Fic: NCIS, Tim and Tony at the Roundup, slashy fun, DiNozzo/Mcgee

[rispacooper]

Tim and Tony at the Roundup

A playful snippet of a present for adnamamai who didn’t ask for an Xmas prezzie, but who I know has been dying for more NCIS fic. This is the best I can do. Merry Xmas!

(This is kind of fun, but I don't know how long my story a week rate can keep going...Whew!)

Tim and Tony at the Roundup
For: NCIS
Summary: Undercover to apprehend a suspect.
Warnings: None really. No spoilers either. Takes place fairly early in the series.
Rating: Maybe PG.
AN: I have no idea about DiNozzo and a dog, but it seemed to fit. And The Roundup is an actual bar, just not in any area around DC. Oh, Cher…






“I don’t think Graham is going to show up, Tony.”

McGee comes through the tiny speaker in Tony’s ear, strained and quiet. The Probie is trying to sound as cool and calm as Sam Spade in a dark alley, but the state-of-the-art tech and Tony’s gut understanding of the delicate and sensitive nature of the Probie allow him to see—or hear—past any façades.

He takes a small sip of his beer and glances around the corner.

Out of the whole bar, McGee had chosen to stand in the hallway by the bathrooms. Not in any of the nicer rooms, not at the bar itself, oh no, not the Probie.

The Roundup consists of three rooms not including the storage room behind the bar and the restrooms. The first is the largest, the big room facing the street, with a long mirrored bar directly across from the entrance. It was the most crowded, where newcomers lingered and waited to head over to the second room, which was the kind of dark, intimate place with soft couches where people went to get to know each other better away from the noise of the bar. The last room was the back room—ostensibly for billiards, though Tony wasn’t getting a “poolhall junkies” vibe from any of the guys heading back there.

And where was McGee? Standing at attention in the hallway that connected all three rooms, like he was guarding the Queen and not outside the men’s room. If he radiated any more tension, he’d be vibrating like a tuning fork. Someone ought to do him a favor and get him to relax. Tony leans into the wall, keeping his gaze mostly on the bar’s front door and speaks without moving his mouth.

“Shut up, Probie, and keep your eyes open.”

At his words, McGeek puts a hand up to his ear, then remembers his training and drops it. He wraps it around the beer he left in a crook of the wall and taps his fingers across the label.

Tony pretends to sip his beer, keeping one eye on the entrance and the other on the Probie.

Three times McGeek has to step back to allow people into the restrooms, and while there are hours of entertainment to be found in every frustrated apology on his baby face, he’s going to become known as the creepy guy by the bathroom and get himself kicked out if he doesn’t move soon.

“Alright, I give. Why won’t our guy show up?” The music is loud, but evidently not loud enough. He must still be audible to those around him. Tony smiles at the very large blonde man now staring at him and then turns away. The guy takes the hint and leaves. McGee sighs, oblivious, though he’s stopped some of his twitching.

“You know what, Tony? Never mind.”

“No really, Probie, I’m listening.” So are Gibbs and Kate on the perimeter. Or at least, they will be the moment Graham is in sight.

McGee just sighs again, the sound of his irritation not strained at all, and Tony feels his eyebrows go up and his smile grow just a little bit wider.

Sometimes he honestly loves the Probie.

McGee doesn’t believe him, judging from his silence, what kind of partners can they be without trust?

Abandoning his beer, Tony slips around the corner to be on the edge of the hallway. He can still see the door, if Gibbs asks.

It’s hot in such a cramped space, lots of bodies coming and going. Tony pops another button on his shirt and leans against the wall, sliding up against the Probie’s back as he does.

“So why won’t Graham come here?” he whispers into McGee’s ear and leans artfully away as McGee jumps around and –almost—puts a hand on his weapon.

“Damn it, Tony,” he breathes out after a moment and Tony grins even wider.

McGee dressed up for the occasion, in a black collared shirt that Abby or Kate must have picked out, because Tony sees no sign of a pocket protector. The black looks surprisingly good with his skin tone—not as good as Tony’s choice in red looks against his skin tone—but still good.

Slick his light hair back into something a little more dark and dangerous than his usual Boy Scout-do, pop a few buttons to show some skin, and McGeek was almost presentable.

Judging from how popular the hallway had gotten, maybe some others here were starting to see that too. Tony angles his head up, still grinning, but offering everyone else a nice view of his teeth until they back off.

McGee just glares at him, some color along his cheekbones.

“Well? I’m waiting, Probie. The matchbook in Graham’s apartment, the fact that his apartment is two minutes away, the fact that there’s a charge from here on his credit card, those things all suggest Graham frequents this place.”

“A charge for less then fifteen dollars. That suggests one drink, maybe two.” McGee gets very intense when he argues for something. He even forgets all that McGeekiness and raises his voice.

