He's always loved the cold. Growing up on Long Island, there was always snow in the winter, always a chance of snow days. When he was young, he and his best friend Peter would get bundled up in their snowpants and jackets and big gloves and run around outside. Either his nanny or Peter's would watch as they flung themselves down the big hill at the park, rolling over and over until they looked like powdered doughnuts. They'd shake themselves off and go inside and have hot chocolate and cookies.

Then they learned how to ski, and that was even cooler, until they turned thirteen. After that...skiing alone didn't hold the appeal it once had. Tony took up running instead.

But he still loves winter, the biting cold winds and the snow and the way the sun looks pale and watery in the early morning light. D.C. doesn't have as much snow as Long Island did--certainly not as much as Ohio--but it's enough for him.

He's lying in bed now, looking out the window at the faint yellow streetlight and the steadily falling flakes reflected in it. Occasionally he hears the sound of tires on wet pavement driving by, but mostly it's quiet. The wind whistles outside his window; sometimes he feels its cold fingers stroke over his face and his neck. He doesn't mind; he's got his comforter wrapped snugly around him and his flannel sheets on the bed and he's more than comfortable where he is.

When he hears the door open, he doesn't get up, doesn't bother tensing. He knows who it is; they're making no effort to hide their footsteps and he recognizes that tread. "Hi," he says, turning toward the door.

Gibbs' hair is damp from the snow; he's in socks and a sweatshirt and jeans and Tony's pretty sure his boots and jacket are neatly hung up by the door. "Hi," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Were you asleep?"

Tony shakes his head. "Just watching the snow. What time is it?"

"Just past eleven." Gibbs crosses to him and sits on the edge of the bed. "Office is going to be closed tomorrow unless we get a call."

"So you came to deliver the news in person?" Tony takes Gibbs' hand, linking their fingers and feeling the coolness of Gibbs' skin.

"Something like that." Gibbs smiles faintly and brings Tony's hand to his lips. "Do you mind?"

There's something not-quite teasing in Gibbs' voice. "No," Tony says softly. "I don't mind at all."

He doesn't miss the faint relaxation that runs through Gibbs at his words.

"You want to join me under here?" Tony asks with a nod to the comforter. "I think I've got a spare pair of sweats around somewhere."

"If I join you under there, I won't need the sweats," Gibbs says with a faint smile. "And neither will you."

"Who says I'm wearing any?" Tony grins and folds back a corner of the covers in invitation.

Gibbs laughs at that. He pulls off his sweatshirt and the long-sleeved shirt underneath, folding them and setting them down on the floor. His jeans are next, followed by his socks and then his briefs. "Do you not have heat in here?" he asks, sliding under the covers.

"It might have gone out." Tony shrugs. "But it's warm under here." He props himself up on an elbow and tugs the covers up over his shoulder. "Could be warmer, though," he adds with a mischievous grin.

"You're impossible." Gibbs smiles as he says it, leaning over to kiss Tony.

"Yeah, well..." Tony nips Gibbs' lower lip. "It's part of my irresistible charm. After all, you came here."

"I had to get my sweater. I left it here last time."

Tony laughs out loud and rolls over on top of Gibbs, kissing him again, slow and lazy and deep. "Admit it," he murmurs. "You wanted to spend the night with me."

Gibbs' arms tighten around him. "You have a problem with that?"

"No," Tony says, nuzzling Gibbs' throat. "Not at all."

The wind's picking up outside, whistling through the bare branches of the tree by Tony's window. He kneels up and rests his hands on Gibbs' chest, looking to see gusts of snow flying through the air. He can almost taste the cold crisp snow on his tongue, feel the cold air on his face. The memory of snow forts hits him and he smiles a little wistfully.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Gibbs asks softly.

Tony shakes his head. "Peter and I used to play in the snow, when we were kids," he says as casually as he can. "We'd have snowball fights and build snow castles and go sledding when our nannies would let us. There was a great blizzard when we were about five--kept us occupied for days."

"You miss him," Gibbs says. It's not a question; it doesn't need to be.

"Yeah." Tony sighs and shakes his head again. "Yeah, I do. It was so..." He swallows. "It didn't have to happen," he says thickly.

"No." Gibbs pushes himself back, sitting up against the headboard. "It didn't."

