A/N: Truly, writing is such a strange thing, don't you think? When I am done (is anyone ever really done?), I always feel hollowed out. Not just drained but also kind of polished, like someone didn't just pull the plug but instead deliberately scooped me out until there was nothing left. But then I start filling up again, a wild mixture of stuff I read and things that happen and people I love and am annoyed by (sometimes both!). So maybe that explains this story, that came up so suddenly, I didn't talk about it, just wrote it. Not even with my favorite simian. Though thanks to hpaich for her blind suggestion that Abby's greatest regret was not joining the circus.

I wasn't going to write an author's note but then I thought I should warn you that there is discussion of sexual assault and rape, though nothing graphic and nothing in the present. This is because of an article I read about how rape isn't just against women, never has been. Also, it is rated for very explicit sexual situations between two men, as always. So if either of these two conditions makes you uncomfortable, please go read something else. There is SO MUCH else out there to read. I wish you joy of it all.

This story is either, as usual, awful or not. I'm not sure which. :)

Best,

Squares 10/13/14

It's something they don't talk about.

Ever.

The military is still dominantly male and therefore the victims, and perpetrators—such a clinical word for rage uncaged for sickness and hate and misery—are mostly male too.

They don't talk about it. Except Abby. Who has to say it out loud. Because it is her job. But usually she only has to say it the once.

And she looks at them while they look everywhere else. Her face is curious and sad and eager in its willingness to talk or listen.

If it is just Gibbs there, he isn't any different, will let the soft drink container finally land on the counter with a squeak of styrofoam, will kiss her head or give her a half smile or a "Good work, Abs."

If it is Gibbs and Tony, they will talk through the possibilities born from her words and the evidence, of all kinds of pain, not just the kind they didn't talk about. Same if McGee is there. Maybe it's a little easier if McGee is there.

Harder if Ducky is there. Because he seems sometimes as though he might actually talk about it.

But in the end, he doesn't either.

Oh there are other things they don't talk about, but surprisingly few actually.

Shannon and Kelly. Obviously. Although they aren't so off limits as the years pass, since Gibbs' memory was taken and then returned so violently to him.

And the fact that in the middle of the worst cases Tony sometimes goes out back, for a smoke.

And Gibbs sometimes joins him. But maybe they don't talk about that because no one knows that part. Except Tony of course.

Just because they don't talk about it, doesn't mean that no one does. They had all been trained, and in that training, and required refresher courses, it was always raised as a possibility, and in certain circumstances, a probability. It wasn't about sex, they said, the psychology of it was about power, about winning and hurting and claiming.

Because while it wasn't really common—most murders were shockingly mundane, over mundane things, and people died from hitting their head or being suffocated or left behind or run over or dropped or shot with a gun—it wasn't rare either. It was, in fact, just as likely as the people who kept track of the saddest numbers in the world said it was.

Evidence of sexual assault. Abby would say.

In other words, their male victim had been sodomized before being killed. Male rape. No sadder than any other kind of rape.

But quiet quiet so quiet.

Gibbs spun toward his computer, posture straight as ever, tapped a few keys and then looked back down at the reference sheet.

Tony was taking a last look at the file. He made it seem as though he was just checking, making sure all the i's were dotted and t's crossed, but really McGee thinks it is a tic, a habit, almost a superstition although how an act meant to ward off evil would make sense at the end of a case, he doesn't know. Maybe to ward off future evil? Tony does it at the end of every case, though.

They all have their talismans. Ziva had her knives and Bishop's got her rituals of position and context. Gibbs' rules, though McGee would never say so out loud. In any case, Tony continues to page through the file, head down in the pool of light made by the desk lamp. It was dark outside and the bullpen was close to deserted. Tony looked at every photo and finally flipped back to the front, to the one that brought the most pain. The first one. The picture of a live man, before all this happened, before he tried to help someone in trouble, got himself taken and killed and...raped...in the process.

Tearing his gaze away from Tony, Tim said, "I hate this."

He was the only one of the three men—Ellie had left already—who wasn't obviously doing something. He stared at the computer screen, but its blankness, its blackness, just reflected the pale oval of his face. He spoke to no one in particular and he spoke the words that they often said when the victim was a child. "These cases. I hate them."

And it could go one of several ways. And had, many times before. Gibbs snapping out a "Go home, McGee, get some rest." Or Tony distracting him with casual cruelty or the equally common "Need to talk to someone, McGee?" Which he appreciated but hell, he might not know much but he knew Tony's offer wasn't to talk, it was a reminder that there were shrinks, if he wanted to go that way. As if.

But he had come to think, Tim had, that not to say more was...something. Something not good. That not talking about it was copping out, or just being a bad agent—which none of them were—by ignoring a trend, a fact of human experience, and was even failing each other in some way, in their partnership, as a team.

Letting the dragging numbness of another such case substitute for bravery, he said more.

"Why don't we ever talk about it?"

At this, Gibbs turned in his chair. "Refresher course next month at FLETC. You want me to sign you up?" Not sarcastic but definitely not encouraging.

Tony had frozen where his hands bracketed the file open in front of him.

Even as his shoulders began to slump in defeat, some creature living in Tim's belly bit him.

"Fuck you, Gibbs."

Jesus, what had he just said? Though the look of surprise on Gibbs' face was kind of priceless and Tony must have been just as surprised because he laughed, clean mirth cutting through the air even as he reared back in his chair. "Damn, Probie. You got a death wish?"

"You got more to say, McGee?" Gibbs face was back to impassive, but he was listening.

"I just mean, boss, I'm sorry to say it like that but no I don't need to take a refresher course. I don't need to talk to some stranger about it and maybe I don't even need to talk about it to you or Tony but I am just wondering why we never talk about it when we talk about everything else related to cases?"

"Really? You want to know why we don't want to talk about that?" Tony. Mocking, as if McGee was stupid for not knowing why tough guys like us wouldn't want to talk about getting fucked.

McGee couldn't help but look around to see if anyone was listening and was reluctantly impressed that neither Tony nor Gibbs had done so, now or before when he god had he really told Gibbs to fuck off? He really needed to go home.

