*********
"Tony, this isn't right. You're just very upset right now."

"No," Tony moaned and persistently pressed forward again, trying to recapture the elusive mouth. "Let me do this just this once. Please, Gunny. Please."

The teen's continued advances were sweet and warm and sparked an aching need deep inside Jethro. He groaned softly and let Tony succeed in finding his traitorous mouth once again, melting into the moment, fueled by the desire he sensed in Tony's young body and the desperate want firing his own blood. But this was wrong, wasn't it?

Why did it suddenly feel so right?
*********

I tried to pull back, to remember where I was and, more importantly, who was with me but the soft, insistent sounds of need coming from deep within his chest and the solid warmth of his strong, young body pressing tightly against mine as I knelt between his open thighs was too much to resist. I let him take my lips once more and welcomed the tender sampling, the texture of his soft, sweet mouth against mine chasing away any misgivings I might have had originally.

I damned myself, and maybe even him, trying to justify our actions by blaming everything on the recent fiasco with his father and my desire to offer nothing but comfort and reassurance to his damaged soul. It was foremost in my mind...at first. The meeting with Frank DiNozzo had been a terrible event, tearing him open like a raw and oozing sore, picking and prodding at his fragile psyche. I knew he would eventually show some sign of an emotional meltdown but, God help me, I never expected anything like this. Tears, shouts, cursing...all of those I was prepared to accept and manage. Maybe that's way I was so utterly unprepared to handle what he threw my way.

Or, maybe, this was exactly what I secretly wanted all along.

I'd be a fool to try and deny the pull that's existed between us for some time and knew, of course, how he really felt about me. His week-long visit to my home in Atlanta had quickly opened my eyes but, at the same time, reminded me of my new position in life and of the facade I now needed to erect and present to those who employed me. That I was bisexual, and had been since sometime late in my teens, had never been a problem or a concern. Not one I couldn't handle, anyway.

My relationship with Mike Johnson occurred during a time in our lives when having a male partner could have had severe consequences for both of us but, ironically, proved to be nothing but a blessing in disguise. Our love made us stronger, better human beings and, together, we found a simple peace within the stress and strain of our daily lives. When Mike died, a part of me died with him. I felt empty, lost, alone. I never expected to find the same level of complete trust and emotional stability again in my life and knew, if I was going to remain successful in my chosen profession, I'd need to keep any casual liaisons limited solely to females. It was safer. Society frowns on same-sex relationships, but not nearly as much as military or governmental agencies, and since becoming an agent for NCIS, it was in my best interests to live a lie. So, I did, even managing to marry and father a child with a completely beautiful and desirable woman. But marriage and fatherhood certainly didn't stop my eyes from roaming or, worse, diminish the undescribable ache, the bone-deep longing, I would sometimes feel in my chest. I knew I had done Carolyn a disservice long before little Lilly Marie arrived but, unfortunately, it was entirely too late to salvage any type of relationship, even for the sake of our daughter.

The truth be known, I wasn't always very good with my 'people skills' and had one or two bosses suggest I brush up so I could, at least, be competent. I've tried but I don't know how successful I've managed to be.

Through everything, Tony has been a constant, a bright, shining spot among all the days of my adult life: when I faced the horrors of combat, his sweet, little voice kept me grounded, when we went through the unfathomable loss of Mike, he held my hand and wordlessly soothed my soul, and when I re-entered society after my honorable discharge from the Marines, he greeted me with open arms and an unlimited capacity for love. We've been through so much together it seems almost inconscievable to think of my life without him someplace in it. Like me, he's a survivor, a pure and gentle soul who's successfully resisted the tremendous pull of his dark past by sheer will and inate goodness alone. He could have easily fallen, especially as he grew older, to the lure of alcohol or drugs or both as a means to dampen the pain he'd experienced as a child but managed to circumvent those usual avenues of self-destruction because of his unflappable spirit and the constant love of those who's lives he touches.

And love him, I do.

I've tried to fool myself, and him, by professing my feelings as nothing more than those of parent to child, of mentor to apprentice, of teacher to student. I admire him so much and take simple joy in watching him grow into this vibrant, fun-loving young man, knowing he will continue to make choices that will bring nothing but pride to Candace and me. And what he endured at the hands of his biological father only strengthened my respect and admiration and quickly reminded me of how special he truly is. His zest for life is nothing short of amazing and I'm so thankful he never decided to become one of those angry, defiant, brooding teens I sometimes see hanging out on corners late at night. I'm also thankful I've been allowed to remain close to him long after losing my only real connection to the family...my Mike. Candace and Tony have been my family, along with Lilly Marie, and, now, I risk everything for this: a few stolen kisses in a darkened motel room somewhere in Syracuse.

