The air in the bedroom is thick and still, warm despite the open window and the lazily circling ceiling fan. Pale blue sheets, gray in the dim light, lie tangled around his feet and the pillowcase under his head is damp from sweat.

He could get up and turn on the air conditioner, close the window and let the old thing cough and wheeze its way into cold air. It has to be smacked just the right way to work, after all these years, but he's gotten used to it. He remembers when he bought it, when he and Christine lugged it home from the store and he wrestled it into place and they sprawled out on the bed, luxuriating in the cold air before she rolled over and pinned him to the mattress and they made love in the cool breeze. That was back when he'd thought this marriage--unlike his first--would last.

He was wrong then, just like he was wrong about Melanie, but that's neither here nor there. He shoves those memories away with the habit of long practice and listens to the rustle of leaves outside.

A cool shower might be nice, but he doesn't really feel like getting up. It's one in the morning and moving is the last thing he wants to do right now. So he just stretches a little, relaxing with a faint sigh. Warmth wraps around him and he drifts off, lulled to sleep by the soft tink of the pull-chain on the ceiling fan.

He wakes slowly, his mind groggy from sleep, his body heavy and warm. There's a weight on the bed next to him; the mattress has dipped a little to that side. But before he can react, reach for the gun in his nightstand, something cool and damp and faintly rough runs down his spine and he jerks a little at the contrast. "Shh," the husky voice says. "It's just me."

"Tony?" he mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep. The AC in my building is out. Thought I'd come over here." The washcloth--that has to be it--passes over his back again, resting over the back of his neck. The cool feeling nearly makes him moan with pleasure. "Course, that was before I realized you don't believe in it either. How do you sleep in this heat?"

"I was doing fine until you showed up," he points out. His voice isn't as grumpy as he wants it, but he hears the sound of water being wrung out of a cloth and then the cold cloth resumes its long, gentle strokes over his arms and his back and it feels too good to complain about anything.

"Good point." Tony's voice is full of laughter and completely unrepentant. "Turn over."

He does, looking up into sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin. "I knew I'd regret giving you that key," he mutters.

"You didn't give me a key. You never lock your door, remember?" The washcloth teases over his face, over his neck. The hand holding it is long-fingered, elegant even in the heat and the dark. He smiles a little to himself, remembering exactly how it feels against his skin, how Tony's fingers feel when they're wrapped around his cock or buried inside him.

"Blame the heat."

Tony's grin dissolves into laughter and he gets a soft kiss. "And yet you still drink endless cups of coffee."

"If you're making a point, I don't know what it is."

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

He runs his hands through thick, dark hair, pulling Tony down for a longer kiss, one tasting of salt-sweat from the heat. "So you came here at three in the morning to give me a sponge bath?" he asks skeptically.

"Nah. Thought I'd cool you down before I convinced you to let me fuck you." Tony's grin flashes again, a bright gleam in the dark.

"Doesn't take much convincing," he says, almost to himself. He has to smile wryly at that; it's not exactly something he ever thought he'd do. But...this entire situation is so far beyond anything he ever thought plausible that he's given up trying to understand it.

"Damn. If I'd known that I wouldn't have bothered with the washcloth." Tony sets it down in its bowl and moves to straddle him, hands resting on his chest.. "You have an air conditioner, Gibbs. Why are you not using it?"

"It's not that hot."

"It's ninety degrees outside at three in the morning and it's not much cooler in here." Tony wrinkles his nose.

"City boy." Gibbs raises a hand to stroke Tony's face. "You're just spoiled."

"Maybe." Tony grins. "So?"

He has to smile, shaking his head. "Nothing."

"Good." Tony leans down to kiss him lazily. "There's only one kind of sex to have in this heat," he murmurs against Gibbs' lips.

"Oh?"

"Mmm." Tony licks at Gibbs' lower lip. "Slow. Lazy. Quiet. The kind where you lie there and let me drive you out of your mind, one slow thrust at a time, when I'm buried inside you, just rocking against you, hitting the sweet spot over and over, and you can only gasp and take it. The kind where I've got you under me and you're on your belly, cock rubbing against the sheets and we're sticking together and it's so good you can't even think, just feel." He smiles slowly and kisses Gibbs again. "That kind."

