Tora (torakowalski) wrote,

Fandom cliche #4: forced to share a bed

Here's another one that wouldn't conform to ficlet length. It's my first real attempt at NCIS so you've been warned!

Fandom cliche #4: forced to share a bed | NCIS | McGee/Tony | PG-13 | 1900 words | for miscellanny

Take A Fall, Take A Shot (For You)

“Shift over, McRoomy,” Tony said, digging his elbow into the soft part of Tim’s chest.  Tim was very fond of his chest, soft parts and all, so he smacked Tony’s arm away with maybe more force than necessary.
“I’ve already shifted,” he protested.  “If I shift any more, I’ll end up on the floor.” Tony made a thoughtful sound – a thoughtful, evil sound – and, “No,” Tim told him.  “I am not sleeping on the floor.”
Tony hmphed like this was somehow all Tim’s fault and rolled onto his side with exaggerated impatience.  He tugged at the comforter, which flew off Tim to wrap around Tony.  Typical. Tim grabbed a handful and tried to pull it back.  Tony held on tight.
“For god’s sake, Tony,” Tim sighed.  It was cold in this motel, the Nebraskan wind rattling the window frames and sleet was smattering against the window.  Tim thought back to when Sarah was a kid and all the annoying tricks she’d pull on him to try and get him to share his bed. 
He pressed his cold feet to the backs of Tony’s calves.
Tony swore and kicked back and flailed, but Tim had been expecting that so he managed not to get thumped in any more important body parts. 
“Jesus, McGee, fine,” Tony grumped. “Take the damn comforter, as long as you’re prepared to wake up tomorrow morning and find me frozen into expensive, DiNozzo-flavoured Italian ice cream.”
“Wouldn’t a popsicle make more sense?” Tim asked, sitting up just long enough to pull the edges of the comforter out of Tony’s unresisting hands and spread it out over both of them, because unlike certain of his colleagues, he believed in fairness. 
“Shut up,” Tony said and stuck his head under the pillow.  He emerged ten seconds later with a disgusted sound and a fair bit of flailing.  “Urgh.”  He made spitting noises. “Urgh!  Oh my god, there’s hair under there and, and something that felt like nail clippings and-.” He grabbed suddenly at Tim’s arm, making Tim jump.  “Timmy, I want to go home.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tim agreed.  He wanted to go home too.  Gibbs and Ziva had headed back to DC that afternoon, but Tony and Tim had at least one more day of interviews left.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if the only motel near the crime scene had believed in the concept of a) heating, b) cleanliness, or even, c) more than one bed available at short notice.  He patted Tony somewhere – it was too dark to see, so hopefully it was somewhere innocuous.  “Come on then, swap sides with me.”
“Are you sure?” Tony asked, already sitting up.
“Yeah, I’m-,” sure was supposed to be the end of that sentence, because he would rather take the gross side of the bed and sleep than keep his side and listen to Tony whine all night.  He didn’t get to finish his sentence though, because for reasons known only to DiNozzo logic, Tony had decided to get to Tim’s side of the bed by climbing over Tim.
Tim was half-sitting and Tony was half-leaning and their chests bumped, their arms tangled and Tony was just, in general, too warm and too close. 
“Why, hi, McGee,” Tony said, still perched across Tim’s lap.  Oh god.  Tim closed his eyes and hoped that Tony wouldn’t be able to tell in the dark.  Actually, there were lots of things that Tim suddenly hoped Tony wouldn’t be able to tell, but he knew he was only lucky enough to get some of them.
“Tony,” Tim agreed, fighting to keep his voice level.  “Were you planning to move?”
“I was, yes,” Tony agreed, sounding distracted.  He moved back a little and yes, there it was, Tim was hard and there was no way Tony was going to miss it.  It wasn’t like they’d never… done anything, hooked up, but they hadn’t for years and Tony was going to love the fact that Tim had never gotten over him the way Tony had so obviously gotten over Tim.
Tim put his hands on Tony’s hips, which was a mistake but he just wanted him to move.  “Please,” he said.  “Tony, come on, just-.”
“Tim,” Tony said and he sounded… serious.  He might have been working himself up to a bigger joke in a minute, but right now he wasn’t laughing.  He lowered himself down until their chests were flushed and Tim tightened his grip on Tony’s hips.  He could have held him back, but he didn’t.
Tony’s lips were warm and firm on the corner of Tim’s lips and Tony laughed, mumbling, “Oops, missed,” against Tim’s jaw before realigning them and kissing Tim properly.
Tim had to be digging bruises into Tony’s hips but Tony didn’t object, just parted his lips so Tim could push his tongue up against Tony’s and then they were moving and Tony was on his back and Tim was pressed against his side and-.  No.  Wait.
“No,” Tim said, sitting up fast.  His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough now that he could see Tony’s chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes wide and shiny dark in the feeble moonlight. 
“No?” Tony asked, reaching up and pressing his hand against Tim’s chest.  “Felt like yes to me, McSmoochy.”
“Don’t do that,” Tim snapped because Tony was retreating, deflecting with stupid nicknames, which was exactly why Tim had put a stop to the kissing just now, because he’d known Tony would do that; Tony always did that, and it would hurt worse if he did it after there was sex.
