this.
"I've got lube in my drawer," Tony says, and his grin gets impossibly wider. He pats the desk behind him, as though he's imagining what he's considering doing on it. Tim has a very vivid mental image of being bent over it and fucked, and by the look on Tony's face, that's exactly the sort of mental image he's supposed to be getting.
Of course, Tony thinks Tim's going to back down now.
Tim juts his jaw. "Lube's no use if it's still in the drawer," he says. He isn't going to lose this dare.
//