Ziva looked up from her computer screen and twisted her head from left to right, rubbing a tired hand over her neck and rolling her shoulders back and forth before turning right back to the bright monitor with determination, fingers automatically moving straight to the keyboard to fly over the keys as she worked on her report, meticulously re-reading every sentence she wrote to be sure it was accurate, concise, and true. On the other side of their work area, McGee's shoulders were tight with tension as he typed at top speed, his brow furrowed and his eyes focused, trying to complete his own report as quickly as possible.
It was a typical work scene, and a prime example of why Gibbs' team was at the top of the NCIS chain of command. Ziva and McGee looked every bit the part of serious, hard-working federal agents, engrossed in putting the finishing details on the case they had just worked night and day to complete.
Tony, on the other hand, didn't exactly look the part. His workspace was messy and unorganized - a car magazine was spread out on top of his keyboard and a half-eaten donut sat on top of it, jelly oozing onto the shiny red hood of a Mustang. He was leaning back in his desk chair, feet propped up on the edge of his desk, tie loosened and collar askew, grinning and chewing gum with extra vigor, the sound just loud enough to get McGee to look over at him with pure loathing radiating from his intense, squinty gaze, and for Ziva's hand to compulsively move towards the knife concealed at her waist before she shook her head and got herself under enough control to go back to her report.
Tony leisurely crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it up and down a few times, humming idly before glancing over at Ziva, and with an extra loud smack of his gum, he tossed the paper in her direction - only to have a weathered hand come out of nowhere and nab it midair before quickly tossing it back at him, hard enough for him to grunt and rub at his forehead as he quickly dropped his feet back to the floor and turned to his computer.
"No need to be violent, Boss," Tony complained, being sure to add an extra touch of wounded vulnerability to his voice as he watched Gibbs cross the bullpen and sip his coffee. "I'm just trying to take some time out of my day to enjoy myself. You should try it sometime, you know, you might be surprised-"
"You go ahead and enjoy yourself," Gibbs said as he dropped down into his desk chair. "But if you don't finish that report in the next twenty minutes, the rest of your life will be spent enjoying my boot up your ass," he threatened.
Tony grinned brightly and started typing, blowing a bubble and smiling in satisfaction when Ziva angrily told him off about the loud sound it made when it popped. With a laugh, he picked the sticky mess off of his mouth, and Ziva merely looked at him in disgust before sharing a confused, irritated glance with McGee.
Tony loved going to work.
--
"This is disgusting," Ziva complained, holding up a piece of trash between her two gloved fingers and wrinkling her nose. "Why does it seem that we are always forced to clean trash while McGee is just collecting fingerprints and taking pictures-"
"I think it's fun," Tony said brightly, doing his best not to wince as he bagged a cigarette butt saturated in questionable liquids before continuing to dig around in a large dumpster near the crime scene they'd checked out that morning.
Ziva snorted. "Your words say one thing and your body language says another," she pointed out, sifting through a bag of half eaten food. "Oh, honestly," she said, throwing the bag aside and turning away from the trash for a moment to breathe fresh air. "This is revolting!"
"Yeah, I guess it is," Tony conceded, wrinkling his lip in distaste and tossing a dripping wet newspaper aside. "I was trying to be positive."
"How can you be positive about sorting through half-eaten food and objects covered in bodily fluids?" Ziva said, bagging a used condom and wrinkling her nose at a crumpled coffee cup covered in little ants.
"Well, someone else could be sorting through this trash because one of us got our fingers chopped off and our eyes gouged out," he said with a shrug, wincing when suddenly the back of his head stung with a strong smack.
"What was that for?" Tony said defensively, almost reaching up to rub the sore spot when he remembered that he was wearing plastic gloves covered in disgusting trash remnants, and so he looked at his fingers instead and shuddered at the thought of them touching his hair, which he thought looked particularly good that day.
"Get to work or it will be you with the missing fingers," Gibbs said. "Find anything yet?" he asked, mostly to Ziva since Tony seemed to be not paying attention.
"Yeah," Tony said nonetheless, "I found an old burger...it still looks good and I'm kinda hungry, think it's safe?"
Ziva looked at him incredulously and Gibbs just glared. "DiNozzo," he said, "focus."
Tony smiled. "I am focused, Boss, see?" He picked up a Styrofoam cup he'd just been eyeing and showed it to Gibbs, tilting it so he could see inside. He wrinkled his nose. "Got a finger," he added, shaking the cup a bit.
"Bag that," Gibbs said, and Tony grinned as he bagged the cup with a pinky in it.
"On it," he replied cheerily. Ziva watched him skeptically, unsure about his strangely pleasant demeanor.
"Find the other nine," Gibbs called over his shoulder as he jogged back to McGee.
