![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grammarwomanTitle: Place Your Hands on My Hope
Author:grammarwoman
Fandom/Pairing: NCIS, Tim/Tony
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2,800
Spoilers: A "blink and you'll miss it" one for Season 7, "Endgame"
Author's Notes: My long-overdue entry for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo, for the "Hand Fetish" square. Alas that procrastination is my biggest motivator - this all just came flying out tonight. Dedicated to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catwalksalone, for pimping me into NCIS fandom through the pairing of these two goofballs. Inspired by Sean Murray's deliciously long fingers. (Good God, I'm only human!)
Place Your Hands on My Hope
"Hey, McGoogle, could you hurry up with the typing-texting-phone-fondling whateverness?" Tony bounced up and down in place with his hands tucked in his armpits. "We've got a suspect to catch before they'll let us back inside where it's warm and my blood can resume circulating." He shivered exaggeratedly.
Tim shot him a look that, if there were any justice in the universe, would have had Tony writhing in a cartoon dust-cloud of agony. Instead, as usual, Tony was ignoring his reaction in favor of continuing to whine. "Seriously! I think I'm losing feeling in my nose!" He poked at his face as if to check that it was still there.
"Tony," Tim growled, mistyping a letter on his phone keyboard for the thousandth time as his bare hands cramped in the bitterly cold wind, "if you hadn't knocked me down into that slush puddle, I wouldn't have soaked my gloves, and I wouldn't have icicles where my fingers used to be, and I could have found his GPS signal already, and we'd be on our way!" His thumb slipped again, and he nearly dropped the phone. "Dammit!"
"Pfft, is that all? Take my gloves." Tony started peeling them off his hands.
Tim took a deep, cleansing breath, then another for good measure. "Thanks, but no."
"You're the one with cold hands, McFreeze. What's the problem?" Tony waved a glove at him. "Come on!"
"The problem, Tony, is that your gloves wouldn't fit me, and they would slow me down even further." Tim punched in the last few characters and prayed. Just when he thought his laborious entry had been in vain, the suspect's GPS popped up on the tiny phone map, pinpointing his location less than three blocks away. After that came the chase and the collar and the successful delivery to Gibbs' tender mercies.
Later, Tim settled gratefully into his office chair, worshipping the cup of coffee in his hands as the warmth seeped into his palms and radiated through his body. He let out a groan and lifted it to his lips.
"Bah! Get a room already!" Tony slammed past Tim's desk and dropped into his own chair. "You can love your coffee, just don't love your coffee, if you get what I'm saying."
Years of practice and his subconscious expectation of such interruptions meant that Tim neither dropped the cup nor squeezed it into fountaining all over his face. He merely took a leisurely sip and hummed loudly. "I will love my coffee however I damn well choose, Tony." He grinned at Tony over the top of his cup as he swallowed again, then licked his lips to further broadcast his enjoyment. "Ahhhh."
Tony leaned away with an overdone grimace. "Whatever floats your boat." He tapped at his computer, then whirled back to face Tim. "Hey! For the record, I do not have girly little hands. I have strong, manly man-hands! Lumberjack paws, even!" He flexed his fingers to demonstrate.
"I see." Tim had no idea what Tony was babbling about and didn't care enough to even ask. The non-reaction was usually sufficient to get Tony to do all the work of explaining himself. This time was no exception.
"That gloves comment, Probie. You insinuated that your burly mitts wouldn't fit into my dainty little gloves."
"Insinuated? Impressive vocab, there. Did you steal someone else's word-a-day calendar?" Tim leaned back and waited for the explosion.
"Oh, so now I've got a small mind to go with my small hands, Mr. Famous Author, Can't Finish His Next Book…Guy!" Tony shot out of his chair so fast it slammed into the cubicle wall behind him.
Tim sighed. If he wasn't careful, the banter would get ugly, and he did not have the energy for it this time. He had to nip it in the bud before Abby picked up on the tension with her forensic Spidey-sense and came up to pout at them. "Tony, hey, I'm sorry about that. But really, I never said that you had small hands."
