Breakfast in Bed
Pairing: Tony/Tim
Rating: PG-13, to be very safe
Word count: 1,340
A/N: I haven't written NCIS fic for about 8 months so I really hope this works. Also- I dyed my hair. It has nothing to do with the fic but I think its cool. I now have neon pink hair. *nods* You heard me. Not the bubble gum kind, though, more like fuchsia.
The prompt, from beautybecks , was: Tim/Tony, something sweet, like hot cocoa. I couldn't get the Jealous!Tony in here, sorry, but I may try again later. On the other hand, it is ridiculously sweet. So much fluff. Hope this helps lift your mood. *hugs*
The thing is, even with Gibbs around to bark at them and growl down their necks, being an NCIS agent is basically a 9 to 5 kind of job. Ok, maybe 8 to 6. The point is that Tony is used to having Tim to himself a few hours a day and on weekends.
It’s still a little scary sometimes how much he takes for granted that Tim will be there when he wakes up, still sleeping soundly even after he gets back from his run. He doesn’t even have to think anymore about their morning routine, him taking a shower while Tim hauls his ass out of bed and stumbles to the kitchen for a cup of the coffee Tony started. When Tony’s out Tim takes his turn and Tony takes his time picking out his clothes. He likes to be all neat and clean cut and hot when Tim gets out of the shower because then he can ask “how do I look?” and Tim will reel him in for a dirty kiss before he pulls away to throw some clothes on.
In the evenings, well: see above. In reverse. Tim is always the first one to shuck his clothes and settle into whatever holds his fancy this week in his boxers and a T-shirt. Sweats if it’s chilly outside. They’ve usually eaten on the way home because, let’s be honest here, neither are ever going to be competent enough in the kitchen to do more than start the coffee machine, again, see above, or maybe boil noodles for spaghetti night. Tony gets some time to himself as well before they both end up in front of the TV for an hour or two. He’s getting depressingly middle aged because most nights they’re both in bed, yes, asleep, by ten. But then, if this is middle age he’s really ok with it because he likes his comfortable home life with Tim.
This brings him back to the point; which is that for the past week and a half he hasn’t had that nice home life and he certainly hasn’t had his nights and weekends with Tim. No. He’s spent the past week driving up and down the northern east coast with Ziva staying on constant alert because they had a terrorist cell to hunt down and, barring that, he had to keep the car keys out of Ziva’s sticky Mossad hands. He had almost wimpered when both Gibbs and the Director had decided Tim would be best used working with Cyberterrorism while he was out doing the footwork. Not that he didn’t appreciate how awesome Tim was with all that computer voodoo because, seriously, he was a ninja with the keyboard, it’s just that he hadn’t spent this much time with Tim out of his sights since he’d been shipped off to sea. God, how he’d hated that.
Which is how Tony found himself rallying all his inconsiderable knowledge of cooking to make a tray of food. He had plans. Make that Plans, with the capital P. The case was closed and both he and Tim had made it home, together for the first time in ten days, only to fall asleep almost before they’d had a chance to get out of their suits. Seeing as he’d had a hard few days and it was Saturday and Gibbs was not going to be calling them in- you hear me Gibbs, I am not coming to work today- he was going to keep Tim in bed all day just to make up for having been deprived for so long. They shouldn’t have sprung something like that on him. Next time he’d need a patch or something to help with the Timmy withdrawal.
He carefully arranged the plate of buttered toast, a bowl with a double helping of instant cinnamon apple oatmeal, another bowl with slices of apple and banana, two glasses of milk and two mugs on a cookie sheet he hadn’t known they owned but which worked well as a tray. He carried the lot into the bedroom and carefully placed it on the bedside table before flopping happily onto the bed. He grinned as it shook. Tim grunted and slit open sleep puffy eyes to glare at him.
“I hate you,” Tim grumbled and rustled further back under the covers.
But Tony isn’t letting him get away that easily. He dives under the covers himself, reaching out for Tim, and says, “Is that any way to treat the amazing man that just brought you breakfast in bed?”
Tim flips the covers off them and gives Tony a confused look, squinting a little from the light filtering through the windows, “You made me breakfast in bed?” He asks doubtfully.
Tony grins because at least Tim is awake now. “Yup!”
He sits up, pushing himself back to rest against the headboard and reaches over to grab the tray. “See!”
Tim scoots back and moves in close so he can reach for a slice of toast, “Mmmph,” he mumbles as he takes a bite, “what’s the occasion?”
Tony pulls out his brightest, widest smile, “you.” He waves around, “here. Our bed.”
