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Title: Three a.m.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Not for the first time, he wonders what he's doing here.
Notes: Written for the 30_lemons challenge #26: The Sauna, or, "It's
Getting Hot in Here, So Take Off All Your Clothes"
Thanks to the usual suspects.
The air in the bedroom is thick and still, warm despite the open window
and the lazily circling ceiling fan. Pale blue sheets, gray in the dim
light, lie tangled around his feet and the pillowcase under his head is
damp from sweat.
He could get up and turn on the air conditioner, close the window and
let the old thing cough and wheeze its way into cold air. It has to be
smacked just the right way to work, after all these years, but he's
gotten used to it. He remembers when he bought it, when he and
Christine lugged it home from the store and he wrestled it into place
and they sprawled out on the bed, luxuriating in the cold air before
she rolled over and pinned him to the mattress and they made love in
the cool breeze. That was back when he'd thought this marriage--unlike
his first--would last.
He was wrong then, just like he was wrong about Melanie, but that's
neither here nor there. He shoves those memories away with the habit of
long practice and listens to the rustle of leaves outside.
A cool shower might be nice, but he doesn't really feel like getting
up. It's one in the morning and moving is the last thing he wants to do
right now. So he just stretches a little, relaxing with a faint sigh.
Warmth wraps around him and he drifts off, lulled to sleep by the soft
tink of the pull-chain on the ceiling fan.
He wakes slowly, his mind groggy from sleep, his body heavy and warm.
There's a weight on the bed next to him; the mattress has dipped a
little to that side. But before he can react, reach for the gun in his
nightstand, something cool and damp and faintly rough runs down his
spine and he jerks a little at the contrast. "Shh," the husky voice
says. "It's just me."
"Tony?" he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes. "What are you doing
here?"
"I couldn't sleep. The AC in my building is out. Thought I'd come over
here." The washcloth--that has to be it--passes over his back again,
resting over the back of his neck. The cool feeling nearly makes him
moan with pleasure. "Course, that was before I realized you don't
believe in it either. How do you sleep in this heat?"
"I was doing fine until you showed up," he points out. His voice isn't
as grumpy as he wants it, but he hears the sound of water being wrung
out of a cloth and then the cold cloth resumes its long, gentle strokes
over his arms and his back and it feels too good to complain about
anything.
"Good point." Tony's voice is full of laughter and completely
unrepentant. "Turn over."
He does, looking up into sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin. "I knew
I'd regret giving you that key," he mutters.
"You didn't give me a key. You never lock your door, remember?" The
washcloth teases over his face, over his neck. The hand holding it is
long-fingered, elegant even in the heat and the dark. He smiles a
little to himself, remembering exactly how it feels against his skin,
how Tony's fingers feel when they're wrapped around his cock or buried
inside him.
"Blame the heat."
Tony's grin dissolves into laughter and he gets a soft kiss. "And yet
you still drink endless cups of coffee."
"If you're making a point, I don't know what it is."
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
He runs his hands through thick, dark hair, pulling Tony down for a
longer kiss, one tasting of salt-sweat from the heat. "So you came here
at three in the morning to give me a sponge bath?" he asks skeptically.
"Nah. Thought I'd cool you down before I convinced you to let me fuck
you." Tony's grin flashes again, a bright gleam in the dark.
"Doesn't take much convincing," he says, almost to himself. He has to
smile wryly at that; it's not exactly something he ever thought he'd
do. But...this entire situation is so far beyond anything he ever
thought plausible that he's given up trying to understand it.
"Damn. If I'd known that I wouldn't have bothered with the washcloth."
Tony sets it down in its bowl and moves to straddle him, hands resting
on his chest.. "You have an air conditioner, Gibbs. Why are you not
using it?"
"It's not that hot."
"It's ninety degrees outside at three in the morning and it's not much
cooler in here." Tony wrinkles his nose.
"City boy." Gibbs raises a hand to stroke Tony's face. "You're just
spoiled."
"Maybe." Tony grins. "So?"
He has to smile, shaking his head. "Nothing."
"Good." Tony leans down to kiss him lazily. "There's only one kind of
sex to have in this heat," he murmurs against Gibbs' lips.
"Oh?"
