A story in 6 clichés: Boy meets boy, boy's a bastard to boy, boy's a bastard back, boys' boss is a bastard, boys work it out. Or, Tony and Gibbs get it on, get annoyed, break up and get back together.

Warning: This story is Gibbs/DiNozzo and contains explicit m/m sex. If this kind of thing isn't to your liking, if you're underage, or if m/m sex is illegal where you are, please don't read this story. Life is far too short to be upset by things you read on the internet.

Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, I'm just playing in it. Thanks to all involved in making NCIS such a fantastic show.

The One Where Neither of Them is Gay

'So, that whole Don't Ask, Don't Tell thing…' Tony begins awkwardly, diffidently. He's looking at the bottle in his hand, picking at the label. He shifts uncomfortably on the hard wooden steps as Gibbs pauses in his sanding.

'What?' Gibbs asks, unaccountably uncomfortable himself. He frowns, sets down the sanding block, throws back a slug of bourbon that burns its way, unnoticed, down to his stomach.

'Did you ever?'

Gibbs scowls. 'Ask? Tell? Harass, pursue, participate? Which is it, DiNozzo?'

Tony flushes a dull red, sets his empty bottle aside and reaches for the full one waiting by the wall. 'Any. All. Never mind. I was just…'

'I'm not gay,' Gibbs says, turning away to pour himself another drink. 'I don't care who sticks what where as long as it's wanted. Legal. It's none of my business.'

'Sometimes I just don't get it, you know?' Tony frowns, an echo of Gibbs' expression. 'I mean, why the hell would anyone feel so threatened they'd push a guy off the flight deck? I mean, do all straight guys really believe they're so irresistible that any gay guy within five miles is going to jump them?'

'Some guys do, I guess,' Gibbs says thoughtfully. 'You mean you don't?'

Tony shrugged. 'I worked my share of undercover with vice in Philly. With a big enough grin all they think about is getting your mouth around their cocks, at least the guys in the bars I staked out. But in my experience I'm about as irresistible to gay guys as I am to beautiful women.'

'Oh?' Gibbs uses his best blank interrogation stare.

Tony thinks it's very unfair and almost says as much, but he knows it won't make Gibbs look at him any differently. 'Yeah. I have to cancel most of my dates as it is, because my bastard of a boss makes me works evenings and weekends. Funnily enough, no one appreciates that.'

Ten minutes later he says, 'I'm still working my way through the women here.'

Ten minutes after that, he adds, 'I'm straight.'

As Gibbs pours him onto the couch for the night, covering his agent with a blanket that smells of coffee and steak and sawdust, the older man strokes Tony's forehead with a rough palm and Tony blinks up at him, bleary-eyed.

'It doesn't matter any more,' Gibbs says quietly. 'DADT is gone. UCMJ's being reformed. Wouldn't matter if you wanted to kiss every sailor from here to Miami as long as they aren't on duty.'

Tony sighs. 'There should be more kissing. Maybe if there was more kissing, there wouldn't be so many fucked up people taking out their issues on everyone else.'

'Maybe so, DiNozzo. Go to sleep.'

'Going to kiss me, boss?' Tony asks sleepily.

Gibbs looks down at his subordinate in the gloom of the living room and sighs. Bending down, he presses a kiss to the younger man's forehead, his cheek, his mouth, that he knows won't be remembered five minutes from now.

'Sleep, Tony,' he murmurs, pulling up the blanket, then he leaves his loyal Saint Bernard in the dark, treading quietly up the stairs to his own lonely bedroom and falls asleep in his bed, alone.

The One Where Neither of Them Cares

'Oh, God!' Tony gasps, resting his head on the sweat-stained pillow. 'Please! I cant- Oh! Oh, shit! Boss!'

Gibbs thrusts hard, hips rolling unrelentingly, his face contorted into a grimace, a rictus as he sends Tony soaring over the edge, flying high with a hard hand around his prick and steel cock up his ass.

An hour later, Tony limps into his apartment and into the shower, washing a week and a half of crappy coffee and dead bodies down the drain.

He falls into bed with a groan, wriggling down into the thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets that feel like silk and linen combined against his overheated skin. As he slips towards a dreamless sleep, he twitches, arms coming to rest around an overstuffed pillow that is in no way a substitute for the man he left heading for a basement, bourbon and a half-built boat, smelling of sweat and sex.

The One Where Gibbs is a Bastard

'I want to tell Abby,' Tony says.

'No.' Gibbs' arms tighten around him, no give in the sinew and muscle, the frown, the mouth set in an intractable line.

'Ducky, then. Or Jimmy. Someone.'

'Hell, no.'

'Fuck you.' But Tony doesn't struggle, doesn't free himself and march out of Gibbs' bed, out of his house, out of his life. He turns his head when Gibbs tries to kiss him into submission and the next day, when Ziva teases him about his hickeys, for a moment his expression is so black, so bleak, that she takes a step back.

Tony catches her talking in hushed whispers with Tim, with Ducky. He reins in his snarl and tells himself he doesn't care.

The One Where Tony is a Bastard

'I'm moving,' Tony gasps as Gibbs buries his teeth in the meat of his shoulder. 'Washington.'

'I thought you already lived in Washington,' Gibbs pants, thrusting steadily as he builds towards orgasm.