Gibbs blinked but didn't say anything. He looked like he was thinking.

He rose and snapped off his computer,

—dammit he didn't even shut down correctly, Tim's mind supplied unhelpfully—

and stalked to the elevator. He got in as Tim watched helplessly, panic at what he had started rising in him. McGee glanced at Tony for help; the other agent seemed to understand Gibbs like no one else. The half smile on Tony's face signalled you got yourself into this and the amusement of a spectator and he was still leaning back in his chair, relaxed, as his eyes and head followed Gibbs' progress to the elevator.

And then Gibbs did something Tim couldn't remember him ever doing. He got into the elevator, reached out and held the doors open.

"You coming?" He spoke to them both and it wasn't an order, but it wasn't quite a question either.

Tim stood automatically and grabbed his bag. "Coming, Boss." And was reluctantly impressed by Tony's ability to resist the conditioning. The other man met and held Gibbs' eyes from his desk even as Tim crossed to the elevator. Then Tim was past Tony and couldn't see the other man anymore, just Gibbs, and Gibbs' face didn't give anything away. Once he was in the elevator, and turned to stand beside Gibbs, he saw that Tony wasn't amused anymore. His fingers toyed with the edge of the file folder on his desk and he looked tired. Tired and maybe a little defiant. But it was hard to tell. He didn't look away from Gibbs, though, even as the older man nodded and let his hand drop, let the doors close between them.

Tim wanted to ask where they were going but didn't have it in him. The ride was a torture of uncertainty. He swallowed hard, thinking that he just needed to get through whatever came next. Just stay calm. Don't blurt things out. Stay cool.

The elevator juddered to a stop and the two men stepped out into the concrete room leading on one side to the street and on the other, to the parking structure. The stairwell door opened with a squeal of hinges, and Tony appeared. Gibbs didn't say anything or make any sign that this wasn't exactly what he expected to happen, and Tony wasn't out of breath or in a hurry or anything. McGee steeled himself just in case there was a confrontation but instead it was like a repeat of the elevator. A silent, uncertain journey in a moving box, this time a cab. Across town to what appeared to be a cop bar, but nowhere McGee'd ever been.

"Good thinking, Boss." Tony remarked, looking around and grabbing a table in the corner. The bar was big enough and it was early enough that it wasn't really crowded and for the moment, they had a buffer of empty tables all around them. "Definitely not going to run into anyone we know here."

As they settled themselves, Tony greeted the waitress, charmed and flirted with her, ordered them fries, beer and after a silent conversation with Gibbs, a shot each of Jack.

"You going home for Thanksgiving, Probie?" Tony leaned back, making himself comfortable in his chair. McGee had the sudden suspicion that somehow Tony and Gibbs had planned this. Gibbs brought them here, but Tony seemed in charge somehow now, making small talk, ordering for them. Tim considered this and wondered even as he answered, kept up with the inane conversation, until the food and drink was at their table.

Tony smiled at the waitress and told her they'd call for her if they needed anything. Waitress in a cop bar, probably used to being discreet. She nodded and smiled and went off to her other customers.

Tony grabbed a couple fries and chewed quickly before downing his shot and following it up with beer and more fries. After that though, he turned to Gibbs, and Tim still wasn't sure if they were together in this or not.

"Your play, Gibbs. You really talking about this?"

"You saying you're not talking about this, Di— Tony?

Either the challenge or the use of his first name gave Tony pause and Tim watched in fascination as Tony's jaw worked and his thighs jiggled under the table even as he held Gibbs' stare. Gibbs didn't blink, but when the stare had gone on long enough, he demanded, "Well?"

Tony wasn't blinking either. "What makes you think I have something to talk about?"

Gibbs snorted, didn't bother to answer.

"Fine." Tony snapped out and Gibbs looked away, gave way. Tim felt Tony relax a little more at this, but then he wasn't watching Tony anymore because Gibbs had turned to him.

"Twice in one year, for me. Once, at the end of my last tour, I was captured, a group of soldiers stumbled across my nest. Just damn bad luck. Sometimes that's all it is." Gibbs was noticeably still. His elbows were on the table, hands loose and open on the scarred wood. The writer in Tim noted the details, including the way that one side of Gibbs' collar lay flatter than the other, before the shock of what Gibbs was actually saying, what he meant, really registered. "Then I was a new agent, Mike Frank's probie, and I was taken, at a crime scene—in case you ever wondered why I'm such a hardass about procedure at crime scenes—the dirt bag was an addict but also an enforcer and was scared of losing his place in the organization, trying to make a point. Hell, he was half out of his head, but had some guys who owed him, decided to take a cop, four against one, beat me up—"

Now Gibbs' did pause, but when the words came they were clearly spoken, without hesitation, " —raped me, dumped me in a room while he decided what to do. I guess he figured I was more hurt than I was because I crawled out a window and escaped."

Gibbs' eyes, which had held Tim's this whole time cut to Tony and Tim too glanced at the third man. Tony's face gave nothing away but his eyes were bright and hot, maybe angry, as they watched Gibbs' face.

The way they were all looking at each other directly, blue gaze on green on gray, was unnerving. Tim realized now how rare is was. Sitting together around a table, facing one another, reading each other's faces, meeting each other's eyes. It was more intimate, more revelatory, than what Gibbs was describing even.

Tony was impatient for more words, though. His eyes didn't leave Gibbs. "How'd you get back?"

"Franks had already tracked me down. They were getting ready to take the place when I crawled out of the woods." Tim didn't understand why Gibbs' seemed unhappy with this. Tony seemed to, though.

"Bad luck." Tony repeated Gibbs' earlier assessment.

"Yep." Gibbs turned back to Tim. "That want you wanted to know, McGee?"

"Yes, I mean no, I mean that's not...I'm not—" Tim forced himself to slow down, start again, and Gibbs seemed not to mind waiting, for once. "I just...the lieutenant, before he died, he was...raped, obviously, at least that is what Abby and Ducky said and it, you know, happens. And we never talk about it, like we would if it was a woman. I didn't know, wouldn't have asked if I thought that you...uh...went through that, boss...Gibbs. How do you...uh...come back from that? I mean is it common? I know that they warn us, that it happens, but I didn't think..."

