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They'd been on each other's nerves all week at work; it became the hot topic of conversation in autopsy between Abby, Ducky, and Palmer, and McGee and Ziva when they were passing through. And then, when Tony had almost gotten shot again, but instead got a nasty whack to the side of the head that left him reeling and the paramedics declared him to be mildly concussed but nothing more, something snapped in Gibbs and he grabbed DiNozzo by the arm and hauled him towards the sedan. He tore through the D.C. streets back to NCIS, deposited Tony in his chair, told him to write his report and write it fast, quickly wrote his own, told Ziva and McGee they better stay until their reports were perfect, and then grabbed Tony by the arm again and pulled him, sputtering and protesting, towards the elevator.


"Is Gibbs going to kill Tony?" Gibbs heard McGee ask Ziva in alarm. He was glad that the closing doors didn't allow him to hear Ziva's response.

"You're coming with me," Gibbs told Tony as the elevator pinged and they stepped out into the parking garage.

"You can let go of my arm, Boss," Tony said in reply, tugging his arm against Gibbs' snug hold.

Gibbs huffed and let his hand fall, but kept a close eye on Tony as they walked.

"Get in the car," he finally said, pulling his passenger door open and slamming it once Tony was inside. He quickly moved around to the other side and got in the driver's side, then peeled out of his parking spot.

"Pissed off, Boss?" Tony ventured, his tone half playful and half terrified; he'd never seen Gibbs quite like this.

"All week, DiNozzo," Gibbs said shortly.

"So - where we going? You know, McGee and Ziva saw us leave - if I don't show up to work on Monday they'll know who did it," Tony said.

Gibbs snorted.

"Well," Tony backtracked, "I'm sure you'd do a great job covering it up," Tony conceded. "I'm not saying you wouldn't make a great criminal-"

"Shut it, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked.

Tony's mouth snapped shut immediately and silence reigned for a moment, until he gathered the courage to speak again, which was admittedly only a few short minutes from when he stopped, since he couldn't go that long without talking, anyway.

"So, really, Boss, where are you taking me? You gonna leave me in the woods or something? Is that some weird Marine thing? You know, I have to be woken up every two hours-"

"That concussion make you blind?" Gibbs asked. This time, he sounded vaguely amused despite the air of frustration surrounding him, but only to someone well-versed in Gibbs-speak, which fortunately, Tony was.

Tony blinked, looking away from Gibbs and out the window.

"Your house?" he asked incredulously, recognizing the familiar residential roads near Gibbs' home and already thinking he'd go through that drawer in the guest room with the faulty lock, and maybe sneak into the shelves in the basement - he loved Gibbs' house. And then, his mouth fell open in horror. "You're not gonna lock me in the basement, are you, Boss?"

"DiNozzo," he said, completely exasperated, "I'm taking care of you."

"Taking care of me?" Tony asked, sounding panicked as he remembered Monday's notorious coffee switch, when he'd given McGee's way-too-sweet peppermint mocha instead of his usual strong black blend to Gibbs, and Tuesday's interoffice instant message debacle - Gibbs was definitely not intended to receive the message Tony had sent to Crystal the secretary who he'd had a brief...encounter with the weekend before, nor was that message meant to disrupt Gibbs' limited computer knowledge so much that he got mad and unplugged the computer when the strange words popped up and grabbed Tony's half-full coffee right out of his hands and threw it in the garbage can with a splash that ruined Tony's new Versace trousers. Wednesday's "accidental evidence contamination" didn't work out so well, either, nor did Thursday's "Oops, sorry Boss, didn't mean to push you into that puddle and step on your newly-requisitioned cell phone in the process and break it right after you had to replace it because I got you so mad that you threw it against the wall and it shattered into pieces that made Jimmy Palmer trip and fall." And then Friday - today - was the whole "mild concussion" issue. Tony gulped.

Gibbs just snorted again and pulled into his driveway.

"Come on DiNozzo," he said as he stepped out of the car. Tony hesitated, but complied when Gibbs jogged around the car and then leaned down outside Tony's window, giving him an impatient look through the glass as he tapped the roof of the car, which Tony responded to with a faintly terrified smile and wide eyes as he looked away to slowly take off his seatbelt.

Gibbs opened the door for him and Tony got out, waiting for Gibbs to walk ahead of him, but Gibbs held out a hand in deference and made Tony go first.

