'You know I can't smoke, Jethro,' Tony says regretfully, running the fat cigar under his nose and sniffing appreciatively. 'But the good whiskey that should go with this, now that I can have. You got any good whiskey? What am I saying, you have bourbon." He tuts in disapproval.
Gibbs snorts and pulls his gun. 'I said suck on it, DiNozzo, not light it. You got a problem with your hearing?'
'Whoah!' Hastily Tony shoves the cigar in his mouth and raises his hands. His voice is somewhat muffled by the stogie, but he manages so say, 'What the hell? Are you crazy?'
Gibbs holds the gun on Tony with one hand and unbuckles his belt with the other. He whips it through his belt loops and with a speed that would have done him proud in any rodeo, has Tony's hands tied behind his back.
'Gibbs? Jethro?' Tony's voice, still muffled, is high, tight with surprise.
'Don't drop the cigar,' Gibbs orders, getting to work one-handed on Tony's jeans. He pushes the denim down over the agent's hips until they fall, bunched, around his knees.
Tony lets out an undignified squeak as Gibbs places a callused palm flat on his stomach and slides his hand up under Tony's faded sweatshirt, pulling the agent back until cold metal touches the small of his back. Tony squeaks again and shivers convulsively as the gun traces a path down until it nudges at the waistband of his shorts.
'Don't. Drop. It,' Jethro rasps in Tony's ear, breath warm on the sensitive skin, lips almost touching its curve. He slides his hand back down, under Tony's waistband, gliding over the hair that leads like an arrow to his groin. Tony moans helplessly as Gibbs closes his hand around Tony's shaft, which is embarrassingly hard.
'Jethro...' Tony whispers, letting his head fall back onto Gibbs' shoulder as Gibbs squeezes, then starts to move, warm dry skin rough against the velvet-over-steel of Tony's cock. It doesn't take more than a minute before Tony feels the tension pooling low in his belly and at the base of his spine; his balls draw up and he's close, so close, and then Gibbs moves that damn gun, pushing it hard against the crack between his cheeks through the soft cotton that covers them.
Tony comes with a shout, the cigar tumbling to the basement floor. For one glorious moment, he's soaring: then a stinging pain blossoms in the back of his head.
'Ow! What was that for?' Tony yelps.
'Told you not to drop my damn cigar,' Gibbs grumbles, wiping his hand on Tony's shorts. He frees the agent's hands with a practised flick, then steps back, bends down and scoops up the cigar. 'Going to taste of sawdust now.'
Tony grimaces. 'Sorry, Jethro. I, uh, I got carried away.'
'Ya think?' But Gibbs pulls Tony in for a slow, sweet kiss, letting him go at last with a swat to his ass. 'God, you're a kinky s.o.b.'
'Ah, you love it,' Tony replies with a cheeky smile.
'Yeah,' Gibbs smiles. 'I do.'
Author's Chapter Notes:
Gibbs and Tony, guns and cigars, playing in the basement. 'nuff said!