Tony spoke now. "It's more common than people know, other than the obligatory jokes about becoming someone's bitch in prison. We spend our days putting really bad people in jail and are in emotionally charged, high risk situations all the time. That's one of the risks."

"As for coming back?" Gibbs. "Can't come back if you don't pass the physical and the psych eval."

"But you are notorious for not seeing counselors, Boss...or for making them quit." Gibbs smiled a little at that. "How did you get away with it?"

"You of all people, Tim, should know that perception is different than reality. Yeah, I don't usually see Navy shrinks, but it doesn't mean I don't see anyone. I'm not above the rules. I did what I had to do, talked about it...with Ducky, actually, and then I got the Yard shrink at the time to sign off on that."

"And you are okay now?"

Gibbs shrugged, "Just like recovering from any injury, I guess. Seems like a long time ago now."

Tim couldn't think of anything else to say, turned toward Tony. Gibbs grabbed some food, downed the shot. And then he too, looked at Tony.

Always contrary, instead of continuing to resist, Tony started talking right away.

"It was easier for me, not as big a deal, as it is for some guys," he shot a look at Gibbs, "as it probably was for Gibbs."

"Tony…" McGee didn't know what to say but he protested anyway. Gibbs just watched Tony as his senior agent leaned back, crossed his arms across his chest.

"The one time it happened on the job, to me, I was luckier than the bossman here. He was away and I was working with another team, and when the dust settled, no one knew what had happened," to me, "no one asked or knew to ask so I never had to see anyone. And really it wasn't as big a deal as all that. But it happens. If that's what you want to know, Tim, yeah, it happens."

And this garbled and circular and insufficient account seemed to be Tony's contribution to the conversation. Tim wasn't sure why Tony thought he was luckier than Gibbs, or why he somehow seemed to think that it was easier for him to be raped than Gibbs, but Gibbs inserted himself into the conversation before Tim could figure out what to say.

"When was this?" Gibbs practically growled out.

Tony wasn't meeting Gibbs' eyes now, took a drink of beer, looked for his napkin before looking up and shifting his gaze between them, lightly. "You were in Chicago, I think...uh, and I was helping on Turner's team...you never met Turner, did you Probie? Kind of a dick, but a decent agent. He was from California, got the transfer he wanted finally-"

"Tony..." Gibbs was actually growling now. He hadn't known, obviously.

At his interruption, Tony glanced over at him, but continued, "Anyway, it was when I was working for Turner. Started with a dead body but was really all about drugs. I was sent in as a potential buyer, not deep cover or anything, just part of the play, but you know how it is, got messy and in the end, I walked out on my own two feet and no one stopped me. Figured it was a win."

"God dammit, Turner."

"No one's fault, Gibbs. Really. He couldn't have changed it, and he didn't even know."

"You said "the time it happened to you on the job." Like there were other times. What do you mean?"

"I don't know about you but I need another drink-" Tony swiveled his head to find the waitress, but turned back to Gibbs when the older man reached out and put a hand on Tony's forearm, above his watch, below the rolled cuff of his shirt sleeves.

Tony went silent. Stared at Gibbs' hand as if transfixed. And maybe he was, by the prominent veins, knuckles, the tanned muscular strength of the long fingers, the freckles and age spots on the back.

He stared at Gibbs hand where it gripped him and started talking again, his casual, Tony-like speech strange given the intense focus on Gibbs' hand. His gaze never wavered as he spoke.

"You see, Probie, it was easier for me than for Gibbs here because I wasn't exactly inexperienced. You can't go to an all boys boarding school, one of them a military boarding school at that, and not give your share of blow jobs. Not...get...your share of blow jobs. When I was younger, felt like I spent half my life on my knees. Sometimes things got taken farther but not too often. You do what you have to, you know, to get by." And now his voice got kind of dreamy, like he forgot they were there even as he continued to stare where Gibbs fingers had tightened against his own arm. "There was an article recently, about hazing, about the kind of disgusting crap that goes on at certain colleges, feeder schools for Wall Street, for the Beltway. And the victims who saw the worst of it became the worst kind of abusers. People always talk about how they can't believe it happens, like somehow something horrible is less likely to be repeated when really...why would it be? You know, it happened to me, and I turned out okay, turns into an argument for, if it hadn't happened to me, I wouldn't be who I am or worse: it happened to me, it wouldn't be fucking *fair* if it didn't happen to the next little shit that came along.

"So yeah, I was a little more...familiar...with the concept than Gibbs probably was, and was in it long enough to know that it wasn't always bad, wasn't all pain, but still at the end of the day, it's one of the reasons I became a cop." Tony's voice dropped close to a whisper. Tim wanted to lean in but was afraid to move, so amazed he was at how much Tony was saying, exposing. "Not to stop bad things from happening to people, but so I didn't become worse than I already was."

Tony took a sudden sharp breath in through his nose and sat up straight, pulling his arm out from under Gibbs, breaking the grip, and said, in his normal voice. "So it wasn't as bad for me, as it was for Gibbs or would be for you Probie, because I was already part of it. Bad," He met both of their eyes in turn and seemed open and honest in this condemnation of himself, "in a way that you are both good. No matter what happened or happens to you."

Gibbs face was indescribable. Indecipherable, anyway. Tim could describe it, but didn't know what it meant. Gibbs' eyes were locked on Tony's and in profile like this, turned toward Gibbs, Tony's face and eyes didn't reveal anything to Tim. But Gibbs ground out. "We'll talk about this later, Tony."

"Really, Gibbs. It's fine." Quiet and final.

Tim almost smiled as he finally saw something he recognized on Gibbs' face. Gibbs' patented we-will-be-talking-about-this-later face. And true to form, he didn't bother saying it out loud. He turned back to Tim.

"That help, Tim? We know better than most. People don't live clean, and they don't die clean either."