Tony sniffed. "You said that my gloves wouldn't fit you. What else is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that I have really long fingers. There's like one shop in a 20-mile radius that sells gloves that fit my hands." Tim held up one, flipping it back and forth so Tony could see for himself.
"Huh." Tony took this as yet another invitation to crowd into Tim's personal space. He grabbed Tim's hand and matched it against his own. Sure enough, Tim's digits lapped over Tony's by almost a full fingertip. "Wow, you really do have freakishly long fingers."
Tim yanked his hand away. "Thanks, Tony."
"No, really. Have you thought about going on the carnie circuit with those?" Tony tried to snatch up Tim's hand again, which led to a near-slap fight as Tim evaded Tony's grasp.
"Do I have to tell you guys about Rule 12 again?" Gibbs dropped a file on his desk.
"No, Boss!" "Sorry, Boss!" Their replies overlapped as they jumped apart.
"Fine. Now go home. You did good work today."
"Thanks, Boss!" they said in chorus, and beat a hasty retreat out of the office. Tony waved goodbye at Tim with a ridiculous waggle of his fingers. "Careful not to flash those at an octopus, McGee! You might find yourself fending off eight arms of loooove!"
Tim sighed again and got in his car.
-----
Home alone, unmolested by cephalopods, Tim settled down to another unproductive evening of writing. His slush binder had grown bigger than his last novel; at this point, his writing exercises were doing everything and anything but moving the stalled plot forward.
The knock on the door came as a welcome relief. Tim didn't even need to look through the peephole to know it was Tony -- only one person could bang as annoyingly as he did -- but he checked anyway. He barely had the door open when Tony barged on through.
"I've been thinking about your fingers, McGee," announced Tony, making his way to the fridge to stash the six-pack of bottled beer inside.
"Come on in, Tony. Make yourself at home." Tim lingered at the door, wondering if he should try escaping while Tony kept rambling. He gave it up as a lost cause and closed the door.
Tony cracked open a beer and settled in Tim's comfortable gaming chair. "I mean, those hands seem wasted on you. You could have been a famous piano player, or a surgeon, or something." He pointed at Tim with the bottle. "Face it - you're not living up to their potential."
"I type with these fingers every day!" Tim protested. "I work with computers, I investigate sensitive equipment, I play video games! Believe me, I take full advantage of them."
"Nope! Not good enough," Tony said. "When I think what I could do with those farcical phalanges...Hey! I dated English and pre-med majors, so don't give me that McEyebrow, McDoubtful! I can break out the fancy-pants lingo when I want to."
Tim, caught in guilty mid-rise, let his brow settle down. "And what could you do with these that I'm not?"
Tony took a long pull on his beer. "Well, for one thing, if I were you, I could make some lucky girl happy. Very, very happy!" He chuckled to himself.
"Who's to say I haven't?" Tim smirked back at him.
"Are we talking about Abby, here? Because she wouldn't have dumped you if you'd made her that happy."
"Hey! Who says she dumped me?"
Tony was momentarily distracted by the smooth spin of the chair. He stopped to look at Tim. "McGee. Come on."
"Fine, whatever. All I'm saying is, I haven't had any complaints."
Tony drained the last of his beer and looked for a place to set it down on Tim's crowded media desk. Tim winced as Tony knocked over some equipment before giving up and taking the bottle to the kitchen. "Maybe the girls you date - you know, the ones that aren't secretly evil and plotting to kill you - are too nice to tell you."
Tim grabbed his own bottle from the fridge as Tony was retrieving another. He took an angry swallow. "Gee, thanks for the beer, but if all you came over for was to harass me about my hands-"
"I wasn't kidding, you know." Tony examined the label of his beer, swiping the condensation with his thumb. "I've been thinking about your fingers, like, a lot."
Tim felt like he'd been left behind a couple of turns ago in Tony's whiplash conversation. "Um, what?"
"It's pretty crazy," Tony continued, "that it took me 'til today to really, you know, see them. And now I can't unsee them."
Tim felt his fingers start to lose their grip on the bottle, so he set it carefully down on the counter. "I'm...sorry?"