"God..." Tony swallows, looking out the window. "We had all these plans--we were twelve, but...we were going to go to college together, room together. He was the smart one, I was the jock, but we were inseparable. Always were, from the time we were about three. If you got one of us, you got both. Drove our teachers nuts." He smiles a little, remembering fifth grade and their hapless homeroom teacher. "He was so young," he whispers. "And from the time he was five...God, Gibbs, the only thing I knew how to do was be his friend. I wanted to tell someone, wanted to do something, but he wouldn't let me, and then..." He swallows again.

Gibbs shifts on the bed, pulling Tony against him. "Tell me about him," he says quietly.

Tony closes his eyes. "He was brilliant," he begins. "I mean--McGee level smart, you know? He loved to learn. Loved to read. It was this running joke--wherever Peter went, there went a book. So you had this blond kid with a backpack of books and me, always with some kind of ball in my hands--basketball, soccer, baseball, football, anything. I'd drag him away from the books long enough for a game of something and then he'd show me what he was reading." He smiles a little. "He loved fantasy. C.S. Lewis, Tolkien--God, he loved The Hobbit--all that. We went to Vermont one year to go skiing--his parents took me--and we drove up. And for seven, eight hours, he sat there and read. And I tried not to fidget too much." He grins. "I've never done the sitting still thing."

"I never would have guessed," Gibbs says dryly.

"It's funny, you know? We were only--we only got to know each other for ten years, and given that we were three when we met..." Tony shrugs. "So it was only about eight years, maybe. But...we were so close, Gibbs. So close. My mother commented a few times that it was like she had two children. His mother said the same thing."

Gibbs' arms tighten around him and for a moment Tony isn't sure why. But--"When did you know?" Gibbs asks gently, and Tony tries to pull away instinctively.

He looks out the window again, but he doesn't see the falling snow. "Seven," he says finally. "We were seven, and he spent the night, and...I didn't even know what molestation was at that point, but I knew something wasn't right. I tried to get him to tell me the truth for six years, Gibbs. Six years."

"And you kept his secret." There's no condemnation in Gibbs' voice, nothing but empathy.

"Yeah." Tony sighs. "Yeah, I did. I didn't know what else to do."

"When was the last time you talked to someone about him? When was the last time you shared his memory?" Gibbs asks softly.

"God. Never." Tony groans. "What was I supposed to do, Gibbs? Tell a friend about my best friend as a kid who'd committed suicide because his father raped him? No. I couldn't."

"You told me," Gibbs points out.

"Extenuating circumstances." Tony thumps his head against Gibbs' shoulder. "You kind of made me."

"Maybe I did." Gibbs kisses his temple. "But maybe you had to tell someone."

"When did you become my psychologist?"

Gibbs gives him a Look and Tony hides a laugh. Apparently Gibbs doesn't like shrinks any more than Tony does.

Somehow, this doesn't surprise him.

"Can we not--" Tony shakes his head. "I don't--" He sighs, trying to find the words. "Let me lay it to rest," he says carefully. "Peter's...he's been gone for over twenty years, and there's no way of knowing if we'd still be friends now. There's no way of knowing what would have happened. So let me lay it to rest, Gibbs. I think...I think I can do that now."

"And Julia?"

"That..." Tony swallows. "That's going to take longer."

"She's not--"

"Not now, Gibbs," Tony says shortly. "Not--let that one drop. Not now."

He's a little surprised when Gibbs acquiesces.

The snow's still falling outside, thick and heavy, big fat flakes that obscure the streetlights but reflect the odd eerie glow from the sky. Tony sighs a little, resting his head on Gibbs' shoulder. He closes his eyes, more grateful to have Gibbs there than he's willing to admit. The nightmares are never as bad when Gibbs is there.

Light flashes redly behind his closed lids and he opens his eyes, startled. "What the--"

"Lightning," Gibbs says, nodding at the window. "Storm's really picking up--I wouldn't be surprised if we got a winter thunderstorm out of this."

Sure enough, thunder rumbles just as Gibbs speaks. Tony grins a little. "Cool," he says, turning to watch the weather.

The thunder gets louder and more frequent, lightning flashing across the sky. It's a wild one; Tony doesn't remember the last time he's seen a storm this bad and he's sure if he turned on the radio he'd hear listings of school closings and warnings of white-out conditions. He doesn't really care; it's not like he's going anywhere.

And then there's a clap of thunder and a flash of lightning so bright it dazzles his eyes. When he blinks them open again, the bedroom light is off and his clock is dead. "Looks like we lost power," he says.