Tim wasn't sure what to do with everything he heard, but he knew what to say and as he opened his mouth, he felt the two other men brace themselves.

"Thank you, Boss." Turned a little to meet Tony head on. "Thank you, Tony. For telling me. I mean it." A few years ago, he would have assured them of his discretion, his silence on what they had told him, but he could almost hear Gibbs bark. I don't care who the hell you tell, McGee. He knew better now and they wouldn't have told him if they didn't trust him. He reached out and knocked back his own shot. "Anyone want a burger? I'm buying."

And that was all. One of the weirdest, most painful conversations he had ever had. And one he cherished and remembered for the rest of his life.

They took cabs back to the Yard for their cars since none of them had drank much more. Tony recognized the signal for wait for me that Gibbs gave him before the older man walked McGee to his car. He thought about pretending he hadn't seen, just driving off before Gibbs came back. He didn't though. Instead he leaned back on his car, watched Gibbs walk away and then come back to him.

Thought about what he had heard and what he had not heard from Gibbs.

What he himself had said. And what he had not said.

By the time Gibbs crossed back, Tony had decided. He waited until Gibbs stood in front of him, then straightened. This put him just a tad closer than Gibbs had probably planned. Tony was a little taller, a little broader, but the sense of leashed power in Gibbs was palpable. The two were well matched as always. Gibbs waited, letting Tony make the first move.

"I'll tell you, Gibbs, but you have to tell me too."

"Nothing to tell."

"Okay. Let me put it this way. You left out a lot in that little confession. Probie needs to practice his technique—"

"Wasn't an interrogation, Tony."

"So...all bad, right?"

"Getting fucked? Oh yeah."

Their faces were close enough that Tony could see little flecks of white in Gibbs' irises. "Doesn't have to be that way, Gibbs."

Gibbs snorted. "You offering?"

Tony wished they weren't in the parking garage for fuck's sake. And he was tired all of a sudden. Just wanted to go home.

"I just know you, Gibbs. You are going to want me to talk more, which I have to say means you have a lot of damn nerve—as if there was any doubt—and I am honestly not up for it so unless you are prepared to give as good as you get, I'm going home." Tony turned, brushing against the other man's too close body, reached for the handle of the car, only to be stopped by Gibbs' hand again. Gibbs' hand on his on the handle. And Gibbs' voice rumbled against his back, behind his ear, not deliberately sexy or provocative, just Gibbs.

"Alright."

Tony moved his head, quick, and Gibbs' stepped back, just as quick. "Yeah?"

"I trust you."

"You trust me?" Tony turned all the way and looked at Gibbs, made a face. "Yeah, you look like you trust me alright." Gibbs was grim, like he was steeling himself. But hell, Tony thought he could do something about that, but not here...damn, it was cold in here. Made a decision. "I'll meet you at your place."

"My place?"

Tony took a chance, stepped forward to press close against Gibbs. "You aren't going to want to move when we are done, nevermind drive home, Gibbs." A thought occurred to him. "You really ready to break Rule 12, boss?"

"Are you?"

"Not my rule."

"You don't call it the same thing, but we are both talking about breaking rules tonight, Tony. That's the last time I'm going to warn you. You are betting you can get what you want without giving as much away. If you really think that, you don't know me at all and twelve years of working together isn't enough." The older man turned and stalked toward his own car, leaving Tony to follow or not.

All of Tony's self-protective instincts screamed at him to go home. But hell, if he was the kind of guy who played it safe, he wouldn't be Tony DiNozzo. He had learned a lot about Gibbs and he thought he had a shot at getting more than he gave. And if not, what a way to go.

He came around the front of his own car and took off after Gibbs.

Tony would never be so obvious as to crowd Gibbs against the wall of his own foyer and kiss the hell out of the other man, rolling his hips so that Gibbs felt the heat of his cock against his own. Even if the thought of making Gibbs moan or even breathe faster was enough to make Tony adjust the crotch of his jeans.

Instead, he entered the house, probably ten minutes behind Gibbs, maniac driver that he was, and without talking to the other man, crossed the living room, dufflebag over his shoulder, to take the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs, he paused and, throwing caution to the wind, bolstered by the quick glance he had of Gibbs making a fire downstairs, entered the master bedroom. He flicked the lightswitch, took in the made bed, the small bookshelf under the window, armchair to one side, and was reassured that Gibbs was, at least some of the time, unlike the early years of working for him, sleeping in his bedroom.

Tony took a minute to center himself. He wasn't boasting when he said he was really good at this. Well, he was boasting, but not without cause. He stood and let his mind slow down, let his senses take over. The room smelled like Gibbs, and old wood...not the wood of Gibbs' new boat, but the old wood of the bookshelf, the bed frame, the hardwood floors. The door that led to the master bath explained the faint smell of shaving soap and aftershave. It was dark, so the only lights were from the room's overhead light and the dim sparkle of a street lamp seen through the window. Tony walked to the bed and turned on a small table lamp before moving back to the door to turn off the overhead. Amber instead of yellow-white light brightened the room. Satisfied, for now, Tony pushed back the door into Gibbs' bathroom.

He took a piss, washed his hands. Dropped the toilet seat down and put his bag on top of it, unzipping it to find his spare toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, conditioner. He left the shaving supplies where they were. Knowing what he planned to do with a day's beard, anticipating the feel of it brushing on Gibbs' inner thighs, he felt pressure in his balls, reached down to roll them, disperse the building heat. He didn't touch his cock, though, and still all business, stripped and got into the shower.

Out of the shower, he dressed in old, soft jeans and one of Gibbs' white Haynes t-shirts. If he had known this morning he'd be dressing for this...but, well, he hadn't. That his sexiest pair of jeans were there was a stroke of luck, and despite the fact that he would have chosen a different shirt than what he happened to throw into the bag last time he packed it, maybe it was just as well that he was wearing one of Gibbs' own shirts. It certainly was turning him on, since everytime he moved, he smelled Gibbs' laundry detergent.

He went downstairs barefoot and Gibbs looked up from where he sat in an armchair by the fire. Tony grinned at him.

