The barman; young, cute, perky, which as far as Gibbs was considered were his three strikes, leaned across the polished wood of the bar and whispered something into Tony's ear.
Gibbs watched Tony's not-so subtle withdrawal and the flicker of distaste on his face.
Tony didn't like strangers getting close.
Tony didn't like men trying to pick him up.
Tony really didn't like young, cute, and perky, either.
Gibbs grinned, got Tony out of there and into the dark parking lot. Leaned in. Whispered something sincere and filthy in Tony's ear and walked away as Tony bleated piteously, plaintively, because they were on duty for another three hours and now he was going to be hard for most of them, kept that way with nothing more than the occasional smiling look, a flick of Gibbs' hand against the back of his head -- admonishment? Did Ducky -- did anyone really believe that? -- or, if needed, another word in his ear.
Tony was going to whimper for him later, on his knees, loving being down there and the view, or get angry and forceful, his hands rough and demanding. Gibbs couldn't decide which one he was in the mood for.
He'd let Tony decide.
He leaned back in his chair and saw the curved, irritable hunch of Tony's shoulder slowly relax as Tony realized he was being watched.
No. He'd decide.
Kinder that way.
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