So, I let him kiss me, gently and with great care, hoping he could feel my soothing assurance and unwavering comfort. I offer my lips as balm to his fragile and battered ego and hope not to contribute to any feelings of inadequacy or worthlessness he may now harbor. Frank DiNozzo said some pretty harsh things to him in Onondaga Park and Tony needed to be consoled by someone who cared for nothing but his well-being.

At least, that's what I told myself. It's amazing how easy it is to lie to yourself when you want.

The gentle brushing of one mouth against another and the tiny, hesitant pecks of pressure were merely ways of offering solace, to let him know I was there for him in his time of emotional need but knew, in a deep, dark section of my soul, his love for me was *nothing* like child to parent. I just didn't care to differentiate. Not now. I let him persist 'just this one time', allowed him to seek and capture what I once tried to avoid, and wordlessly granted permission to embark on a path I've refused, time and again, to walk. The closeness he was seeking with me was looking more and more attractive by the second.

Why? Why did I do this now?

Tony continued to sit on the edge of the double bed and hold me in place between his long legs. I could feel the slight trembling in the muscles of his thighs where they pressed tightly against my sides and allowed my arms to hold him a little more securely. The hum of the air conditioner under the closed, heavy drapes somewhere behind me did nothing to distract from the quiet, low moans seeming to originate from deep within his belly and I found it to be one of the most enticing sounds I've ever encountered. My toes curled in my shoes and I slowly snugged him closer. I actually had to resist the urge to communicate some noise of my own in response. Instead, I allowed his continued explorations, delighting in the spider-like touches and reveling in the soft, demure nips his lips placed against mine. I still hadn't opened my mouth, permitting an external mapping only, hoping I could maintain my weakening control and keep this first encounter as chaste as possible. I should have known better. I'd forgotten he wasn't a novice when it came to sex and had learned, years ago, what a body would feel when stimulated but, when he began to rock coyly against my stomach, I felt sharp shards of pure want coursing through my blood. Contrary to everything I hoped to achieve, I began to press him back.

Before I even realized I had moved, we were flat on the bed, my weight covering and pressing him down on the gently rocking mattress, his stationary grasp across my back still tight and secure. I heard a soft grunt as his breath was forced from his lungs but didn't ease back, wanting him to have the full effect of my mass covering him, to feel what it was like to have a solid, mature body on his. I think I was half-hoping he would show some sign of resistence to the bulky burden and begin to indicate, in one form or another, his growing discomfort. A slight push or a subtle shifting away would have been sufficient and I would have immediately retreated. Instead, his thighs widened more, his ankles slipped over my calves, and those strong, long legs wound themselves to rest behind my knees, cradling my body like a lover.

Christ...

There was no mistaking his intent now and I wasn't surprised to feel the hard column of his erection trapped between us. Amazingly, he held still, allowing me to pin him down, seemingly satisfied with holding my dead weight. I should have known it was merely a ploy because, when those smooth lips finally parted under mine, a whisper of a new sound emerged, full of need and want and desire. His moist breath washed over my skin, warm and wet and silently inviting me to deepen our oral connection. God, I wanted nothing more than to do just that, to take his offering as quickly and as messily as I could, pulling more of those tones from those partially opened lips. I knew what he could sound like, had learned, firsthand, what he was capable of vocalizing when aroused, and found myself craving it now. But he was unnaturally quiet, only allowing small, insignificant noises to emerge. Why was he being so quiet? Did he think I didn't want to hear his excitement? I *knew* what he sounded like when masturbating and, honestly, had thought of those erotic vocalizations a few times, wondering if he would sound the same during intercourse.

Suddenly, the tip of his tongue was peeking out and nudging at my bottom lip, darting to touch and quickly withdraw, the playfulness causing my own mouth to part. I know he could now feel my moist exhalations because there was a slight trembling, a minute quavering, before his tongue returned, seeking hestiantly. I relaxed my mouth as much as possible and let him taste at his leisure, the warm, wet muscle tracing with utmost care from one point on my upper lip to another. He didn't try to invade but contented himself to sample from the corners of my mouth, to the slight rise in the middle, and all the flesh in between. It was all so innocent, so simple, so...damn exciting. His lips and tongue were gentle and patient and I got the distinct impression he was merely biding his time. Did he think I would willingly cave in and join this insanity? Did he think what we were doing was something I really wanted with him?

