Oh, The Places You'll Go

Take it With You When You Go

Notes: Title and readthrough by soupytwist, so blame her for everything, I would. Post-Judgment Day (Part 2) (5x23), written for Porn Battle IX - prompts: marking, angry, fear


They've been fighting up and down the whole evening. Jethro has slunk off to his bed long since. He's never liked conflict. McGee's cornered Tony as he comes out of the bedroom and he's red-faced, pissed and snarling.

Tony throws up his hands and yells, "Fine! Whatever. I'll go. I just don't understand how we got here from me not putting a coaster under my glass."

In an instant, McGee's expression changes and he looks at Tony as an avalanche of emotions cross his face. Tony thinks he catches scorn, pity and, most gut-punchingly, despair, but then they're all gone as Tim hauls around and tries to punch out the brick wall behind him.

"Fuck, McGee, don't!" exclaims Tony as the crunching squelch of bones and flesh sets his stomach turning.

McGee turns back around, holding his bloodied fist in front of him and staring at it as if it's some kind of fascinating puzzle that needs solving. "Wow," he says, not looking up. "I thought people only did that in movies."

"Listen," says Tony, grabbing McGee's non-injured arm and fairly dragging him to the bathroom. "Whatever I did to make you mad enough to want to punch something, I'm sorry. I won't do it again. And if I do, next time, punch me. I'm less likely to break bits of you."

He has the faucet on now and the rush of water hitting the sink means Tony can't quite be sure if he really heard McGee choke back a strangled laugh or not. He gently guides McGee's bleeding knuckles.

McGee hisses as the water hits the torn skin, but says nothing. Tony looks up at McGee's reflection in the mirror. His eyes are focused on the pink-tinged water swirling down the drain, but he looks sad. As sad as Tony's seen him since Kate.

Tony doesn't get it. McGee was never close to Je- the Director, and he wasn't the agent in charge of her protection, not like Tony. What has he got to be sad about?

"Don't move," he orders, and roots around the bathroom, finding antiseptic cream, gauze and tape.

McGee doesn’t argue--for the first time this evening--and waits quietly, chin tucked in to his neck as if he could disappear that way. Tony dresses the damaged knuckles as gently as he can, admiring the way McGee doesn't even flinch as he rubs in the antiseptic. Then he leads Tim back out into the bedroom and pushes him down on the bed. He drops to his haunches in front of him and looks up. McGee won't meet his eyes. This is not helping. Tony reaches out and tips McGee 's chin up.

"Hey," he says. "I promise. Coasters all the way." (If I ever get back, he adds mentally.)

Tim's eyes widen and he twists out of Tony's grip. "How can you not get that it's not about the damn coasters? How are you that stupid?"

There's a flush high on his cheeks, his eyes are sparkling and a blaze of anger flares in Tony's gut. What the hell? It's Tony who's being punished, who's being sent away from the only family he knows. Doesn't matter what they all say, only Vance has guts enough to admit that Tony's responsible for Jenny's death--why else would he be being shunted off to the middle of the ocean? And then it hits him like a bullet to his head.

"Are you trying to make me break up with you? McGee...Tim...look at me."

Tim drags his eyes to meet Tony's and Tony knows he's right, but he can't bring himself to believe it.

"Are you trying to make me break up with you?" he asks again.

Tim opens his eyes as wide as they'll go and tries a small, "No?", but he's a butterfly on a pin and Tony leaps to his feet.

Tim's bedroom is really not big enough to get up any kind of pacing rhythm and Tony stops after a couple of steps, caged.

"Who did you think you were making it easy for, you or me?"

"Me," says Tim, and at least he's being honest, now. "I thought you'd hardly notice."

"You thought I'd-?" Tony can't even finish the sentence and drops into the armchair. The window is cracked a little and there's a warm, sticky breeze on the back of his neck.

He considers his options. He's tired. It's been a real long day and he's so very tired of talking. He has to carry the weight of Jenny's death with him, he can't carry this, too. It's too much and he can't break, not now.

"Take off your clothes," he says.

Tim stares at him.

"Don't even think of arguing with me, McGee," he says, and pulls his tee over his head and tosses it aside to show he's in this, too.

Tony can see McGee eyeing up the bathroom--he's still self-conscious about his body no matter how much Tony's shown him over and over again exactly how hot he finds it--and Tony shakes his head. "Right here, McGee. Strip."

McGee bites his lip but does what he's told. Tony's relieved--he has no fight left in him. None at all.

The warm breeze plays across his back as he stands and shimmies out of his pants and boxers, keeping his eyes fixed on McGee.

McGee has finally learned not to leave his socks till last and Tony finds a smile tugging at the edge of his lips as he remembers exactly what it took to get there.

"Lie down," he says. McGee lies down and closes his eyes.

Tony stands at the end of the bed, figuring his plan of action. He brushes his index finger over the tips of McGee's toes and can't help but grin as McGee twitches. Screw plans, he thinks and pushes McGee's legs apart, dropping down between them. McGee's eyes fly open and Tony places his hands either side of McGee's hips and crawls up his body, dropping kisses as he goes. McGee licks his lower lip and parts his mouth, ready.

Tony thinks about teasing him, about making him wait, kissing him everywhere but his mouth, but this isn't about teasing, this is about proving something to both of them, and he lowers himself down, kissing him sweet and slow. He rests on one arm, twisting his fingers through Tim's hair, pulling him towards him, and he lets the kiss carry the weight of all the words he's not saying, all the words McGee (Tim, call him Tim) wouldn't--or couldn't--listen to.

