“I just can’t seem to relax with all this mess in my head.” Jim ran both his hands through his sweat dampened gold-brown hair with a weary frustration that blasted down their completely unshielded bond. The weight of it made him slump out of the wide, kneeling position he’d been holding, while naked no less, on the hard stone floor of the roofless and hot, sunlit monastery room.
Spock gave his t’hy’la - a man who was, without hyperbole, his reason for being and his entire existence - an almost helpless look from his own spot, kneeling on the floor also, scant centimeters away, facing Jim. “You must. I can not force your mind and body to be calm when I am required to use all of my psychic strength anchor you to yourself and to me.” Ruefully, he shook his head. “As highly as you prize and praise all the skills I possess, including my telepathic strength, even I have my limits ashaya. I am not a god.”
“I know.” Jim raised a hand to gently caress Spock’s cheek. “Truly, I know. Sometimes I forget that you really can’t do everything.” Bowing his head and letting his hand drop in defeat, he sighed. “I know I need to fix this, but isn’t there another way? I mean, seriously, how can this work when I can’t even focus enough, with all the extra memory that’s not mine floating around in there and making my skull feel ten times too full, to meditate?”
“We discussed this. You either single out and purge these fragments of information with my assistance, or to have a Healer wipe your memory of everything. There is no middle ground in this anymore, because you have allowed this wound to fester for far too long.”
And that’s what really upset Spock. Bad enough, in his mind, that his counterpart had not even tried to regained control of his emotions before the meld and instead accidentally thrust the entirety of his katra, as well as his mind, at Jim on Delta Vega in an effort to transmit all needed information as quickly as possible. Worse still, the ancient Ambassador had ‘left’ pieces of memory behind, only to learn of it some months later, even before Spock had taken Jim as bondmate. However, he did not bother to inform Spock, or Jim himself for that matter, that what Jim was beginning to experience at the time was not a mental illness or deficiency cause by space sickness or trauma.
The absolute worst part about the whole affair, at least to Spock, was, instead of confiding in Doctor McCoy or Spock when confronted with these pieces, Jim decided it was nothing to be concerned about and that it would ‘work itself out.’ That was not the eventual outcome and Spock should not have allowed Jim to charm him into believing it wasn’t anything more than a simple nightmare twenty-eight Terran months ago. Should have demanded that his bondmate, though he wasn’t Spock’s mate at the time, see the Healers on the colony then, when it would have been an easier matter to deal with. Before they had almost completely subsumed Jim’s real memories and compromised his mind, endangering his command.
But even after they had bonded, Jim’s dissimulation of the increasingly frequent sleep disturbances should have clued Spock on to the fact that his Captain was not well at all and hiding the exact nature of the issue. Especially once the memories started to present themselves as flashbacks during Jim’s waking hours. The Ambassador’s memories began to supplant Jim’s actually memories shortly thereafter, causing a great deal of fear and confusion for Jim and bleed-through to his t‘hy‘la. Having had enough of the Human’s prevarication on the topic whenever another incident occurred, Spock, who had been respecting Jim’s privacy by not delving into his thoughts at all times, finally pieced together enough of the facts to realize just what his bondmate was hiding and forced him to be examined.
Mostly by luck, the Enterprise had been in a sector close to the colony delivering supplies to another planet when the problems became out of hand and only required a couple of days to detour to it. Once seen by a Healer to confirm what Spock suspected, they were granted medical leave by a worried McCoy and sequestered to a meditation room, in the hopes that Jim’s sanity could be saved one way or another.
After two more days wasted on failed attempts of suppressing the psychic pressure in Jim’s mind through normal techniques, Spock was running out of ideas and they were both fast running out of time.
“Perhaps we should try an alternate and more basic method to quiet your mind.” Tilting his head slightly to compensate for the cacophony of Jim‘s psychic noise, mentally pulling up and discarding the few avenues left, he finally settled on one that he was most familiar with and that Jim would have to concentrate on, since he did not have much experience with the physical sensations he would be required to know and use. “A guided meditation. The v’ree’lat-las’hark would work best.”