Obviously, he was wiser than his years and knew much more than I did. At the moment, at least.

The next time his devious tongue snaked out I met it with my own, allowing the tip to slide against the inquisivive invader. Softly, testing intimately, feeling the wet glide and undulating twists. Our open-mouth breathing brought other muted sounds from his chest but nothing like I was expecting and I felt strangely bereft, wanting to hear the full force of the discourse I *knew* he could produce. So, I pressed in just a bit and let my tongue enter his sweet mouth, the hot, slick cavern wlecoming and holding the oral caress as if it had done it a thousand times before. I felt his breath hitch and pause before I was able to savor another subdued sound and, then, he came alive in my arms.

The ridgedly controlled body suddenly spasmed beneath me and the hands that had been so still across my back just moments ago were grasping and tugging at my shirt, bunching and twisting the soft fabric into clenched handfuls. The legs wrapped around mine tightened and a slight thrusting motion began against my stomach, the jerky, restless movement driving a hard jolt of excitement straight to my suddenly-interested dick. More importantly, beneath all the blosssoming writhes and wriggles, the sounds I'd been waiting were finally beginning to emerge.

His lips left mine only long enough to draw a ragged breath or to exhale a shaky groan but the much-desired noises coming from low in his chest steadily increased in volume and frequency. I peppered kisses on his cheeks and chin and eyelids, I licked a wet swipe near the tender skin of his delicate ear, and I bit wickedly at his arching, exposed throat, causing him to convulse and hiss hotly against the side of my face. I made sure to give his mouth all the room it needed to continue it's unhampered articulations. He clenched spastically, hands never ceasing their motion, trailing restlessly up and down my back and digging in almost painfully when I mouthed some sensitive area. I quickly learned his neck and throat were extreme hot spots and ruthlessly attacked that vulnerable territory, wringing desperate new sounds from his tormented body until a keening, hopeless edge began and took hold. I sealed my mouth over his and swallowed the cries, wanting to taste and devour and control this erupting desire, drinking in the sounds that only enflamed my need to hear more. There was only one way I knew to bring the tones I craved: I shifted my body a little higher until my painful erection was pressed against his and began to thrust back...hard.

And it was so good.

He continued to buck against me, his strong, young body lifting and driving me slightly upwards, crushing our hard, aching lengths between us in an effort to reach orgasm. I pulled back only enough so I could look into his face and, even with just the dim light filtering in from around the edges of the curtain, he was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my entire life. With eyes closed tightly and head thrown back, he was totally unaware of my silent scrutiny, and I felt the tightness I'd carried in my chest since Mike's death years ago suddenly loosen, break, and begin to evaporate. I felt whole and alive and happy.

Oh, God! Tony!

His thick lashes were fanned against the tender skin under his eyes and there was a slight furrow of intense concentration as he focused on what was happening with his body. A fine bead of perspiration on his upper lip called out to me and I rapidly lapped it away, feeling him shudder and jerk at the unexpected sensation. Another moan bubbled up from his chest, through his dry throat, and out his gasping mouth, finally reaching my ears like a lover's caress. It was *so* good but I wanted, needed, to hear more.

Shoving my hands roughly down his body and grasping his ass hard with both palms, I tucked my face flush against the side of his head and began to move with purpose, pulling him harshly up to meet each of my snapping thrusts and driving him toward completion. I wanted him to come, wanted to watch the fluid spurt hotly from his body to thickly cover my hands but I wasn't prepared to take this any further than a simple dry hump. It had to be like this, no matter how much I now wanted, craved, to touch his bare skin and to feel his flesh against mine, I realized this was not the time nor the place to throw all caution and common sense out the window. I had to maintain some meager measure of control. I *had* to.

With each move I made against his arching body, he produced a hungry, needful sound, building slowly until he was thrashing under my weight and keening painfully in my ear, his fingertips digging into the tight flesh across my shoulders. There would be bruises tomorrow, on him and on me, but nothing mattered at the moment but the feel and the sound and the smell of his impending orgasm. The friction on my dick was just right and, I knew, it had to be almost perfect for him. It wouldn't be too much longer...

