Gigi Sinclair

Gibbs's fourth marriage sneaked up on him. He didn't even realize he was in it until he opened the drawer in his nightstand and, instead of pulling out one of eight pairs of identical, immaculately folded white underpants, he found a pair of black bikini briefs, with a cartoon Dalmatian on the front and the words "Doggy Style" on the back. He reached in again, and again, and the novelty underwear kept coming, like a magician's scarves. Red silk boxers, leopard-print briefs, what looked like a leather pouch with straps, a thong. And none of it belonged to Gibbs.

"DiNozzo!"

Tony appeared in an instant, in a neatly pressed shirt and relatively tame striped boxer shorts, a banana in hand. At least, Gibbs thought, he hadn't filled Gibbs's cupboards with those revolting toaster pastries. Yet.

"You OK, boss?" Tony looked a little bleary-eyed, which, Gibbs knew, was entirely his own fault. Gibbs had been more than ready to fall asleep as soon as they'd come in at midnight, but Tony had started with the eyes and the touching and the sticking of his tongue in Gibbs's ear, and it had been after two before they finally got to sleep.

"What the hell's this?" Gibbs held up the handful of assorted underwear.

Tony grinned. "I thought you'd like some of those. This one's my favourite." He took a pair of black boxers from Gibbs's hand and pointed out the side seam. "See, they've got Velcro right along here..."

"What are they doing in my drawer? I got you a drawer." As an emergency measure, after they'd been called in at four-thirty one morning to an urgent case, one that left no time for Tony to go home and change before coming into the office. He'd arrived a carefully orchestrated ten minutes after Gibbs, wearing the same clothes as the day before, over a pair of Gibbs's briefs. The first had earned Tony an expected ribbing from Kate, but the second had thrown off Gibbs's carefully planned undergarment rotation, and it had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. He could suck on Tony's cock, gladly, but apparently he couldn't share clothes with the man.

So, the very next Saturday, right after he did his laundry, Gibbs went to Pier One and bought a nearly-matching nightstand for the other side of his bed. When Tony had seen it, he'd got a sappy smile on his face that had nearly been enough for Gibbs to take it back, but Tony got over it quickly and, Gibbs had to admit, it had solved the underwear problem.

Until now.

"I know. I like my drawer," Tony said slowly, like Gibbs needed reassurance. "But it's too small."

"Too small? How many pairs of underwear do you need?"

Tony sat on the bed beside Gibbs. As the mattress shifted under him, Gibbs became acutely aware, for the first time since he'd found Tony's underwear in his drawer and been distracted by sheer irritation, that he was fresh from the shower, and wearing only a towel.

"I brought a selection over. I've been spending more time here than at home lately, and I never know what kind of mood I might be in..."

"Mood?" Gibbs had always known Tony was vastly different from him. The age gap, for one thing, was unavoidable, and it meant that he sometimes didn't have a clue what Tony---or Abby, or Kate, or McGee, for that matter---were talking about. This, though, was something else entirely. "Moods are for rings and women, DiNozzo, not goddamn underwear."

Tony blinked, then set his banana down on top of Gibbs's table. "Of course they are. See, these ones," he held up the silk boxers, "Are for when I know I'm going to have to run after some perp, and I'd better be comfortable. These ones," he took the thong, "Are for when I'm planning on having some fun."

Gibbs snorted. "I bet."

"And these ones," Tony held up the "Doggy Style" briefs, "I wear when I'm going to the gym with McGee and I know he's going to check out my ass in the changing room."

Gibbs shook his head. "It's ridiculous."

Tony shrugged. "Don't take it out on me just cause you're too scared to go for anything but tighty whities."

"Excuse me?"

"It takes a man with guts to pull these off," he waved "Doggy Style" at Gibbs. "Guts you don't have."

"Get out of here, DiNozzo." Gibbs frowned, grabbing his towel with one hand. "We're going to be late."

"Then let me give you a hand." Tony got off the bed and, before Gibbs could snap at him again, he was kneeling and running his hands up Gibbs's legs.

"DiNozzo..." Gibbs barked, but it didn't have as much bite to it as Gibbs would have liked. As both of Tony's hands found Gibbs's thighs, Gibbs shifted back on the mattress as his cock proved it was completely unconcerned with such trivial matters as getting to work on time.

Tony opened the towel like he was unwrapping a present, spreading it out on either side of Gibbs's legs. He leaned in and kissed Gibbs's stomach, just below the belly button, and Gibbs's hands went to Tony's shoulders, to push him away, of course. Only the message was lost somewhere between that action and Tony sliding his hands back down Gibbs's legs and picking up one foot.

Gibbs bit the inside of his cheek as Tony brought the foot to his lips, licking the arch delicately and sucking on a toe for a brief moment. Gibbs liked that more than he admitted, even to Tony. He'd never considered he might have some kind of foot fixation. Then again, there was a lot Gibbs had never considered, until he met Tony.

Gibbs looked down when he felt something else, apart from Tony, sliding up his leg. "Tony," he said, when he saw he was being dressed in the briefs.

"No one will know, Gibbs." He gave him that big, brilliant smile. "It'll be our little secret." Just one more, Gibbs thought. "And I'll do your laundry this week."

"You're terrible at doing laundry," Gibbs replied. He'd never known anyone who couldn't use dryer sheets without risking a house fire.

"Which is why I have so much underwear to begin with," Tony agreed easily. "OK, then, I'll model the Velcro boxers for you later."

"You'll do that anyway," Gibbs said, but he didn't move away as Tony slid the underwear onto his other leg and pulled them up, leaning up for a kiss when he'd finished.

"But," Tony said, as he rested his hands on Gibbs's thighs and stood up, "I'll let you rip them off."

***

Tim hated doing his physical training with Gibbs. It was bad enough doing it with Tony, or Kate, who'd nearly taken away all hope of a next generation of McGees last time they boxed. With Gibbs, it was even worse, because even though he was a good twenty years older than Tim, Gibbs was in much better shape. Much. And he wasn't shy about showing off, or about showing Tim up.

Since there was no one else there to give him strange looks or make accusations, Tim lingered in the changing room. Maybe, he thought wildly, Gibbs wouldn't show up, and he could just do his own workout in peace. Maybe, Tim thought, he could even talk to that cute agent from downstairs, the one who was always on the stair-climber. It wasn't like Abby was going to find out.

The thought had barely crossed Tim's mind when the changing room door swung open and Gibbs appeared, gym bag in hand, and snapped: "You still here?"

"Yes, ah, yes, sir."

"Well, get out there and start warming up. We don't have all day."

"No." Suppressing a sigh, Tim headed out, and immediately remembered his mouth guard. Which he was going to need if he was facing Gibbs. His parents had paid for his orthodontics, and had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was paying them back if anything happened to his teeth.

He turned around. Gibbs was changing into his sweatpants and, in the split-second before Tim could avert his eyes, he caught a glimpse of a cartoon Dalmatian on the front of Gibbs's briefs.

"Problem, McGee?" He asked. Tim forced himself to look Gibbs in the eye, the one beneath the skeptically raised eyebrow.

"No, boss," he replied, because, despite what Tony thought, Tim wasn't stupid. He got the mouth guard from his locker and went back out into the gym. Clearly, he thought, Tony and Gibbs still kept their underwear in that same filing cabinet drawer, like they were a couple or something. One more reason to dislike Tony, Tim guessed. Abby wouldn't even give him a drawer in her Queen Anne dresser.

Although she had told him he was welcome to borrow her thongs whenever he wanted.