Tim pauses mid-chew, raising an eyebrow at him, but when Tony just cocked his head and fluttered his eyelashes at him he couldn’t hold it. He snorted, holding his hand over his mouth and swallowing swiftly as he grinned at Tony. It was something of a revelation the first time Tony realized that he was probably always going to feel that little flutter and the uncontrollable urge to grin when Tim looked at him like this but, even though he’d been expecting it, he still felt like something inside of him was ready to burst from the sheer unbelievable happiness he’d been lucky enough to find.
He leaned in for a quick kiss then picked up his glass of milk. The sooner they finished breakfast the sooner he could move to the next stage of The Plan.
Tim leaned into his side as he continued to eat. It was lovely. He was warm and content and his lover was curled up next to him eating breakfast in bed. He would have squirmed with contentment but that would disturb Tim and keeping Tim where he is was more important.
Tim picked up the mug and took a sip. He frowned and peered closer, “Tony, is this hot chocolate?”
“Absolutely.”
Tim took another sip. It made Tony ridiculously happy because he’d only just rediscovered the package they’d bought around Christmas time and there was a small chance it might, possibly, be a little bit expired.
Tim smiled, “Not that I don’t like it, but, why’s there no coffee?”
“Because Timmy, if I give you caffeine you will summon up the energy to get out of bed and probably spend all day in front of your typewriter or the massive computer and I have other plans.”
There went the eyebrow again, “Plans?”
“Yup. You. Me. This bed. All day.”
“All day?”
“All day. You are not allowed to get out up.”
Tim raised the mug to cover his grin, “I see. You woke me up to tell me I’m not allowed out of bed.”
Wait. Tony grabbed his own mug of hot cocoa to buy a moment. He was sure there was more to it. He had a Plan, after all.
He was brought back to the present when Tim set the mug back down on the cookie sheet in his lap and got up. That was not part of the Plan.
“Wait.” He reached out to grab Tim’s hand while trying to keep breakfast from making a mess.
“Tony,” Tim was giving him that fond exasperated look and leaning back over half the bed to kiss the top of his head, “Bathroom.”
Then he was pulling out of Tony’s grasp and crossing the room. “I’ll be right back, promise.”
“You're coming right back!” He tries to make that sound like an order, not a plea.
Tim gave him a smirk, “Trust me; there’s no place I’d rather be today.”
Rating: PG-13, to be very safe
Word count: 1,340
A/N: I haven't written NCIS fic for about 8 months so I really hope this works. Also- I dyed my hair. It has nothing to do with the fic but I think its cool. I now have neon pink hair. *nods* You heard me. Not the bubble gum kind, though, more like fuchsia.
The prompt, from beautybecks , was: Tim/Tony, something sweet, like hot cocoa. I couldn't get the Jealous!Tony in here, sorry, but I may try again later. On the other hand, it is ridiculously sweet. So much fluff. Hope this helps lift your mood. *hugs*
The thing is, even with Gibbs around to bark at them and growl down their necks, being an NCIS agent is basically a 9 to 5 kind of job. Ok, maybe 8 to 6. The point is that Tony is used to having Tim to himself a few hours a day and on weekends.
It’s still a little scary sometimes how much he takes for granted that Tim will be there when he wakes up, still sleeping soundly even after he gets back from his run. He doesn’t even have to think anymore about their morning routine, him taking a shower while Tim hauls his ass out of bed and stumbles to the kitchen for a cup of the coffee Tony started. When Tony’s out Tim takes his turn and Tony takes his time picking out his clothes. He likes to be all neat and clean cut and hot when Tim gets out of the shower because then he can ask “how do I look?” and Tim will reel him in for a dirty kiss before he pulls away to throw some clothes on.
In the evenings, well: see above. In reverse. Tim is always the first one to shuck his clothes and settle into whatever holds his fancy this week in his boxers and a T-shirt. Sweats if it’s chilly outside. They’ve usually eaten on the way home because, let’s be honest here, neither are ever going to be competent enough in the kitchen to do more than start the coffee machine, again, see above, or maybe boil noodles for spaghetti night. Tony gets some time to himself as well before they both end up in front of the TV for an hour or two. He’s getting depressingly middle aged because most nights they’re both in bed, yes, asleep, by ten. But then, if this is middle age he’s really ok with it because he likes his comfortable home life with Tim.
