Oh, The Places You'll Go

In a Dangerous Time



Notes:
Written for Porn Battle X. Prompt: undercover. Beta by soupytwist, for which many hearts.

WARNING: Potential dub-con trigger. Please consider using a pre-reader if you are concerned.




A fist flies and there's a sharp crack as Tony's knees hit the dirty concrete floor. Tim wrenches at the arms holding him, but the goons tighten their grip and he subsides, fretting.

"What the hell is this? Is this how you treat all your guests?" asks Tony, licking at the blood that’s trickling from the corner of his mouth. "I thought we were here to deal."

"You shut up!" Spinoza backhands Tony across the cheek and blood and spit sprays through the air. "You lost the right to deal when you fucked my wife."

Oh, fuck, thinks Tim. Oh, no, Tony. No. Jesus, can't you ever keep it in your pants?

Spinoza moves swiftly and then there's a gun pointing at Tony's head and the slick slide of oiled metal on metal and Tim can't let this happen; he has to act now. He goes heavy, relaxing into the hold of the goons. They stumble a little, adjusting their grip and it's enough for Tim to twist loose and break free. He races the short distance to Tony, throwing himself between him and the gun.

"Get out of the way," snarls Spinoza. "You, I have no quarrel with."

"You don't understand," says Tim. "He can't have slept with your wife." He turns and drops to his knees in front of Tony, leans in and kisses him, hard and fast and messy, tasting salt and the iron tang of blood and hoping like hell Tony gets with the program, fast. He pulls away, leaving his hand on Tony's shoulder, squeezing it rhythmically, hoping that conveys 'I have a plan', and twists around.

"He can't have slept with your wife because he's gay. We're together."

Spinoza lets out a shout of grim laughter. "He? Es un maricon? No, I don't think so."

"We're together, I swear," says Tim. "Whatever you think you know, you don't know it." Sweat sticks his cotton shirt to his back and the air is so thick he can barely breathe.

Spinoza twists the gun from side to side, weighing Tim's words. He jerks his head upwards. "Prove it," he says.

"How? Show you pictures of Pride? Sing a show tune? Been a long time since the pink triangles, man, we don't carry gay ID."

It's possible Tony is trying to get killed. Which isn't going to stop Tim trying to save him, it's just going to make it harder. He digs his nails into Tony's muscle. Shut the fuck up, he's telling him. I am not telling Abby you didn't make it home.

Spinoza cocks his head. "Make him blow you." He laughs again, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into it. The goons laugh, too. Tim wants to kill them all.

Tony's shoulder tenses under Tim's hand and Tim squeezes again. It's okay, I got this one.

"Are you kidding me? He can barely open his jaw after you introduced your fist to it."

Tony's shoulder relaxes.

"I'll blow him. Deal?"

It tenses again.

"Deal."

"Yeah, I'm not doing it at gunpoint," says Tim, his unwavering voice masking the churning of his guts. "Put that damn thing away."

Spinoza stares at Tim, but Tim only stares back, refusing to back down. Slowly--too slowly for Tim's liking--Spinoza drops his arm, the gun pointing to the floor.

Tim nods and turns back to Tony. Tony's got the look of a frightened rabbit--he's not making this an easy sell, damn him. "It's okay, Tony," he says, "I know you're not into public sex, but this one time, yeah?"

He leans in, ostensibly to kiss Tony's cheek. "I need you to be okay with this," he whispers. "I need you to mean it. I can think of something else."

Tony responds by getting to his feet and unbuckling his belt. "You know I'd do anything for you, baby," he says, looking down at Tim with a glint in his eyes. He nods, imperceptible to anyone not looking for it, and Tim reaches for Tony's fly.

Tony is wearing boxer briefs--of course he is--and Tim reaches up and pushes the waistband down with one hand and cups Tony's balls with the other, gently pulling them out. They're surprisingly soft and Tim runs a thumb along the seam. He's more concerned that Spinoza won't think they're gay than Tony will think he is, and he might as well take his chance--it's probably the only one he'll ever get.

"I don't have a condom," he says.

"You don't trust him?"

"I said he didn't fuck your wife. I didn't tell you the intimate details of how we choose to conduct our relationship, okay?"

"No condom. Suck him."

Tim feels a light tap on his head and looks up.

"'s okay," says Tony, his voice slurring at the edges and that's when Tim realizes he's been caressing Tony's balls the whole time.