"Your turn."

Gibbs nodded and stood up. "For what?"

Tony crossed and slipped a hand around to rest in the low hollow of Gibbs' back, pushing him forward with gentle pressure. "To shower."

Gibbs, to his surprise, allowed it, seemed happy to go along with what Tony wanted, and fuck if that didn't ratchet Tony's arousal up more. He didn't really care if Gibbs saw and he wasn't making any attempt to hide the massive hard-on he had, but Gibbs' eyes didn't drop down or otherwise show that he was aware. Probably was though.

Tony let Gibbs go on up and he himself added a log to the fire. He didn't know much about it, but he thought maybe they'd make their way down here later and if so, he didn't want it to go out.

Upstairs, the door to the bathroom was cracked and he could hear the shower running. He pulled lube and condoms out of his bag and put them under a pillow once he folded back the quilt. Out of curiosity, he checked the nightstand drawers. Jacknife, mini flashlight, rubber bands, no lube or condoms.

He closed the door to the hall, sealing them in, and leaned against the door. Waited.

When Gibbs came out, he was combing his fingers through hair that he had obviously just towelled dry. And he had a towel around his waist.

Tony couldn't take his eyes away from Gibbs' naked chest, the damp sheen of water on his neck. Gibbs' hadn't shaved either. Tony realized that he was breathing hard.

Gibbs either ignored this or didn't notice. "What now?" Gibbs brows drew down. "How come you get clothes?"

Tony pushed off the wall behind him and walked closer. "Well, I was wearing clothes because I was going to show you how good it can be and well, that means I'm kind of in charge and you're not but now…" He stopped in front of Gibbs, smelled the fresher scent of the other man's soap and shampoo. "Now I'm wearing clothes because you are in charge."

"Tony…" Gibbs' chin rose a fraction, and he put his hands on his hips. "You do know I don't think this is going to work right? Don't get your hopes up, Lover Boy."

Tony had already seen that the towel around Gibbs' waist hung straight.

"Gibbs—"

"Tony, better start calling me Jethro."

"Jethro…" Tony moved around the other man, turned off the light in the bathroom and returned to stand in front of Gibbs...Jethro. He leaned forward and spoke. He let his breath feather over the other man's face, into the sensitive shell of his ear, even as he murmured. "You haven't lived until you are laying on your stomach, too fucked out to move. On your own bed, in your own home, totally fucked out, defututa, blissed out, empty but hoping that it will all start again without your asking or moving."

He felt Jethro's head turn just enough that their cheeks brushed, rough against rough, and Gibbs voice rumbled in his ear, causing Tony to shiver and at his shiver, Jethro responded, for the first time, body jerking a little. He started again. "Tony...ahh...Tony, you are pretty confident there, huh, Sport?"

"Here's the thing...Jethro," once more, Tony spoke in Jethro's ear, but then moved away, settled himself at the edge of the bed, motioned Gibbs forward between his open knees, carefully matter of fact, disarming. "I know this is going to work. But not because I am so good at this—though I am—" quick grin at the other man, "but because," now that Gibbs had come closer, Tony reached out and reeled him in, and then looked up at him, head tipped way back, neck bared, vulnerable, "I know you, boss." Deliberately reminding Gibbs of their primary relationship til now. "There is no one more caring, more passionate. I don't have to do anything to make this go right, I just have to do what I do best, trust you."

Gibbs looked down at Tony, his eyes bright in the dim light of the room and Tony felt, despite his words, the other man's confusion, hesitation.

"Go ahead. Do what feels good. I'll help. Take my shirt off?" Tony let his mouth curve in a little smile. One that caught more than one woman but would never disarm Gibbs. Gibbs smiled though, a bit, recognizing Tony's moves. He hesitated, but then reached out and pulled roughly, upwards. Off. Tony lifted his arms and let Jetho pull the t-shirt off.

Jethro's eyes were roaming over his neck and torso, slipped up finally to his eyes, checking, looking for approval maybe? His hand came up and, starting at Tony's jaw, just in front of his ear, stroked down lightly, along the edge of his jaw, down the line of his neck and, rather than curving along his shoulder and arm, continued in a straight line down his chest, just shy of touching his nipple oh god if he had actually touched Tony there to drift away just before his belly, hand hanging loose again at his side.

Tony's eyes were half shut and damn he hoped he was right. If Jethro didn't want this, in the end, he wouldn't make him, but he himself was ready to come, now, from the smell and touch and heat of the other man alone.

"Now what?" The rasp in Jethro's voice was reassuring, and Tony reached out and curled his fingers around the edge of the towel, looked up at at Jethro, asking permission. Jethro nodded slightly. Go ahead.

Tony pulled and the towel fell away. Jethro was half hard but not for long. As Tony watched, the beautiful cock in front of him, long and thick, grew and filled out, and Tony had a moment of regret that it wasn't the night for Jethro to fuck him…

He leaned forward and took Jethro in, deep, his very first taste of the other man.

"Ohhhhhh….shit." Jethro's hands came up to rest on Tony's neck. Not on his head, not controlling, but unable to stay at his sides, needing to bracket the pleasure, be ready. Tony had leaned forward to take Jethro's cock and needed a better angle to take more in, so he slid to his knees by the bed even as he took Jethro deep into his throat, fucked his own face on the other man's cock. And thrilled to the sounds, the words, he heard from Jethro, cursing and saying his name and begging but also telling him how good it felt how good he was, and then Jethro wrenched himself away, stood panting and naked a few feet away, cock glistening with Tony's saliva.

Tony must have looked like he was ready to lunge after him, crawl across the hardwood, because Jethro's hand came up to ward him off. "I…"

Tony took a deep calming breath and rose. Held out his hand. "C'mere."

"Tony, I…"

"It's okay, Jethro. I'll suck you dry another day." Gibbs' face tightened, his eyes darkened, at the language, the desire. "That's not what this is about. Here. C'mere. Lay down." Tony pulled the comforter off, pulled down the top sheet.

