He's been watching this build for a week, now. Ever since they wrapped up their last case--or as wrapped up as it could get, given that their lead suspect is dead, they have no real concrete evidence, and this is going to be one of those cases where they're pretty sure what happened but will never be able to prove it.

Kate's upset, of course; she always is when this happens. It offends her innate sense of justice and order to have loose ends dangling like this. He can't blame her; he feels the same way. He wants something, anything, just to close the case. Just to *know*, if only for their own sakes.

But he's not going to get it. Not this time.

You don't win them all.

He hates that, hates knowing that there's nothing he can do with regards to the case, almost as much as he hates watching his people wind themselves up over it. Kate's thrown herself into other work, trying to atone for the lost case by clearing up everything else she can. Gibbs has no idea what McGee's been doing, other than it involving a lot of typing and arcane computer things.

And then there's Tony.

Tony, who hasn't managed to let this one go, whose temper is getting shorter and shorter every day, who is going to snap if he's not careful--and since when is Tony ever careful?

He doesn't know why this case is hitting Tony so hard. He hasn't asked and Tony hasn't volunteered the information. And truth be told, he doesn't really care. The 'why' isn't important here.

What matters is making sure Tony doesn't break, making sure that this case doesn't become the one they all worry about at night when they can't sleep and the fear of ending up alone and obsessed weighs on them. He won't let that happen to Tony. He can't.

So for the past week, he's kept his distance, deliberately not inviting Tony home or going back to his apartment after work. Tony hasn't said anything, although he's given Gibbs a few curious glances here and there--glances Gibbs has deliberately ignored or returned with a bland stare.

Part of him feels a bit guilty for what he's doing; he knows it's not helping Tony's temper and God knows that's bad enough this week. But he's become good at judging these things, and he also knows that if he approaches Tony at all during the week it won't be what the man needs. He can only hope that Tony will understand his reasoning when it's all over.

He wonders idly how Tony slipped this far under his skin, how they went from desperate fucking in the night to him holding Tony and whispering child's tales to lull him to sleep to this. It should probably scare him, given all the potential repercussions, but he finds that he just doesn't care.

Tony needs him. That's all he cares about right now.

Friday night rolls around and they all scatter with a sigh of relief. McGee's been jumpier than usual since Tony tore him a new one on Wednesday and Kate looks like she wants to be any place that doesn't have any of them. And once again, Gibbs doesn't say anything to Tony about coming home with him.

He sees a brief flash of hurt pass over Tony's face before he turns to his car. It makes him wince, but he can't say anything or he'll give it all away. So he gets into his own car, nods goodbye, and drives off, for all intents and purposes going home.

He goes and gets a cup of coffee from the place around the corner, waiting fifteen minutes. Then he gets back in his car and drives over to Tony's apartment building. They know him there now; it's a simple matter to park and take the elevator up to Tony's floor.

If he's timed it right, Tony's still in the shower. Gibbs knows his routine now, knows that Tony likes to come home on days like this and stand under the hot water for as long as he can in an attempt to relax and get clean.

He doesn't knock, just uses his spare key (in case of emergencies) and lets himself in. He hears water running in the bathroom and smiles to himself. Good.

It doesn't take him long to do what he needs and he's leaning against the wall, waiting patiently, by the time he hears the water shut off. A few minutes later the door opens and Tony walks in, stark naked. He tosses his towel in the general direction of the hamper, stretching --and then Gibbs moves.

He's got the blindfold in place before Tony's got any idea he's there and one arm around Tony's waist a split second later. "Do you trust me?" he murmurs in Tony's ear, tightening his grip when Tony tries to pull away.

"What the *fuck* are you playing at here? Let me go!" Tony twists in his grip, but Gibbs notices that he doesn't reach for the blindfold. He wants this, even if he doesn't know it yet.

"Answer the question," he says, voice soft but firm. "Do you trust me?"

"Fuck, Gibbs! You ignore me all week and now this? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Answer the question and I'll tell you."

Tony sighs. "You'd better have a damned good explanation for this," he warns Gibbs.

"You still didn't answer me. You don't get an explanation until you do." Gibbs doesn't loosen his hold, even though Tony's stopped struggling against him. He knows Tony too well; any opportunity and he'd be on the opposite side of the room.

"Yeah," Tony says after a moment, his voice tired. "I trust you. You know I do."

"Then trust me now. Trust me to give you what you need."

He waits, almost holding his breath, until Tony lets out a deep breath and relaxes against him. "Why?" he asks, almost hesitantly. "And--what--"

"You'll find out what soon enough. I'm not going to hurt you, Tony. I promise." Gibbs kisses his throat, tasting peppermint. Absently, he wonders if he'll ever be able to eat a candy cane again without thinking of Tony's skin.