There's no point pretending this is going to be anything but the last time for a long time, and Tony's mind is almost on overload, trying to record everything in the minutest detail; the taste of Tim's mouth, the way Tim's toes scrape lightly up and down his shin, moving incessantly, as if he's keeping some beat only he hears, the faded citrus scent mixed in with the smell of heated skin that's both utterly familiar and entirely maddening. Tony slides his hand out of Tim's hair and wraps it around his back, flipping them over so that Tim's body is pressed against the length of his. He takes McGee's wrists, mindful of the dressing on Tim's hand, and spreads their arms out wide, then lets go, running his fingers back along the smooth lines and curves of Tim's arms until they meet the rise of his shoulders. He grips then, and pushes Tim up and away, Tim scrabbling to support his own weight.

Tony lays a hand over his heart and looks up at Tim's face, serious and questioning.

"Here," he says. "I want you to mark me, here."

Tim furrows his brow in confusion. They've spent a lot of time very carefully not marking each other, not laying any visible claim, it's been an unspoken rule since the beginning. But Tony figures he's leaving in a few hours, why not take a sledgehammer to the whole damn lot of them?

"Do it," he says. "I want you with me." He runs a hand up Tim's thigh, letting his thumb press into the crease.

Tim's brow clears and he bends down, chasing Tony's fingers away with little nips. He presses soft kisses against Tony's skin and fumbles for Tony's hand, gripping his fingers and squeezing. His mouth widens and he pushes his teeth into Tony's chest and sucks. It's a gentle pressure, like he's not sure if this is safe, if this is what Tony really wants.

"More," says Tony. "Harder."

Tim's fingers tighten around Tony's as he responds. It hurts, a sharp, stinging pain that reminds Tony of playground fights and Indian burns and he has to fight not to shrink from it, not to bat Tim's head away. Tim's breath is hot against him as he sucks and bites at Tony's skin, and Tony's mouth is moving before he can even think to stop it.

"That thing," he says. "That thing where you push at a bruise because even though it feels bad, it feels good? I want that. Because even when it's faded I'll know it's there. It won't ever go away, not really."

Tim lifts his head and stares at Tony, a silvery thread of saliva joining his lip to Tony's chest. Tony's skin throbs to the beat of his blood, and he's wearing his heart on his surface, just like always, only this time it's visible.

"You...want me?" Tim says, dazed, like it's some kind of revelation. "You even- You love me."

That the second part is not a question makes Tony want to punch the sky and yell in triumph. Finally. Finally, the smartest guy he's ever known gets it.

"Well, duh, of course I love you," he says, and smash goes another rule. "With a solve rate like yours, McColumbo, you'll be Director before you're 35. And yeah, you'd better believe that I'd notice if you broke up with me. No doing that, okay?"

"Okay." Tim sits up, running his hand up Tony's forearm and pulling him up with him. He rests his arms around Tony's waist and leans in, resting their foreheads together. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm just...I'm not used to reciprocation. I guess I thought I was protecting myself."

"I guess you thought wrong," says Tony, leaning back and landing a feeble punch on Tim's shoulder. "Now can we have sex? Because I'm on a crappy transport flight first thing tomorrow and if I'm gonna have an uncomfortable ride I want it to be for a better reason than turbulence and wooden benches."

"You got it," says Tim, and Tony's pretty proud of how the guy manages to keep the shake mostly out of his voice.

Tony's hands are looped tight around Tim's neck as he lowers himself onto Tim's dick, Tim's hands firm on Tony's hips, giving Tony's straining thighs some relief. They've never done it like this before, though Tony's wanted to, and he wonders if it had been too much for Tim, too close, too intimate. The burn as he sinks down, letting Tim in deeper, seems muted, as if his body's spent on pain now, and only pleasure is left. He gasps as he comes to rest on Tim's legs. Tim's hands slip from Tony's hips and slide over his ass and down his thighs, gripping them underneath.

Tim's fingers press into Tony, urging him to move. He rises up, slowly, slowly, his dick dragging across Tim's belly and, fuck, it feels good. He rocks back down, then up again, a slow, gentle rhythm. Tony presses his face into Tim's neck as they sway together, sucking lightly but inexorably, staking his own claim.

They're measured and leisurely, as if the clock wasn't working so hard against them. It's Tony's giant finger to the man, his refusal to be rushed or distracted from his purpose of making sure this night is branded on Tim's brain the way Tim's mark is branded on his skin. But in the end, it's not enough, not for either of them, and their kisses heat up until they're sloppy and wild and Tim's tumbling Tony onto his back, wincing as his hands crash down either side of Tony's head. They close around each other with practiced ease and Tim fucks Tony until the lock of his hair that's swinging free is plastered to the side of his face and Tony's thighs scream in protest.

Tim comes first, but the look in his eyes is enough to tip Tony over the edge just seconds later. Tony feels ripped apart and put back together at the same time and, as Tim drops down onto him, his hot weight pressing on the red-bloomed bruise on Tony's chest, Tony pants and stares at the ceiling and wonders what the hell is next.

"Tony", says Tim after a few minutes. "Come back to me." He doesn't just mean from orgasm la-la land and he knows it and Tony knows it.

"I'll do my best," Tony says, twisting Tim's hair around his finger. "It won't be for want of trying, believe me."

"I do."

The dawn isn't far away and the birds are already singing. Tomorrow isn't another day, it's here and now, and Tony doesn't want to go. He's not ready to be alone. He presses his hand over his heart and feels the dull throb of the bruise. Maybe he won't be alone after all.


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