Temporary insanity. That had to have been it. There's no other reason, no other way he could have ended up here, in Tony DiNozzo's bed, with the impossibly soft sheets and the fluffy striped comforter and--

Tony.

Who is, currently, sound asleep, one arm hanging off the side of the bed and one shoved under his pillow. His head's turned to the side and Gibbs can see the hint of stubble on his cheeks and his jaw. His mouth's half-open, and Gibbs has to close his eyes against memories of that mouth and how it felt against his, how it felt on his body and his dick.

He doesn't want to remember how Tony felt against him, or how Tony moved on top of him, head thrown back, his cock hard and flushed against his stomach. Gibbs doesn't want to think about the way Tony kissed him, slow and easy, the kisses of a man who is utterly comfortable in his bedroom skills.

Gibbs doesn't want to think about any of this. He wants to pretend it never happened, because Tony's going to wake up in a few minutes and when he does--it'll be over. That'll be the end, and he'll be lucky if he doesn't lose an agent along with a--no. Tony's not his lover, not even close. This was a one-night stand, brought on by a bad case and too many beers and a complete lapse in judgment on his part. He's Tony's boss, for Christ's sake. He should have known better than to drag Tony into bed.

He pretends not to remember that Tony did the dragging, that Tony was the one who kissed him first. What matters is that he's the one who didn't say no, and he should have.

Tony's going to wake up in a few minutes and everything will change, and not for the better. Gibbs should have known better than this. He should have never accepted Tony's offer of a beer. But he's only human, and he hates sleeping alone, and when Tony kissed him...he couldn't even think about saying no. He just wanted more of those deep, rich kisses; he wanted to feel Tony's body against him and around him.

He watches the minutes tick by on Tony's alarm clock. 6:12 turns to 6:13 to 6:14 and Tony's arm comes up and slaps off the alarm before it can begin buzzing. And Gibbs waits now, because it's up to Tony. Mentally, he's trying to remember where he put his clothes, so when Tony tells him to get out he can get dressed and be out the door in the minimum amount of time. Only he can't remember what happened to his socks and his left shoe and--

"Mornin'," Tony mumbles sleepily; his voice is low and raspy and he's blinking sleep out of his eyes and Gibbs fights back the urge to slide down and kiss him.

"Morning," he says instead, quietly, propped up on an elbow, body tensed and waiting.

Tony yawns hugely, stretches, and fumbles for Gibbs' wrist. "Wha' day is it?" he asks around another yawn.

"Saturday." Which doesn't explain why Tony had his alarm set, but that's none of his business.

"Oh." Tony tugs Gibbs' arm closer to him, burrowing back down into the soft down pillow. "C'mere. Sleep."

Wait. But. Gibbs is just stunned enough to let Tony pull him down, against Tony's body, head on his shoulder and Tony's arm draped loosely over him.

"Mmm." Tony rubs his cheek against Gibbs' head. "Better."

He has no idea what's going on now. He's not sure he likes that--actually, he's pretty sure he doesn't. But Tony's already mostly asleep again and Gibbs isn't going to bother to ask.

So he'll just settle in, and listen to Tony breathing, and feel smooth skin and coarse hair under his cheek and try not to wonder exactly what's going to happen when Tony actually wakes up.

Maybe it won't seem so insane in a few hours.