"You think?" Gibbs smiles a little. "How many blankets do you have?"

Tony grins and leans up a little to kiss him. "Who says we need blankets?" he whispers.

Gibbs grins and kisses him again, rolling them over so he's on top. "Good point," he says against Tony's mouth.

It still surprises him a little, how much he loves the feel of Gibbs on top of him, the weight of the man pinning him down. He slides his hands up Gibbs' shoulders and down his back, leaning up for another kiss. "You know what I want," he says softly.

"Yeah." Gibbs nuzzles his neck. "I do."

"And?" Tony lets his head fall back, shivering at the feel of Gibbs' five o'clock stubble against his skin.

Gibbs nips him. "Yeah," he says.

He shudders now for a completely different reason. He wants this--he's wanted this since the first time he and Gibbs ended up in bed and Gibbs showed him what it could be like. But Gibbs hasn't been willing to give him that. Not yet.

The streetlights outside are gone as well and the only illumination Tony has are the occasional flashes of lightning. The contrast between the sharp light and the near-complete darkness is surreal; combined with Gibbs' mouth on his throat, Gibbs' hands on his body, Tony feels almost like a snowflake caught up in the wind outside.

He reaches for Gibbs again and again, only to have his hands get pressed back against the bed. "Don't," Gibbs tells him, kissing the insides of his wrists. "Don't."

Gibbs likes to do this to him, likes to keep him still--or as much as he can. It drives Tony crazy and as often as he can turn the tables, he does. This isn't one of those times.

Lightning flashes again, nearly blinding him. Thunder rumbles; he can almost feel it in his bones. Snow slaps against the window and he shivers from the sense memory of the cold as much as from Gibbs' hands on him.

Gibbs' fingers are calloused, a little rough against his skin, tracing patterns and spirals over him. It's light enough to almost tickle and not nearly enough to do more than drive him crazy. He's on fire, squirming under Gibbs' touch. This isn't enough for him; it's not going to be, not now. Not after earlier. He doesn't want gentle, he doesn't want comfort. He wants to forget.

So he reaches for Gibbs, dragging him up and kissing him almost desperately. "Don't," he says against Gibbs' mouth. "Don't tease me, don't play with me, just...I don't want to know anything else but you. Not now. I don't want gentle from you, not tonight. Just--take me, use me, whatever, just don't be gentle. Not tonight."

"You sure that's what you want?" Gibbs asks softly. "You sure about that?"

Tony kisses him again, hard. "Give it to me," he whispers. "Everything. I can take it, I want it--don't hold back, don't be gentle with me, just..."

He can't speak anymore because Gibbs' mouth is on his, possessing him, claiming him so utterly all Tony can do is surrender. Gibbs' hands run over him, heavy and demanding, callouses rasping against his skin. Tony twists into the touch, gasping. The air around them is getting colder and yet he's burning up.

He gasps when Gibbs' teeth scrape over his hipbone, tongue teasing the crease between thigh and groin. Gibbs does it again and he groans, twisting both away from it and into it.

"Hold still," Gibbs says, voice low against his skin. "Or I'll stop."

Tony nearly whines in frustration. He barely manages to keep from moving, even when Gibbs licks a line up his cock, circling the head slowly. "Bastard," he gasps out.

"Yeah. So?" Gibbs grins. His hand slides back under Tony's body, playing with his balls.

Oh, fuck. Tony groans; his head hits the pillows with a thump and he can't stop himself from spreading his legs. Damnit--how the fuck does Gibbs know all his hot spots already? It hasn't been that long!

The hand under his body slides back more, one finger pressing between his cheeks, against his hole. It's dry and a little rough and Tony wants it so badly he shudders all over. "Gibbs," he breathes.

Gibbs licks the head of his cock. "You sure?" he asks.

"If you ask me that again I will hurt you," Tony warns him.

He's not surprised to hear Gibbs' low chuckle before the man crawls up his body to kiss him deeply. "Turn over," Gibbs tells him. "Hands and knees."

He shivers as he does, although that could be due to the chill in the air. More likely, it's because of the way Gibbs bites his shoulders, skin rubbing over skin, his cock pressing against Tony's ass in a way Tony never realized he wanted until he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Where--"

"Top drawer of the nightstand," Tony says without even needing to hear the question.

