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A Pen Is A Pen

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“McGee. Can I borrow your pen?”

Tim turned around, surprise in his eyes, and the camera in Tony's hands flashed to capture the moment. Tim blinked. “Why?”

“Because I want to chew on it to look smart.” Tony head-slapped him lightly. “I need to write something down, Probie. That's what pens are for.”

The quizzical look on Tim's face remained, but he searched his inside pocket to produce the item in question. “What about your own?” he inquired, holding the pen just out of Tony's reach.

“It's broken. Out of ink. Whatever. Can I have yours or not?”

Tim couldn't help his hearty chuckle, and he opened his mouth to reply, but the simultaneous head-slaps they both received in the next moment silenced him.

“Don't break McGee's stuff, DiNozzo” Gibbs said dryly.

“No, Boss.”

“And don't give him your stuff all the time, McGee.”

“No, Boss.”

“Good. Can we focus on the job now?”

“Ah, Jethro. Speaking of, I think I got something very interesting for you.” Ducky waved Gibbs closer, and as soon as he turned his back on the agents, Tony snatched the pen out of Tim's hand, to which Tim made a sound of protest and attempted to get it back.

“You two behave like these crazy little monkeys in the zoo,” Ziva murmured, standing beside them.

The camera flashed.

~ ~ ~

“We really should reconsider this. 'Pen' just sounds way too small.”

“McGee. It's a fucking code.”

“I know.”

“A fucking work-safe code.”

“I know. But still, it's—”

Tony cut him off. “Jesus Christ, do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Hell, yes!”

“Then shut up already.” He prevented any further articulate reply by twirling his tongue around the tip of Tim's cock.

~ ~ ~

“What's this?” Ziva raised her eyebrows and followed Tony over to Tim's desk.


“What are you doing with it?”

“Assigning it to McGee.”

“Again? Why?”

“Because I can, Ziva.”

She crossed her arms, giving him a disapproving look. “That is not all right, Tony. You cannot always make him do your paperwork. He has got enough to do with his own.”

“My own what?” Tim called from across the room. He approached his coworkers, balancing four paper cups and a bakery bag.

“Reports,” Tony said cheerfully without turning around, and waved with some of the sheets before he dumped them all on Tim's desk.


“Why not today?”

“Because I got breakfast,” Tim answered with a grin, as if that fact would outstrip everything else. He set the cups down, right on top of Tony's notes.

“How sweet of you, McGee.” Ziva smiled at him, taking the bag out of his hands and peeking inside. “Sticky buns! Wonderful!”

Tony shook his head infinitesimally, but Tim just shrugged.

“See, Tony? He is being a nice guy. Much unlike you.”

“He's not nice. No, no, no, he's not nice at all.”

“Nice enough to consider helping you with your paperwork. Tomorrow.”

“You should not, McGee. You are not his slave.”

“Ha!” Tony snorted.


“Tomorrow is just as fine,” he said quickly, not without an I'll Kill You look in Tim's direction. He grabbed a cup, the whole bag of pastries—to which Ziva made a tiny squeak—and walked back to his own desk. “Thanks for the treat, Probie.”

“Oh, you're welcome.”

Ziva sensed rather than understood that she missed something of interest, but no matter how hard she stared at either of them, she couldn't see it. Yet.

~ ~ ~


Tim didn't even look up. “What's up?”

“Can I have a word?”

“No. Breakfast beats paperwork.”

“Says who?”

“You. Last time. When you got the sticky buns. And the bagels.”

Tony owned enough decency to make a semi-guilty face. “So this is about revenge?”


“Okay. Granted. But I bet a little paperwork would make you happy, too . . .”

Tim thought about it, then he nodded swiftly. “Okay. Paperwork first, Mister Bad Sport, but then I'll get what I want. For as long as I want it.“ He grabbed Tony by the hem of his jacket, pulling him halfway over his desk, and his gaze flew vaguely in the general direction of the restrooms. “In five. Final offer.”

“I love it when you're aggressive.” Tony winked and freed himself to stand back. “Deal,” he said very seriously, yet not without a sigh.

~ ~ ~

“Tony, stop fidgeting already,” Ziva complained with irritation. “It makes me nervous.”


“What is wrong with you?”


“Are you sure?”

“I'm just . . . antsy. Can't a man be antsy sometimes, for christsakes?”

“No need to snap at me.”

Tim tried to hide his grin behind the computer screen.

~ ~ ~

“That wasn't fair, McGee. All I wanted was a simple handjob.”

“And you got it. What's your problem?”

“You made me wear that butt plug all fucking day long!”

“It was hot.”

“It wasn't.”

“You jacked off twice. And I'm only talking in between coming all over my shirt and lunch break. Jesus, I can't believe how horny you were.”

“And you?”

~ ~ ~

“I'd like my pen back, please.”

“You have it back already.”

“I don't think so.”

“I swear, Tim, I do not have it.”

“Give it back, DiNozzo.”

Tony dodged Gibbs' head-slap, but he didn't see the one from Ziva coming.

“Ouch. What is wrong with you people?”

“Give it back,” Gibbs demanded again, picking up his phone. “Now!”

“You heard it, Tony,” Ziva said amused, sitting down on the edge of his desk and smiling at him with an air of innocence.

“Yes, you heard it,” Tim seconded.

“That's not really an o—okay, I think it's in my car. Let's get it, shall we?”

“Oh, I could get it for you. I have to go down anyway.”

“No, thanks, Ziva. I don't want you close to my car. You might try and drive.”