With a sharp cry and a convulsion that shook me roughly, Tony was coming, arching hard and seizing tight as the sensations rolled over his body. I continued to thrust as he pulsed his release into the confines of his clothing, keeping his pleasure high through the sustained movement of my still-hard dick against his hyper-sensitive member. I could hear his breath catch as the pulses peaked and began to diminish but kept my grip tight on his ass and didn't let go, feeling his young heart hammering through the thin layers of our t-shirts. When he was finally able to draw a deep, ragged breath into his oxygen-starved lungs, I knew he was finished. I slowed my movements and stopped.

The body that had just moments before been rigid with lust and excitement was starting to relax and unfold, the muscles losing all tenseness and seemingly melting against the gaudy bedspread. I continued to hold him tightly, my face pressed snug against his, and waited for the fog of desire to clear. He was a smart kid and would come to his senses rapidly and, when he did, our heartbreak would begin. It was inevitable.

I didn't have to wait long.

"Oh, Gunny," he whispered brokenly against my jaw, his voice catching on a sob. "I...I'm so sorry."

I slowly pulled back, slipping from his embrace, and eased away, turning to sit on the end of the bed, my body facing the doorway leading to the adjoining room Candace had slept in last night. I couldn't look at him. Not yet. I was being a coward and I knew it. If I looked into his face, I wouldn't be able to control my emotions and that's not what would get us through this situation. I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and willed my erection to fade. Then, I proceeded to break both our hearts.

"You know we can never do this again," I spoke with conviction, letting him know I considered our actions a mistake. Worse, I was going to let him continue to believe this had all been his fault. "You were upset, that's all. The stress of the day, of finally meeting Frank...it was just one of those things."

He was silent on the bed behind me and I could only imagine the pain my words would bring to his fragile self-confidence. My only consolation was he was young and would get over this experience, probably with the help of his friends, eventually. I stood and took a few steps toward the window, only now wondering when Candace would reappear.

"Tony," I forced myself to turn and face him and, when I looked, he was curled up on the bed like a broken, little boy, arms tight against his belly and chin tucked to his chest. Shit. I crossed back over and sat carefully beside him, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. "Tony, look at me."

Relunctantly, he rolls over and unfolds but keeps his face averted. I can see the paths of tears streaking from the corners of his eyes to his chin. Oh, God, I don't want him to hurt like this but, if I follow my heart and say the words I want, it would only kill us both in the end. I place a gentle hand against one cheek and brush the moisture away.

"This was as much my fault as it was yours...probably more," I offer smoothly, dimly wondering how my voice could sound so calm. "I let things get out of hand. Tony, I only thought you wanted a little comfort when you asked to be held. You know I care about you and I hurt when you hurt."

"I...I know," he whispers back, bleak eyes finally finding and holding mine. "I didn't mean for it to go that far. I...I did just wanted to be held and...and I...I..."

"Tony," I stop his painful stuttering, pushing my fingers through the silk of his sweaty hair, "it's all right. We both know what we did was a mistake and you've just got to understand I will never allow us to be in another situation like that. I can't have that kind of relationship with you, no matter what you want. Hell, I'm old enough to be your father."

"If you were thirteen when I was born," he threw into my face quickly.

"You know what I mean," I chided and forced my wandering hands away. If I had to convince him of my cold heart, I certainly couldn't do it while I was touching him. "We've had this talk before." He looks quickly away from my intense stare. "Do I have to tell you my feelings again? Do I?"

"No," he whispers like a plea and I see new tears flowing. He remembers as clearly as if I had told him yesterday but a little reinforcement can go a long way, so I harden my resolve and plunge the knife in.

"I don't love you like that," I let the untruth spill from my mouth, knowing it's for the best and feeling the choking denial squeezing at my heart. I have to be strong and the only way to demonstrate my power is to cruelly twist the knife within his bruised soul. "You will always be a young boy in my eyes. I do love you, Tony, I just don't love you like two adults love one another. In fact, when we get back to Virginia, I'm planning on asking Diane to marry me."

His head whips back around to face me and his green eyes are huge with shock and disbelief. I can hardly believe it myself now but, if I can convince Diane to marry me and put any kind of effort into the relationship, I think I can make her happy. I've got to try. I've got to do what's needed to get my life back on track. Most of my co-workers are already married and, even though I'm a divorced father of a little girl, I need to get with the program. Diane and I have been good together so far and there's no reason we can't make this relationship work.

