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kissmeprobieTitle: Knocking on Heaven's Door
Chapter One - This Memory of Forgotten Hearts
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: R/NC-17
Warning(s): DiNozzo/McGee slash.
Word Count: 1,783 words
Summary: Things finally come to a head between Tony and McGee.
A/N: Episode tag for Love & War. See everyone! I told you I'd write one! It's not quite porn, but there's much talk of body parts, so use caution.
Three times, he’s done it. Three times.
Tony throws his keys on his chair-side table, and flings himself into the seat. This is ridiculous. He’s feeling twitchy.
He knows what it is, though. Guilt is still running through his system, making him nervous. It’s not like this is actually that big a deal -- he fiddles with McGee so often, it’s almost as routine as brushing his teeth -- but it’s eating at him. Or rather, the inevitable fallout is eating at him, because the actual act of tricking McGee isn’t manifesting any feelings of disgrace at all.
He’s always known that McGee isn’t good with women. That he is spectacularly inept on his own, and that if he ever actually manages to get a woman’s attention, then she turns out to be uninterested, a criminal, or some different brand of psychotic. Tim simply doesn’t have any luck, and probably never will. The idea of what will happen when McGee finally sees through DiNozzo’s trick is enough to make Tony squirm.
Hence the guilt, the nervousness, the twitchiness, and having to fight the urge -- three times -- to pick up his keys, jump in his car, and go to McGee’s apartment to --
God. He can’t even think the word.
Tony makes a frustrated noise, and folds himself into a small ball. He knows that the guilt will pass -- hopes -- but still --
The knock on his door could have come directly from Heaven, he moves so quickly. He tries not to wrench the door off its hinges, though.
Then he wonders if his karma is simply boomeranging.
“...McGee?” Tony tilts his head quizzically.
Tim withdraws a hand from his jacket pocket to run a few fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Me. Can I --?” He gestures to the door, and Tony remembers that they are in fact friends, and lets him inside.
“What’s up?” he asks, shutting the door and leaning against it. He has a feeling that he’ll need the extra support. Tim does not show up at his partners’ doorsteps at 11:56 at night just to chat.
But there’s a look in his eye, something that makes Tony antsy and relaxed all at once. It’s a combination of amusement and pure glee, and it’s reminding DiNozzo of all other times that he’s seen it and all the dignity it has cost him.
“Well,” Tim says. “I guess I just wanted to ask if you really meant what you said.”
“About what?”
“About your boyfriend.” A pause. “Claire.”
It only takes a few seconds for Tony’s mind to reach the right conclusion. “Ziva told you!”
Tim grins at him. “Yeah, but I also tracked your IP address.”
Tony feels that particular flavor of defeat that he gets whenever technology is involved. “Oh.”
“So did you?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend McGee!”
“So you’re single?”
“I’m not anything!” And now Tony’s starting to get pissed, because even though everything is alright now (though he’ll have to have a long talk with Ziva about secrets) there’s still twisting in his stomach. It’s like he’s afraid of something -- afraid of McGee, who seems to understand him so well these days.
That pisses him off too.
“Well, you can’t be ‘nothing,’” McGee says. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be anything.”
Tony struggles to keep his temper under control. He knows that McGee is doing this deliberately, trying to upset and confuse him. He just doesn’t understand why; he can’t read any malicious intent in Tim’s face or words. The younger man seems to be regarding the whole thing as a joke that only he knows the punch line to. Tony can see the parallels between their current situation, and the usual one at work, and he’s not sure if he likes being on the receiving end like this.
“McGee,” he says through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”
“I was planning on kissing you, but now I don’t think that you would appreciate it very much.”
“You -- what?” And Tony can’t remember the last time he was reduced to incoherent spluttering. He certainly is now, though, with McGee’s words running around in his head, and seeing that wicked (charming) smile on his face. “I was planning on kissing you, but....”
Tony clenches his mouth shut.
This is insane. He’s insane, for letting Tim get to him, for letting his words affect him like this. For thinking, that McGee was very appealing when he smiled, when he was bewildered, when he was angry.
When he was drifting close, his expression gentle.
Tony stares at him from half-open eyes.
“Maybe I was wrong,” Tim says.
Tony has enough presence of mind to keep himself from nodding frantically, but he can’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the edges of Tim’s jacket. He wants to just -- pull him close. Close enough that they’re bodies are flush, close enough to feel each other’s heat.
He runs his hands up the jacket’s zippered edges, the bronze teeth cutting into his palms. Tony feels ecstatic, euphoric even, as if he has suddenly been granted something that he hadn’t known he wanted.
Except, maybe not so sudden.