He hopes not.

"You hurt me this week," Tony says in a low voice. "You shut me out, Gibbs."

"I know." Gibbs doesn't bother pointing out that Tony was pushing him away even as he was pulling back; there's no point. "I know, and I'm sorry for it."

"Then why did you do it?" Tony asks plaintively.

"Because you needed me to."

"What?" Tony sounds absolutely stunned. "What are you--"

"Tony. Trust me, okay? Trust me on this one."

It's a gamble; he knows it is, but he's counting on Tony's trust winning out over his apprehension. They've come too far.

He feels like he's just lost a hundred pounds when Tony sighs and nods. "What do you want?" he asks quietly.

"Lie down on the bed." Gibbs guides him to it and helps him settle on it, stroking Tony's hair back from his forehead. "Don't move."

Gibbs knows all too well what pain can do to a person, how it can transform into pleasure and overwhelm someone, giving them an emotional catharsis as well as a physical one. But he also knows that it's not for everyone and he doesn't want to chance it with Tony.

Pleasure, on the other hand...

Tony's a hedonist. He freely admits it; even if he didn't, it would be easy to tell. The clothes made of soft, sensual fabrics, the expensive soap and shampoo, the ridiculously high thread-count sheets, his knowledge and obvious enjoyment of fine food and liquor, etc. Gibbs knows this, just as he knows how to use it.

By this point he knows every sensitive spot on Tony's body. He knows that if he nibbles the spot right behind Tony's ear it makes him shiver and his head fall back. He knows that if he plays with Tony's nipples it makes him moan and writhe and whimper, and if he digs his fingertips into Tony's hips or thighs or ass Tony will arch into his touch and spread his legs for more willingly.

In private moments he allows himself to think about training Tony, about teaching him to surrender and give himself over completely to whatever Gibbs wants to do with him. But for now, this is as close as he can get.

He takes his time, playing with Tony’s body, teasing him and toying with him until Tony’s writhing under his touch, moaning and begging incoherently for more. "No," Gibbs whispers against his skin, pinning his arms where they lie flung out to his sides. "I’ll give you more…when I want to. You’re just going to lie there and take it."

"God, you’re going to kill me," Tony moans, trying to arch up under him.

"You can take it." Gibbs bites his throat, right where it meets his shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. "You don’t have a choice."

He notes thoughtfully that Tony makes a low helpless sound at that and his head falls back against the pillows.

"Does that turn you on?" Gibbs murmurs, thumbs rubbing along the crease between thigh and groin. "Being helpless under me, like you are now? I could do so much to you, Tony. So much. And all you'd have to do would be submit. Just like this. Would you like that?"

Tony whines and twists up into Gibbs' touch, his legs spreading instinctively. He's half out of his mind with need and pleasure and Gibbs has every intention of making him fall the rest of the way until there's nothing left but what he feels--what Gibbs is making him feel.

For a brief moment, he allows himself to imagine Tony bound to the bed, silver clamps on his nipples, sweating and panting and on that knife-edge of release. He pinches one of Tony's nipples hard, out of curiosity, and smiles to himself when Tony whimpers in pleasure.

What he wants might not be so far out of the picture after all.

But he's not going to think about that any more tonight. He's got Tony sweating and squirming under him and there's so much more he wants to do to him. Gibbs leans down and licks a line up the center of Tony's chest, blowing gently on it and making Tony shiver at the cool feeling. "God, would you just--" Tony's voice cuts off when Gibbs nips his thigh.

"Patience," Gibbs murmurs, sliding one hand back under Tony's body, playing with his balls the way he knows Tony loves. He licks up the underside of Tony's cock, sucking on the head, tasting the bittersweet fluid at the tip.

"Fuck, Gibbs--I'm gonna--I--"

Gibbs swallows as much of him as he can and Tony wails, hips arching involuntarily as he comes.

"Fuck," he whispers, breathing raggedly. "God."

Gibbs smiles and kisses his stomach, right above his groin. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Any more and you'll kill me," Tony groans.

He strokes a hand down Tony's chest gently, watches Tony make a soft sound and arch into the caress. "You're not ready for me to be done with you anyway," he says, stroking his hands over Tony's arms, his chest, down his legs. "This wasn't nearly enough for you."

"How do you know?"

"I know you," Gibbs says simply. He leans forward and kisses Tony, nibbling his lower lip, teasing his mouth. "In ten minutes you'll be begging me again."

"I can see my obit now," Tony says, his words a bit slurred. "Man dead from too much sex."

Gibbs pinches his nipple, sharply, and Tony makes a short sharp noise and arches. "Fuck!" he manages. "That--"

"It doesn't hurt. You think it should, but it doesn't." Gibbs kisses the abused nipple, dragging his tongue over it. "Am I right?"