No. No reason at all.

We stare at one another for the longest time and I begin to wonder if he is able to see the hidden truth within my eyes. I hope not. It would do neither of us any good. He's too young for me and, to have these kinds of feelings for him, seems sick and perverted. I don't want to risk my relationship with Candace or my employers or, more than anything, the bond I now have with Tony by acting on emotion alone. We've been together this long and survived, there's no reason we just can't continue as we always have.

The sound of a car door slamming outside gets our attention and we both realize Candace has returned from her quest to obtain some lunch for us. The thought of eating actually makes me a little queezy. I notice Tony's complexion has taken on a very pasty look and knows he feels just like me.

"Why don't you go take a shower," I suggest, knowing we need to move. "I can tell Candace you just need a little time by yourself. If you feel like eating afterwards, we'll be in her room."

He nods silently as we hear the door in the other room open and close. Soon, there's a gentle rapping at the dividing door and I wait until Tony slowly pulls himself up from the bed and staggers to the bathroom like an old man before I answer her knock. I unlock and open the panel, stepping quickly into her space and smiling as best as I can. The thought of her even being in the other room right now almost sends me into a panic.

"Tony felt like he needed a shower," I lie and watch as she nods, turning away and moving to the small table by the large window at the front of the room. I can barely hear the plumbing from the other bathroom as I follow her lead, suddenly grateful when I can smell the distinct aroma of coffee. That should settle my nerves somewhat.

"He okay?" Candace asks quietly, her petite hands reaching into the paper bags and pulling out wrapped food and closed containers.

God, if she only knew. Again, I let the lies flow from my mouth.

"Yeah, just shook up a little by Frank..."

"That bastard," she throws in quickly and I have to quirk a little grin at her surprising use of language.

"...and decided to take a shower. He may not be up to eating very much, so don't be surprised if he turns his nose up at what you've brought in for us. In fact, I'm not all that hungry right now either. Sorry."

"That's okay," she sighs and sits in one of the two chairs, eyes drifting back to the door leading to the other room. "I'm worried about him, Jethro."

Her confession shakes me. Is there something I don't know? I pull the other chair out and wait to see if she'll continue. ignoring the tall cup of coffee she pushes my way. She sees my look and sighs.

"Before you arrived yesterday to pick us up at home, we had a long talk about Frank and considered what could be expected at the meeting. Tony told me he wasn't afraid of anything Frank said or did but was afraid he was, somehow, going to disappoint you and me."

"What?" I didn't understand. "Why would he think that?"

Candace smiled and shook her head. "He said he didn't want us to ever think he was looking for anyone to take our place in his life, that Frank was just a means to get a few answers to his questions, and he never intended to begin any kind of relationship with the man. He said we were the most important people in his life and, if he ever lost one of us, he didn't know what he would do. He spoke with such emotion and conviction and it scared me."

Now, I'm scared, too.

"What do you think he meant by that? You don't think he'd harm himself, do you?"

She shakes her head again. "I don't want to consider the possibilities but I think I may want him to start therapy again when we get home. He talks so much more now than when he was younger but, after today, he really may need some professional help again."

I lean back heavily and think of all the lies I told him, how I emotionally pushed him away, and continued to batter his already-bruised soul by announcing my plans to marry Diane. Whay did I do that? I could have waited. I took his tender, young heart in my rough, callous hands and cruelly and purposefully squeezed until all that was good and true between us was bleeding out between my large fingers. I had seen it reflected in his eyes as clearly as I could see Canadce right now. Because of my selfishness and my inability to be honest in my intentions and my emotions, I'd put Tony in a position of uncertainty. Again.

We sat silently for some time, lost in our own thoughts, and completely ignored the fast food spread across the table's slick surface. Outside the moderately clean window, the world and the inhabitants of Syracuse moved on, and the only thing I knew for sure was I never wanted to return to this city again.

A soft noise from the other room alerted us to Tony's presence and, when he finally stepped through the doorway and slowly tread across the carpet to join us near the window, I visibly recoiled from what I saw.

Those eyes...those warm, expressive green eyes were now dull and listless and the only other adjective I could use brought sheer terror to my soul. His eyes looked *dead*.

Oh, God, what have I done?