“The literal translation is ‘searching sun.’” Spock gave into a sudden impulse and scooted those last couple of inches of space between them, enough so that their knees were touching, before he continued. “Our fire pot meditation came from this one. It was designed eons ago, so that Warriors could burn through the useless thoughts, so that one may have a clear mind, solely focused on a forthcoming battle. I believe it will help.”
“Yeah.” Jim gathered himself and straighten his pose again. “Although, it’s kind of apropos in this situation. Warriors used to use this before war, I gather, and I feel like I’m about to go war, just against my own head. You know what I mean?”
Suddenly overwhelmed by Jim’s simple statement that reminded him of the gravity of the trial they were facing, Spock felt a tear slip free of his impossibly tight controls to slide down his cheek. It was not the first time Spock‘s emotions showed over this. “Just as in war ashaya, if you do not succeed here, you will lose your life. If that happens and the odds are not in my favor, I will be driven insane. If they are, I will follow you.” It was struggle, but Spock pulled himself together for Jim’s sake. Barely. “However, I am in no rush to lose you, so we will find a way.”
“Oh t’hy’la, of course we’ll beat this.” Reaching, he yanked Spock into a hard hug, trying to convey every ounce of love and devotion, down to the last gram, that he felt for this wonderful being who loved him with a conviction that left him humbled. “I just need to stop bitching and get it done.” Sliding his hands from around Spock’s shoulders to gently cup his jaw on both sides, watching the dark brown eyes sparkle with love and determination for just a moment before he was kissing the breath out of his mate, moaning faintly from the hot and sweet taste. Pulling back, Jim smiled as an idea struck him. “Would you make us One, my love?” Even as Spock opened his mouth with to decline, Jim touched his calloused fingers to the stern mouth he’d just kissed. “Please? I want the feeling of your love and passion to be the memory I can hold onto in this fight, instead of days of nervous anxiety and exhaustion and fear.”
“We are always One, and I will be honored to continue to prove that to you.” The implication, that they would survive this, wasn’t lost on Jim. “However, if this is what you require of me to sooth your katra enough for another attempt, I will do this for you Jim.”
Jim let out a deep sigh of relief, then started peppering feather-light kisses randomly across Spock‘s face. “Thank you,” he said gratefully as Spock carefully laid him on the hard floor. “Thank you.”
“I do not need to be thanked t’hy’la.” Flashing a small and warm smile, Spock ran his hands happily over Jim’s chest and stomach, stopping to tweak either nipple as he felt them and just generally soaking it the feel of the Human‘s cooler skin. “It is no hardship that you ask of me.”
Jim knew it was a little though. Spock had been with him through the entire ordeal so far and while his bondmate was no slouch, this had to be just as draining for him as it was for Jim. Damn his selfishness, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting this, especially considering it might be the last time they had to share their love in this manner.
Bending down, Spock nipped firmly at his throat in reprimand when Jim’s thought filter through their bond. “Such fatalistic thoughts have no place here.” Lifting up enough to watch the eyes he loved beyond sense light up brighter than the hottest blue stars in the galaxy, he leveled a stern look at Jim. “I will not warn you again.” And Jim knew, if their love-making was happening under normally circumstances, the consequences would have been a rough, scorching ride to heaven and not being able to sit right for a couple of days as a reminder for Jim to pay attention to Spock.
Not this time. This time it was an empty threat, because he could feel Spock’s intent to love on him slowly and sweetly, which was a heavenly feeling in it’s own right. “I’m here, with you.”
“Good.” Spock resumed his easy petting of Jim’s flesh, the strokes becoming longer passes each time, until his hot hands were moving from the top of Jim’s shoulders to almost his knees, every brush barely ghosting over his already rising shaft. He didn’t try to hurry Spock, no matter that his body was arching to follow hot Vulcan hands, running his hands in turn along Spock’s back and arms and neck and sliding them through the satiny black hair, aware that his bondmate knew he needed to pick up the pace. Needed as this interlude was, they were still using time they really didn’t have.
After another few precious seconds of simply touching each other, easy Vulcan strength lifted and spread his legs wide, Spock shifting down as he rolled Jim up so that almost all his weight was resting on his shoulders and the rough, alien tongue rasped wetly over Jim’s hole. “Ah!”