This time Gibbs' finger is slick and a little cool from the lube, pushing into him carefully, a little at a time. Tony bites his lip, concentrating on breathing evenly, on convincing himself to relax. He's taken this much before--more, really. It just always takes a little while to remind his body of that.

Slowly, one finger turns into two, stretching him and teasing him, brushing against his prostate and making him groan. "Gibbs..." His voice nearly breaks, tight with strain. "Gibbs, c'mon..."

Gibbs licks his back, one long line from the nape of his neck all the way down. "Yeah," he murmurs against Tony's skin. "You're ready for me."

He feels empty and stretched when Gibbs' fingers pull out of him, but it's only a few moments before the slick blunt head of Gibbs' cock is pressing against him, easing its way in, and he has to consciously force himself to relax all over again. Oh God, he wasn't expecting this, wasn't expecting the sheer size and strength of it. It's amazing and terrifying and even with Gibbs stretching him out it hurts. But he can take this. He wants to. Needs to.

"Breathe," Gibbs says in his ear. Tony's about to retort that he is when he realizes that he isn't, that the breath seems to have stopped in his lungs. He exhales in surprise, inhaling deeply and relaxing as he exhales again.

"That's it. Just breathe, Tony." Gibbs kisses his throat and his shoulder, pushing in a little more, just a little at a time until he slides all the way in and Tony moans helplessly.

Oh. God.

They stay like that for a long moment, Tony's head hanging down as he tries to adjust and Gibbs incredibly still behind him. "I'm okay," Tony whispers finally. He isn't, but he doesn't think he's going to be. Not now.

Gibbs doesn't ask if he's sure. He just begins to move.

The control Tony can feel from him is incredible. The way he moves, the steady pace--Tony can feel the need in him, the faint tremor in his muscles, and yet he doesn't make it more than what Tony can take. Not until Tony's whimpering under him, trembling.

They move together, their rhythm as wild and as constant as the storm outside. Tony's panting, sweat in his eyes, on his upper lip. He's fully hard again, his cock throbbing. His hands fist in the soft sheets and the air's freezing cold on his exposed skin. "God--Gibbs--I--" He has no idea what he's saying, if it means anything at all.

"Yeah," Gibbs says huskily. "Yeah." His forehead's against Tony's shoulder and his arms are braced on either side of Tony's.

The storm's picking up again; Tony hears the wind howl past his window and can almost feel it spiral around him. Cold wraps around him, heat burns through him, he's caught in the middle and he feels ready to come apart at the seams.

"I--more--god, more--" Tony twists just so and Gibbs' cock rubs over his prostate and he moans. He's so close to coming he can nearly taste it but he can't get there, can't fall over the edge even with Gibbs hitting his prostate on every stroke into him. He's half-sobbing now, desperate for something, anything, he doesn't know what, just...

Gibbs closes his hand around Tony's cock and pulls, hard; Tony cries out harshly, coming, shuddering all over. "Oh," he breathes, trying to get air into his lungs. "Oh, God..."

"Tony..." Gibbs groans against his back. "Christ, Tony..." He's still moving hard and fast, his breathing ragged, and Tony knows he's close.

"Gibbs--c'mon--" Tony clenches around him. "C'mon..."

Gibbs bites down on his shoulder as he comes, mouth lingering there for a long moment. The mark throbs a little when Gibbs moves away, easing out of him carefully. "You all right?" he asks, voice raspy.

"Um." He feels stretched and empty and weird and in need of--well, okay, he's not going to admit he needs a hug. Even if he does.

"Uh huh." Gibbs grabs a few baby wipes from the box Tony's learned to keep nearby. He cleans them both off carefully and tosses the wipes in the wastebasket before stretching out next to Tony, holding out an arm. "C'mere," he says softly.

With a groan, Tony curls up against him, closing his eyes. "Whoa," he says finally.

"Is that good or bad?"

Tony doesn't have to open his eyes to smack Gibbs' shoulder. Gibbs laughs and kisses the top of his head, holding him close.

"Power's still out," Tony says sleepily.

"It's still snowing."

"I have food. And blankets. And you." Tony stretches and settles back down. "Wanna build a snow fort?"

"Only if you can talk Kate into a snowball fight." Gibbs grins.

Tony laughs. "We'll discuss later."

Gibbs pulls the covers more snugly around them both. "Sleep, Tony," he says quietly.

"Mmm." Tony sighs and snuggles close. He doesn't have to worry about the dreams. Not tonight.