Gibbs sat down on the edge and scooted back and over, stretched out on his back, head on the far pillow, somehow regaining control from the action, his place in his own bed. Tony was almost sorry to strip it away, but his hands fell to his own waist, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, dropped them to the floor no underwear of course and crawled forward to take the other man's mouth from above.

The kiss was extraordinary. Tony didn't know if he would have always been like this but given his childhood among boys, and the things he had spoken of earlier tonight, there was always something heady about kissing another man. The strong lips, the sting of beard, the deep rich flavor. Gibbs grunted and pushed Tony off with his mouth.

"You aren't proving anything, you know. This is just kissing, not…"

"Shhhh. You in a hurry?"

"What? No, but—"

"Then stop thinking about it. I'm not going there until you are ready, until you want me to...until you beg me to."

"That'll be the unhhhhh—" Tony let his hand stroke up Jethro's side, stroking and touching the thin sensitive skin along his side, under his arms, thumb nail flicking his nipples. They were hard and peaked. Tony moved Jethro's arms to lie at his sides, soft side up and stroked more, with his hands, and then with his mouth, ending by sucking the other man's fingers into his mouth.

When he finished sucking the fingers of Jethro's right hand, he moved to lay next to the other man, and pulled Jethro up onto his side so their full lengths were pressed against one another, head to toe.

"You can touch me too if you want." He whispered.

Jethro reached around and stroked down Tony's back with his thumb, top to bottom, so sensitive that Tony moaned and bucked into the hot body so so close to his own, close and now even closer. Their cocks seemed to want to tangle together and Tony's watched Gibbs' eyes slam shut at the feeling. Taking his opportunity, Tony reached around Gibbs, pulling, nuzzling his face into Jethro's neck and stroking his shoulder blades and back, down to his ass. He kept it light, ignoring the way Jethro tensed, stroking along and down the sensitive globes. His hand settled in the dark place beneath Gibbs' ass, where buttocks connected to thigh, and played until the other man was shifting and thrusting against him. Tony felt the wetness on his belly, knew that Gibbs was really turned on.

Finally, Tony tipped his head back and let Jethro hear how desperate he was, "Cmon, Gibbs, kiss me."

"Jethro." Gibbs insisted, taking a little control back.

"Jethro." Tony said, ready to give Gibbs anything he wanted, knowing where they were going. "Kiss me."

They were side by side but Jethro rolled so that he was a little more ascendant and his mouth descended, hard, on the younger man's. Tony opened up and let Jethro suck on his tongue, his lips, press hard, bringing blood to the surface of his mouth, making Tony keen.

"I'm going to touch you, Jethro." Didn't ask permission, just let his fingers play along the crack of Jethro's ass. The older man tensed up and shivered a little. "Okay, okay, not yet, okay, just...here...lay down like this." Tony wasn't disappointed, knew it would take more than one try.

He pushed Gibbs onto his stomach, settled him so that his head pointed away, stroked his eyelids to close his eyes. Tony slipped his hand under the pillow and retrieved the lube and put it on the bed where he could reach it. Tony straddled the other man low, and Jethro was laid out under him, tense and close to rigid beneath him.

Tony stretched out on top of him. From the exhale, Tony knew that Gibbs was feeling his weight, that the breath was being pushed out of him. But Tony also knew that this was a safe place to start, his erection carefully pressing into the back of one of Jethro's thighs, not snugged in his ass the way Tony wanted. Tony pulled his elbows in so he could gradually lift his weight off of the man below him, Gibbs, Jethro oh my god was this really happening? Tony kissed the skin he could reach, below Gibbs' ear, along his neck, to suck and bite a little along the join of Gibbs' neck and shoulder. When Tony's teeth clenched around the tendon in Gibbs' neck, the other man started to relax.

Tony lifted up a little and kissed and licked and stroked some more. He did this for a long long time. Until Gibbs quivered and barely responded to Tony's tongue under the globes of his ass, and between his legs, Tony reaching deep to lick the back of his balls. Gibbs did shift a little then, pressing down, trying to get more friction for his cock, long past the point, if Tony's own cock was anything to go by, of needing to come...right now. But Tony kept on, slipping his tongue between Jethro's cheeks and curving his back up to make a space between their bodies to open the tube and slick his fingers. He let his mouth drift upwards and heard what he had been waiting for, Jethro's moan of complaint.

Tony pushed his knees between Jethro's legs, spreading him wide, reached up and pulled the arms currently reaching up over Jethro's head, down and wide as well, so that everything about Jethro was open, vulnerable. He didn't let his mouth lose contact with Jethro's skin, though, not once, and his mouth was licking and kissing and sucking in the hollow of Gibbs back and around to his side and as deep as he could reach onto his belly.

"Let me hear you, babe."

Gibbs grunted at that, but was well beyond editorial comment. Tony himself, thrilled to his own endearment, and repeated the order.

Tony licked down Gibbs' ass to the curve and bit down, hard, even as he slipped his slick fingers in to stroke and play along Gibbs' hole. Gibbs bucked and moaned, high and helpless but not unhappy, not rejecting, in fact his legs spread wider of their own accord. Tony couldn't help but respond with words of praise. "Oh god, Jethro, babe, so hot, so good, that's it, a little wider, you like that, you like that? Oh, babe, I love you like this. So hot, so good," and his fingers slipped down between Jethro's legs to touch his balls and the sensitive space between even as his thumb was now in a perfect position to press against the sweet opening and Gibbs moaned but was pushing back, up against Tony so that Tony brought his other hand up quick, holding himself up off the other man with the power of his shaking stomach muscles alone but they held, held just long enough to squeeze more lube and swirl and smear and press until his thumb was in and then out, in and out, and Gibbs was moaning and pushing back against him.

Tony stopped and pulled his hand away. Jethro moaned, desperate, "why are you stopping?"

Tony didn't answer but shifted to lay along side the other man again, pushed him up on his side and lifted his leg, pressed the upper foot to the bottom thigh so that Jethro was still open but the two men were face to face.