It only takes a gentle tug, and McGee closes the distance between them. The kiss is intimate and powerful; Tim’s hands are gripping Tony’s shoulders, tightly enough that it’s only this side of painful; he’s crowding Tony, pressing him against the door, trapping him, leaving no avenue for escape.
Yeah, like I’m going anywhere, Tony thinks.
He forgets all about it when McGee’s hands start to wander, tugging at his sleeves, his belt and his shirt hem. Tony slides his arms around McGee’s neck and brings his mouth closer. He doesn’t want this to escape him, not ever.
And then Tim’s tongue slides into his mouth, spelling the end of DiNozzo’s self-control.
Tony decides that he won’t apologize for his answering fierceness (not that he thinks Tim will complain) or for the way his hands start peeling McGee’s jacket off. It is simply imperative that they take off their clothes as quickly as possible; in the part of his mind that isn’t growling like an animal, he hopes that McGee can get with the program. He has a good feeling about it from the way Tim keeps running his hands under his shirt.
It does create some friction, though. Tim simply can’t keep his hands away, and while Tony appreciates the attention it makes stripping much more difficult that it has to be. McGee’s jacket is at his elbows, and won’t go any further. Tony growls against McGee’s mouth, tugging insistently on the leather sleeves. Tim actually has the nerve to snicker, and changes tactics.
His teeth manage to hit that spot on Tony’s neck, and DiNozzo suddenly can’t breathe or think. He’s reduced to mewing helplessly, clutching McGee’s strong shoulders for support. Tony forgets all about his surroundings or purpose; there is only Tim’s mouth on his neck, feeding the direct line to his phallus, making his pants uncomfortably tight.
I should get them off, he thinks fuzzily. Ruined underwear is one thing, but he doesn’t want or need to get cum on his $80 jeans.
It’s as if Tim can read his mind; he starts pulling on Tony’s belt, sliding the buckle free and away. The distraction allows DiNozzo to recover himself, and with a single twitch, he tugs the jacket off of McGee’s arms. He even manages to get out a triumphant “Hah!” before Tim grabs his waist and swings him around, crushing his mouth with a kiss.
Still kissing, Tony begins to stumble back, leading Tim to his bedroom. He likes that Tim doesn’t stop touching him, that he’s fiddling with the front of Tony’s pants. He wants to strip off Tim’s clothes and press kisses against his skin. God, if he can just --
His thoughts cut off with a stutter when the edge of his mattress hits the back of his knees. He falls to the bed, the impact forcing the air out of his lungs in a gasp. Tim is laying on him, grinding against him, and Tony’s breath is coming in short whimpers at the intrinsic pleasure melting him from the inside.
There isn’t really time to take off their clothes completely -- they’re both too needy for that -- the just push and pull their clothes out of the way, tugging and twisting, writhing on the bed.
Tony ends up straddling Tim’s hips, feeling their lengths rubbing against each other. He’s leaking already, and it’ll still be a bit longer before the orgasm hits him. It makes this easier, though; they’re slick and sliding, and goddamn it’s never been like this for him, this intimate and good. Never like this, even with Jeanne. He feels warm and fragile; like he’s drunk a glass of brandy, the liquid heating him low in his belly. Tim reaches out and strokes him, making him shudder and moan.
They start kissing again, and Tony suddenly perceives the size and shape of his desire. He puts his hand against Tim’s head, starts running his fingers through the honey-colored hair.
Whatever else happens, this is what he wants to keep.
------------------------------------------
They’re still panting and sweating when they finally start putting coherent sentences together.
Tim is pressing his face against Tony’s neck, residual shudders moving through him. Tony is staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and unseeing.
Eventually, the panting slows into normal breathing. Tony turns onto his side to face Tim.
His eyes are dark and quiet. He reaches out and pulls Tony close, until their bodies are flush again, separated only by the sheets.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“That profile. Pretending to be someone else. Wasn’t it a lot of work for just a prank?”
“I didn’t think so.”
McGee gives him that look that means he thinks Tony is deliberately being an idiot. “We talked for four hours, at least. And that was just Friday night.”
Tony smirks and slides his arms around Tim’s neck again, bringing their faces close. McGee seems to like it when he does that. “Then I guess I really like you,” he says.
“That’s not --”
“Yes, it is. Just use that oversized brain of yours McGee and I think you’ll get it.”
The clock on his bedside table reads 1:45 AM. That simply won’t do, so Tony reaches over McGee’s shoulder and switches off the lamp.
Tim lets out a gusty breath. “Now I can’t find my clothes.”
Tony leans his forehead against Tim’s so that their lips are touching as he says “Don’t need ‘em if you don’t go anywhere.”
An explanation of the fic.