Spock always anticipated the gasp of pleased surprise his bondmate made every time his tongue licked the Human’s twitching entrance. Reluctant to rush their copulation but needing to regardless, Spock, who frantically carried on tasting his mate, started to stroke his penis gathering as much of his own oily natural secretions, already spilling out copiously, as he could to make penetration as easy as possible under the conditions present. In short order he started to push his agile fingers in as quickly as Jim could comfortably accommodate them. Preparation still took a couple of minutes, but Spock used the time wisely by nuzzling the underside of Jim’s testicles and alternating between lapping his t’hy’la’s slowly loosening hole and the head of his steel hard cock, Jim showering him with heartfelt praise interspersed with gasps and moans and sighs, and grasping Spock’s hair just shy of violent need.
Jim didn’t have to tell his Vulcan he was ready, he just knew. Spock sat back on his heels, dragging Jim up with him to straddle his lap, and pushed home with a wild cry of ecstasy. The firm hands spanning Jim hips wouldn’t allow him any freedom to set their pace, instead pushing and pulling him at his mate’s direction. Surrendering himself to it, Jim threw his arms around the sparse ivory shoulders and kissed Spock once more, with everything he had, and held on tight. Each push slid him down corded thighs, stopping just short of losing the hot, double-ridged shaft inside him; each pull making the cock in his ass inch in deeper than the time before, hammering his prostate with solid and measured precision, rubbing his own, already leaking, erection against the lean torso of his mate.
Without any warning, Spock moved his hands, not even breaking stride. One settled against Jim’s tailbone, long fingers molded to the curve of it in such a way that the tips rest on the rim of Jim’s entrance, feeling his penis gliding into and out of his Human’s beautiful body. The other settled confidently on Jim’s face in the position that was so familiar it seemed, to Spock at least, that they had been doing this since before Time began. “K’diwa.” The whispered endearment was just the prelude to the feeling of them flowing together.
Faster than sound, faster than light, so fast that it was almost instantaneous, their souls wrapped around each other with a desperation that staggered them. But the feeling of Oneness that Jim craved settled fully in his heart. He tightened his arms when Spock sped up his thrusts, still basking in the kaleidoscope of Spock’s presence and love, loathe to have the experience come to an end. Spock’s feelings echoed Jim’s own,.
End it did though, in a spectacular, sublime rush of orgasm. A last firm thrust against his prostate sent a hot jolt of pleasure up his spine and Jim was done, coming against his Vulcan’s stomach while moaning brokenly into a sweet kiss. Spock wasn’t far behind. A couple of strokes into Jim’s tight, shuddering body was all it took and with a loud gasp of Jim’s name, he was done.
He didn’t pull free of Jim immediately, instead wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist to hold him there. When Jim made a breathless questioning sound, Spock squeezed him a little bit tighter, voice not quite steady. “Only for a moment more, t’hy’la.”
Well, Jim wasn’t going to argue with that, not when he could catch his breath and wallow in the sensation of the strong arms around him.
True to his word, much to Jim’s chagrin, Spock only held him another handful of seconds before shaking off the afterglow and easing out of his bondmate, but not before giving Jim one more sweet kiss. “As much as I would rather not, we must begin again with your meditation.”
Nodding and shaking off most of his own bliss, Jim gingerly settled back into his kneeling pose, not bothering to ask if there was a cloth to clean himself up with. The room they were isolated in was bare of everything save the two of them and he was acutely aware of the semen starting to dribble out of his loose hole onto the floor but it was easily ignored. “Right. So how are we doing this?”
“Close your eyes.” Making his voice as smooth and soft as possible, Spock continued speaking. “Do you remember how hot the three suns of Vulcan felt standing on the drilling platform of the Narada?” A slow nod was his only answer, but the faint flash of memories, both Jim’s and the Ambassador’s, coming through there bond was all the answer he needed. “On the surface of Old Vulcan during midday, the temperature was one point six four times that of the upper atmosphere where you stood. Even hotter than the sunlight in which we sit. Have you ever felt that level of heat?”
“Kind of like being scalded with hot water, I think.”
“Exactly so.” Face soften into a fond expression, Spock issued his next instruction. “I want you to carry that sensation of burning with you into the simple meditation I taught you. Every time a thought interrupts you, set fire to it with that feeling.”