Tony led with his mouth and slipped his tongue into Jethro's mouth again, feeling the other man relax into him, deepening the kiss, feeling the sting of sweat in his eyes and the heat rolling off the other man. Using his right hand to squeeze the still open tube and toss it behind him, Tony reached between Jethro's legs, letting his wrist press up and along Jethro's balls and sliding one long finger into his ass and along the tight passage.

Instead of tensing, Jethro's whole body shivered to open farther and Tony again felt his control slipping. He thrust in and out, added a second finger and immediately curled them to touch Jethro's prostate. The other man's body bowed backward and Tony was shocked when the other man came, moaning and calling out, creamy ribbons of come spurting all over Tony's belly, even as far as his neck. Tony slammed his head forward onto Jethro's shoulder and pulled in close, holding on, trying to keep his cock in the dip between Jethro's legs, praying he wouldn't come. He needed to fuck Gibbs into the mattress and if he came now it was going to be the mother of all orgasms. He'd be wrecked til tomorrow.

Gibbs made a sound like a whimper and pressed his forehead into Tony's shoulder. Tony shushed him and murmured calming words until Gibbs was limp against him.

Tony never allowed anyone this close, had never deliberately set out to seduce a man less experienced than him. Or a woman, for that matter. He liked everyone to be equal, to know what they were getting into. So he didn't know what to make of the tears that stung his eyes or the way that his arms clutched at Gibbs. Gibbs' breathing slowed and his body grew heavy. At this, Tony moved out from under him so that Gibbs rolled all the way onto his stomach.

Tony straddled him again, rolled on the condom he had placed beneath the pillow, and lay against Jethro gently from above, again. "You ready, Jethro? You think you are done, but I haven't fucked you yet. You haven't begged me not to stop yet. You want me, babe?"

"Do it." Gibbs murmured, giving in, though he also added in a rasp that was practically a whisper, "and stop calling me 'babe', Tony."

Tony laughed, low and dirty, and rocked up hard cock sliding against and between Jethro's cheeks to catch Jethro's earlobe, bite down, and reply. "Make me. Babe." And then he was rocking again and again, getting closer and closer, squeezing the tube again and slicking his cock, until finally the head breached Gibbs' opening over and over, until Gibbs relaxed hard, going boneless and liquid and Tony, exultant, hunched over this man that he… he...he cared for and started thrusting. He was beyond words but not loving and even as he pressed deep and deeper into Jethro's body, his mouth opened on any skin within reach, tasting and kissing and he never wanted to stop.

By some miracle, he felt Jethro start to push back and moan rhythmically. "Tony, I'm going to come again Christ I'm going to come again…"

And those words combined with the way Jethro's body welcomed him all the way in, Tony's pelvis banging hard against Jethro's ass; the way that Jethro's cock, trapped beneath him against the sheet insisted on faster harder more more more….all these sensations just pulled and Tony's whole body convulsed, he wanted to scream and he whited out a little, flashes behind his eyes and he wondered if he was going to faint even as he pumped recklessly and helplessly into Gibbs' body, his come filling the condom full of wet heat and Jethro shaking and crying out below him.

Tony came back to himself, plastered against Jethro's sweaty back. Or maybe Jethro was plastered against his sweaty stomach. Jethro wasn't snoring, but his breathing was heavy. They had both lost time. Tony's whole body felt empty and relaxed, humming and satisfied. If Jethro felt half as good…

Tony peeled himself away from the sticky heat, surprised at how reluctant he was to move, and gingerly crawled out of bed to the bathroom. He rinsed several washcloths in hot water and rolled them up to keep the heat in. He brought them in with him placing them on the floor so he didn't mar the surface of the nightstand. He wiped Jethro's back down, rolled him over and used another to wipe his front, and the last between his legs. Before he dumped them all in the bathroom, he used one washcloth to wipe at the wet spot where Jethro had been lying. He thought about putting a towel down, but it was a big bed, Jethro could avoid that spot easily.

He washed himself up in the bathroom, thought about brushing his teeth again, but decided against it, happy with Gibbs' taste on his tongue. He was tired but the drive home would be good, thinking about tonight. He snapped off the bathroom light and padded back into the bedroom. His jeans weren't where he'd left them, on the floor, and it only took him a minute to see that Jethro had them clutched in his hand. When did that happen? Tony smiled and put his knee on the bed, leaned forward to take the pants from the sleeping man.

Gibbs opened his eyes. "Uh uh."

"What do you mean, uh uh. This is the thanks I get?"

"My turn."

"Your turn?"

"I let you do your thing. Now I get my answers." Gibbs' voice was slurred, exhausted. Tony had never heard it like that, even after days of almost no sleep. This was a big fucking deal, what Gibbs had opened himself up to.

"Jethro, you're wiped."

"And fucked out, right? Some fancy Italian word too. You were right." The arm holding the jeans pulled them closer. Gibbs eyes shut.

"You can't want answers now."

"Don't. Come to bed. You can tell me in the morning."

Tony found he was breathing hard. He didn't know what to do, though he was getting cold sitting here naked. Gibbs had his legs under the sheet at least. He didn't look cold.

"I like sleeping alone."

"Tough."

"I never stay the night."

"Told you you'd be breaking a rule too." Gibbs opened one eye. "Tony. Come. To. Bed."

Tony tried one last time. "The bed is wet."

"So put down a towel." Tony gave up and slid into bed, lay on his back, stiff. What a day.

Gibbs flung out a hand suddenly and threw Tony's jeans across the room, caught Tony around the waist and pulled the other man tight into his chest, spooning. He rested his scratchy face between Tony's shoulder blades, lifted up once to press a kiss there, then lay back down, breathing slowing again.

"What do you want to know?"

"Huh?"

"What do you want to ask me?"

"Tony, sleep. We can do this tomorrow."

"I don't want to wait. I want to get it over with. What are you going to ask me?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

"I'm not going to ask you anything. I'm going to tell you something."

"What?"

Jethro's hand reached up to tap Tony on the back of the head. Stop playing dumb, DiNozzo.

But Tony wasn't playing. What did he mean he wasn't going to ask him anything? Tony had an answer for everything. He was ready.