This brings him back to the point; which is that for the past week and a half he hasn’t had that nice home life and he certainly hasn’t had his nights and weekends with Tim. No. He’s spent the past week driving up and down the northern east coast with Ziva staying on constant alert because they had a terrorist cell to hunt down and, barring that, he had to keep the car keys out of Ziva’s sticky Mossad hands. He had almost wimpered when both Gibbs and the Director had decided Tim would be best used working with Cyberterrorism while he was out doing the footwork. Not that he didn’t appreciate how awesome Tim was with all that computer voodoo because, seriously, he was a ninja with the keyboard, it’s just that he hadn’t spent this much time with Tim out of his sights since he’d been shipped off to sea. God, how he’d hated that.
Which is how Tony found himself rallying all his inconsiderable knowledge of cooking to make a tray of food. He had plans. Make that Plans, with the capital P. The case was closed and both he and Tim had made it home, together for the first time in ten days, only to fall asleep almost before they’d had a chance to get out of their suits. Seeing as he’d had a hard few days and it was Saturday and Gibbs was not going to be calling them in- you hear me Gibbs, I am not coming to work today- he was going to keep Tim in bed all day just to make up for having been deprived for so long. They shouldn’t have sprung something like that on him. Next time he’d need a patch or something to help with the Timmy withdrawal.
He carefully arranged the plate of buttered toast, a bowl with a double helping of instant cinnamon apple oatmeal, another bowl with slices of apple and banana, two glasses of milk and two mugs on a cookie sheet he hadn’t known they owned but which worked well as a tray. He carried the lot into the bedroom and carefully placed it on the bedside table before flopping happily onto the bed. He grinned as it shook. Tim grunted and slit open sleep puffy eyes to glare at him.
“I hate you,” Tim grumbled and rustled further back under the covers.
But Tony isn’t letting him get away that easily. He dives under the covers himself, reaching out for Tim, and says, “Is that any way to treat the amazing man that just brought you breakfast in bed?”
Tim flips the covers off them and gives Tony a confused look, squinting a little from the light filtering through the windows, “You made me breakfast in bed?” He asks doubtfully.
Tony grins because at least Tim is awake now. “Yup!”
He sits up, pushing himself back to rest against the headboard and reaches over to grab the tray. “See!”
Tim scoots back and moves in close so he can reach for a slice of toast, “Mmmph,” he mumbles as he takes a bite, “what’s the occasion?”
Tony pulls out his brightest, widest smile, “you.” He waves around, “here. Our bed.”
Tim pauses mid-chew, raising an eyebrow at him, but when Tony just cocked his head and fluttered his eyelashes at him he couldn’t hold it. He snorted, holding his hand over his mouth and swallowing swiftly as he grinned at Tony. It was something of a revelation the first time Tony realized that he was probably always going to feel that little flutter and the uncontrollable urge to grin when Tim looked at him like this but, even though he’d been expecting it, he still felt like something inside of him was ready to burst from the sheer unbelievable happiness he’d been lucky enough to find.
He leaned in for a quick kiss then picked up his glass of milk. The sooner they finished breakfast the sooner he could move to the next stage of The Plan.
Tim leaned into his side as he continued to eat. It was lovely. He was warm and content and his lover was curled up next to him eating breakfast in bed. He would have squirmed with contentment but that would disturb Tim and keeping Tim where he is was more important.
Tim picked up the mug and took a sip. He frowned and peered closer, “Tony, is this hot chocolate?”
“Absolutely.”
Tim took another sip. It made Tony ridiculously happy because he’d only just rediscovered the package they’d bought around Christmas time and there was a small chance it might, possibly, be a little bit expired.
Tim smiled, “Not that I don’t like it, but, why’s there no coffee?”
“Because Timmy, if I give you caffeine you will summon up the energy to get out of bed and probably spend all day in front of your typewriter or the massive computer and I have other plans.”
There went the eyebrow again, “Plans?”
“Yup. You. Me. This bed. All day.”
“All day?”
“All day. You are not allowed to get out up.”
Tim raised the mug to cover his grin, “I see. You woke me up to tell me I’m not allowed out of bed.”
Wait. Tony grabbed his own mug of hot cocoa to buy a moment. He was sure there was more to it. He had a Plan, after all.
He was brought back to the present when Tim set the mug back down on the cookie sheet in his lap and got up. That was not part of the Plan.
“Wait.” He reached out to grab Tim’s hand while trying to keep breakfast from making a mess.
“Tony,” Tim was giving him that fond exasperated look and leaning back over half the bed to kiss the top of his head, “Bathroom.”
Then he was pulling out of Tony’s grasp and crossing the room. “I’ll be right back, promise.”
“You're coming right back!” He tries to make that sound like an order, not a plea.
Tim gave him a smirk, “Trust me; there’s no place I’d rather be today.”