Receiving another slow nod to show understanding, Spock resigned himself to wait, barely keeping his impatience at bay as his bondmate submerged into his own fraying mind.
It took time, but slowly, imperceptible at first, the ‘volume’ of Jim’s mind began to decrease after every quick flash of ‘heat’ flowed through their link. Time kept crawling at a snail’s pace it seemed, until, at last, his bondmate was calm enough to truly begin.
“Now ashaya,” Spock adopted a smooth cadence to his voice again, not wanting to break Jim’s concentration. “I will meld us as deep as I can, to make holding your katra together easier. I will not let you go.” Crossing the small distance between them with only his hands, he stopped a hairsbreadth from Jim’s serene and sweating face. “Are you prepared?”
Bright blue eyes opened, flashing with purpose. “Yes, because this is one war I refuse to lose. Let’s do this.”
Jethro adjusted his stance slightly to more fully and comfortably lean against the house’s back, outer wall. Stood watching the light from the four large pillar candles flicker and the bright, heavy, full moon reflect off of his Agent and the tools laid carefully on the natural oak alter that he’d constructed just for Tim to use.
He had watched the entire ritual, from the very start to the very finish, in absolute silence, not willing to break the simple and moving Casting even by accident. It was also calming, despite the oddly charged feeling in the air. The warm breeze continuously blowing through the unseasonably warm night was nice too, bringing the soft murmur of McGee’s voice to him easily and making Gibbs grin. It was the same Circle dismissal that he always used, despite the ritual being one that Gibbs had never seen before, right before he grounded the energy into the altar, finishing whatever bit of Casting was being done for the night.
When Gibbs had first found Tim doing magick, he was willing to admit that he’d been highly skeptical. Really, it seemed like something only done in the movies! Or in the ancient tales of Gods and animal sacrifices and drunken orgies, not something a very practical, down-to-earth techno-geek would think worked. But the night he’d first found Tim at Rock Creek Park, and most especially the conversation they’d had later over dinner, had been enlightening. Talked about how the rituals focused Tim’s mind on the energy he used for spell work. How quantum theory helped the boundless natural power surrounding everything do what he wanted it to, even molding it into specific outcomes.
Still had been dubious after that, but wanted to make sure his Agent could practice safely and so built a good sized, heavy oak altar out of natural deadwood that was placed in the back yard, which blew McGee’s mind. Told him that he expected McGee to come over anytime he needed to use it, and it was not up for discussion.
Tim came often, more so than Gibbs originally anticipated, not that he would have been rude enough to tell McGee not to. The first few times, Gibbs had disappeared into the basement to give him his privacy, but always showed up before the end. Over the last few months though, he found himself staying longer and longer, until he was watching for the whole ritual. The younger man never protested once.
Another thing that changed, besides his habit of observing, was his skepticism. Mostly, it was noticing the subtle parts of how Tim’s spell work their behalf influenced things. Like a seemingly perfect shot by a suspect only grazing one of his team or missing altogether. A break in a case that no one else would have made. Incidents of that nature, which Gibbs would usually put down to luck. But nobody was ever that lucky all the time. Now he knew why.
Other things swayed his opinion too though. One instance, just as Tim was completing his ritual work for the evening, they’d gotten a call out. As he was telling him about it, Gibbs placed a hand against the hard wood of the altar. One brief bit of contact with the warm surface, which it shouldn’t have been at all considering it was deep winter at the time, shot an odd and energizing something up his arm that had kept him happy and feeling great for days after. Or every time Tim was petitioning the Divine Source directly, he would carry away from the encounter an inner glow that wouldn’t fade for weeks.
But, what convinced him that whatever his Agent was doing was real, was what happened only two months prior. A heavy rainstorm during a hard and brutally fast-moving murder case, Gibbs and Tony were coming back to the Yard with information to catch the psychopath when a speeder slid on the very slick road and crashed into their car. The wreck totaled the car and should have killed them both but, miraculously, with the exception of some scuffs and bruising, both he and Tony walked away from it unharmed. Quite a while later, after the suspect was apprehended, Tim had pulled him aside and showed him the contents of the small pouch from the first time Gibbs had found him in the park, asking if he could come and empower new ones.