"Mmm." Tony licks at Gibbs' lower lip. "Slow. Lazy. Quiet. The kind
where you lie there and let me drive you out of your mind, one slow
thrust at a time, when I'm buried inside you, just rocking against you,
hitting the sweet spot over and over, and you can only gasp and take
it. The kind where I've got you under me and you're on your belly, cock
rubbing against the sheets and we're sticking together and it's so good
you can't even think, just feel." He smiles slowly and kisses Gibbs
again. "That kind."
Gibbs looks up at him, at the eyes bright with laughter and the smile
that borders just this side of arrogance. He traces a bead of sweat
down the side of Tony's face, bringing his finger to his lips and
licking away the salt. And not for the first time, he wonders what he's
doing here and how he's lost every defense he has when it comes to
Tony.
Tony braces a hand on the other side of Gibbs' head and kisses him
again, slow and deep. "So much strength in you," he whispers. "So much
control." He nuzzles Gibbs' throat, breath warm against Gibbs' skin.
"Let go," he breathes. "For now, for this--let go. Let me in."
He shivers even as he tastes sweat on his upper lip; his body feels
heavy and weightless all at once. "Tony," he says softly, and he knows
he's lost.
Tony runs his hands down Gibbs' arms, linking his fingers with Gibbs'.
He lifts each wrist, kissing the inside, before pressing them into the
pillow over Gibbs' head. "Trust me," he whispers.
Gibbs takes a deep breath; as he exhales, he lets himself relax into
the mattress. He can't look away from Tony, a dark shape in the gray
heat of the bedroom. And the emotion he sees on Tony's face...
He's never seen Tony look like this before, this intent and hungry. The
sheer ((need)) on Tony's face makes him swallow hard.
He's expecting Tony to kiss him. He's not expecting the gentleness of
it, the barely-there brush of lips against his own, the silky feel of
Tony's tongue sliding across his lower lip. Tony rests himself on his
forearms, hands cradling Gibbs' head as he kisses Gibbs again and
again, each one slow and easy.
"Shh," Tony whispers against his mouth. "Shh..."
The air hangs thick around them, a palpable weight that barely moves
even as Tony does. He slides his mouth down to Gibbs' neck, nuzzling
and licking the skin, his three a.m. stubble rubbing over Gibbs'
throat. The rasp of it makes Gibbs shiver and his head turn to the
side.
Careful. That's the only word Gibbs can come up with, the only way to
describe what Tony is doing to him. His hands, his mouth, the
sweat-slick slide of his body; it's slow and deliberate and careful.
Tony knows exactly what he's doing with each caress, each tantalizing
kiss to Gibbs' skin. Just enough to make him shudder, just enough to
tease. No more.
His hands flex against the pillow and he forces himself to let them
relax, to not reach for Tony the way he wants. He wants to run his
fingers through Tony's damp hair, trace the smooth plane of his back,
kiss him and make him writhe with pleasure. He wants to see Tony come
apart in his arms.
But Tony asked for this, and as with everything else in their personal
lives...Gibbs can't say no.
Tony moves lower, coaxing Gibbs' legs apart and kissing the crease
between hip and groin. He trails his tongue over that line, blowing
gently. The cool contrast makes Gibbs gasp slightly, twisting under it.
He hears Tony laugh softly before he does it again on the other side,
thumbs stroking the insides of Gibbs' thighs.
Gibbs inhales, the air drowning in his lungs. It's heavy and humid and
he isn't sure if he's drinking it or breathing it, but it doesn't
matter anyway since Tony's mouth wraps around his cock and the air
((whooshes)) out of his lungs. Tony's hands press down on his hips,
sweat-slick and hot, holding him steady, and he has to fight the need
to move.
But like everything else Tony's doing to him, this isn't enough. Tony's
playing with him, mouthing the head of his cock, almost lapping at it.
It's nothing close to what he needs and he can't bring himself to ask
for more.
He feels unreal, adrift from his own body even as he's caught in it.
The soft gasps and groans he hears himself make almost seem to come
from someone else. He tastes the sweat on his upper lip, knows that if
he were to open his eyes (and when those fell closed he doesn't know)
he'd see Tony kneeling between his legs. But it's hot and heavy and
thick in the room and he's lost in what Tony's doing to him. He's got
no way to ground himself, nothing to hold to.
"Open your eyes," Tony whispers; Gibbs does just in time to see him
raise his head, licking his lips. He crawls back up, kissing Gibbs slow
and deep. It's enough to suck the oxygen out of his lungs, make him
gasp for a breath he can't find.