Gibbs looks up at him, at the eyes bright with laughter and the smile that borders just this side of arrogance. He traces a bead of sweat down the side of Tony's face, bringing his finger to his lips and licking away the salt. And not for the first time, he wonders what he's doing here and how he's lost every defense he has when it comes to Tony.

Tony braces a hand on the other side of Gibbs' head and kisses him again, slow and deep. "So much strength in you," he whispers. "So much control." He nuzzles Gibbs' throat, breath warm against Gibbs' skin. "Let go," he breathes. "For now, for this--let go. Let me in."

He shivers even as he tastes sweat on his upper lip; his body feels heavy and weightless all at once. "Tony," he says softly, and he knows he's lost.

Tony runs his hands down Gibbs' arms, linking his fingers with Gibbs'. He lifts each wrist, kissing the inside, before pressing them into the pillow over Gibbs' head. "Trust me," he whispers.

Gibbs takes a deep breath; as he exhales, he lets himself relax into the mattress. He can't look away from Tony, a dark shape in the gray heat of the bedroom. And the emotion he sees on Tony's face...

He's never seen Tony look like this before, this intent and hungry. The sheer need on Tony's face makes him swallow hard.

He's expecting Tony to kiss him. He's not expecting the gentleness of it, the barely-there brush of lips against his own, the silky feel of Tony's tongue sliding across his lower lip. Tony rests himself on his forearms, hands cradling Gibbs' head as he kisses Gibbs again and again, each one slow and easy.

"Shh," Tony whispers against his mouth. "Shh..."

The air hangs thick around them, a palpable weight that barely moves even as Tony does. He slides his mouth down to Gibbs' neck, nuzzling and licking the skin, his three a.m. stubble rubbing over Gibbs' throat. The rasp of it makes Gibbs shiver and his head turn to the side.

Careful. That's the only word Gibbs can come up with, the only way to describe what Tony is doing to him. His hands, his mouth, the sweat-slick slide of his body; it's slow and deliberate and careful. Tony knows exactly what he's doing with each caress, each tantalizing kiss to Gibbs' skin. Just enough to make him shudder, just enough to tease. No more.

His hands flex against the pillow and he forces himself to let them relax, to not reach for Tony the way he wants. He wants to run his fingers through Tony's damp hair, trace the smooth plane of his back, kiss him and make him writhe with pleasure. He wants to see Tony come apart in his arms.

But Tony asked for this, and as with everything else in their personal lives...Gibbs can't say no.

Tony moves lower, coaxing Gibbs' legs apart and kissing the crease between hip and groin. He trails his tongue over that line, blowing gently. The cool contrast makes Gibbs gasp slightly, twisting under it. He hears Tony laugh softly before he does it again on the other side, thumbs stroking the insides of Gibbs' thighs.

Gibbs inhales, the air drowning in his lungs. It's heavy and humid and he isn't sure if he's drinking it or breathing it, but it doesn't matter anyway since Tony's mouth wraps around his cock and the air whooshes out of his lungs. Tony's hands press down on his hips, sweat-slick and hot, holding him steady, and he has to fight the need to move.

But like everything else Tony's doing to him, this isn't enough. Tony's playing with him, mouthing the head of his cock, almost lapping at it. It's nothing close to what he needs and he can't bring himself to ask for more.

He feels unreal, adrift from his own body even as he's caught in it. The soft gasps and groans he hears himself make almost seem to come from someone else. He tastes the sweat on his upper lip, knows that if he were to open his eyes (and when those fell closed he doesn't know) he'd see Tony kneeling between his legs. But it's hot and heavy and thick in the room and he's lost in what Tony's doing to him. He's got no way to ground himself, nothing to hold to.

"Open your eyes," Tony whispers; Gibbs does just in time to see him raise his head, licking his lips. He crawls back up, kissing Gibbs slow and deep. It's enough to suck the oxygen out of his lungs, make him gasp for a breath he can't find.