Clutched in McGee’s hand were the Gunnery Sergeant rank that was used for Gibbs’ talisman and the miniature NCIS badge that was used for Tony’s. Both were black as raven wings. They hadn’t been the night before. There were no doubts after that.
While lost to his memories, Tim had packed up his tools and approached quietly, waiting. It took him a moment, but he finally broke free of his thoughts and motioned for Tim to come inside so they could eat. Whatever kind of energy he was using really took it out of him often, so Gibbs always made sure to feed him before he left. “What were you doing tonight? I tried to figure it out, but I’ve never seen you do that kind of ritual before,” he asked, knowing that he was only going to get a general explanation from McGee, instead of details. That was pretty much expected by this point. Once, when he’d asked and not been given what he thought was a complete answer, Tim had sat him down and told him that most Pagans would never give specifics of a working to anyone not participating because of the chance that an outsider’s negative view of magick might affect how the energy flowed. Like how too many roadblocks on a street would slow a car down or send it down the wrong path and might even stop it completely. Gibbs wasn’t upset about the general answers after that, respecting what Tim told him.
“Just, ah, paying my respects to the Divine, Boss.” The fidgeting his Agent was doing, putting his case of tools on the kitchen table and straightening it unnecessarily, told that there was more to it. Raising an eyebrow, Gibbs waited. Then it clicked.
“Yeah, Boss.” Tim hung his head, almost like he was ashamed of what he confessed.
To say that Gibbs wasn’t surprised would be a lie. He was, a little. Especially considering he’d always been under the assumption, from what little Tim would tell him of the wildly varied beliefs of Pagans, that the Divine, by whatever name it was called, was more respected and honored than worshipped and adored. A partnership, if anything. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
Glancing up shyly and a little uncertain, McGee nodded. “You can. I do, in fact. Everyday at some point.”
“Considering how much we’ve been watched over and protected by the Powers That Be, saying thanks is the least we mere mortals can do.” Tilting his head to the side for a moment to think, he added, “I wouldn’t mind showing my thanks also if you don’t have a problem with it. Know that you’re, uh -” Gibbs only struggled to remember the word for a second before latching on to it, “solitary, so I don’t want you to think you have to let me.”
Stunned, Tim nodded. “Sure, if you want. You can join me during the next Full Moon.” The curious silver eyebrow went up, and Tim answered. “It’s when I hear Them best.”
“Well, yeah, Boss.” When Gibbs just gave him a blank look, he sighed in mock despair then grinned. “Come on, I’ll explain the vast and varied ideas of the Divine over dinner. I’ll even buy.”
As they were grabbing their jackets, Tim thought of something else that made him chuckle quietly. “You should be thankful that I don’t worship Them with the Great Rite.” Another blank and curious look flashed through blue eyes and Tim smiled bigger, “I’ll explain that too.”
And really, Gibbs couldn’t wait.
II Lover II Partner II
“Mmmm, you smell delicious.” McGee leaned a little harder into Gibbs, despite the hot summer night, trying to bury his nose further into Gibbs’ neck as they made their way carefully up the stairs and into McGee‘s small apartment, almost rubbing up against him with every stilted step. Bullet hole in Tim’s left leg coupled with the heavy pain killer and the muscle relaxant in his system didn’t allow for much grace, proven true when he had to steady McGee better to keep from almost falling again. Still, made Gibbs a little hot and uncomfortable. Who knew McGee was this sensual when his inhibitions were lowered? Might explain why Gibbs never really saw his Agent doped up on pain pills before or why McGee took great care in making sure he didn’t have more than a glass of wine or a beer whenever the team went out for drinks after a hard case. Tim, for all his openness, wasn’t much for letting people see him at less than his best.
Idly, Gibbs wondered just how frisky Tim would get when he was drunk if it only took a small dose of codeine, and an even smaller one of diazepam, to affect him like this. And he also wanted to know if it was just him that Tim wanted to maul or if anybody would’ve done.
He returned his full attention to the task at hand, because juggling the keys was a pretty difficult affair without McGee being able to actually put weight on his leg. The bullet he’d caught earlier in the day had entered into his thigh about midway up and to the outside of the bone before exiting. Simple enough to treat, but painful and awkward to stand still or maneuver with. Gibbs had done the only thing he could do, what he did for any of his team. Offered his company and assistance to his Agent for the duration it would take for him to mend. Tim wasn’t even given the option of refusing, not that he really could, considering how high he was.