"It's not like I needed another thing, is the thing. I mean, I was hung up on your eyes for a while - did you know how green they are? I thought I had pretty good eyes - they work, and they've got that hazelness going for them, like, 'Oooo, Tony, your eyes change color!'" He coughed after the last part, which had come out in a high-pitched exaggeration of a woman's voice.
"And your smile - you've got this cute puppy-dog grin going for you, then you add the eye twinkle, and it's a killer combo, I gotta say. That bottom lip, man. I lost a few nights to that lip."
Tim's knees had joined in collusion with his fingers and started feeling a little wobbly, so Tim leaned back on the counter, hoping he wouldn't disturb the confessions spilling out of Tony, who for his part was alternating sips from his bottle with complete avoidance of looking at Tim. The lip in question was currently gaping open beyond Tim's control.
"To be honest, 'cause let's face it, I'm being honest here, I kinda miss your belly. It looked so soft and comfortable, like you'd be soft and comfortable. Don't get me wrong, you've got a slammin' bod now, and I appreciate the work you're doing, but yeah, I miss it."
Tim gripped the edge of the counter harder as to not slide right down to the floor. It was amazing that he could still hear Tony over the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears.
"But the thing that gets me, Tim, since about the day I met you, is your big, enormous, McBrain." Tony finally looked up and straight at him. Tim felt his breath leave him in a sharp gust, only to suck it all back in as Tony took a step towards him. "But as smart as you are, and you're the smartest fucking guy I've ever met...how did you miss all this?"
Tim swallowed a couple of times, trying to remember how to talk, and then figuring out what to say.
"Tony?" he managed, his voice going perilously high.
"Yeah, Tim," Tony answered.
"You..." Tim tried to find the next words. "You're...very charming."
"Charming, huh." Tony's chin came up and he stepped back. "That's a new take on the 'thanks, but no thanks' speech."
"No! I mean, you have this amazing charm. You can schmooze anybody, and when it doesn't work, it's like it slides right off you. But you always have something to say." Tim knew he was babbling, but he had to keep talking until Tony understood. If he understood Tony, which he hoped he did.
"You have this confidence that never ends. And you're a bigger geek about movies than I am about computers."
"Hey!" Tony protested reflexively at the word geek, then subsided. "You might have a point." More importantly, he inched closer to Tim.
"You look so damn good in those suits of yours that you make me want to look good in a suit." Tim self-consciously smoothed down the ratty T-shirt he'd changed into when he got home.
"I'd noticed you were dressing better. Maybe not the way I'd do it, but I always say a man has to find his own style." Tim could tell that Tony's casual amble towards him was an act from the telltale flicker as he looked back and forth between Tim's face and lower. Tim gulped a bit as he realized just how low that look went.
"And I know that I'm good with computers, but you, you get people. You know what makes them tick. It's what makes you such a great agent."
Tony grinned at that. "Thanks, Probie."
"Tony," Tim said, and didn't know where to go from there.
Tony was standing just out of reach. "Yeah, Tim."
"I, uh...My hands?"
Tony nodded. "Those damn long fingers."
Tim smiled. "OK, then. Fingers it is." He reached out as Tony leaned in; Tim cupped his palm around Tony's cheek.
"Just for the record, Tony - my hands are totally bigger than yours." Tim laughed as Tony lunged for him.
Somewhere in the ensuing struggle, after much kissing and wrestling and tickling and kissing again, they wound up panting and tangled on Tim's bed. Tony had Tim's T-shirt up and over his head in a jiffy. Tim was not having the same luck with Tony's buttons; the tricky little discs kept slipping out of his grasp.
"Come on, come on, McFumbles!" Tony gasped. Tim glared at him, gave up and ripped the shirt open.
"Hey, that was a very expen-" Tony's complaint was cut off as Tim landed another kiss on him and proceeded to make short work of his pants. Then, finally, they were naked and Tim could touch all of Tony's skin, that golden expanse that had eluded his grasp for so long. One groan from Tony and Tim's internal monologue shut off, leaving his back-brain to fill in with "More skin touch now".
"God, Tim!" Tony looked near-sated already, arching like a cat as Tim stroked the planes of his chest and the slight rise of his stomach. Tim felt a wicked smile stretch his lips; he leaned over to pull some supplies from his bedside table. He dangled the bottle of lube in front of Tony.