"Shh," Tony murmurs. "Just breathe. Just breathe, love."

He has to have mis-heard that. There's no way Tony just--but Tony is stretched out on top of him now, kissing him again, and all his thoughts fade away into the dark.

Tony pulls away with one last tug to his lower lip. "Turn over," he says softly, kneeling up so Gibbs can move.

It takes an effort for him to pull himself out of the erotic fog Tony's wrapped him in; he moves slowly, the sheets shifting under him. They're damp against his stomach and his cock as he settles himself again, closing his eyes as Tony's hands run down his back, squeezing his ass.

Gibbs fumbles the bedside drawer open, passing the tube back to Tony. In exchange he gets a kiss to his shoulderblade and Tony gently pushing his legs apart. "Relax for me," he whispers.

He can't do anything but, even as Tony presses one finger into him, then two, opening his body as slowly and carefully as he's done everything else. And then Tony's cock is sliding into him, one slow inch at a time. Gibbs forces himself to breathe.

The sheets cling to him, sweat and the thick humidity of the air soaking into the thin fabric. Tony's body plasters itself to his back, sweat making his skin slip against Gibbs', making it easier for him to move.

Not, Gibbs thinks fuzzily, that Tony seems inclined to do so. He stays still, so quiet Gibbs hears his breath, feel it against his shoulder. Tony braces his hands on either side of Gibbs' arms, raising himself up slightly.

Gibbs can still feel the heat of his body; it makes him shiver.

When he does begin to move, he does so with easy, slow thrusts that are nowhere near what Gibbs wants. And if he wasn't so entangled in this surreal summer night, he'd move. He'd push back against Tony, demand more. But he can scarcely breathe, let alone move.

Tony kisses his shoulder, the back of his neck. "Let me in," he breathes. He shifts a little, moves a little differently, and Gibbs sees sparks behind his eyes.

"Tony..." It's a low sound, more of a groan than an actual word. Every time Tony moves, his cock rubs over Gibbs' prostate. Gibbs' hands tighten in the worn sheets; his mouth is open as he struggles for air.

Slow, steady, each thrust pushes him closer to a peak he's not ready for. "Tony," he manages again, the only word he can say.

Tony's mouth is hot against his shoulder, his arms slick with sweat and firm with muscle where they press against Gibbs'. He's burning up from the inside, he's drowning from what Tony's doing to him, and he's got no way to stop it or even slow it down.

"Come from this," Tony whispers, mouthing his neck. "Just like this. For me."

He can't, he's never--not like this, not with Tony still moving so slow and deliberate inside him, not without any stimulation other than the sheets against his cock.

"For me," Tony whispers again.

The world goes gray and white; his body goes taut with the pleasure rushing through him and he comes, helplessly.

"Yess..." It's a drawn-out breath, a hiss of sound over his throat. Gibbs feels Tony's body tense over his, feels him begin to move harder, if no less deliberately. Above him, Tony groans, burying his head in the crook of Gibbs' neck.

Faster now, less controlled; Tony's beginning to come undone. Gibbs feels him shudder, his arms trembling with the strain of holding himself up. He hears Tony's choked gasp, the catch in his breath, and knows he's almost there. Almost.

"I love you," Tony whispers against his shoulder, just as he comes.

The air in the bedroom is heavy and thick, laden with the humid summer air and the pressure of words spoken and silent. Sweat sticks their bodies together, causes the sheets to cling, twining around them like thin fabric snakes.

Gibbs looks up at the ceiling fan, at the textured paint that's little more than a gray blur in the dark. If he were to turn his head he'd see the outline of Tony next to him; if he looked down he'd see Tony's arm across his stomach. Tony's head rests on his shoulder and his breathing is soft and even, the slow deep rhythm Gibbs knows means he's fast asleep.

He closes his eyes. "I can't say the words, Tony," he says softly. "I can't tell you what you want to hear."

There's no answer, not that he's expecting one. But as he's drifting off, as sleep wraps itself around him, he feels Tony kiss his collarbone, lips brushing over his sweat-damp skin.

"You don't have to."