Eventually made it through the front door though. Got to the bedroom too, and Gibbs only had to fend off a tiny bit of groping. Trouble really started as he tried to pull Tim’s shirt off and settle him on the large, scrupulously-made bed. He should have anticipated it, but worry had overridden the doctor’s warning of side effects, so he really didn’t count on Tim’s drugged mind to take even the most clinical touch to be an attempt at seduction. But, sure enough, Tim’s arms wound around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a hot kiss the instant Gibbs was close.
Now, as much as everyone joked about it, Jethro Gibbs wasn’t blind. And McGee wasn’t a chore to look at, not by a long shot. He had always found Tim’s expressive and guileless nature attractive and arousing, as much as the long legs, beautiful eyes and sharp mind. However, Gibbs, only allowing for brief affairs with both sexes after his last ex-wife just so he didn’t get his heart stomped on again, refused to make McGee another notch on his bedpost, so to speak. Especially right now, when he couldn’t actually give informed consent. Reluctant though he was, he gently untangled himself. “Not really the time for that McGee.”
The breathless chuckle he got from Tim was not exactly what he expected. Neither was the hazy look he got, almost like he wasn‘t really talking to Gibbs. “Oh, a seduction. Usually when I’m dreaming, don’t need it. Like the change.”
“You think you’re dreaming?” Well, that wasn’t expected either.
“Have to be.” Tim’s striking green eyes, pupils so small because of the codeine, caught Gibbs easily. “The real you never touches me. Ever.”
Opening his mouth to correct him, he thought better of it and just shook his head, sure his Agent wouldn’t remember if he told him otherwise at the moment. Possible that McGee was telling the truth though. Hell, who was he kidding? His Agent was right. Touching Tim for anything more than a headslap would start Gibbs down a dangerous road, could lead to things that Gibbs really wanted, but might hurt them both in the end. So touching him was something Gibbs avoided like the plague.
Instead of saying any of that, he continued to pull the scrub top off and help Tim carefully arrange himself on top of the thick, ivory colored comforter spread across the bed. Took all of his formidable resolve not to join Tim, but he managed. Barely. But only far enough to drag over the heavy, old recliner he’d spotted in the room close so he could keep an eye on the injured Agent. Ok, both eyes, but honestly, when did he ever really get the chance to look his fill without being caught? To enjoy Tim’s handsome, unassuming face without having to explain?
To watch Tim slowly run his hands down that creamy expanse of torso? “What are you doing Tim?” And no, his voice did not catch a little. And no, his jeans were not becoming too tight.
Tim gingerly shifted enough to comfortably look at him with a dreamy expression and gave that breathy chuckling again. “I’m going to entice you. You’d be in bed with me otherwise, not staring at me like you want to eat me alive.”
“Yeah,” Tim answered as he started to trail his hands lower, down until they were skimming the waistband of the scrub pants he was wearing. That had Gibbs feeling a bit hotter. He knew that because Tim’s boxers had blood all over them and a hole from the bullet, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Always like that.”
“Like what?” He nearly smacked himself for walking right into that trap. Had to be a trap. McGee always knew just what to say to get him to ask the question he wanted. Too smart for his own damned good, even doped up to the gills.
“Steal into my room and take me over.” He slipped his hands farther into the scrubs and Gibbs had no doubt that Tim was starting to touch himself. “Have been for so long, I don’t remember when I’ve dreamed of anything else.”
Temperature in the room seemed to jump all of a sudden to blistering, making Gibbs unobtrusively pull at the collar of his thin polo shirt. “Take you over?”
“Oh.” Tim flashed a hot and wicked little grin at him. Personally, he never would have thought his Probie was capable of the expression. “Love it when you want details.” Tim grasped himself more firmly. “Favorite is when you just barge in, slick me up and sit me in your lap facing you. Can kiss you all I want that way.”
Gibbs could picture it too. Tim, flushed and panting, arms wrapped around his neck and letting Gibbs move him any way he wanted. Buried deep and so close there was barely an inch of space between them, skin rubbing against nothing but soft, sweat-slick skin. Kissing with hard but playful passion.