"Yes?"
Tony nodded urgently. "Oh hell yes."
"Good." Tim dribbled some lube across both hands. He wrapped one around Tony's cock. He rippled his grip, then gave one strong pull. Tony hissed as his entire body tensed up into Tim's grasp.
Tim dropped him and scooted back. "What? What'd I do?"
Tony panted, "Sorry! Sorry - I've just been -" He laughed softly and settled back down. "I've been thinking about this moment for so long, I almost embarrassed myself right there." He waved his hand in apology. "Please don't stop."
"A DiNozzo please. Well, then." Tim gripped him again. "Let's try this again."
He started with a gentler stroke, watching the tension in Tony's face as his breathing sped up. He levered Tony's knees up and slid a finger back behind his balls, circling softly around.
"When- you'd- get- this-" Tony panted and gasped as Tim's finger slipped in.
"Good, Tony?" Tony breathed a sibilant "YESSS" as Tim crooked his finger. "I thought a 'Don't Kiss and Tell' rule worked great with the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy at the office, so I never told anyone about my...other dates."
"Neither did I," sighed Tony. "Except Abby, right?" Their eyes met as they shared a rueful grin.
"Like I could keep anything from her," admitted Tim. He sped up his stroke and added another finger.
Tony's hands clenched the sheets as he started rocking himself between Tim's hands, a stream of "Oh God!"s and "Tim!"s as a barely audible background, mixed in with various profanity. Tim added a wicked twist to the motion of his hands and Tony came with a shuddering sigh.
While Tony sprawled with a satiated grin, Tim licked some of the result off his fingers.
Tony flailed at him. "Where's my camera when I need it?"
Tim smiled and sucked his fingers deep into his mouth. After he pulled them out, he purred, "You ain't seen nothing yet."
"Besides," he continued, waving a condom packet in front of Tony's stunned expression, "I'm not finished."
"Give me a minute," Tony said, "and I'll be back at the starting line."
"Race you," countered Tim, and leaned in for another kiss.
-The End.
Author:
grammarwomanFandom/Pairing: NCIS, Tim/Tony
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2,800
Spoilers: A "blink and you'll miss it" one for Season 7, "Endgame"
Author's Notes: My long-overdue entry for
kink_bingo, for the "Hand Fetish" square. Alas that procrastination is my biggest motivator - this all just came flying out tonight. Dedicated to catwalksalone, for pimping me into NCIS fandom through the pairing of these two goofballs. Inspired by Sean Murray's deliciously long fingers. (Good God, I'm only human!)Place Your Hands on My Hope
"Hey, McGoogle, could you hurry up with the typing-texting-phone-fondling whateverness?" Tony bounced up and down in place with his hands tucked in his armpits. "We've got a suspect to catch before they'll let us back inside where it's warm and my blood can resume circulating." He shivered exaggeratedly.
Tim shot him a look that, if there were any justice in the universe, would have had Tony writhing in a cartoon dust-cloud of agony. Instead, as usual, Tony was ignoring his reaction in favor of continuing to whine. "Seriously! I think I'm losing feeling in my nose!" He poked at his face as if to check that it was still there.
"Tony," Tim growled, mistyping a letter on his phone keyboard for the thousandth time as his bare hands cramped in the bitterly cold wind, "if you hadn't knocked me down into that slush puddle, I wouldn't have soaked my gloves, and I wouldn't have icicles where my fingers used to be, and I could have found his GPS signal already, and we'd be on our way!" His thumb slipped again, and he nearly dropped the phone. "Dammit!"
"Pfft, is that all? Take my gloves." Tony started peeling them off his hands.
Tim took a deep, cleansing breath, then another for good measure. "Thanks, but no."
"You're the one with cold hands, McFreeze. What's the problem?" Tony waved a glove at him. "Come on!"
"The problem, Tony, is that your gloves wouldn't fit me, and they would slow me down even further." Tim punched in the last few characters and prayed. Just when he thought his laborious entry had been in vain, the suspect's GPS popped up on the tiny phone map, pinpointing his location less than three blocks away. After that came the chase and the collar and the successful delivery to Gibbs' tender mercies.
