It's a simple thing, really--just a brush of fingers over the back of a hand. It could almost be seen as accidental. One man stepping too close to another in the elevator, fingers brushing as he reaches up for the button. Just a light, casual touch of long fingers over the back of a callused hand.

Almost accidental. Certainly enough to fool anyone who might look, including those who should know better.

Even to someone looking closely, there isn't anything to see. Just two men in an elevator, both wearing dark jackets, standing quietly as the car makes its way down to the parking garage and they can go home at the end of a long day.

They nod goodbye to each other as they get into their cars--one a nondescript blue sedan, the other a dark green Jeep--and head out of the parking lot. And if they drive the same way, well, that's not too surprising. D.C. has its fair share of highways and several of them run in the same direction.

Traffic is light, surprisingly, although that may have more to do with the lateness of the hour than any wonders of the D.C. roads. There are enough cars on the road that it's hard to tell if the Jeep is following the sedan or if they're just headed toward the same general area. Both drivers take the same exit, but again, it could just be coincidence.

But as the roads wind deeper into the Virginia suburbs and the cars on the dark roads dwindle, it becomes more apparent that both cars are, in fact, going to the same place. The sedan pulls into a driveway beside a neat white house, while the Jeep parks on the street in front. Soft thuds are heard as the drivers get out, shutting the doors as they walk across grass and up the sidewalk to the front door.

The driver of the sedan opens the door and steps inside, followed closely by the Jeep's owner. A soft light flips on and the front door is shut but not locked behind both men.

This time, the gesture isn't accidental, nor is it innocent. The dark-haired driver of the Jeep raises one hand to the other man's cheek, thumb stroking over the skin. "Been thinking about this all day," he says, voice low and quiet in the hallway.

"That why I couldn't get you to focus on your work?" Despite the words, the voice is amused and the speaker turns his face into the caress.

"And here I thought you liked smacking me just for the fun of it."

"Oh, I do, Tony. Never doubt that." The man smiles and brushes a kiss over Tony's palm.

Tony grumbles, but his hand slides around to the back of the other man's neck and draws him in for a kiss. It's gentle, lingering, and incredibly intimate. "Is it safe for me to spend the night?" he asks softly.

"It never is." Callused hands run through Tony's hair and pull him down into another, deeper kiss. "But we'll manage this time."

"Which means I'll be getting up at four-thirty." Tony sighs. "And you're going to give me a hard time for being grumpy due to lack of sleep, and Kate's going to make snide comments about my sex life."

"If you want to go home..."

"Don't even finish that thought, Jethro." Tony glares at him. "Not unless you actually *want* me to walk out the door."

Jethro chuckles softly and pulls Tony against him, brushing a lock of hair off Tony's forehead. "You wouldn't," he says with absolute certainty.

"You know, I really hate it when you're right." Tony thumps his head against Jethro's shoulder. "Are you hungry?"

"No. Are you?"

Tony shakes his head, burrowing as close as he can get. "Day's been too long," he says, wrapping his arms around Jethro's waist. "Stomach would kill me if I ate right now."

"Then c'mon upstairs, Tony. I think we could both use a shower." Jethro steps back and takes Tony's hand.

"Kay."

The bathroom is tiled in white and faded green, the wallpaper a soft green that doesn't quite match the shower curtain. It's neat, almost compulsively so, with a spare amount of toiletries laid out precisely by the white sink. Two slightly worn towels hang on the back of the door.

The bathtub isn't quite big enough for two grown men, and there's a fair amount of jostling and slipping around each other as Tony and Jethro take turns getting clean under the hot water pouring from the wide shower head. Tony nearly falls once but Jethro catches him, steadying him with one hand on his elbow and the other on his waist. "Don't do that," he says, massaging shampoo into Tony's hair. "Otherwise I'll have to take you to the ER and make up some strange story about how you cracked your skull open in my shower."

"I'd be less worried about the ER doctors than I would be about Kate," Tony points out, tilting his head back to rinse the suds out of his dark hair.

Jethro winces theatrically. "Ouch." He leans against the tiled wall, watching Tony as the water runs down his skin, streaming over skin and twisting over muscles. Tony has his eyes closed, letting the water hit his face; his expression is one of sheer contentment.

