The ‘Welcome Home’ dinner had been a great success. Tony provided the venue (his place) and tried his best to be a good host. Ducky and Jimmy had cooked up a wonderful feast. McGee and Ziva had brought wine and gossip. Abby wore a very short dress and gave him reviews of all the movies that Tony had missed since he’d been Agent Afloat. As for Gibbs... he was the one who got the band back together. Without him, there would have been no dinner, no nothing.
Then it was time for all good agents (and medical examiners) to be in bed. So, Ducky offered Ziva a lift and McGee promised to ensure that Jimmy got home okay. Leaving Gibbs and Abby at Tony’s. Not that Tony minded; not at all.
Especially when Abby decided that of all the seats in Tony’s living room, she liked his lap, facing him, the best. Same thing with Gibbs. Of all the places to sit, he chose to be right next to Tony. Arm across the back of the sofa, hand resting on Tony’s neck, callused thumb brushing against the side of his throat.
Tony was happier in that moment than he had been since before he shipped out to LA as protection duty for Director Shepard. There was music playing softly in the background (Nyman, sountrack to The Piano, the part of his brain that was obsessed with movies supplied. The rest of his brain was otherwise occupied) everything was cleared away, the lights were low and there was nowhere else he wanted to be right then.
Abby shifted her weight forward; Tony’s body reacted Pavlov fashion to her closeness yet all he did was shift forward to put an arm around her shoulders and reach out to touch Gibbs knee.
He wanted more that he would not deny. Had dreamed of it, jerked off over it silently in his bunk on both the Regan and the Seahawk at night and yet...
“Not going to do anything you don’t want, DiNozzo.” Gibbs murmured quietly as he reached out, with his free arm, to stroke Abby’s bare leg. She nodded with a lazy smile at both of them.
“I’m good.” Tony murmured quietly, meaning it.