Later, Tim settled gratefully into his office chair, worshipping the cup of coffee in his hands as the warmth seeped into his palms and radiated through his body. He let out a groan and lifted it to his lips.
"Bah! Get a room already!" Tony slammed past Tim's desk and dropped into his own chair. "You can love your coffee, just don't love your coffee, if you get what I'm saying."
Years of practice and his subconscious expectation of such interruptions meant that Tim neither dropped the cup nor squeezed it into fountaining all over his face. He merely took a leisurely sip and hummed loudly. "I will love my coffee however I damn well choose, Tony." He grinned at Tony over the top of his cup as he swallowed again, then licked his lips to further broadcast his enjoyment. "Ahhhh."
Tony leaned away with an overdone grimace. "Whatever floats your boat." He tapped at his computer, then whirled back to face Tim. "Hey! For the record, I do not have girly little hands. I have strong, manly man-hands! Lumberjack paws, even!" He flexed his fingers to demonstrate.
"I see." Tim had no idea what Tony was babbling about and didn't care enough to even ask. The non-reaction was usually sufficient to get Tony to do all the work of explaining himself. This time was no exception.
"That gloves comment, Probie. You insinuated that your burly mitts wouldn't fit into my dainty little gloves."
"Insinuated? Impressive vocab, there. Did you steal someone else's word-a-day calendar?" Tim leaned back and waited for the explosion.
"Oh, so now I've got a small mind to go with my small hands, Mr. Famous Author, Can't Finish His Next Book…Guy!" Tony shot out of his chair so fast it slammed into the cubicle wall behind him.
Tim sighed. If he wasn't careful, the banter would get ugly, and he did not have the energy for it this time. He had to nip it in the bud before Abby picked up on the tension with her forensic Spidey-sense and came up to pout at them. "Tony, hey, I'm sorry about that. But really, I never said that you had small hands."
Tony sniffed. "You said that my gloves wouldn't fit you. What else is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that I have really long fingers. There's like one shop in a 20-mile radius that sells gloves that fit my hands." Tim held up one, flipping it back and forth so Tony could see for himself.
"Huh." Tony took this as yet another invitation to crowd into Tim's personal space. He grabbed Tim's hand and matched it against his own. Sure enough, Tim's digits lapped over Tony's by almost a full fingertip. "Wow, you really do have freakishly long fingers."
Tim yanked his hand away. "Thanks, Tony."
"No, really. Have you thought about going on the carnie circuit with those?" Tony tried to snatch up Tim's hand again, which led to a near-slap fight as Tim evaded Tony's grasp.
"Do I have to tell you guys about Rule 12 again?" Gibbs dropped a file on his desk.
"No, Boss!" "Sorry, Boss!" Their replies overlapped as they jumped apart.
"Fine. Now go home. You did good work today."
"Thanks, Boss!" they said in chorus, and beat a hasty retreat out of the office. Tony waved goodbye at Tim with a ridiculous waggle of his fingers. "Careful not to flash those at an octopus, McGee! You might find yourself fending off eight arms of loooove!"
Tim sighed again and got in his car.
-----
Home alone, unmolested by cephalopods, Tim settled down to another unproductive evening of writing. His slush binder had grown bigger than his last novel; at this point, his writing exercises were doing everything and anything but moving the stalled plot forward.
The knock on the door came as a welcome relief. Tim didn't even need to look through the peephole to know it was Tony -- only one person could bang as annoyingly as he did -- but he checked anyway. He barely had the door open when Tony barged on through.
"I've been thinking about your fingers, McGee," announced Tony, making his way to the fridge to stash the six-pack of bottled beer inside.
"Come on in, Tony. Make yourself at home." Tim lingered at the door, wondering if he should try escaping while Tony kept rambling. He gave it up as a lost cause and closed the door.
Tony cracked open a beer and settled in Tim's comfortable gaming chair. "I mean, those hands seem wasted on you. You could have been a famous piano player, or a surgeon, or something." He pointed at Tim with the bottle. "Face it - you're not living up to their potential."