~ ~ ~

“We need to get past this code if we want to reconstruct the Petty Officer's last hours,” Ziva closed her report on their current victim. She glanced at her fellow agents but neither of them did—or pretended not to—notice it.

“McGee. Can you crack it?”

“I should be able to,” he confirmed, “but I need some more comparable data about—”

“Don't talk geek to me.”


“Just get typing.” Tony patted him on the back. “Do that magical thing you do with your fingers. Now.”

“You're kidding me, right?”

“Not at all.”

~ ~ ~

“The broom cupboard? Really, McGee, couldn't you come up with something better?”

“I'm sorry, but I'm a bit in a hurry. This will have to do.”

“Well then, no problem speeding things up.” Tony undid his jeans, turned around and braced himself against a rack full of paper towels and Windex bottles. “How romantic.”

“Next time I'll book a suite at the Ritz.”

“Thank you. Much appreciated.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Anything else, Tony?”

“Yeah. Make it three and make me come hard.”

~ ~ ~

“McGee! Take DiNozzo!”

Tim blushed hard at Gibbs' words and turned his head to find him come down the stairs briskly.


“I need you to retrieve the data, and I need him to watch your ass while you're there.”

“Where?” Tim inquired, his heartbeat calming down slowly.

At the same time Tony laughed, “This ass needs no watch.”

He received a double head-slap and they were on their way with all necessary information a mere two minutes later.

In the elevator, Tony put on a smirk. “We could exchange pens afterwards. What do you think?”

Tim just raised his eyebrows.

~ ~ ~

“Okay. Where is he?”

“This is the men's restroom, Ziva, in case you already forgot—again. You really should stop coming in here.”

“Where is he, Tony?”



Tony dried his hands and dumped the paper towel, ignoring Ziva's stare.

“Is this your little secret meeting point?”

“What is wrong with this pretty head of yours?”

“What is wrong in this freaky world of yours?” she countered.

“Ziva, Ziva, Ziva. Curiosity killed the cat, you know?”

“What cat?”

He left her behind with a very confused look on her face and even more conviction that they had something going on.

~ ~ ~

“MTAC. Now.”


“Yeah. That's that huge fucking room upstairs where—”

“Spare me, Tony. I'm not in the mood for that.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I should add that I really need you to screen something for me.”

Tim remained silent.

“I please want you to?”


“Pretty please?”

Tim looked up, scanning the room. “Not MTAC,” he then whispered. “Impossible.”


“Security cameras everywhere.”


Tim raised an eyebrow. “For real?”

“Ducky has a meeting and Palmer is off today.”

“Let's go.”

~ ~ ~

“As if that was any more romantic than the storage room.”

“Broom cupboard.”

“Does it matter?”

“See, Tim, that's the problem with you. You always complain. You can't just let go and enjoy what life gives you.”

“That is not true. I am very well capable of—”

Tony silenced him with a kiss, and for a little while they were all lips and tongues and roaming hands.

“I like screening,” Tim eventually whispered, trailing his way down Tony's neck. “It's such a lovely change.”

Tony smiled agreement.

~ ~ ~

“I'm in the mood for a snack. Anyone else?”

Ziva shook her head and Gibbs only shot him a quick glance.

Tony sighed. “Tim? Are you willing to keep me company?” he asked with much drama.

“Well . . . yeah, why not . . . I guess. Could stretch my legs a little . . . ” Tim narrowed his eyes, unsure whether he was missing or catching something here, nor what it might be that Tony had in mind. When Tony nodded subtly, he suggested, “Gotta bring this, um . . . flash drive . . . down to Abby first.”

“I'm coming with you.”

Ziva followed them with her eyes as they left. “They're getting careless,” she mumbled.

“What did you say?”

“I said I couldn't care less. About, you know, snacks. Whatever that means.”

Gibbs looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

~ ~ ~

Tim's eyes crossed, his mouth produced a string of obscenities. He spread his legs further, granting better access, and his hands dug into Tony's hair as if by a will of their own.

“Shh,” Tony hissed against him, eliciting yet another deeply throaty moan. His tongue drew a few lazy circles before dipping back into the sweet hot tightness.


~ ~ ~

Ziva squeezed herself into the cabin just when the doors were about to close.

“Going down?”

Tim nodded.

The elevator started moving, but a few seconds later, Ziva flipped the emergency stop switch.

“What is this all about?”

“What exactly?”

“You and Tony. You behaved so weird in the last few weeks. What are you hiding?”

“Ziva, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You are looking down on your feet. It is a sure sign of lying.”

Tim reached for the switch, but Ziva grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm on his back, shoving him against the cabin's wall head-first. She didn't hurt him, but he was so surprised that he couldn't help a little squeak.

“I know eighteen ways to force the truth out of you, if I so want.”

“Jesus, Ziva. You really need to think about anger management.”

“Just saying, McGee. I have an eye on you two.” She let go of him and flipped the switch herself. With a rattling sound, the elevator came back to life.

~ ~ ~

“What are you doing here, DiNozzo?”

“Figured it was time for a drink.”

“For you or for me?”

Tony didn't answer. Gibbs lay down his tools on the workbench and brushed some sawdust off the stools. “What’s the reason?” he asked, pouring them a drink each.

“Rule number four.”

“You've come to tell me a secret?”

“Not really. I don't know.”

“Does it correlate with rule number twelve?”

Tony sat down, took the offered glass and emptied it in one swallow, but he didn't say a word.

Gibbs nodded eventually, taking a gulp of his own drink. “I don't want to know, but I'm going to tell Ziva that a pen is a pen, if you are going to tell McGee there will be no more buying breakfast.”


“I hate it when either of you are so damned fidgety.”