Chapter One - This Memory of Forgotten Hearts
Fandom: NCIS
Rating: R/NC-17
Warning(s): DiNozzo/McGee slash.
Word Count: 1,783 words
Summary: Things finally come to a head between Tony and McGee.
A/N: Episode tag for Love & War. See everyone! I told you I'd write one! It's not quite porn, but there's much talk of body parts, so use caution.
Three times, he’s done it. Three times.
Tony throws his keys on his chair-side table, and flings himself into the seat. This is ridiculous. He’s feeling twitchy.
He knows what it is, though. Guilt is still running through his system, making him nervous. It’s not like this is actually that big a deal -- he fiddles with McGee so often, it’s almost as routine as brushing his teeth -- but it’s eating at him. Or rather, the inevitable fallout is eating at him, because the actual act of tricking McGee isn’t manifesting any feelings of disgrace at all.
He’s always known that McGee isn’t good with women. That he is spectacularly inept on his own, and that if he ever actually manages to get a woman’s attention, then she turns out to be uninterested, a criminal, or some different brand of psychotic. Tim simply doesn’t have any luck, and probably never will. The idea of what will happen when McGee finally sees through DiNozzo’s trick is enough to make Tony squirm.
Hence the guilt, the nervousness, the twitchiness, and having to fight the urge -- three times -- to pick up his keys, jump in his car, and go to McGee’s apartment to --
God. He can’t even think the word.
Tony makes a frustrated noise, and folds himself into a small ball. He knows that the guilt will pass -- hopes -- but still --
The knock on his door could have come directly from Heaven, he moves so quickly. He tries not to wrench the door off its hinges, though.
Then he wonders if his karma is simply boomeranging.
“...McGee?” Tony tilts his head quizzically.
Tim withdraws a hand from his jacket pocket to run a few fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Me. Can I --?” He gestures to the door, and Tony remembers that they are in fact friends, and lets him inside.
“What’s up?” he asks, shutting the door and leaning against it. He has a feeling that he’ll need the extra support. Tim does not show up at his partners’ doorsteps at 11:56 at night just to chat.
But there’s a look in his eye, something that makes Tony antsy and relaxed all at once. It’s a combination of amusement and pure glee, and it’s reminding DiNozzo of all other times that he’s seen it and all the dignity it has cost him.
“Well,” Tim says. “I guess I just wanted to ask if you really meant what you said.”
“About what?”
“About your boyfriend.” A pause. “Claire.”
It only takes a few seconds for Tony’s mind to reach the right conclusion. “Ziva told you!”
Tim grins at him. “Yeah, but I also tracked your IP address.”
Tony feels that particular flavor of defeat that he gets whenever technology is involved. “Oh.”
“So did you?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend McGee!”
“So you’re single?”
“I’m not anything!” And now Tony’s starting to get pissed, because even though everything is alright now (though he’ll have to have a long talk with Ziva about secrets) there’s still twisting in his stomach. It’s like he’s afraid of something -- afraid of McGee, who seems to understand him so well these days.
That pisses him off too.
“Well, you can’t be ‘nothing,’” McGee says. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be anything.”
Tony struggles to keep his temper under control. He knows that McGee is doing this deliberately, trying to upset and confuse him. He just doesn’t understand why; he can’t read any malicious intent in Tim’s face or words. The younger man seems to be regarding the whole thing as a joke that only he knows the punch line to. Tony can see the parallels between their current situation, and the usual one at work, and he’s not sure if he likes being on the receiving end like this.
“McGee,” he says through clenched teeth. “Why are you here?”
“I was planning on kissing you, but now I don’t think that you would appreciate it very much.”
“You -- what?” And Tony can’t remember the last time he was reduced to incoherent spluttering. He certainly is now, though, with McGee’s words running around in his head, and seeing that wicked (charming) smile on his face. “I was planning on kissing you, but....”
Tony clenches his mouth shut.
This is insane. He’s insane, for letting Tim get to him, for letting his words affect him like this. For thinking, that McGee was very appealing when he smiled, when he was bewildered, when he was angry.
When he was drifting close, his expression gentle.
Tony stares at him from half-open eyes.
“Maybe I was wrong,” Tim says.
Tony has enough presence of mind to keep himself from nodding frantically, but he can’t stop himself from reaching out and grabbing the edges of Tim’s jacket. He wants to just -- pull him close. Close enough that they’re bodies are flush, close enough to feel each other’s heat.
He runs his hands up the jacket’s zippered edges, the bronze teeth cutting into his palms. Tony feels ecstatic, euphoric even, as if he has suddenly been granted something that he hadn’t known he wanted.
Except, maybe not so sudden.
