Oh, The Places You'll Go

Tony'd Do Anything for McGee (But he Won't Do That)

Notes: Written for Porn Battle. Prompt--close. Eyes and squee by soupytwist.


Tony isn't saying that the whole screwing/dating McGee thing hasn't been pretty out of left-field, but it turns out he likes having sex with men. With a man. With McGee. (Not that he's ruling other men out, it's just, well, he has his hands full with McGee already. Literally, a lot of the time.) It shouldn't surprise him, really; he's always been a big fan of orgasms--his and whoever was, er, with him at that time--and at least there's no chance of McGee faking it. Not that any of his women have, of course, seeing as how Tony is the Orgasminator General, but still, the point stands.

So, yeah, he's had a ball (Two balls. Four!) exploring the delights of Big Gay Sex with McGee. There's pretty much nothing he won't do if McGee wants it. He's sucked and licked and fucked both user-created holes and Nature-made ones. He's even developing a math fetish between the number 69 and the way McGee pants out, "Oh, oh, OH!" when Tony's fingers stroke against him in just the right way. Treble-o-heaven, thinks Tony. So much better than Bond.

He's given McGee free rein with the handcuffs (upgraded from violent-red fur to black velvet) and--Jesus fucking god--what McGee can do with a restrained Senior Field Agent, an icecube and a silk tie is probably illegal in at least 40 of the 50 states. He's done it outdoors, indoors, upside down and enjoyed every minute of it (except the time he sprained his...yeah, the less said about that, the better), and yet...

And yet he won't--can't?--let McGee fuck him. It's not a macho issue, he thinks, he's long given up pretending he's the alpha male in this relationship (and isn't that a strange and wonderful relief?). It's not an oh-my-fucking-christ-things-aren't-supposed-to-go-in-that-way issue either; pain, Tony can handle, he's proved it enough times. He just ...won't. McGee doesn't make a big deal of it, doesn't push it, tells Tony they can do other stuff instead.

And that's good, that's better, because McGee's slicked up dick sliding along the crack of Tony's ass, McGee's body hot and heavy over Tony's back, holding Tony's hips and rocking him into the mattress with each forward slide makes Tony's head spin and McGee breathe hard against Tony's ear and come in warm, wet stripes on Tony's back, but it isn't that. He won't do that.

Or sometimes McGee spreads Tony wide and licks into him, long, soothing strokes that Tony drinks in, leaving them to lie, pooling at the base of his spine. And then McGee's movement's narrow, flat coolness becoming a tip trailing fire as McGee traces the pucker of Tony's skin until the pressure builds too far and bursts from him in waves, ripples of aftershocks chasing out across his body. McGee doesn't press in, though. It isn't that. Tony won't do that.

Sometimes, when McGee's mouth is on him, and Tony is so amped up his vision blurs and contorts, Tony feels McGee's finger pressing down on him in that soft, secret place between balls and ass. It's a strange, pulsing pleasure that it gives and Tony presses up against it. Sometimes, if McGee is distracted, his finger slips further back, deep into Tony's ass, and, if on occasion the tip pushes through the tight ring of muscle, barely moving in fine thrusts only measured by the shift in pitch of Tony's breathing then it's still okay. It isn't that. He won't do that.

Nor is it that the time McGee has Tony up against the wall, one arm wrapped around his chest, three fingers puahing into Tony's ass, mouth against Tony's ear, whispering, "No more trying to die, DiNozzo, it's not in my long term plan." Tony comes to the sound of McGee's voice, to the warmth of his own hand and the squeeze of his chest, and to the wonder of how the sharp, bright pain of McGee's fingers would be different if McGee fucked him properly, dick thick and heavy. Not that he's going to because he won't do that

It's Tony's decision. McGee is spooned behind him, morning wood a very real presence against Tony's ass. Tony rocks back against it, his own dick twitching in response, and with it comes a wash of sensation, a need to be filled up. It's not the first time he's felt it, but it's the first time he's said, "I think you should fuck me, McGee." He doesn't know why today's different, nothing special happened yesterday, it's just another work day today, but the words are out and he doesn't want to take them back.

"Are you sure?" asks McGee, and Tony can feel the whoosh of air under the covers as McGee raises himself up on an elbow and peers at him.

"Don't make me change my mind, Probie," says Tony warningly, the little hip grind against McGee's dick proving his words unreliable.

McGee fucks him, then, slow and careful at first and Tony's grateful for that until the searing shock of it gives way to a dull throb which slowly, slowly turns the dial from pain to pleasure.

"Harder," he says, "I need...fuck me, McGee."

McGee doesn't question him again. He pulls out and tugs Tony onto his back, repositioning them. Tony tries not to tense as he feels the head of McGee's dick nudge against him, but he can't help the yelp that escapes him when Tim pushes in again. The pain fades quicker this time and soon Tony is grabbing McGee's ass, pushing him deeper, closer. He's on fire, he's electric, McGee's eyes burning bright with reflected heat and Tony feels a pull, a connection. It's not just his body calling to McGee's-- ass begging for pounding, dick begging for a hand--it's everything. It feels like McGee has slung a hook through his heart and is pulling it up, up, out through his chest to take it, keep it.

"McGee," he says, barely getting the word past his lips. "McGee, Probie, Tim, all of you. I love you." He laughs, then, exhilarated, because it seems to him that somehow he'd known that that would be a catalyst for this and he'd been freaking terrified for absolutely no reason at all. This isn't restraint, a narrowing of life, of focus; this is freedom.

"I love you," he says again and McGee comes, bright with shock.

"Was that what the whole thing was about?" asks McGee when they're in the car on the way to the Navy Yard.

Tony shifts in his seat, the slight discomfort making him grin with memory. "Yeah," he says, "kinda pathetic, huh? I mean, I knew it, so why couldn't I say it? You said it, like, maybe a hundred times."

"Because you have the emotional skills of an amoeba and I'm higher up the food chain?" McGee pats his knee and Tony has to resist grabbing his hand because apparently, coming out of the L-closet, as it were, means he's been gifted the entire world supply of sap. He just hopes it doesn't leave any residue, the cleaning bills could be hell.

"It's okay, Tony," McGee continues, "I figured I'd just wait you out, you had to cave eventually. Also, it was more like five times."

"Fifty."

"Ten."

"Fifty."

"Whatever, DiNozzo. You love me, I love you, it's a whole beautiful love thing. But if you want to make it up to me...?"

"What?" Tony narrows his eyes, automatically suspicious.

"You can take Ziva for her Advanced Driving Skills test."

"Probie," says Tony, laying his hand on McGee's shoulder. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?"

"Don't tell me," says McGee, grinning. "But you won't do that."


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