"I type with these fingers every day!" Tim protested. "I work with computers, I investigate sensitive equipment, I play video games! Believe me, I take full advantage of them."
"Nope! Not good enough," Tony said. "When I think what I could do with those farcical phalanges...Hey! I dated English and pre-med majors, so don't give me that McEyebrow, McDoubtful! I can break out the fancy-pants lingo when I want to."
Tim, caught in guilty mid-rise, let his brow settle down. "And what could you do with these that I'm not?"
Tony took a long pull on his beer. "Well, for one thing, if I were you, I could make some lucky girl happy. Very, very happy!" He chuckled to himself.
"Who's to say I haven't?" Tim smirked back at him.
"Are we talking about Abby, here? Because she wouldn't have dumped you if you'd made her that happy."
"Hey! Who says she dumped me?"
Tony was momentarily distracted by the smooth spin of the chair. He stopped to look at Tim. "McGee. Come on."
"Fine, whatever. All I'm saying is, I haven't had any complaints."
Tony drained the last of his beer and looked for a place to set it down on Tim's crowded media desk. Tim winced as Tony knocked over some equipment before giving up and taking the bottle to the kitchen. "Maybe the girls you date - you know, the ones that aren't secretly evil and plotting to kill you - are too nice to tell you."
Tim grabbed his own bottle from the fridge as Tony was retrieving another. He took an angry swallow. "Gee, thanks for the beer, but if all you came over for was to harass me about my hands-"
"I wasn't kidding, you know." Tony examined the label of his beer, swiping the condensation with his thumb. "I've been thinking about your fingers, like, a lot."
Tim felt like he'd been left behind a couple of turns ago in Tony's whiplash conversation. "Um, what?"
"It's pretty crazy," Tony continued, "that it took me 'til today to really, you know, see them. And now I can't unsee them."
Tim felt his fingers start to lose their grip on the bottle, so he set it carefully down on the counter. "I'm...sorry?"
"It's not like I needed another thing, is the thing. I mean, I was hung up on your eyes for a while - did you know how green they are? I thought I had pretty good eyes - they work, and they've got that hazelness going for them, like, 'Oooo, Tony, your eyes change color!'" He coughed after the last part, which had come out in a high-pitched exaggeration of a woman's voice.
"And your smile - you've got this cute puppy-dog grin going for you, then you add the eye twinkle, and it's a killer combo, I gotta say. That bottom lip, man. I lost a few nights to that lip."
Tim's knees had joined in collusion with his fingers and started feeling a little wobbly, so Tim leaned back on the counter, hoping he wouldn't disturb the confessions spilling out of Tony, who for his part was alternating sips from his bottle with complete avoidance of looking at Tim. The lip in question was currently gaping open beyond Tim's control.
"To be honest, 'cause let's face it, I'm being honest here, I kinda miss your belly. It looked so soft and comfortable, like you'd be soft and comfortable. Don't get me wrong, you've got a slammin' bod now, and I appreciate the work you're doing, but yeah, I miss it."
Tim gripped the edge of the counter harder as to not slide right down to the floor. It was amazing that he could still hear Tony over the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears.
"But the thing that gets me, Tim, since about the day I met you, is your big, enormous, McBrain." Tony finally looked up and straight at him. Tim felt his breath leave him in a sharp gust, only to suck it all back in as Tony took a step towards him. "But as smart as you are, and you're the smartest fucking guy I've ever met...how did you miss all this?"
Tim swallowed a couple of times, trying to remember how to talk, and then figuring out what to say.
"Tony?" he managed, his voice going perilously high.
"Yeah, Tim," Tony answered.
"You..." Tim tried to find the next words. "You're...very charming."
"Charming, huh." Tony's chin came up and he stepped back. "That's a new take on the 'thanks, but no thanks' speech."
"No! I mean, you have this amazing charm. You can schmooze anybody, and when it doesn't work, it's like it slides right off you. But you always have something to say." Tim knew he was babbling, but he had to keep talking until Tony understood. If he understood Tony, which he hoped he did.
"You have this confidence that never ends. And you're a bigger geek about movies than I am about computers."