Tony doesn't answer, but the look on his face--sheepish and aroused all at once--tells Gibbs everything he needs to know.

"So much, Tony. I could do so much with you." Gibbs kisses his throat, bites down gently over his pulse. "Consider this a taste."

"Taste of what?" Tony manages.

"What you could have. What you want." Gibbs kisses his collarbone. "What you need."

He pulls back a little, just enough to see Tony's face. Sweaty strands of hair are clinging to his flushed skin, his lower lip is swollen from Gibbs' kisses and the way Tony keeps biting it; the blindfold is beautifully dark against his skin. Gibbs thinks about removing it for a moment before deciding against it. He likes the way it looks too much--and he wants Tony to feel that deprivation.

His own body is screaming for him to push inside Tony and feel him, tight and hot and velvet around his cock, Tony's legs over his shoulders or wrapped around his waist. He reaches for the lube and opens the bottle, the clear liquid cool on his fingers. Tony makes a low husky sound as Gibbs pushes a finger into him, his legs falling further apart.

Gibbs holds off as much as he can, teasing Tony with his fingers, shallow thrusts that are enough to stretch him and arouse him but no more than that. Tony's whining and pushing back on him by the time Gibbs has three fingers in him; he's almost fully hard again and he's got one arm flung over his head, gripping the sheets.

"Gibbs, c'mon, please, just fuck me already, c'mon..." Tony's voice is ragged and just shy of outright pleading, and if Gibbs had the control he'd make Tony wait, just to see how desperate Tony would get.

But he doesn't.

He slicks his cock hastily, gritting his teeth at the slippery feel of his hand on his flesh, and kneels between Tony's legs, pushing them up and back. Tony arches and drapes his legs over Gibbs' shoulders and Gibbs pushes into him in one smooth hard thrust.

"Fuck!" Tony clenches around him and Gibbs has to fight to stay still long enough to let him relax. He bites his lip, counting to ten in English, Russian, picturing it in sign language, until the vice-tight grip around his cock eases.

He doesn't have the control to make this last and he doesn't care. Tony doesn't either, not from the way he's grabbing at the sheets, his throat bared as his head falls back. "C'mon, God, needed this all week, fuck me, fuck me, c'mon..." He's babbling, he has no idea what he's saying, and Gibbs hasn't heard anything more beautiful in a long, long time.

He can't resist the sight of that smooth, sweaty skin; he has to lean down, dragging his tongue up the side of Tony's neck to his jaw, biting the spot that always makes Tony moan and writhe under him. "Let go," he whispers, bracing himself so he can move harder, faster, using Tony's body for his own pleasure. "Let it all go for me, Tony."

Tony makes a low keening sound, his breath catching in his throat. "God--Gibbs--"

"Give it up," Gibbs breathes. "C'mon, Tony. Let it all go. Just give it up for me."

The whine that escapes Tony's throat is sweeter than honey. "God--oh, God, oh--" Tony sobs, once, clenching around Gibbs as he comes helplessly.

He's still shaking seconds later when Gibbs groans and comes, slamming into Tony one last time.

Gibbs pulls out of him carefully and manages to lie down without collapsing, gathering Tony into his arms and untying the blindfold. "Let it out," he murmurs, stroking Tony's hair. "Let it out, Tony, before it eats you alive."

Tony makes a choked sound and shudders against him. Gibbs feels hot tears against his skin and kisses the top of his head, rubbing his back with his free hand. "Shh," he whispers against Tony's hair. "It's okay, Tony. It's okay."

"I wanted to solve it," Tony whispers brokenly. "She deserved to know who killed her father."

"I know." Gibbs presses a kiss to Tony's hair again. "I know."

Tony scrubs tears away from his face. He sighs and pulls back, looking at Gibbs. "This is why," he says. It's not a question. "You were waiting."

"You had to be ready to let go," Gibbs says simply.

"God." Tony drops his head back against the pillow. "I should so hate you."

"Never denied I was a bastard, Tony." Gibbs smiles, brushing fingers over Tony's forehead. "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up."

A couple of warm washcloths and more than a few lazy kisses later, they crawl back into bed, settling under the covers. Tony rests his head on Gibbs' chest, one arm thrown over him. "What did you mean earlier?" he asks around a yawn.

"About what?"

"What I could have." Tony looks up at him.

Gibbs kisses his forehead. "We'll talk about it later," he says softly.

"Mmm." Tony puts his head back down, closing his eyes. Gibbs tightens his arm around Tony, listening to Tony's breathing even out and deepen into the rhythm of sleep.

They'll talk about it later. Gibbs lets himself drift off, smiling a litle at the thought.