Who Would Have Thought?
He’s stretched across my bed, like some big cat, satiated and lazy. His eyes are half-lidded and his skin has that post-coital glow. Even though I’ve been told that I lack imagination, I can all but hear him purr and I’ll admit to some measure of pride. I’m the one who put that look on his face, the flush to his body.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs, you are one lucky son of a bitch.
On the surface, we’re an odd pairing; the good-looking man in the prime of his life and the former Marine who’s slightly past the freshness date on the package. Inside, though, we’ve got a lot in common. Emotional scars go deeper than physical ones and we both have our fair share. The difference between us is that Tony just about turns himself inside out hiding his and I’ve long since ceased to care who sees mine. I am what I am.
“You gonna stand there all night?”
He stretches. If Kate were here, no doubt she would accuse DiNozzo of preening. In a way she would be right; Tony had obviously learned a long time ago that he was pretty and how to best use that attractiveness. Preening is a way of life for him. This display, however, of muscles stretched taut, is for me and me alone. Tony knows he doesn’t need to work so hard to impress me.
I’ve long moved beyond ‘impressed’ where Anthony DiNozzo is concerned.
“You think that bed’s big enough for both of us?” I ask as I walk slowly towards him.
His smile gets bigger with every step I take. “It was a few minutes ago.” His expression becomes one of exaggerated contemplation. “Oh, that’s right; you were on top of me, weren’t you? That doesn’t take up nearly as much mattress space.”
That wasn’t invitation; that was an order. Good Marine that I am, I obey.
“That so,” I say nonchalantly as I climb on the bed and immediately drape myself over Tony’s prone body. “Well, who am I to mess with Standard Operating Procedure?”
“Perish the thought, Boss,” Tony retorts, eyes twinkling with mischief.
I can’t help myself; I kiss him long and deep, as though I can excise some of that scar tissue of his with just my tongue. He sighs and I feel his body relax under mine. I need more than his mouth and I stroke my hands along the lean line of his torso and down to his hips. He runs his down the curve of my spine and then reaches to twine his fingers with mine. Holding hands, we continue to kiss.
Neither of us is ready for another round, but Tony enjoys the contact and, I admit shamelessly, I just like any excuse I can think of to get my hands on him. DiNozzo melts into the mattress. For some reason, he gets off on having my weight on top of him. I keep myself as close to Marine fighting form as I can manage in a civilian job, but I’m no lightweight. Luckily, Tony’s pretty fit himself. If he says he can handle having me as a living blanket, then I trust him to know what he’s talking about.
Twenty years ago, if anyone would have tried to tell me I’d be happy playing tonsil hockey with another guy, I would have punched their lights out. What can I say? My father didn’t raise me to be sensitive and neither did the Corp. Even now, I don’t exactly understand it, but I’ve learned not to fight it. I don’t describe myself as a homosexual or, for that matter, a heterosexual. I’m simply a DiNozzo-sexual, stimulated by one person and one person alone. It took some getting used to, accepting the fact that my soul mate was a man, but I’d managed. Hell, it was a lot easier than figuring out how to program a VCR. Besides, with having Tony as my reward, inspiration for that mental adjustment hadn’t been hard to find.
“Mmmmm…” Tony sighs as our lips finally break apart. “Nice.”
I stare straight into his eyes. “*Very* nice.”
God, I love to make that man blush.
Chuckling softly, I slide off Tony even as I grab him around the waist. With a quick move, I flip us so that we’re in *my* favorite position, with Tony on top. He looks down at me fondly.
“They teach you that move in the Marines? Subduing Your Lover 101?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I can’t help but smirk when I respond.
Tony laughs softly. I love that about him, that he laughs so easily, even with all those infernal scars of his. Maybe I’ll be able to learn that trick someday, even with all of these scars of mine.
After all, he has the rest of our lives to teach me.
He stands there in the doorway, staring at me, a smug smile playing about his lips. I’ve been ogled before, but nothing comes close to Gibbs’ powerful regard. His gaze is so intense that I can almost feel it as a physical touch. My body flushes in response, as obedient as the rest of me when it comes to Jethro Gibbs.
