Seven in the morning and the sun's shining brightly, yellow-white light outside the smeared glass window. Light floods into the bedroom, illuminating the rumpled bed, the tangled white sheets and striped comforter tossed haphazardly over the foot. The dark curtains are pushed back and the sun is in the cheerful process of turning the room into a coccoon, bright and warm and as comforting as a hug after a long day.

Tony feels the sun on his back and shoulders from where he's kneeling on the floor; he knows that if he were to raise a hand to his hair it would be hot, the dark strands absorbing the heat eagerly. But he's got his hands wrapped around Gibbs' hips, warm skin and muscle under his fingertips, and he's in no mood to move them.

Not when he can brush his thumbs over the seam between groin and thigh and hear Gibbs groan, dig his fingertips in, short nails scratching at the skin just enough to make Gibbs gasp and curse under his breath.

Although really, that might be more due to the way Tony's sucking him down, mouth wrapped around him, eyes closed and his entire body, his entire *being* focused on Gibbs' cock--the way it tastes, feels in his mouth--salt-bitter and smooth skin over hard flesh. He's vaguely aware of Gibbs' hands in his hair, tangled in the dark strands, guiding him but not forcing him. He hears the low noises Gibbs is making, feels them vibrate through the man's body.

He breathes in through his nose, swallowing more, as much as he can take. Heat fills his mouth, wraps around his skin, the sun caressing him every bit as surely as the way his tongue pushes against the underside of Gibbs' cock.

Gibbs is panting above him, hands tightening in Tony's hair as he fights not to thrust into Tony's mouth. Tony's hands grip Gibbs' hips more tightly, a warning and support all at once, and gets a choked-off curse and a groan in response.

Exactly what he wants.

He's losing himself in this, the rhythm of swallowing and sucking and heat over him and inside him and all around him. He wants it to go on forever, let himself just stay suspended in this warm, perfect moment, on his knees in front of this man.

But it can't last. Gibbs is too close to losing control and Tony isn't holding back. He doesn't want to tease, not now, not today. He's too hungry for this--they both are. He swallows again, and again, cheeks hollowing and lips swollen, his jaw aching and God, he loves this.

"Tony..." It's a groan, almost a plea, and Tony hasn't heard anything as perfect in a long, long time. It's *his* name Gibbs whispers now when he comes, *his* body Gibbs touches and holds and sleeps next to in the night and he's reveling in that fact right now, letting it surround him with the pure heat of the sun beating down on his back.

He knows Gibbs is close; he can feel it, sense it in the taut muscles under his hands, hear it in Gibbs' ragged breaths, each inhalation catching in the back of his throat. He sucks just a little harder, a little deeper, wanting just that little bit *more*, just enough--

Gibbs makes a low, rough sound in the back of his throat that might be Tony's name or might not and Tony doesn't care either way. He swallows, tasting salt-sweet and musk and bitter all at once, licking Gibbs clean as he raises his head.

His eyes are closed and he tips his head back, letting the sun stream over his face and down his chest. He feels the air move and then Gibbs' hands are on his face, his neck, stroking his skin and pulling him in for a kiss.

"You look like Apollo," Gibbs says softly.

"Mmm." Tony stretches lazily and opens his eyes. Gibbs is blurred and hazy in the sunlight and he blinks to make his vision focus. "So I'm a god now?"

And maybe it's at his expense, but Tony thinks there are few things more perfect than the sound of Gibbs' laughter, full and rich, especially when combined with sunlight and kisses on a bright Saturday morning.