Kill Me With Kindness

by Jane Davitt

"Nice? I don't want nice. It's not Gibbs if he's nice."

DiNozzo in 'Kill Ari Part One'

Someone's kissing the back of his neck with slow, deliberate kisses that melt against his skin like candy in the sun. It's one hell of a way to wake up, but as soon as he has the kisses stop, because Gibbs needs his mouth to talk with.

"Didn't expect me to stay?"

"Not really." He'd fallen asleep counting on being alone when he woke, but when did Gibbs ever do what Tony wanted him to?

Never. Not even last night.

"Want me to go?"

There's enough light filtering through the curtains that he can see the bite mark in his hand. Self-inflicted, because he's got a lot of kinky toys (most never used, but, hey, got to keep up appearances) but the last thing he wanted to do when Gibbs was making him cry out his pleasure in guttural and embarrassingly fervent sounds was stop and search for a gag.

His hand had worked well enough, anyway, until Gibbs had pried it away with his non-busy hand, the one not three fingers deep in Tony's ass, investigating, and making him feel disturbingly like a finger puppet. Gibbs had told him that he wanted to hear some noise and said the way he said it, Tony wasn't inclined to argue. Somehow, once it was an order, it was easier. He'd gone briefly coherent for long enough to beg to be fucked, hard, boss, really hard, I need it, then back to the whimpering because Gibbs liked that better, he could tell.


"Make up your mind, Tony."

The snap and snarl's missing. Vulnerable. Gibbs sounds vulnerable, and if he'd known that was the price of opening up and letting Gibbs inside him, both body and heart, maybe he'd have -- no. No, he'd still have done it.

"Better this way, boss. Less awkward to get the morning after meeting done here instead of at work. You'd be at your desk, I'd walk in, we'd try to act normal, everyone would know --" Tony stops babbling. Shit. This isn't solving the problem; just postponing it. "That's still going to happen, isn't it?"

"Not like that, it isn't." Brisk. An improvement. "I taught you better than that."

A hoarse voice, close to breaking -- Move for me, Tony. God, yes, like that. Just like that --

"Yes, you did, boss."

He feels Gibbs' fingers thread through his hair, still gentle, still startlingly sweet and tender a touch. How fucking scary was that? "Fuck it up, and I'll fire you, DiNozzo. I won't have a choice."

Close to the old Gibbs, but…

Gibbs shifts position and, given the awkward angle, achieves an admirably stinging slap to the back of Tony's head. "That better?"

"Oddly, yes," Tony admits guiltily.

"Am I going to need to do that every time?"

Every time? There's going to be a repeat of this? There's a moment where he wants to slide out of bed and avoid that question with practiced ease, but it passes when he remembers what it felt like to dance to Gibbs' tune, his body one strung-out quiver of pleasure.

Gibbs is kissing his shoulder and using his teeth now and then. Tony's skin is shivering appreciatively and casting its vote for more of this, often.

He can get used to this. To this weird, nice version of Gibbs, mellowed by what Tony has to say, and he's not conceited, just accurate, was some pretty incredible sex. The DiNozzo specialty, oh, yes.

"I want to fuck you and not let you come, Tony. Want to see you walk in and know you're aching."

"Business at the front, party in the back?" The words slip out, and he freezes, anticipates a second slap, but Gibbs chuckles. Okay. Different rules when they're naked and the hot, hard press of Gibbs' cock is nudging Tony's thigh.

"Something like that, yeah."

Tony wriggles away just enough to be able to reach a condom and the lube, left conveniently close, even if the bottle was on its side, uncapped, and there's a puddle of slick surrounding it. He passes them back, and when Gibbs slides in, and Tony's breath hisses out --sore, sore, but fuck, yes, he wants it -- he dares to ask, "Boss? How do you plan to stop me from coming?"

It's not a question of ability -- he knows Gibbs can do anything; it's one of the rocks his life is built on -- but method. He's curious; it's one of his besetting sins that Gibbs actually approves of, most of the time.

"Well, Tony," and Gibbs is already sounding gratifyingly breathless, "I don't know. I didn't think I had to do anything as I just told you that you couldn't."

Kinky. But very Gibbs as he is 24/7, too. Hmm. Interesting deduction to be made there.

Tony's just starting to join the dots when Gibbs' fingers find his pinched, bitten, bruised nipple and stroke it gently at the precise moment his hips drive forward with a smooth, relentless shove.

And as he wails silently in his head and tries to keep his hands away from the jerk and twitch of his cock, and his come in his balls, not on the sheets, he realizes that even when Gibbs is being nice, he's still a bastard, and that helps, oh, that helps a lot.

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