He’s still there, watching, and for the life of me, I don’t know why. I’ll never understand what a man like Gibbs sees in me. Okay, I’m attractive, I won’t pretend that I’m not. With most of the guys I’ve been with, I know it’s my body they’re after. When Gibbs looks at me the way he is now, I know he’s appreciating how I look. With Gibbs, though, that’s only the beginning. Those impressive eyes of his see right into me, if that makes any sense. Gibbs sees the real Tony DiNozzo and doesn’t flinch. I hope he knows how much that means to me.
For someone who’s known to be glib, words sometimes are difficult for me to come up with. When it counts, anyway. That’s something that Jethro and I have in common; when it comes to emotional stuff, neither of us has a good track record. That’s why the best way for me to tell him how I feel is to show him. For a man like Gibbs, actions speak far louder than words.
“You gonna stand there all night?” I ask.
I arch my back and take my time stretching, showing myself off for him. Gibbs knows me inside and out. I know he’s attracted to more than just my body, but that doesn’t stop him from appreciating the view. My question sparks a fire in his eyes and his movements as he stalks across the room are almost predatory.
“You think that bed’s big enough for both of us?” He asks as he approaches.
I barely hide the shiver the challenge in his words causes. Our lovemaking can get rambunctious at times and, yeah, we’ve almost fallen off the mattress more than once. Thinking about it, I can’t help but grin.
“It was a few minutes ago,” I remind him. The bed had been big enough, mostly because he’d ridden me so hard that he’d practically nailed me through the mattress. “Oh, that’s right, you were on top of me, weren’t you? That doesn’t take up nearly as much mattress space.”
If he knew me as well as I thought he did, Gibbs would ignore the teasing tone of my voice and just crawl on top of me. I love it when he does that. He’s heavy, all of it muscle, but being pinned under him doesn’t make me feel trapped; it makes me feel grounded.
“That so,” he responds and, thank God, climbs onto the bed and on top of me. “Well, who am I to mess with Standard Operating Procedure?”
Only Gibbs would use a military term in reference to sex. “Perish the thought, Boss,” I retort.
His response is almost instant. Jethro leans down to kiss me and, once his lips claim mine, I have no more breath left for quips. At first, it had surprised me that Gibbs was such a good kisser. I guess I’d thought that a soldier would be all passion and no technique. I’ve never been happier to be wrong. Jethro approaches kissing with the same front-on approach that he uses with an investigation; aggressive, leave no nook or cranny unexplored and don’t be afraid to be sneaky. He’s got this little tickle move with his tongue that he uses on the roof of my mouth. No matter how many times we kiss, I’m never ready for it and it always gets me going.
God, I wish I was up to doing more than kiss.
Gibbs shifts slightly on top of me and I immediately retract that thought. The sex was good, hell it was phenomenal, but cuddling is nice too. Most of my other male lovers would just roll over and go to sleep. The women were a little better, but they usually wanted to be on the receiving end. Gibbs is different. For as brisk as he could be at work, he seems to sense my need to be touched and never fails to generously indulge me.
Even Gibbs’ kisses can’t last forever and, when he pulls away, I express my appreciation.
“Mmmmm…” I murmur as we break apart. “Nice.”
Gibbs gives me another one of those looks; one that sees past my skin and right into my soul. “*Very* nice,” he states emphatically.
I know it’s not the kiss he’s talking about or even a comment about the way I look. He’s complimenting *me* and that’s something I’m not used to. I can feel myself blush, but I can’t stop it.
Jethro’s chuckle is my only warning. He grabs me and flips me over, until I’m looking down into those blue, blue eyes.
“They teach you that move in the Marines?” I ask with pretend exasperation. “Subduing Your Lover 101?”
He’s looking smug again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I laugh again. I can’t help it; being with Gibbs makes me happy. Besides, call me kinky, but being flipped across the bed like that is a definite turn-on. Of course, I’m not gonna tell him or I’d be flipped across the mattress so much that I’d feel like some sort of giant pancake.
I love how comfortable Jethro is in his own skin. Even his name, which in my opinion, his parents were damn cruel to give to him, has become a badge of honor. His unflinching refusal to compromise who he is in order to fit in is something that I’m dying to learn.
Maybe if I’m around Gibbs long enough, I’ll figure out how to be that way too.
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