Tony walked nervously, forcing himself to not turn around and see what Gibbs' facial expression was saying, and hesitantly opened the door and stepped inside, taking a step into the hallway but then stepping to the side to allow Gibbs to enter ahead of him. Gibbs jerked his head sideways to indicate for Tony to follow him into the kitchen, and Tony followed swiftly.

"Sit," Gibbs said, gesturing towards the table.

Tony obediently sat at the table and looked towards Gibbs, awaiting instruction, but Gibbs was turned away from him, rifling through an upper-level cabinet with his head swallowed up by the open doors.

Tony heard the clank of metal from Gibbs' direction, and then Gibbs emerged once more, back ramrod straight, brandishing two cans of soup.

"Chicken noodle or Italian wedding?" Gibbs asked.

It was so unexpected that Tony's eyes widened in surprise, and then a slow grin spread across his face. "I'm a DiNozzo," Tony said. "I'm Italian. What do you think I want?"

Gibbs considered him for a moment "Chicken noodle," he said.

"Got it in one, Boss," Tony replied, putting an elbow on the table and propping his head up on his hand as he turned to watch Gibbs move around his kitchen. "How come you didn't just tell me you were going to take care of me?" Tony asked.

"I did," Gibbs said impatiently, dumping the can of soup in a bowl and shoving it in the microwave.

Tony thought back a moment. "Oh. Yeah. Guess you did," he said. "Gonna work on your boat, Boss?" he asked, hoping that either a) he could follow him down and see how the boat was doing, and maybe Gibbs would let him touch it, or God forbid, sand it - or b) he could explore the rest of the house and go through every drawer, shelf, and closet he could while Gibbs was holed away in the basement. The possibilities were endless.

"No," Gibbs said, pouring the other can, the Italian wedding soup, into another bowl.

"What are you gonna do instead?" Tony asked. "No, wait, don't tell me-read the paper? wouldn't want to do that, it's too dark, bad eyes-no, um, let's see, no TV, no internet..." Tony trailed off and thought for a moment as Gibbs opened his utensil drawer, took out 2 spoons, and unceremoniously dumped one in front of Tony, pushing his elbow off the table in the process.

"What do you do all day when you're not building your boat, anyway?" Tony asked curiously, readjusting his posture and resting his hands on his lap.

"Work," Gibbs said shortly, pulling the microwave door open and getting Tony's bowl of soup out. He put it on Tony's placemat, and Tony reached out to move the bowl, then quickly retracted his hand and shook it.

"Damn, that's hot," he said, holding his finger tightly where he'd burnt it.

Gibbs shrugged and put his own bowl in the microwave.

"You're like a superhero, Boss; you don't even get burned," Tony said.

Gibbs spared him an amused harrumph of air that in Gibbs-speak equaled a chuckle, and Tony smiled as he picked up his spoon to eat the soup. "But really, Boss, if you're not working on the boat, then what are you gonna do?" Tony asked. He brought a spoonful of soup up to his mouth.

"Make sure you don't kill yourself," Gibbs said, just as Tony hissed and spit a mouthful of burning hot broth back into his bowl.

Tony looked at him sullenly, and once dinner was over - for most of which Tony babbled and Gibbs looked impatient - Gibbs grabbed their bowls, put them in the sink, and ushered Tony into the living room.

"How many fingers?" Gibbs asked, holding a hand in front of Tony's face.

"Three," Tony said easily.

"What's your name?" Gibbs asked, sitting down beside him.

"Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo," Tony said with a grin. Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"So you're really not gonna kill me?" Tony asked, sounding skeptical.

"Of course I'm not going to kill you," Gibbs said. He reached up to smack him in the back of the head, but stopped short, remembering Tony's concussion, and settled instead on running his fingers through the very short, but very soft, wisps at the nape of Tony's neck. He told himself that it was hardly different than the usual smack, even when Tony sighed and said, "'snice, Boss."

And then, when his hand was still entwined firmly in Tony's hair, and Tony leaned against him, his side warm against his own, Gibbs definitely did not think to himself with desperation that this was where Tony belonged, here safe and sound beside Gibbs, nestled into his arm and alive and annoying and whole, not being shot at by some lunatic.

Feeling particularly daring or particularly foolish, he couldn't tell which, Tony let his head drop onto Gibbs' shoulder, his heart beating a hair too fast the whole time.