'State, not DC,' Tony grunts and hell if that doesn't derail everything. Ten minutes later, he's out on the street, still buttoning his shirt, still feeling the burn in his ass.

As he drives home, he tells himself there's no burn in his eyes, none at all.

The One Where Vance is a Bastard

'You reassigned my agent!' Gibbs storms into the director's office, bringing with him the first hurricane of the season.

'Special Agent DiNozzo is more than qualified to be a special supervisory agent for the major case response team at the NorthWest office,' Vance says, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his first toothpick of the day. It's either that or shoot Gibbs, and he knows just what a bitch the paperwork is on friendly fire.

'You can't do that! I need him! Who else is going to watch my six?' These are all the arguments Gibbs doesn't use. Well, he tries the 'You can't do that!' argument, but Vance fixes him with a look that says oh yes, he can certainly do that and if Gibbs doesn't want to find his other two agents reassigned to the other ends of the earth, he'll quit bitching like a high school drama queen.

Gibbs scowls. In Gibbs-speak, that means, 'We aren't done here by any means. Please feel free to renew your familiarity with my service jacket, paying special attention to the section entitled 'sniper'.'

Vance counters with a serious expression that says, 'I have my hand on your pension. Your agents are belong to me.' What he actually says is, 'DiNozzo informed me of your relationship when he requested to be transferred.'

Gibbs opens his mouth, then closes it again. Touchdown. Game, set and match. Checkmate. Whatever game it is that he and Tony have been playing, this is the end. Vance just scored the winning try.

Game over.

The One Where Everything Works Out

Six months later, Abby's squeal is the first indication Gibbs has that Tony's back.

'Oh my God! Tony!' She wraps him up in the kind of hug that should come with a tog rating, like a winter duvet, and when Tony emerges, like a moth from a chrysalis, his shit-eating grin is a testament to his new life and Gibbs buries himself beneath the detritus of his old, old life like a woodlouse and keeps his gaze on the cold case file in front of him.

Gibbs doesn't pay attention to the way Tony's grin dims to a smile, to a polite fiction, as he claps Tim on the shoulder, makes an inappropriate comment to Ziva, heads on down to check in with Ducky and Palmer. Really. He doesn't note the way Tony bounds up the stairs to the director's office, doesn't notice that taut ass underneath those Zegna trousers.

He goes home and finds Tony sitting on his couch. Part of him, most of him, isn't surprised, but he is suddenly, unreasonably angry.

'Get out.'

Tony stretches, all long legs and muscle, and Gibbs' throat is dry all of a sudden. 'So the funny thing is, I missed you.'

Gibbs doesn't even grunt, just fixes Tony with a stink-eye the like of which no one has seen since fifth grade.

'I'm guessing you missed me too,' Tony grins. He's looking far too confident for this, far too secure, as though he has a hotline to the pain wired throughout Gibbs' gut. 'I got offered Hawaii,' he adds, conversationally, undoing the buttons at his cuffs. 'But I thought maybe you could use me back here.'

'You thought wrong,' Gibbs chokes out and all he can taste is ashes. He turns away, stows his firearm, ignores the man burning up his living room.

'No,' Tony says thoughtfully. 'No, I didn't.'

He stands and how is it that after so many years of working together, Gibbs has forgotten just how tall his agent is? How did he not remember just how warm Tony feels standing next to him, radiating heat and strength, competence and a sexuality that has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with trust?

Tony steps up, puts a hand over Gibbs' fist, which is absolutely not shaking, leans in, murmurs, 'I missed you. I love you, Jethro. I'm yours, if you'll be mine.'

Gibbs chokes.

Tony kisses him until he's breathing hard, pressed up against the wall, although he has absolutely no idea how that happened.

'I'm telling Abby,' Tony says, nipping at Gibbs' jawline. 'And Ducky. Probably Tim,' he adds, untucking Gibbs' polo shirt and pushing it up, hands warm and real and there against his ribs, his waist. Then Tony bites down on Gibbs' shoulder, the point at which it curves upwards to his neck, that vulnerable point that Gibbs knows Tony's chosen because it could so easily have been his jugular, his carotid: close enough to showcase how Tony accommodates all Gibbs' paranoia, rational and irrational.

'Yes,' Gibbs says, flying apart into a thousand constituent parts as Tony strips him bare, takes him to bed and makes him forget his own name.

The next morning, they drive into work together and Gibbs wears the bruises at his neck like the medals of honor he never bothered to collect before and Tim blushes, Ziva grins wickedly, Abby squeals, Ducky nods and Vance signs off on Tony's transfer back to Washington DC.

Tony takes it all in stride and at the end of the day, when he goes home with Gibbs, they both know Gibbs won't be kicking him out in the middle of the night, no matter what. It might be a cliché, but absence has made the heart grow fonder, or at least, has taken the sting from Gibbs' venom, the teeth from his bite, the growl from his bark.

Wrapped together, Tony catalogs the sensations of sweat, hair, long, lean muscles, bony knees and taut abs. 'So are we good?' he asks quietly in the hush of the early morning.

'Stay,' Gibbs says, pulling him closer, tucking him into the circle of marine-defined biceps.

'Always,' Tony sighs, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms tightly around that lean frame. 'Always.'