"Maybe they'll be inside those papers," Tony said, gesturing towards a coverless book with torn pages but lots of blurry equations in runny ink. "Lots of digits in there already, right?" He grinned at Ziva expectantly.
"Tony, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say," she said archly. "I think you are sinking to new lows."
"Thank you, Ziva, you're too kind," he said, and grinned when he heard Ziva barely conceal a snort of laughter from beside him.
"Knew you thought it was funny," Tony said confidently.
"I am not sure that funny is the word I would use," she said, and Tony just hummed brightly as he continued to sift through the trash.
--
"C'mon, Boss, really?" Tony complained, peeking up at Gibbs over the edge of the large box he was carrying. He wished his hands were free to scratch the itch developing on the left side of his forehead.
"It's one box, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, glancing over his shoulder at Tony, who harrumphed in annoyance but dutifully followed behind him.
"Yeah, one box, so why don't you carry it?" Tony muttered, eagerly dropping it onto the workbench in Gibbs' basement.
"Why would I carry it when you can?" Gibbs reasoned. He grabbed an empty mason jar and peeked inside, turning it around to be sure that he could see if it was reasonably clean, and poured himself some bourbon.
"I had a long day," Tony complained. He plopped into a chair and eagerly itched his forehead with his now free hands. "You know, I've been digging through trash-"
Suddenly he jumped up and looked at his hands in horror. "Oh my God," he said, eyes widening.
"What?" Gibbs said, looking at Tony in irritation.
"Oh my God," Tony repeated, "my forehead just itched. My fucking forehead. What if I got lice from the trash? There were ants in there, I mean, there could've been-"
"DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "You don't have lice."
"How do you know? You weren't the one digging through the-"
"Because if you had lice, your scalp would itch, not your forehead. You just had an itch because you knew you couldn't itch it," Gibbs said reasonably.
Tony paused for a moment as Gibbs took a sip of bourbon, thinking about Gibbs' words and glancing at the scrap wood in the box he'd carried down to the basement.
"Guess you're right," Tony said, sitting back down and taking the mug Gibbs handed him with a nod of thanks. He sipped at the bourbon and watched as Gibbs sifted through the box.
"You really gonna work on that right now?" Tony complained.
Gibbs spared him a glance and then turned back to the box. "Got a lot to do," he said.
"We've been working all day," Tony whined.
Gibbs shrugged. "Yeah, well, I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly independently wealthy. Gotta work for a living," he said, reaching for a piece of sandpaper.
"Alimonies don't help," Tony said with a smile that widened when Gibbs chuckled and reached over to lightly cuff the back of his head. Tony reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging gently until Gibbs dropped the sandpaper and stepped closer.
"You have to take time out to play," Tony said sagely. "You can't just work all the time. All work and no play-"
"Play?" Gibbs said, before he had to listen to the rest of Tony's predictable words. "I'm not a five year old."
Tony grinned. "Adults can play, too, you know," he said, nudging Gibbs' leg with his knee. "Doesn't have to be all work all the time. I, for one, know that you happen to be very, very good at playing."
Gibbs shook his wrist out of Tony's loose hold and reached down to cup Tony's face. "You think so?" he said softly, enjoying the way Tony's eyes widened and his breath sped up.
"Mmm," Tony said, "I do."
With an amused grin, Gibbs kissed him, pulling away as soon as Tony started to really get into it. When Tony scowled at him, he smirked and took a step back.
"That's just not fair," Tony said.
"No?" Gibbs said lightly. "I was just playing."
Tony grinned and stood up, stepping closer to Gibbs and pinning him against the workbench. Gibbs just stood still and let him, watching as Tony paused for a moment, expression of mirth turning to one of intent as his eyes flickered from Gibbs' eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again, and then Tony was on him, kissing him hard and fast, his hands tugging Gibbs as close as he could get him, pressing their bodies together and gasping when Gibbs easily took control of the situation and grabbed Tony's hands, pushing him against the wall and holding his wrists above his head.
Tony breathed heavily, eyes shining, and stared at Gibbs, anticipation flooding him, wondering exactly what Gibbs would do with him, thinking of countless possible scenarios but knowing that none of them would compare to his reality. Gibbs leaned forward and kissed him, and Tony gasped into the kiss when Gibbs ground their dicks together. He struggled against Gibbs' grip for a moment, eager to free his hands and touch everywhere he could, but Gibbs kept his grip strong, and Tony closed his eyes as Gibbs kissed along his jaw, and behind his ear, and along his neck, and their hips moved together, friction building between them, and Tony wanted nothing more than to touch him, to take their pants off, to rip off Gibbs' shirt, to pull them both down onto the floor and let Gibbs fuck him as hard as he wanted - but instead, he let Gibbs take control, and so when Gibbs released his hands and reached down to unzip his fly, Tony let him, and when Gibbs pulled him away from the wall and pushed the box of wood scraps further down the workbench to clear a space, Tony eagerly took his shirt off, watching as Gibbs did the same, and he kicked off his shoes and pants and underwear, not at all ashamed to stand naked in Gibbs' basement. Gibbs pulled the rest of his clothes off and tossed them aside before grabbing onto Tony again, and Tony kissed him eagerly, loving the familiar feel of Gibbs' skin against his.