"Okay," says Tim and leans forward, taking Tony's ball sac in his mouth, sucking gently.

"Jesus Maria, did you see that?"

"What the fuck, that's disgusting, man."

"Fucking faggot queer."

Tim licks and sucks, finger tracing the crease at the top of Tony's inside thigh.

Tony grinds out, "Oh. Oh!" and it's the only thing Tim hears.

He transfers his attention to Tony's other ball and moves his other hand to circle the shaft of Tony's hardening cock. Good, he thinks. Good. He strokes up as he sucks in and feels Tony swelling in his hand. Again and again he does this, transferring his attention from one ball to the other until Tony is solid steel in his palm and Tim has to shake his hips to adjust his own hardon. God willing, Tony won't notice.

"Heh, the other faggot wants it."

"Go on, queer boy. Let him fuck your throat. You know you love it, you fucking pussy."

"You wan' him to fuck you so bad. You wanna take it like a li'l bitch. C'mon faggot, suck it."

He tries to shut them out, closing his eyes and licking his way along Tony's shaft, smelling the heavy scent of sweat and soap and musk and letting it curl and twist inside him. He lets his tongue play in the slit of the head, licking up the droplet of precome that swells to the surface. Then he opens his mouth and sucks Tony in.

Tony's cock fills his mouth, stretching his lips wide, and the world drops away. It's not about the filthy storeroom with the grinning thugs and the guns and threats and stale sweaty bodies. It's not even about preserving the life of an agent--a colleague and a friend. It's about Tony's cock in Tim's mouth and Tim's tongue, Tim's lips, Tim's teeth. It's about Tim's hand around the base of Tony's shaft and the other rubbing gently behind Tony's balls. It's about the ache in Tim's groin. It's about bliss.

"Jesus, M-magic mouth," Tony says, and Tim feels his fingers twist in his hair.

Tony starts to thrust, tight, shallow shifts of his hips and Tim tilts his head down to provide a better angle. He twists down with his hand as Tony bucks forward and Tim sucks hard. Tony is breathing in harsh pants, an involuntary whine on each inward breath. He starts to move faster, and Tim takes him in as far as he can without gagging. Now is not the time for sex heroics. He squeezes Tony's balls and Tony yelps, and Tim feels the orgasm coming before it hits, and quickly jerks free. They want their money shot, let them have it. Tony's spunk stripes his face, warm and wet and plentiful. Tim can feel it at the corner of his mouth, trickling down.

It's better than blood. So much better than blood.

He gets to his feet and turns to face Spinoza, deliberately swiping his tongue around his lips to clean himself off.

"Well?" he asks, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his face down. "Is that enough?"

Spinoza curls his lip, holstering his gun. "Get the fuck out of here. Quickly. Before I change my mind and shoot you both for making us watch bad porn."

As if on command, the goons snicker.

Tim turns to Tony who's looking dazed and confused, but has managed to make himself decent again. "Let's go," he says, tugging at Tony's arm.

The goons part around them as they head for the door. Tim yanks it open and harsh, yellow sunshine streams in. He squints against it, stopping and turning back into the gloom. He catches the eye of one of the goons who's looking at him, and there's desperation in his eyes. Tim's pretty sure he was the loudest derider of them all. Yeah, good luck with that, he thinks.

"You'll call? About the deal?"

"I don't deal with no fucking queers," snarls Spinoza.

"Yeah?" says Tony. "That's what you say. You guys are sporting enough wood to build me a cabin."

There's a barrage of clicks as several guns are drawn. Tim shoves Tony through the door and they run hell-for-leather for their car.

"Keys!" yells Tony, who's ahead, and Tim tosses them to him and sprints to catch up, hurling himself into the passenger seat as Tony guns the engine. They roar away, Tim still pulling the door shut behind him.

Later, Tim doesn't know who laughed first, but then they're both whooping in huge gusts and Tim's ribs hurt with it, with the exhilaration and relief of escape. Tony drives them into an abandoned lot and parks up behind a dumpster. The rumbling engine cuts out.

There's dead silence for a second and then, "Baby? What the hell, Tony?"

"What? You didn't think it was in character? Well, I didn't think being gay was either, so turns out we both learned something new."

"I had to do something," mutters Tim. "You could at least try to be grateful."

Tony grins. "Oh my god, you saved my life with a blowjob, McGee." He slaps a hand down on Tim's knee. "That was...Wow. Just. Quick thinking."

"I'll take that as a thank you."