"What...what are you going to tell me?"

"You want a clue?"

"Uh...sure." Despite himself, Tony found it increasingly difficult to stay alert and rigid against Gibbs' body. Jethro was warm and surprisingly tactile. Tony felt blunt fingers threading through his hair. Stroking. He pressed his face into the pillow, giving himself over to the care for just a minute.

"What is Abby's biggest regret?"

"Not making that strike in the finals of the Big Bowling Tournament of Nuns?"

Gibbs laughed out loud. Tony grinned at the sound.

"She would not be happy to hear you call it that."

"So don't tell her. No, I know...never joining the circus."

"Tony...what is Abby's biggest work regret?"

"That SD card and the virus thingamugummy that she can't crack, can't figure out what it does. She has nightmares that it'll infect the internet and we'll all be doomed."

"So how does she sleep at night?"

"Cause it's in evidence, locked up, and it is the only copy."

"So she doesn't need to know what's on it, or why, just knows she needs to keep it safe."

"Yeah."

Jethro fell silent. Finally, Tony realized Jethro was done talking and elbowed the man. Gibbs grunted. "What, Tony?"

"Is that all?"

"What more do you want?"

Tony huffed and turned over even though Jethro's arms tightened.

"What kind of clue is that?"

"My kind."

"Gibbs…" Tony's words were cut short by Gibbs' mouth covering his.

"Jethro," the other man murmured against his lips.

"Jethro…" Gibbs kissed him again. Tony gave up, let the other man take him under with long soft sweeps of his tongue, lips tugging at lips, kissing deep but then slowing to just sweet brushes of sensation. Who knew Gibbs could kiss like this? Jethro. "Jethro…"

"Hmmm?"

Tony didn't remember the question, exactly, but he tried. "I don't understand the clue."

"I don't need to ask you any questions, Tony, to get answers. I just need to keep you, then I'll have them all. Go to sleep."

"Told you," Tony muttered as his eyes closed, "I can't sleep with other people."

"M'not people."

"No, you're not."

"And you aren't bad."

"..."

"Tony." And Jethro hand swept through Tony's hair again, and his arms came up to wrap around him, turning him around and close and tight, even doing the hard work of pushing underneath the younger man and pulling him to rest on his chest. "You aren't bad. You're good." These aren't words Tony had ever heard from anyone, except maybe the time that Gibbs himself said once that 'You don't waste good'. But to come right out and say it. And Gibbs said it again, pressed a kiss against his temple. "You're good, Tony. All the way good. You hear me?"

Tony's throat hurt and his eyes pricked again. He pressed his face into Gibbs' chest, hard.

Gibbs deep voice rumbled in his ear, beneath his cheek. "It'll be okay, Tony. Just sleep, now. Okay?"

So he did, Gibbs words and his hand in his hair weighing him down, keeping him from flying away.

Tony woke the next day as usual, to the sound of his alarm. But it seemed fainter than usual, and farther away. When he went to turn it off on his nightstand, he couldn't find it. Or his nightstand. He opened his eyes to see Gibbs, hair sticking up in all directions from having slept on it wet, sitting up and blinking blearily.

"What time's it?"

Gibbs coughed to clear his throat, then looked around. "I don't know. I think my watch is in the bathroom. What's that sound?"

"My alarm. Do you see my phone?"

Gibbs peered around. "Nope."

Groaning, still tired but feeling good all the same, Tony sat up and reached for his duffle bag by the foot of the bed. He hauled it up with two fingers and rummaged around until he found the phone. Turned it off.

"Where's your alarm?"

"Don't have one. I haven't overslept since before I went into the Marines."

Tony threw himself back on the bed, tired, and starting to feel a little embarrassed at being in bed, naked, with Gibbs, despite everything that had happened the night before.

As if reading Tony's mind, Jethro stood up and came around to Tony's side of the bed, offering a hand. "C'mon. Shower."

It was just easier, really, to do what Gibbs said. And he was really bossy in a really weird way today. He was always bossy, but today he was really bossy. He took a shower while Tony shaved and brushed his teeth, and then they switched. He actually had a suit of Tony's in his closet from some time when Tony stayed and the two men dressed together in Gibbs' bedroom. Gibbs followed him downstairs where Gibbs checked that the fire was well and truly out, and ushered him into his car, insisting that they drive together no explanation as usual. They got breakfast sandwiches and coffee on the way and were at the Yard, at their desks by 0730.

By 0915, Tony'd worked through all his email and started on the report from yesterday oh yesterday and Gibbs had uncharacteristically stuck close by, not leaving to visit Abby or Ducky. Tony wondered what would happen if—when—one of them needed to go to the head.

Tony's phone rang. Gibbs eyes followed him all the way up to the Director's office.

Only took him a few minutes to accept the promotion. His own team. He was ready. More than ready. And Vance said they were expanding operations, forming two new teams and his was one of them. So he'd be here. Here.

Later that night, in bed, in Gibbs' bed, Gibbs would tell him not to be stupid, that it was time, that when the director had asked Gibbs for his opinion, he hadn't had to think to support the assignment. Tony was that good. And Tony, for his part, would tell Jethro not to be stupid, that he would never have believed that sex would influence Gibbs at work.

And Gibbs would think that just when he thought he knew what the fucking universe had in store for him, it kicked his ass. Served him right for thinking he knew anything at all.

But what he said, pulling Tony close and pressing a rough kiss to the other man's mouth—seemed condescending and a little bit girly to kiss his temple, like he would Abby—was "That's a good job, Tony."

And Tony was thinking that 24 hours ago, give or take another 8 or 9 hours, everything was different, and he was trying to squelch the feeling that so much good wasn't destined in some way to turn bad on him.

But what he said, just above the surface of the other man's mouth as he kissed Jethro back was: "Let's plan my party."

A/N (2): Felt very bold of me to replace my Ziva's with Ellie's. I do like the new seasons but I find it hard to move on. The article about hazing in the Ivies, in feeder schools, I read a while ago, but it's out there. It all breaks my heart a little.