Gibbs kept his hand in Tony's hair, and Tony thought he might've heard a sigh. Either that, or Gibbs was taking a deep breath to gather the nerve required to move his hand just centimeters and snap Tony's neck. He was, after all, a highly trained Marine.

"Quit getting shot at, DiNozzo," Gibbs said gruffly, and Tony thought it odd to hear that demanding voice coming from the man whose fingers were deftly, well, running through his hair.

"On it, Boss," Tony said, and as he spoke, he suddenly realized what this meant. Gibbs cared about him. The man had his fingers wrapped in Tony's hair, and Tony was snuggled warmly against his side. Gibbs more than cared about him. Gibbs didn't care about anyone (well, besides Abby, and maybe Ducky), and he certainly didn't snuggle, and yet, here they were. So, thinking it probably couldn't get any weirder than it already was, Tony turned his head and pressed his lips, soft and warm, against Gibbs' collarbone. He could always blame it on the concussion and answer the name question wrong so Gibbs thought he was unbalanced.

Tony was surprised when Gibbs didn't shove him off the couch, but instead, exhaled loudly again - dare Tony actually consider it a sigh? - and Tony felt his heart-beat quicken even more when Gibbs' hand ruffled his hair then fell on his shoulder, and then Tony felt a light kiss press into the hair on top of his head.

Tony kissed along Gibbs' neck again, this time with a little bit more confidence, but he didn't dare turn his head enough that he could see Gibbs' face - and then Gibbs abruptly shifted, his two hands moving sniper-fast and holding Tony's face on either side, cupping it and keeping it right in front of his own. Tony's eyes were wide, startled, and he felt flushed and exposed as Gibbs stared at him intently, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Tony's heart was pounding now; he was sure Gibbs could hear it.

The searching tension on Gibbs' face morphed into something different, something intense and focused, and he leaned forward and suddenly pressed his lips against Tony's. This was not the gentle flutter that Tony, for a moment, thought he'd simply imagined on top of his head. This was not rough, calloused fingers brushing reassuringly through his hair. This was Gibbs' lips crushed against his, tongue sliding against his own, hands holding him in place, then shifting, one in his hair, gripping now, one sliding down and clutching at his shirt. Tony felt his own hands moving towards Gibbs, finding purchase on his back and on his neck. This was intense. This was hot. This was everything Tony had dreamed about for years.

Gibbs' mouth moved from Tony's to trail down his jaw, leaving hot wetness in its wake. Tony gasped as Gibbs pushed him down until he was lying on his back and Gibbs was spread out over him. For a moment, Tony wondered if he should be embarrassed that his cock was rock-hard and pushing into Gibbs' thigh, but then he felt Gibbs', pressing into his hip just beside his own. He twisted his hips but stopped when Gibbs laid a hand on them, and then sucked and bit at his neck.

"Mine," Gibbs murmured into his skin, one hand still running over Tony's cheek and jaw, occasionally wandering into his hair.

"Yours," Tony gasped, as Gibbs pushed his hips down and ground his cock into Tony's hip, so close to his own cock that Tony ached for them to touch.

"Nobody touches you but me," Gibbs said. "Mine," he added again for emphasis, trailing his lips back up to kiss Tony fiercely.

In any other circumstance, Tony thought he might be freaked out. He probably should be freaked out; Gibbs kissed him for the first time, then sucked at his neck and definitely left a mark, then got all possessive, all within about two minutes. But this was Gibbs. And instead of feeling freaked out, he felt warmth build up in his stomach and he smiled into the intensity of Gibbs' kiss.

That only made Gibbs kiss harder, and Tony easily lost himself in it, and soon their hands were wandering and they were grunting and panting, shirts tugged off and pants hastily unzipped, and Tony wondered, as they struggled to get their shoes and pants off without losing contact, erections bobbing against each other, why this hadn't happened sooner. And he marveled that it was actually happening at all - at least, until suddenly Gibbs wasn't kissing him anymore, but instead pulling off their boxers, and then the cold air was icy cool against his cock, his mind reeling because this was really happening, and then, even better, Gibbs was kissing him again, and finally, when Gibbs pushed his hips downward, their cocks pressed against each other. Tony reached around and put a hand on Gibbs' jaw, urging his mouth away for a moment. Gibbs looked like he was pissed off by the interruption at first, then he relaxed when Tony merely spit on his hand and then brought it down and grabbed onto both of their cocks at once. At that, Gibbs went back to kissing Tony with such intensity Tony felt like he was being fucked.

