katekintail (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} katekintail) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} porn_battle, |
Tony knew that a head-slap really shouldn’t turn him on. It wasn’t as though this was his first one, after all. He had had about a hundred from Gibbs over the past year or so, every one of them arguably well-deserved.
But things had changed after Kate’s death. Tony’s jokes didn’t have the same humorous punch; they sounded more like insults, so he stopped them altogether. Abby ventured out of her lab less often, and she rarely had her music on when she was there. McGee seemed even less sure of himself than before, which was saying a lot. And Gibbs… Gibbs just seemed like he wanted each and every case solved quickly and expertly. There wasn’t room for fun or casual banter or mistakes of any sort. Tony worked hard to fit into this new dynamic, though no mistakes meant no more occurrences of Gibbs’ palm glancing off the back of his head.
And he had begun to miss that little bit of physical contact. He missed the team the way they had been before Ari. He missed Kate. Ziva was fine and all, but she was no Kate. She didn’t even understand most of the references he made, especially the ones involving movies. He missed the NCIS he had grown to love. And he missed the real Gibbs.
Which is why he eventually started letting things slide. He knew better than to let it interfere with any of the cases, but he turned in sloppy paperwork, he strolled in a little later than usual, and he took to declaring grand assumptions as loudly as possible whenever he knew Gibbs might be lurking behind him.
At first, it just made him look stupid, which Ziva was quick to point out. But every so often Tony thought he had glimpsed the hint of a smile or twinge of frustration on Gibbs’ face. Really, any emotion at all from his boss was a welcome one, but nothing resulted in another characteristic head-slap. Nothing seemed to get to Gibbs.
At least, not until the day Tony volunteered to pick up coffee on the way in. He knew better. He knew it was actually against one of the rules. But somehow, unconsciously, he found himself adding double cream and double sugar to Gibbs’ coffee at the shop and then handing the cup to Gibbs when he came in.
“Is this supposed to be a joke? What the Hell is this, Tony?” Gibbs said after one sip, practically spitting it out again. It was almost as if the coffee snapped Gibbs out of whatever he had been going through.
Tony stared at the coffee cup, with its two little bumps on the lid depressed in indication of its contents, realizing his mistake. “Coffee,” Tony answered with a shrug.
“This isn’t coffee, DiNozzo.” In one smooth movement, he dropped the full cup into the nearest trash can and slapped the back of Tony’s head.
And he knew a head-slap really shouldn’t turn him on. But after so many weeks and months without one, something stirred in Tony the moment Gibbs’ hand hit his head. Tony rubbed the back of his head, as though making sure his hair was still in place. Only really he was touching that spot, as if some part of Gibbs had lingered there.
He wanted another. Actually, he wanted Gibbs to touch him elsewhere. He wanted those firm hands all over his body. He wanted—“Ow!”
Gibbs had hit him there again; it hadn’t hurt but it had taken Tony by surprise. “What was that for?” Tony asked, wincing a little.
Gibbs stared into Tony’s eyes for a moment. Then his eyes trailed downward, pointing down, down, down towards Tony’s crotch and proceeding no lower. “For that.”
Tony followed his gaze and saw the unmistakable bulge of his erection. “Um… sorry, Boss?”
Gibbs stared at Tony for a minute more. Then he stepped closer and whispered softly so that only Tony could hear, “Don’t be. Just don’t let me see it again… at work.”