Tony prowled around the house, browsing the books on the built-ins around the fireplace, dropping some food into the fish’s bowl. He was irritated and annoyed and…yeah he could admit it to himself, he was feeling a little unwanted.
The fourth weekend running, Gibbs had taken off to do something that didn’t involve Tony. He’d gone to Stillwater one weekend, and even though Tony’d begged and tried to wheedle his invitation, Gibbs—and even Jack—had shut him down.
The next weekend, Gibbs had gone to a series of closed-door meetings with Vance, and his senior agent was not invited—no way no how. Then there’d been the fishing weekend with his old Marine buddies. Tony’d understood why Gibbs wouldn’t want him along for that one. Sure, they were together and Gibbs hadn’t exactly hidden it, but there was no way he’d out them to their friends or coworkers. So far, so good. Only Ducky of their coworkers knew, and he’d kept it quiet.
It was okay—Tony understood. They’d come out to their friends eventually. That was if Gibbs didn’t tire of him.
This weekend, Gibbs hadn’t even offered an excuse. He’d gotten up at oh six hundred, mussed Tony’s hair and said he’d be home sometime.
Sometime?
It was Tony’s birthday today—and the last thing he wanted to do was spend it alone. McGee, Abbs, Palmer, and even Ziva, had tried to get him to go out with him, but he’d begged off, saying he had plans. They probably all figured he was with some stacked blonde, or brunette, or even redhead.
Instead, he was wandering around Gibbs’ house. He could have gone for a run, but it was too hot. He could have watched a movie, but he’d seen four so far this weekend, and didn’t that smack of being pathetic.
He grabbed one of his sports magazines and flopped down on the couch, trying to ignore how the fabric smelled of his lover, that blend of coffee and sawdust and…
Tony burrowed against the fabric, snuggling in. An afternoon nap wouldn’t hurt…
“Shh, he’s sleeping,” Gibbs hissed, and Tony’s eyes popped open. His face was pressed against the couch back and he didn’t move. Gibbs grunted and cursed softly, and Tony was aware of the sound of something heavy being dragged, carried by Gibbs and from the sound of the footfalls, a couple of other guys.
“Gonna wake him?” someone Tony didn’t recognized asked.
“Not until you’re all gone, Newton,” Gibbs replied in a whisper.
Tony lay perfectly still as the men muscled something into the room and left, Gibbs leading them onto the porch before thanking them. As he came back in, Tony rolled onto his back and stretched stiff muscles, but kept his eyes closed.
“Know you’re awake, Birthday Boy,” Gibbs remarked, nudging Tony’s leg with his foot. “Know you’re dying to know. Open up.”
Tony’s eyes obediently popped open and he sat up—and stared. The piece of furniture was exquisitely made, carved, Tony knew, from Gibbs’ own hands. There was something that screamed a Gibbsian style.
He stood and approached the low, long cabinet, stroking his hand reverently over the wood. “You made this.”
“Yep.”
“For me?”
“Yep.”
The flat-screen Gibbs had reluctantly allowed Tony to get had been placed atop the cabinet and it looked as if it belonged there.
“Shelves for your movies and your DVD player,” Gibbs motioned, gesturing to the glass panels in the cabinet.
“You made this,” Tony repeated, looking over at his lover. It must have taken a long time for him to create this, and they’d been run ragged at work. “When?”
“Weekends,” Gibbs admitted, a little flush covering his cheeks.
“Weekends? This…” Suddenly, it all made sense to him. Gibbs hadn’t been ignoring him at all. “Thanks, Jethro,” he finished, keeping his voice quiet. He wanted to say so much more, but he held back, knowing that Gibbs would get annoyed by a constant verbal stream.
“Welcome. Happy birthday. You’re wanted, ya know, so stop moping.” And as Gibbs pulled him into a hug, Tony welcomed the headslap. Maybe he’d been an idiot, but he was Gibbs’ idiot, and that was what mattered.
Wanted
The fourth weekend running, Gibbs had taken off to do something that didn’t involve Tony. He’d gone to Stillwater one weekend, and even though Tony’d begged and tried to wheedle his invitation, Gibbs—and even Jack—had shut him down.
The next weekend, Gibbs had gone to a series of closed-door meetings with Vance, and his senior agent was not invited—no way no how. Then there’d been the fishing weekend with his old Marine buddies. Tony’d understood why Gibbs wouldn’t want him along for that one. Sure, they were together and Gibbs hadn’t exactly hidden it, but there was no way he’d out them to their friends or coworkers. So far, so good. Only Ducky of their coworkers knew, and he’d kept it quiet.
It was okay—Tony understood. They’d come out to their friends eventually. That was if Gibbs didn’t tire of him.
This weekend, Gibbs hadn’t even offered an excuse. He’d gotten up at oh six hundred, mussed Tony’s hair and said he’d be home sometime.
Sometime?
It was Tony’s birthday today—and the last thing he wanted to do was spend it alone. McGee, Abbs, Palmer, and even Ziva, had tried to get him to go out with him, but he’d begged off, saying he had plans. They probably all figured he was with some stacked blonde, or brunette, or even redhead.
Instead, he was wandering around Gibbs’ house. He could have gone for a run, but it was too hot. He could have watched a movie, but he’d seen four so far this weekend, and didn’t that smack of being pathetic.
He grabbed one of his sports magazines and flopped down on the couch, trying to ignore how the fabric smelled of his lover, that blend of coffee and sawdust and…
Tony burrowed against the fabric, snuggling in. An afternoon nap wouldn’t hurt…
“Shh, he’s sleeping,” Gibbs hissed, and Tony’s eyes popped open. His face was pressed against the couch back and he didn’t move. Gibbs grunted and cursed softly, and Tony was aware of the sound of something heavy being dragged, carried by Gibbs and from the sound of the footfalls, a couple of other guys.
“Gonna wake him?” someone Tony didn’t recognized asked.
“Not until you’re all gone, Newton,” Gibbs replied in a whisper.
Tony lay perfectly still as the men muscled something into the room and left, Gibbs leading them onto the porch before thanking them. As he came back in, Tony rolled onto his back and stretched stiff muscles, but kept his eyes closed.
“Know you’re awake, Birthday Boy,” Gibbs remarked, nudging Tony’s leg with his foot. “Know you’re dying to know. Open up.”
Tony’s eyes obediently popped open and he sat up—and stared. The piece of furniture was exquisitely made, carved, Tony knew, from Gibbs’ own hands. There was something that screamed a Gibbsian style.
He stood and approached the low, long cabinet, stroking his hand reverently over the wood. “You made this.”
“Yep.”
“For me?”
“Yep.”
The flat-screen Gibbs had reluctantly allowed Tony to get had been placed atop the cabinet and it looked as if it belonged there.
“Shelves for your movies and your DVD player,” Gibbs motioned, gesturing to the glass panels in the cabinet.
“You made this,” Tony repeated, looking over at his lover. It must have taken a long time for him to create this, and they’d been run ragged at work. “When?”
“Weekends,” Gibbs admitted, a little flush covering his cheeks.
“Weekends? This…” Suddenly, it all made sense to him. Gibbs hadn’t been ignoring him at all. “Thanks, Jethro,” he finished, keeping his voice quiet. He wanted to say so much more, but he held back, knowing that Gibbs would get annoyed by a constant verbal stream.
“Welcome. Happy birthday. You’re wanted, ya know, so stop moping.” And as Gibbs pulled him into a hug, Tony welcomed the headslap. Maybe he’d been an idiot, but he was Gibbs’ idiot, and that was what mattered.