"Want you to fuck me," Tony said, pulling out of the kiss and running his fingers through the short hair on the back of Gibbs' head. "Please," he added, and then Gibbs pushed him towards the workbench and he didn't even care that his chest was going to be covered in saw dust because, honestly, it had been that way before-it was a hazard of work bench sex, he knew from experience, and he gripped the edge of the table in anticipation when he heard Gibbs reach for the lube, carefully concealed behind the paint can full of nails and a stack of levels.
And then Gibbs' fingers, cold and slick, were inside him, gentle at first, and Gibbs was running his other hand up and down Tony's back, sending shivers down his spine, and leaning down to kiss the back of his neck and his shoulder and the middle of his back, and then Gibbs' fingers were gone and Tony bit his lip in anticipation, wiggling his hips and pushing closer until Gibbs' dick was nudging at him. When it finally slid in all the way, Tony didn't bother trying to conceal his moan, and Gibbs began to fuck him, hard and fast as he reached around and jerked Tony off, hand moving in time with his thrusts.
Tony's hips moved of their own volition, naturally responding to Gibbs' movements, and he moaned helplessly as Gibbs fucked him, his body sliding against the smooth surface of the workbench in the basement, his hands clenching the edge, his eyes closed in ecstasy. Gibbs was grunting behind him as he moved, and Tony opened his eyes and twisted his head just enough to glance at him, and his breathing sped up even more at the look of ecstasy on Gibbs' face, at his closed eyes and open mouth and sweaty brow, and Tony gasped and closed his eyes again when Gibbs thrust particularly hard, cock slamming against his prostate, and then it was too much, too good all at once and he found himself moaning at every thrust, babbling nonsense, urging Gibbs to go harder and faster and give him more-and then Gibbs was coming fast and hard, grunting and still thrusting, and Tony's eyes closed and his fingers clenched, knuckles white, around the sides of the workbench, and then his whole body clenched, and he was coming, too, hard and fast, stars bursting behind his eyes, nerve endings on fire, and when Gibbs' hands were on him a moment later, pressing against his skin and pulling him up, he eagerly stood up on rubbery legs and turned around to kiss him, still breathing heavily, mouth wet-
And then Gibbs pulled away and spit on the floor.
Tony looked at him, post-orgasm haze suddenly clouded with confusion, but then Gibbs wiped his mouth and glanced at him apologetically, reaching out to pull him close again.
"Sawdust," he murmured, eyes crinkling with a smile, and then Tony laughed as Gibbs kissed him again, but he pulled away as all out giggles consumed him and rested his forehead against Gibbs' neck, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Gibbs, grinning when Gibbs tugged him closer and pulled his head up to kiss him again.
"I think we should play every day," Tony suggested when he pulled away, turning his head away to yawn rather than remove his hands from Gibbs' skin to cover his mouth. "It's probably a good idea."
Gibbs just grunted, and Tony smiled, stepping away from Gibbs to try and brush some of the sawdust off of his body, wincing when his fingers found a splinter on his chest that probably wasn't the only one - he'd get Gibbs to take it out for him later.
"C'mon, let's take a shower," he said. "Maybe we can play there, too."
Gibbs just snorted, gently shoving Tony towards the stairs and following behind him. "If you keep calling it 'playing,' I'll never fuck you again," he warned.
Tony just laughed and made his way up the stairs, yelping when Gibbs smacked his ass none-too-gently on the way up.
"What was that for?" Tony said, turning at the top of the stairs to look at Gibbs.
Gibbs smirked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Just playing," he said with a shrug.
"You just told me not to use that word!" Tony protested.
"Yeah, if you're talking about fucking," Gibbs said reasonably, walking past Tony to go up the next set of stairs. Tony watched him go for a moment, annoyed, and then jogged to catch up.
"Wait for me, you can play with me all you want in the shower," he called with a grin. "And fuck me, too!"
"Then get your ass in here, DiNozzo!" Gibbs called back.
"On it, Boss!"
Story Notes:
I used a prompt from [info]rose_malmaison 's "If a Dog Was a Teacher" challenge/prompt list. I used "Run, Romp, and Play Daily."
Author's Chapter Notes:
Tony thinks everyone should take some time out of their busy work day to play a little bit. This story is three not-entirely-related little scenes where Tony decides to exercise this philosophy, both at work and at home.
Chapter End Notes:
I used a prompt from [info]rose_malmaison 's "If a Dog Was a Teacher" challenge/prompt list. I used "Run, Romp, and Play Daily."