A groan escaped before he could stop it, but damn if the image Tim’s words evoked wasn’t hot enough to scorch.
He noticed, once he shook the picture out of his head, that Tim was not helping. In the ten seconds he’d been imagining the scene, somehow Tim had managed to tug his pants down far enough to let his erection pop free, but not let the elastic waistband rest on his bandages. Was petting it too, just the tip. Gibbs swallowed hard, the bulge in his own pants becoming more painful by the second. “Should really put that away, McGee.”
“Thought you liked it when I teased you.” Damned full bottom lip slid out, just the slightest bit, morphing Tim’s expression into a pout. The long stroke he gave to his cock kind of ruined the look, but Gibbs didn’t mind. “Remember you askin’ me once to tell you about a fantasy I had. Sat in that chair, pulling on that large cock of yours, hard as nails. Demanding I tell every tiny, carnal detail.” A gentle shift of Tim’s right leg gave enough space for him to slide his other hand down to palm his balls and, Gibbs would bet, tease his hole with the very tips of his fingers.
But, with Gibbs sitting so close to the huge bed, it was the man’s leg pushing against him that set of the blaze in his body.
Unsnapping his jeans to relieve the pressure didn’t help much, not that he thought it would. Grappling with his morality, with his conscience, for only a few seconds and rationalizing to himself that since he wouldn’t touch McGee in his semi-conscious state, it would be more like a voyeur watching a live show than anything else, he pulled his achingly hard dick out and sighed in relief.
“Was wondering how long you were gonna hold out on me.” Flashing another wicked grin at him, Tim started to stroke himself a little faster, eyes fluttering shut in bliss and breath coming out in shallow pants. “Want to know if the real you is as fantastic as you. If I was brave enough, I’d corner him in the elevator at work and find out. Throw the stop, drop to my knees and blow him in the middle of the day.”
The reminder that his Agent thought they were part of a dream, that Tim thought he was talking to a phantom, seriously lessened the guilt Gibbs felt about the whole encounter. Not enough to violate his conviction not to touch though, but definitely enough to allow himself to reach for his own cock and give it a rough pull. And to encourage Tim. “That all you would do?”
Tim didn’t even open his eyes when he answered, but the groan gave away that he’d heard the question. “No. I’d wait ‘til the end of the day, after everyone left and flirt with him until he threw me down the desk and fucked me.” Tim started fisting himself harder and faster, and Gibbs started to match his pace, watching McGee’s other hand work under his scrubs, knowing that he was probably starting to finger himself. He envied those long, elegant fingers sliding into the hot and soft body. The hitch in Tim’s breath pulled his gaze back up to the bright but drugged green eyes. “Think I want him to make love to me in his basement the most though.” He picked up the pace of his strokes even more, Gibbs right there with him. “Push me up against the side of his boat, lift me up and just slide home.”
He closed his eyes so that he could picture that one too. Scent of sawdust and sex everywhere, arms under Tim’s legs, spreading him wide, and hands braced against the side of whatever boat was being built. A slow, easy rhythm making the man gasp his name and tremble. Kissing when he could and nipping at all the pale, creamy flesh in his reach every time Tim’s head fell back against the wood. The scene he saw, Tim’s head thrown back in ecstasy and a faint shout as the Tim in his mind reached completion, fractured as his orgasm barreled through him. So lost in his own pleasure, he almost didn’t hear the loud gasp of his Agent finding his own release.
Once the tremors faded and his heart started beating normally again, he opened his eyes and promptly chuckled. Tim had finally passed out from the medication and had left a mess on himself. Quietly, Gibbs snagged some tissues from the box on McGee’s nightstand, cleaning his chest and stomach off fast then gently wiping off Tim’s hands, stomach and cock, thinking.
Maybe he could try to build something with Tim and not mess it up. What had just happened, as distant as Gibbs had tried to keep himself, was enlightening and moving, more so than anything had been in a long time. Wasn’t a memory he was going to forget or bury anytime soon, so maybe he should give the idea of them together the attention it deserved.
Settling back in the old chair after putting Tim back to rights, he dozed off, still thinking about the possibilities.