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There were a lot of things Tony couldn't do with Gibbs. They couldn't hold hands when they went on a date. They couldn't even call it a date. They couldn't hover over each other too much when the other was hurt or sick. They couldn't take days off for each other's birthdays, or kiss anywhere anyone could see. Tony couldn't tell his friends when their first anniversary came around, or their second, or their third. They couldn't live together or go on vacation together. They couldn't go dancing together.
Tony loved dancing. He loved all kinds of dancing. Slow dancing, your body plastered to your partner's, hips swaying together, arms wound around each other's bodies. Fast dancing, the sweat running down his neck and plastering his hair down, not so much dancing with someone as dancing for them. Dirty dancing, grinding up against his partner and feeling her heat or his hardness, all but rubbing himself off against them, looking into eyes gone wide and dark with hunger and leaning in for kisses, practically fucking in public. He even knew a few ballroom dances. Mostly Latin ones: the Cha-Cha and the Samba, a little Rumba, and even a little Jive. He could Tango, too. Those skills had been getting a lot of practice for the last few years. Maybe they shouldn't have, maybe he shouldn't have been out with anyone but Gibbs, but that was another thing they couldn't do. Be exclusive. Well, not obviously, anyway. Gibbs was the only one in his bed and that would have to do. But Tony still had to date. It would seem too strange if he stopped. Sudden changes in behavior like that brought too much attention. Going dancing was a good way to date, be seen to be dating, and not get in the sticky situation of having some girl trying to entice him into her apartment--or getting bitchy when he turned her down and spreading rumors he didn't need. There were so many more women than men that were into dancing just for the sake of dancing that finding a partner was a piece of cake. He even had a few regular partners, women who weren't the slightest bit interested in having him any other place than on the dance floor. Sometimes Gibbs would show up in the clubs--always the ballroom ones, not the ones with the pounding music and the twenty-somethings on the dance floor--and watch him. They never arranged it. Tony never knew when he'd look over his shoulder and find his lover there, but he loved it. Loved showing off for Gibbs. Loved pretending he was there with Gibbs. Gibbs himself never danced, though. He'd been asked, but he always turned down the hopeful partners. Tony wondered if he could. On the one hand it didn't seem like a hobby the ex-marine would be interested in. On the other hand, he'd been married three times and he was a little old-fashioned and dancing was a good way to court a woman. What would Gibbs be like on the dance floor? Stiff and awkward, a marine on guard in unfamiliar territory? Tony imagined himself in Gibbs's arms, laughing and rubbing at the tense muscles and teasing Gibbs until he relaxed and just let himself move and touch. Teaching Gibbs. Now that would be a fun role reversal. Worth having his feet stepped on and hearing Gibbs curse his mistakes. Worth having Gibbs in his arms and knowing he'd never moved quite like that with anyone before. But maybe he already knew. Maybe someone else had taught him and he'd surprise Tony, holding onto his body with a firm, steady grip and leading him into the steps with that smooth, certain confidence he seemed to bring to everything in his life. What would it be like to just let go and let Gibbs move him, to turn his body over to the man's guidance? Tony chuckled to himself. The same as it was every day, he'd bet, only this time he'd get to feel it through touches gentler than a smack upside the head and more commanding than his caresses. Well. Most of his caresses. On the other hand, maybe Gibbs wouldn't be interested in the ballroom kind of dances at all. Maybe he didn't come to the loud, weirdly lit clubs with pounding baselines and grinding couples because he didn't want to watch Tony gyrate in tune to someone else--even if there was no intent to it--and not because he hated the music and the style. Maybe if it was him and Tony, he'd grab onto Tony's hips and pull them up against his own and lean in for a kiss while the music pounded through their bodies. Maybe the sweat would make their skin slick and Gibbs would slide his hand up under Tony's shirt and palm the flexing muscles. Maybe he'd grin into Tony's neck when Tony put his own hand down Gibbs's pants and gave that ass of his a good squeeze. They'd be the envy of the entire club, Tony would bet. He was pretty hot on his own: young and decently toned and alternately cute and hot, or so the girls told him. But with Gibbs? That lean body displayed to advantage, the silver hair, the way the man just dripped strength... A man like Gibbs holding onto Tony would light just about anybody's libido on fire. Tony almost wished he could step outside of himself just to see that. He could picture it, though, Gibbs all plastered up against Tony's body, that little smile on his face... A warm hand slid over Tony's hip and stroked across his belly, dragging him out of some very pleasant thoughts and into a very pleasant reality. Grinning to himself, Tony rolled over in bed to face Gibbs, letting Gibbs's hand slid over his skin until his fingers rested lightly at the top of Tony's cleft. "Good morning," Tony said, settling his head next to Gibbs's on the pillow. "How did you manage to wake up before me?" Gibbs asked, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. He looked wonderfully rumpled, his hair ruffled and his eyes droopy and slow. "I think I wore you out pretty well," Tony murmured. He wriggled his body closer to Gibbs's and draped an arm over his side, hand curving up to trace his shoulder blades. Gibbs snorted and palmed Tony's ass, patting it fondly after a moment. "I think I wore you out right back." "Better recovery time." "More stamina," Gibbs argued. Tony grinned. "Will you put up with my morning breath if I kiss you?" "Kiss me and find out." Tony snickered and lifted his head just enough to bring his lips over to Gibbs's. He made the kiss long and slow, sliding his tongue into Gibbs's mouth and exploring at his leisure, sucking a little and getting Gibbs's tongue back, hot and wet. Gibbs's hands were moving over his body, long strokes, just like he knew Tony liked it. He teased Tony about that, about being petted, but he always did it and it always made Tony go boneless in his arms. The kiss ended eventually and Gibbs chuckled, but he didn't say anything this time, he just kept petting. Tony murmured in pleasure, his eyes drooping shut, letting himself arch into the touch of Gibbs's hands. A knee prodded at Tony's thighs and he parted them, letting Gibbs shift them until his stiff cock was riding up against Gibbs's thigh and Gibbs's cock was firmly pressed up against his. "You are so beautiful like this," Gibbs said softly, almost as if he wasn't talking to Tony at all, just like he had to say it. "Warm and relaxed and responsive in my arms." He stroked the nape of Tony's neck lightly and Tony arched back into it, exposing his throat. Gibbs took advantage, kissing the smooth column, dragged his teeth and tongue over the taut skin. Tony drank it all in, the movement of Gibbs's body against his, the slowly building rhythm and tension, the music of their breathing growing choked with eagerness. He moaned and Gibbs whispered encouragement back and it was a whole new melody. They built to the crescendo together, bodies tightly wrapped around each other, skin to skin, with no beat but their own need dictating their steps. This was their dance, his and Gibbs's, and if he couldn't have all the pale imitations and all the trappings of a relationship, maybe it didn't matter. Gibbs had had the trappings and Tony had had the pale imitations and none of it had counted for anything in the end. Maybe all the things they couldn't have only made them hold onto each other that much harder. |