"Shh," Tony murmurs. "Just breathe. Just breathe, love."
He has to have mis-heard that. There's no way Tony just--but Tony is
stretched out on top of him now, kissing him again, and all his
thoughts fade away into the dark.
Tony pulls away with one last tug to his lower lip. "Turn over," he
says softly, kneeling up so Gibbs can move.
It takes an effort for him to pull himself out of the erotic fog Tony's
wrapped him in; he moves slowly, the sheets shifting under him. They're
damp against his stomach and his cock as he settles himself again,
closing his eyes as Tony's hands run down his back, squeezing his ass.
Gibbs fumbles the bedside drawer open, passing the tube back to Tony.
In exchange he gets a kiss to his shoulderblade and Tony gently pushing
his legs apart. "Relax for me," he whispers.
He can't do anything but, even as Tony presses one finger into him,
then two, opening his body as slowly and carefully as he's done
everything else. And then Tony's cock is sliding into him, one slow
inch at a time. Gibbs forces himself to breathe.
The sheets cling to him, sweat and the thick humidity of the air
soaking into the thin fabric. Tony's body plasters itself to his back,
sweat making his skin slip against Gibbs', making it easier for him to
move.
Not, Gibbs thinks fuzzily, that Tony seems inclined to do so. He stays
still, so quiet Gibbs hears his breath, feel it against his shoulder.
Tony braces his hands on either side of Gibbs' arms, raising himself up
slightly.
Gibbs can still feel the heat of his body; it makes him shiver.
When he does begin to move, he does so with easy, slow thrusts that are
nowhere ((near)) what Gibbs wants. And if he wasn't so entangled in
this surreal summer night, he'd move. He'd push back against Tony,
demand more. But he can scarcely breathe, let alone move.
Tony kisses his shoulder, the back of his neck. "Let me in," he
breathes. He shifts a little, moves a little differently, and Gibbs
sees sparks behind his eyes.
"Tony..." It's a low sound, more of a groan than an actual word. Every
time Tony moves, his cock rubs over Gibbs' prostate. Gibbs' hands
tighten in the worn sheets; his mouth is open as he struggles for air.
Slow, steady, each thrust pushes him closer to a peak he's not ready
for. "Tony," he manages again, the only word he can say.
Tony's mouth is hot against his shoulder, his arms slick with sweat and
firm with muscle where they press against Gibbs'. He's burning up from
the inside, he's drowning from what Tony's doing to him, and he's got
no way to stop it or even slow it down.
"Come from this," Tony whispers, mouthing his neck. "Just like this.
For me."
He can't, he's never--not like this, not with Tony still moving so slow
and deliberate inside him, not without any stimulation other than the
sheets against his cock.
"For me," Tony whispers again.
The world goes gray and white; his body goes taut with the pleasure
rushing through him and he comes, helplessly.
"Yess..." It's a drawn-out breath, a hiss of sound over his throat.
Gibbs feels Tony's body tense over his, feels him begin to move harder,
if no less deliberately. Above him, Tony groans, burying his head in
the crook of Gibbs' neck.
Faster now, less controlled; Tony's beginning to come undone. Gibbs
feels him shudder, his arms trembling with the strain of holding
himself up. He hears Tony's choked gasp, the catch in his breath, and
knows he's almost there. Almost.
"I love you," Tony whispers against his shoulder, just as he comes.
The air in the bedroom is heavy and thick, laden with the humid summer
air and the pressure of words spoken and silent. Sweat sticks their
bodies together, causes the sheets to cling, twining around them like
thin fabric snakes.
Gibbs looks up at the ceiling fan, at the textured paint that's little
more than a gray blur in the dark. If he were to turn his head he'd see
the outline of Tony next to him; if he looked down he'd see Tony's arm
across his stomach. Tony's head rests on his shoulder and his breathing
is soft and even, the slow deep rhythm Gibbs knows means he's fast
asleep.
He closes his eyes. "I can't say the words, Tony," he says softly. "I
can't tell you what you want to hear."
There's no answer, not that he's expecting one. But as he's drifting
off, as sleep wraps itself around him, he feels Tony kiss his
collarbone, lips brushing over his sweat-damp skin.
"You don't have to." |
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