"Hey!" Tony protested reflexively at the word geek, then subsided. "You might have a point." More importantly, he inched closer to Tim.
"You look so damn good in those suits of yours that you make me want to look good in a suit." Tim self-consciously smoothed down the ratty T-shirt he'd changed into when he got home.
"I'd noticed you were dressing better. Maybe not the way I'd do it, but I always say a man has to find his own style." Tim could tell that Tony's casual amble towards him was an act from the telltale flicker as he looked back and forth between Tim's face and lower. Tim gulped a bit as he realized just how low that look went.
"And I know that I'm good with computers, but you, you get people. You know what makes them tick. It's what makes you such a great agent."
Tony grinned at that. "Thanks, Probie."
"Tony," Tim said, and didn't know where to go from there.
Tony was standing just out of reach. "Yeah, Tim."
"I, uh...My hands?"
Tony nodded. "Those damn long fingers."
Tim smiled. "OK, then. Fingers it is." He reached out as Tony leaned in; Tim cupped his palm around Tony's cheek.
"Just for the record, Tony - my hands are totally bigger than yours." Tim laughed as Tony lunged for him.
Somewhere in the ensuing struggle, after much kissing and wrestling and tickling and kissing again, they wound up panting and tangled on Tim's bed. Tony had Tim's T-shirt up and over his head in a jiffy. Tim was not having the same luck with Tony's buttons; the tricky little discs kept slipping out of his grasp.
"Come on, come on, McFumbles!" Tony gasped. Tim glared at him, gave up and ripped the shirt open.
"Hey, that was a very expen-" Tony's complaint was cut off as Tim landed another kiss on him and proceeded to make short work of his pants. Then, finally, they were naked and Tim could touch all of Tony's skin, that golden expanse that had eluded his grasp for so long. One groan from Tony and Tim's internal monologue shut off, leaving his back-brain to fill in with "More skin touch now".
"God, Tim!" Tony looked near-sated already, arching like a cat as Tim stroked the planes of his chest and the slight rise of his stomach. Tim felt a wicked smile stretch his lips; he leaned over to pull some supplies from his bedside table. He dangled the bottle of lube in front of Tony.
"Yes?"
Tony nodded urgently. "Oh hell yes."
"Good." Tim dribbled some lube across both hands. He wrapped one around Tony's cock. He rippled his grip, then gave one strong pull. Tony hissed as his entire body tensed up into Tim's grasp.
Tim dropped him and scooted back. "What? What'd I do?"
Tony panted, "Sorry! Sorry - I've just been -" He laughed softly and settled back down. "I've been thinking about this moment for so long, I almost embarrassed myself right there." He waved his hand in apology. "Please don't stop."
"A DiNozzo please. Well, then." Tim gripped him again. "Let's try this again."
He started with a gentler stroke, watching the tension in Tony's face as his breathing sped up. He levered Tony's knees up and slid a finger back behind his balls, circling softly around.
"When- you'd- get- this-" Tony panted and gasped as Tim's finger slipped in.
"Good, Tony?" Tony breathed a sibilant "YESSS" as Tim crooked his finger. "I thought a 'Don't Kiss and Tell' rule worked great with the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy at the office, so I never told anyone about my...other dates."
"Neither did I," sighed Tony. "Except Abby, right?" Their eyes met as they shared a rueful grin.
"Like I could keep anything from her," admitted Tim. He sped up his stroke and added another finger.
Tony's hands clenched the sheets as he started rocking himself between Tim's hands, a stream of "Oh God!"s and "Tim!"s as a barely audible background, mixed in with various profanity. Tim added a wicked twist to the motion of his hands and Tony came with a shuddering sigh.
While Tony sprawled with a satiated grin, Tim licked some of the result off his fingers.
Tony flailed at him. "Where's my camera when I need it?"
Tim smiled and sucked his fingers deep into his mouth. After he pulled them out, he purred, "You ain't seen nothing yet."
"Besides," he continued, waving a condom packet in front of Tony's stunned expression, "I'm not finished."
"Give me a minute," Tony said, "and I'll be back at the starting line."
"Race you," countered Tim, and leaned in for another kiss.
-The End.