"Turn around," Jethro says quietly, and Tony does, leaning forward to let the water hit his shoulders. Jethro takes the one small step he needs and slides his arms around Tony's waist, licking drops of water off his back and shoulders, nuzzling his throat. He tastes a hint of peppermint from Tony's ridiculously expensive soap and a faint tang of herbs from his shampoo and for a moment, he just presses his face against Tony's neck and breathes him in.

Tony has one hand braced against the wall; his other arm rests over Jethro's. He makes a small sound of pleasure, deep in his throat, and drops his head forward. Jethro kisses the back of his neck again, sucking gently at the warm wet skin, and is rewarded with a shiver and soft groan from Tony.

He reaches out and shuts off the water, letting go of Tony reluctantly. Tony sighs and pulls back the shower curtain and Jethro steps out, feet making damp impressions on the faded green bathmat. He snags one of the towels, rubbing it over his hair, and watches Tony do the same, his hair sticking up every which way. Jethro has to hide a smile at it and turns to hang up his towel so Tony doesn't see his grin.

"Bed?" Tony asks, draping his own towel haphazardly over the rack. Automatically, Jethro folds and straightens it; years of military training have left their mark on him.

"Yeah," he says, ignoring Tony's smirk. "Come on."

The bedroom is directly across the hall from the bathroom. It's plain, almost Spartan in its decor; just some solid wood furniture on a neat wooden floor. The bed is the most luxurious thing in the room, a wide four-poster made up with cream-colored sheets and a thick navy blue comforter. Tony crawls into it, tossing the covers back and rolling onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. The covers slide down to his hips and Jethro has to smile at the picture Tony presents.

He slides into bed next to Tony, the sheets crisp and cool against his skin. There's something inherently decadent about stretching out naked in bed between clean sheets, especially when his skin is warm and damp from a hot shower and he's finally beginning to relax at the end of a long day. And then Tony crawls over on top of him and kisses him, his mouth warm and lazy and his peppermint-scented skin pressed against Jethro's everywhere he can reach and Jethro wonders when he fell into this sensual haven. He reaches up and runs his fingers through Tony's thick, soft hair, water droplets and stray strands clinging to his fingers.

Slowly, Tony begins to move, rocking his hips against Jethro's. Their mouths meet again and again, long deep kisses that part just long enough for them to breathe. Jethro runs his hands up and down Tony's back, feeling smooth skin over muscles that flex every time Tony thrusts against him.

He tightens his legs around Tony's, pulling him down tighter, letting Tony's weight press him down against the mattress. Tony groans into his mouth and breaks off the kiss, gasping for breath as he moves harder, faster, eyes closed in concentration.

He's one of the most erotic things Jethro has ever seen.

Tony is breathing raggedly now and Jethro slides one hand into his hair, pulling him down for a rough, hot kiss, his body moving against Tony's in a counterpoint that has them both groaning. "Oh, *fuck*," Tony gasps out, mouth against Jethro's shoulder. "Oh--"

"Do it, c'mon, c'mon, Tony, give it up for me, come for me, give it up..." Jethro isn't even sure what he's saying; it's all so much murmured nonsense to the man in his arms, shuddering and twisting and sliding against him.

Tony bites down on Jethro's shoulder as he comes, body going rigid. Wet heat spills between them and it's almost enough to send Jethro over the edge, but his body is demanding more. Before Tony can recover, Jethro rolls them over, hands on Tony's shoulders, pinning him down as he grinds against him, watching Tony pant for air, still trembling from his climax.

He's so close, he's right on the edge, and Tony makes a soft helpless sound under him and that's it, he's coming, white noise rushing in his ears and ecstasy pounding through his body.

When he comes back to himself, he's lying next to Tony, holding him close. Tony's absently nuzzling his collarbone, head tucked under his chin. "We should clean up," he says softly, petting Tony's thick hair.

"Mmm." Tony burrows closer. From his soft breathing and completely boneless sprawl Jethro knows he'll be asleep in moments. Any hope he had of getting them clean is now gone. As it is, he barely manages to reach over and set the alarm and turn off the light; movement is a bit difficult with a 6'2" grown man wrapped around him like he's Tony's personal teddy bear.

His stomach is a sticky mess, his thighs and his arms ache from being wrapped around Tony so tightly, and he's going to lose all circulation in his left arm if Tony doesn't move off him soon.

Jethro falls asleep with a faint smile on his face.