Tony rolled onto his side, not away from Tim but toward.  He used his hand on Tim’s chest to grip his t-shirt and try to pull him down.  Reluctantly, Tim obliged.  “No kissing,” he warned, setting his head gingerly on Tony’s former pillow. 
“No kissing,” Tony agreed.  He slid his hand up Tim’s chest and the pads of four warm fingers pressed a line against the back Tim’s neck, pinkie resting on the knob of his spine. 
“Tony,” Tim protested. 
Tony leaned their foreheads together and that was too much.  Tony’s breath smelled of cheap toothpaste overlaying strong coffee and Tim shivered and wanted and didn’t let himself take.
“I’m not kissing you,” Tony said.  He wiggled around to free the arm he’d been lying on and used the fingers of that hand to stroke Tim’s bottom lip.  This was some kind of hell, Tim was pretty sure.  A hell where he was offered everything he wanted but knew he wasn’t going to be allowed to kiss it.  Keep it.  He’d meant keep it.  Stupid flustered brain voice.  “Why aren’t I kissing you, again?”
“Because you don’t mean it,” Tim told him.  It was impossible not to let his tongue brush the pads of Tony’s fingers a time or two.
“Huh,” Tony said and then he was drawing back.  Tim knew he should have been relieved by the space, but he missed Tony’s solid body heat immediately.  He sucked; he was truly pathetic.  “You know, I’m pretty certain I do mean it.”
“You don’t,” Tim told him firmly.
“Seriously, McGee?” Tony asked.  He sounded affronted.  Only Tony would sound something like ‘affronted’; most people settled for ‘offended’. “Which one of us is most likely to know what I mean?”
Me, Tim thought but didn’t say.  Because Tony was a good guy, he was, and Tim knew he thought he meant it now, but when they got back to Washington, he’d forget that he’d thought he’d meant it and he’d break Tim’s stupid heart all over again.  Actually, maybe that was exactly what Tim should say.  Minus the stuff about his heart, of course. So he did.
“Huh,” Tony said, definitely drawing away now.  He wasn’t touching Tim anywhere and Tim hated that he minded.  “Thank you for enlightening me to me asshole-like tendencies.  I had no idea.”
“Tony,” Tim protested.  “I didn’t say-.”
Tony rolled onto his back and sighed.  “For the record, McGee.  Timothy McGee. Oh Probie-Wan who doesn’t trust me.  I do mean it.  I’ve always meant it.  Maybe my way of meaning it is different from yours and maybe I can mean it with you and still look like I'm paying attention to other people but that doesn’t make it any less… meant.”
Tim felt kind of lost.  And the words ‘mean’ and ‘it’ had lost all meaning.  “Are we still talking about kissing?  What are we talking about?”
“We’re talking about me and my massive crush on you which you stomped all over,” Tony snapped and wait, what, no.  That was the wrong way around.
“No,” Tim said, “It’s my crush.  You did the stomping.”
Tony waved his arms around.  “I did not!  You ended things with me.”
“Because you kept flirting with other people and-.  Oh.” 
“Exactly.” Tony sounded smug.  A little breathless and a little embarrassed – which was exactly how a person should sound when they’d just been unexpectedly really honest – but mostly smug.  “Flirting with other people does not equal sleeping with other people and it definitely doesn't equal no longer wanting to... You know. Hang out with you.  It’s me.  I’m not going to change me.  Hell, you like me.  At least, I thought you did?”
“I do,” Tim said quickly.  “I do.  You know I do.”  They weren’t talking about ‘like’ in the middle school way now, they were talking about ‘like’ as in team as in friends as in family because that was always going to be the most important thing for Tony. 
“Try me,” Tony said.  He sounded intense.  “When we get back to DC, let’s try again and you can see that I mean it.”
Tim found himself nodding, which was stupid, because it was dark and Tony probably couldn’t see, and stupid because he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, for aforementioned heart-stompy reasons.  “Okay,” he said.
Tony whooped and flopped back down to face Tim.  “Do I get to kiss you now?” he asked, moving in.
Tim spread his hand across Tony’s chest and held him back.  Tony’s chest felt nice against Tim’s palm and Tim let himself stroke it a little.  Tony purred.  “When we get home,” Tim said.
Tony puffed out his chest, just a little, just enough that Tim could feel the muscles expand between his fingers.  “McGee,” he said, “Tim.  When I get you home, I’m going to want to blow you not kiss you.”
Tim felt his face go hot.  “Since when were those two things mutually exclusive?” he asked, and “All right!” Tony said, laughing. 
Tim kicked him a little, just gently.  “Go to sleep now,” he said, “It’s late.” 
“Hmm,” Tony agreed.  He shifted closer.  “I’m not kissing you,” he pointed out and put his head on the pillow by Tim’s shoulder.
“Tony, this is the gross pillow you didn’t want to sleep on, remember?” Tim asked, nevertheless rearranging himself so that Tony could share the pillow if he wanted.
“Mm,” Tony hummed.  He waited until Tim had settled down on his back then put his head on Tim’s chest instead.  “I was just waiting.”
Tim laughed helplessly.  “I really should have known,” he said.  His only answer was a soft, contented hum.

Tags: cliche, mcgee/dinozzo, ncis, pg-13, prompts
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