"Yeah, do that."

Tony reaches towards Tim then, leaning in, and for a split second Tim thinks he's going to kiss him, and it's like his stomach drops into his carefully chosen Geiger shoes. But Tony's fingers futz at Tim's hair just above his ear and then Tony leans back, examining the sticky substance on them. He laughs, sucking his fingers clean, and then squinting and stretching his lips into a grimace as if he's just sucked on a particularly sour lemon.

"Ech," he says, and then, brightly, "You had my come in your hair. C'm'ere and let me check for more." He grabs Tim's chin and tips it to the side.

Tim seizes Tony's wrist and jerks it away. "Get off, asshole. This isn't funny--we blew the mission." He's really not looking forward to explaining this to Gibbs. They were counting on this to make a bust back in DC.

"Well, something got blown," Tony leers, but Tim's not biting. He sighs. "Listen, Timmy, we totally did not blow the mission. The deal's too valuable. They'll be in touch. Just wait."

Tim presses his lips together. "So what do we do while we wait?"

Tony reaches out again, running a finger down Tim's chest and hooking it under his belt. "I can think of a few things."

"Tony." Tim's aiming for forbidding but he's fairly sure he's coming off as whiny.

Tony's face goes deadly serious.

"I didn't fuck Spinoza's wife, Tim."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does."

It does.

"So you think we should...?"

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, yeah?"

"I don't know if you've been paying attention, DiNozzo, but we're not in Vegas."

"Same thing. C'mon, McPicky, let's make these interesting times. Deal?"

Tim considers. It's not the best-case scenario, but he's still rocking a semi from before and it would be good--great--to get someone else's hand on it. Tony's? Even better. "Okay," he says.

"Okay," Tony grins, and turns the key.

Tim's on his back on the luxury king he's been sleeping on--keeping up appearances has never worked out so well--completely naked, Tony up close and personal along his side, one leg tucked over Tim's. He's raised up on one elbow, looking down at the cock he holds in his hand--Tim's cock. He's been keeping Tim on the edge for what seems like forever now, bringing him to the point of orgasm and then taking his hand away just before it happens, wicked grin curling his bruised lip. Tim's sweating, hair plastered to his forehead despite the A/C, his back hurts from where it's been arched up from the mattress for so long and there's an ache in his balls so deep it feels as if he'll never get it out.

He's gone past begging and pleading and sniping and even an attempted punch or two, and now lies silent, one arm thrown over his eyes, torn between desperation for this to end and hope that it never does. The shifts in intensity are so sudden Tim can't be sure he isn't going to wind up with whiplash.

"How about now?" says Tony, speeding up again.

Tim wants to shout his encouragement, but Tony likes to tease and so he keeps quiet, barely even pushing into Tony's hand. It builds again, the low, throbbing pulse and Tim can feel it ready, poised and this time. This time, he's-

The phone rings.

Tim slams his head against the pillow and moans in frustration as Tony's hand is gone again. Tony laughs, deep in his throat, and practically sprawls across Tim to get to the phone, the rough brush of hairs against Tim's cockhead adding yet another layer of torture. Tim bucks up finding that friction again and, beyond it, the solid wall of Tony's torso.

"U-huh," Tony is saying, but Tim doesn't care. He bucks up again and again, rubbing hard over Tony.

"And that would be...?"

It's coming, he's coming, and Tony shoves his hand over Tim's mouth and keeps on talking as Tim comes and comes between their bellies, mind shutting down awareness of everything except the powerful shockwaves rolling through him and the slick slide of their bodies together.

When he comes back down, Tony's no longer talking. He is still, however, sprawled across Tim, twisted at an angle and trailing a finger through Tim's come.

"That was pretty hot," he says. "And if you're in there at all, McGee, it may interest you to know the deal's back on. Totally called it."

Tim is in there--hauling himself back up the cliff face by his fingernails--and he lets out a long breath of relief. Now he won't have to tell Gibbs he fucked up (and fucked Tony).

"So," says Tony, licking a fingertip, sticking his lower lip out and waggling his head from side to side, as if considering. "Hmm. Not bad. So, how about our deal, McGay?"

Tim hopes he only flinches on the inside. "Yeah, I won't tell anyone."

"That's not what I mean."

Tim's pretty sure he looks as shocked as he feels. Does this mean-? Wow. Okay, that's going to need some- Wow.

"Ding, ding, seconds out, round two," Tony says, and grins.



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