Tony eagerly jerked them both off at once, wondering again if this was some whacked-out concussion hallucination, because certainly this couldn't be happening, but then Gibbs nipped at his lower lip, then he bit a little harder, and Tony's breath hitched and his hand moved faster on their cocks.

"Gibbs," he panted breathlessly.

Gibbs sucked at his neck again, and used one hand to tweak his nipple. He pinched it between his fingers, then rubbed it and flicked it as he nipped the skin on Tony's neck, just hard enough to twinge.

"Gibbs," Tony said again, this time desperately. "Gibbs, Gibbs," he said, and now it was a breathless mantra.

Gibbs twisted his hips, grinding their cocks together further, and trapping Tony's hand between them. "Gibbs, gonna come," Tony said frantically.

At that, Gibbs went back to kissing Tony's mouth, his own cock already leaking into Tony's hand. Gibbs grunted into Tony's mouth, and Tony relished the feel of the hot, sweaty skin against his own, and the feel of Gibbs' mouth against his, and the way Gibbs still held onto his hair, and the way their cocks pulsed against each other. This was overload.

Gibbs pulled his mouth away and planted kisses against Tony's neck in a frenzy as his hips moved faster and faster. "Mine," he said between kisses, panting and gasping. Tony bucked beneath him, hand moving faster and faster and faster-until both of them were coming hard and fast and groaning and panting and then Gibbs was slumped on top of him, boneless, hand still in his hair, body held in place by the hot, sticky semen between them, both of them breathing heavy and fast.

"What's your," pant, "name?" Gibbs asked breathlessly.

There was a haze over Tony's brain, a fog of Gibbs. His brain was moving on overdrive, imagining them fucking everywhere-in the boat, on the workbench, in the elevator, in the van, on the kitchen table, and okay, even in autopsy, so it took a moment for Gibbs' question to register, even though that was admittedly not a very unusual thought process for Tony to have.

"My name?" Tony finally asked, equally as breathless. "That's not good pillow-talk, Boss," he said.
The hand wrapped in his hair tugged, and Tony felt Gibbs chuckle against him.

"Name," Gibbs said again.

"Tony," Tony said petulantly. "Do you really have to give me a concussion check when we just had mind-blowing orgasms?" A second later, he realized what he said. "Wait, Boss, we just had mind-blowing orgasms," Tony said. "Together. At the same time," he clarified.

"I know, DiNozzo, I was there," Gibbs said, propping himself up on one elbow and looking at Tony.

"Yeah," Tony said. "You were."

Gibbs looked at him with some strange blend of fondness and exasperation, and Tony grinned. "So when do we do that again? Does that only happen when I have concussions? Is that your Gibbs home-remedy? And if it is, why haven't you done that any other time I had a-"

Gibbs effectively silenced him by kissing him soundly, and Tony felt all of fourteen when his cock, completely spent, twitched against Gibbs'.

"Yeah, we'll do that again," Gibbs said when he pulled his mouth away from Tony's.

"Good," Tony said. After a moment of insecurity, he hesitantly said, "So, I'm yours, Boss...?"

"Hell yeah," Gibbs said. "And don't forget it. I'm a possessive bastard. You're mine."

Tony smiled and ran his hands along Gibbs' back. A sane person would be scared. He was elated.

"And you send another message like that to that secretary woman, or anyone else except me, and that's it," Gibbs warned, referring to Tuesday's accidental message.

"I won't," Tony said, fingers tracing circles along Gibbs' spine.

Gibbs nodded, short hair brushing Tony's face as his head moved, then briskly stood up, unabashed by his nudity. "Come on, I'm too old to sleep on the couch," he said, heading towards the stairs without looking back to see if Tony would follow, which he did, eagerly.

And as he crawled into bed with Gibbs - "Better not kick my blankets off, DiNozzo" - and rolled onto his side, and Gibbs rolled over behind him and slung an arm over his hip, hand resting on his belly, breath brushing against his neck, feet pushing forward until one leg was nestled in between Tony's, Tony thought to himself that he should get a concussion more often if Gibbs was going to react like this. But then he remembered Gibbs' voice, rough, saying "Mine," and he smiled and nestled further into Gibbs' arms. No need to get more concussions - he belonged to Gibbs now. And that was all he needed.