It only takes a gentle tug, and McGee closes the distance between them. The kiss is intimate and powerful; Tim’s hands are gripping Tony’s shoulders, tightly enough that it’s only this side of painful; he’s crowding Tony, pressing him against the door, trapping him, leaving no avenue for escape.
Yeah, like I’m going anywhere, Tony thinks.
He forgets all about it when McGee’s hands start to wander, tugging at his sleeves, his belt and his shirt hem. Tony slides his arms around McGee’s neck and brings his mouth closer. He doesn’t want this to escape him, not ever.
And then Tim’s tongue slides into his mouth, spelling the end of DiNozzo’s self-control.
Tony decides that he won’t apologize for his answering fierceness (not that he thinks Tim will complain) or for the way his hands start peeling McGee’s jacket off. It is simply imperative that they take off their clothes as quickly as possible; in the part of his mind that isn’t growling like an animal, he hopes that McGee can get with the program. He has a good feeling about it from the way Tim keeps running his hands under his shirt.
It does create some friction, though. Tim simply can’t keep his hands away, and while Tony appreciates the attention it makes stripping much more difficult that it has to be. McGee’s jacket is at his elbows, and won’t go any further. Tony growls against McGee’s mouth, tugging insistently on the leather sleeves. Tim actually has the nerve to snicker, and changes tactics.
His teeth manage to hit that spot on Tony’s neck, and DiNozzo suddenly can’t breathe or think. He’s reduced to mewing helplessly, clutching McGee’s strong shoulders for support. Tony forgets all about his surroundings or purpose; there is only Tim’s mouth on his neck, feeding the direct line to his phallus, making his pants uncomfortably tight.
I should get them off, he thinks fuzzily. Ruined underwear is one thing, but he doesn’t want or need to get cum on his $80 jeans.
It’s as if Tim can read his mind; he starts pulling on Tony’s belt, sliding the buckle free and away. The distraction allows DiNozzo to recover himself, and with a single twitch, he tugs the jacket off of McGee’s arms. He even manages to get out a triumphant “Hah!” before Tim grabs his waist and swings him around, crushing his mouth with a kiss.
Still kissing, Tony begins to stumble back, leading Tim to his bedroom. He likes that Tim doesn’t stop touching him, that he’s fiddling with the front of Tony’s pants. He wants to strip off Tim’s clothes and press kisses against his skin. God, if he can just --
His thoughts cut off with a stutter when the edge of his mattress hits the back of his knees. He falls to the bed, the impact forcing the air out of his lungs in a gasp. Tim is laying on him, grinding against him, and Tony’s breath is coming in short whimpers at the intrinsic pleasure melting him from the inside.
There isn’t really time to take off their clothes completely -- they’re both too needy for that -- the just push and pull their clothes out of the way, tugging and twisting, writhing on the bed.
Tony ends up straddling Tim’s hips, feeling their lengths rubbing against each other. He’s leaking already, and it’ll still be a bit longer before the orgasm hits him. It makes this easier, though; they’re slick and sliding, and goddamn it’s never been like this for him, this intimate and good. Never like this, even with Jeanne. He feels warm and fragile; like he’s drunk a glass of brandy, the liquid heating him low in his belly. Tim reaches out and strokes him, making him shudder and moan.
They start kissing again, and Tony suddenly perceives the size and shape of his desire. He puts his hand against Tim’s head, starts running his fingers through the honey-colored hair.
Whatever else happens, this is what he wants to keep.
They’re still panting and sweating when they finally start putting coherent sentences together.
Tim is pressing his face against Tony’s neck, residual shudders moving through him. Tony is staring at the ceiling, eyes wide and unseeing.
Eventually, the panting slows into normal breathing. Tony turns onto his side to face Tim.
His eyes are dark and quiet. He reaches out and pulls Tony close, until their bodies are flush again, separated only by the sheets.
“Why did you do it?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“That profile. Pretending to be someone else. Wasn’t it a lot of work for just a prank?”
“I didn’t think so.”
McGee gives him that look that means he thinks Tony is deliberately being an idiot. “We talked for four hours, at least. And that was just Friday night.”
Tony smirks and slides his arms around Tim’s neck again, bringing their faces close. McGee seems to like it when he does that. “Then I guess I really like you,” he says.
“That’s not --”
“Yes, it is. Just use that oversized brain of yours McGee and I think you’ll get it.”
The clock on his bedside table reads 1:45 AM. That simply won’t do, so Tony reaches over McGee’s shoulder and switches off the lamp.
Tim lets out a gusty breath. “Now I can’t find my clothes.”
Tony leans his forehead against Tim’s so that their lips are touching as he says “Don’t need ‘em if you don’t go anywhere.”
An explanation of the fic.
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