It started as comfort. A bad case, a dead child, something they all took too hard. Even Gibbs didn't give them a hard time over it when he found Kate crying at her desk and Tony hit the wall hard enough to fracture a bone in his hand.

That was the first time. Gibbs didn't ask questions when Tony showed up at his house later that night, hand wrapped in a splint and looking like death warmed over. He just opened the door and the bottle of bourbon--and later, the condom packet and the lube.

Tony rode him that night, hard and fast, biting his lip as he fucked himself on Gibbs' cock. They didn't say a word. Not then, not when it was over, not when Tony got dressed and left at three in the morning.

The next day it was like nothing had ever happened.

The second time was after a bad standoff with a suspect due to the FBI jerking them around. Gibbs had gotten shot--just a graze, a few stitches in his arm. Nothing exciting.

That night he'd been the one to show up at Tony's apartment. Tony opened the door and his bottle of brandy and they didn't say anything. Just fell into bed, humping each other on top of Tony's thick duvet until Gibbs rolled over and Tony pushed into him and fucked him until they both collapsed from exhaustion and satiation.

Gibbs left at three-thirty. They both looked like hell the next morning but they didn't talk about it. Nothing to say, really.

There was never any rhyme or reason to it. A bad case, maybe. A close call. Looking for connection in the middle of the night. But the pattern was always the same. One of them would show up at the other's place. They'd have a drink, make it to bed, and forget everything outside the bedroom for an hour or two.

They never stayed the night. Never said anything. And never acknowledged it.

The rules were unspoken and all the more powerful for that.

And then things changed.

In retrospect, it wasn't anything special. Just another case, another day, another dead Marine. And in the end, another suspect arrested. No one was hurt, no one was kidnapped...just a routine case, if murder counted as routine.

So when Gibbs showed up at Tony's apartment at ten o'clock bearing a bottle of bourbon and one of Tony's favorite brandy, it was a toss-up as to which one of them was more surprised.

They drank in silence, both savoring the liquor. When it was gone and there was nothing left in either glass except amber drops, Tony rose from his seat, setting his glass down on the end table. Gibbs followed him into the bedroom.

Kissing wasn't something they normally did. It was too intimate, too indicative of something more than...whatever this was. But Gibbs reached for Tony and Tony turned in his arms and then their mouths were on each other, hot and hungry and tasting faintly of alcohol. They stumbled to the bed, falling on it, Gibbs licking and biting his way down Tony's throat and Tony arching up under him, gasping softly.

He was going to leave marks this time, which was also unusual. They were normally so careful about that, wary of beard burn and bite marks and anything that would show the next day. But Gibbs sank his teeth into the spot right where Tony's neck met his shoulder and Tony groaned, head falling back to expose more of his throat.

There was something more tonight, something almost primitive in the way they reached for each other. The hunger that rose in them was dark, hot, fierce--a rush of pure need and lust above anything they'd ever felt before. Oddly, it made them more careful with each other, hands reaching for every inch of skin, sliding and caressing, pushing clothes out of the way instead of tearing them off. Gibbs bent his head to Tony's chest, teasing his nipples until Tony shivered and pushed him down on the bed, kissing him almost brutally.

Still no words. They didn't need them.

It was Gibbs who drew his legs up, watching intently as Tony opened his body, fingers sliding inside and stretching him, nudging the hidden spot and making him groan deep in his throat. He reached over his head to grasp the headboard when Tony slid into him, but it was Tony who shuddered and bit his lip to keep from coming too soon.

Slow at first, deep, even strokes that had Gibbs' hands tightening around the slats in the headboard. Tony's eyes were closed and he moved inside Gibbs' body with something more than lust, something approaching reverence. His lips were parted and his hair was damp with sweat.

Gibbs clenched around him, head thrown back against the bed. His hands tightened on the headboard, bracing himself as Tony began to move harder, faster, body caught up in a rhythm neither of them wanted to resist. And yet the only sounds were the slaps of flesh on flesh, the grunts and groans of bodies straining for release.

Gibbs came first, crying out silently, mouth open and back arched in ecstasy. His hands relaxed from their grip and he sank back against the bed, panting for breath. Tony kept moving, almost pounding into him, his breath catching with each thrust until he froze, deep inside Gibbs' body, a ragged groan escaping his throat.

He threw out the condom and stretched out next to Gibbs, watching him breathe, collect himself. Gibbs turned his head to look at Tony and reached out for his face, his fingers stroking over Tony's cheek and down his throat. Tony smiled and kissed the wandering fingers.

Later, they never questioned it. Gibbs didn't leave that night and Tony woke up with strong arms around him and a warm mouth nuzzling his shoulder. He turned over in Gibbs' embrace and kissed him and they made love among the tangled bedcovers, rocking against each other until they shuddered and cried out and came, holding on like they never wanted to let go.

That was the end and the beginning, all in one.

They still didn't say anything at work. There was nothing to talk about. Tony followed Gibbs home that night and they had dinner together, moving around each other easily in the kitchen. After dinner, Gibbs went down to work on his boat and Tony perched on the stairs, supposedly reading a book but in reality watching Gibbs work.

He decided later that Gibbs was right. Sawdust was sexy--on the right person.

***
The rules are different now. They still don't talk about it. They're careful not to let anyone see the truth. Not even Ducky knows--or if he does, he's not telling. But they spend more nights together than apart now, and the silence that used to mark their time together has vanished, replaced by laughter and teasing and husky voices crying out in passion.

Tony loves the sound of Gibbs' voice when it's ragged and hoarse from desperate lust. Gibbs is addicted to the way Tony talks to him in bed, whispering filthy things in his ear, teasing him until he's writhing from Tony's words as much as his touch.

They might have a drink together now and then, but it doesn't mean what it did before. There won't be a silent night of sex and joyless pleasure after the alcohol. Neither one of them will get up and leave in the middle of the night.

Sometimes Tony wonders how they got here. How something that started with a murdered child and a night of desperate fucking could end up being something so much more. And if Gibbs knows, he isn't telling.

Then again, they don't need to talk about it to appreciate it. Sometimes silence works better, after all.