Luckily, the music is still loud and Tony is still leaning in to be close to McGee.

“Maybe he stops by sometimes because it’s a local bar,” McGee goes on with this funny little line between his eyes, which were strangely round for a while there—until Tony had pissed him off. Tony frowns sympathetically in return, which McGee doesn’t buy for a second, so he sighs and glances at the entrance—then directs a harder frown at the guy who stops next to them with his eyes on McGee.

A few seconds of a nice Gibbs-inspired Death Glare and the guy puts his hands up and moves on, and Tony returns eighty percent of his attention back to McGee, who doesn’t seem to have noticed anything but the fact that Tony is there and needling him.

Tony practically hops back up into a standing position and waits for the rest of the argument that he knows will probably be completely reasonable and logical—not that he’s going to listen.

“And Graham had pictures of women up all over his apartment!” McGeek finishes on a high note, then stops a little too abruptly. Usually, this would mean some new tech solution had just occurred to him, or fired up his mega geek brain. But right now it just means Timmy is embarrassed.

Tony hadn’t really thought the pictures were that bad, but maybe the Probie blushes over any breasts that weren’t green and/or being fondled by James T. Kirk.

At that Tony stops with a nod for the master. Kirk. Great captain.

“And?” The little frown is back, and if McGee sticks out his plump lower lip any more, Tony’s going to call that look what it is—a pout.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Tony, this is a…” McGee looks over his shoulder and Tony lifts his eyebrows and holds his breath. McGee leans in. “…A gay bar.” The whisper trickles down past Tony’s collar before McGee pulls back, and by then Tony is looking around seriously at anyone and anything that’s not McGee.

“Really, Probie?” he wonders finally, shaking his head in confusion. “Because I’ve been here an hour and I haven’t seen one Cher impersonator.”

McGee’s pout morphs into a scowl, just like that, and, as usual, Tony can’t stop smiling the moment that happens. As usual, McGee takes that as an insult and the more he frowns, the more Tony grins.

“I’m serious, Tony.” As though the little line between his eyebrows weren’t funny enough, McGee decides to keep going and prove he’s right and it’s a gay bar as though that weren’t obvious. He holds up his fingers and waves them in Tony’s face. “Four men have already asked me to go to the back room with them.”

Tony’s smile freezes in place. When he breathes in, his throat tightens and he has to cough before he chokes.

A few moments later he tears his gaze away from the bright, confused splash of pink across McGee’s face, and yes, the slightly smug smile, and looks down at himself.

He’d only gotten one offer so far.

Doesn’t mean anything, he thinks immediately and clears his throat one more time for good measure. He can shake it off, he has a healthy ego, no matter what Kate says. McGee is a reasonably attractive man, in his black shirt with his clear skin and his pouting mouth, and…so…it doesn’t mean anything.

“So what, Probie? Plenty of people like peanut butter and jelly.” If possible, McGee scowls at him even more; really, how people could choose a frowning, geeky, big blue-eyed mess like the Probie over Anthony DiNozzo was a mystery. Must be the lighting in here.

“But there’s no evidence that he likes jelly…or peanut butter…or whichever one of those ridiculous choices equals men to you, Tony.”

“Peanut butter is obviously more masculine, Probie.” Tony shakes his head to emphasize just how sad it is that McGee doesn’t see this fact. Then he takes another look at the door, and sees McGee copy his move when looks back, like he’s finally remembering that they’re working here and Tony doesn’t spend his time bickering with McGee just for the fun of it. Honestly. It’s like Tony is the only one who can stay professional here.

They stare at the door for a while…well…McGee stares at the door, stern and serious and unhappy, judging from that little line. Tony glances once or twice at McGee and then scratches his nose.

“Maybe Graham doesn’t,” he admits at last because McGee hasn’t learned to look deeper yet and probably still doesn’t get it. McGee’s eyebrows go way up, but he keeps his eyes on the entrance, like a good little agent. “Maybe his contact does.” McGee is openly surprised now, as though he hadn’t expected Tony to be so rational and agree with him.

Tony works his jaw, considering that, then pauses for a heartbeat and drops his head. When he speaks, he keeps his voice low.

“Or maybe the pictures are a cover for a nervous gay Navy lieutenant who doesn’t want to get discharged. Maybe if you’d looked closer, you’d have seen that most of those pictures looked untouched.” McGeek gives a little start and Tony enjoys the reminder that McGee’s not always a genius, even if this also means McGee is both surprised that Tony isn’t an idiot, and that he isn’t homophobic. Maybe this will teach him to look beneath the surface. Anthony DiNozzo is more than just an incredibly handsome face and a hot body and it’s about time the Probie knows it.

Tony bends down a little more and flicks a hand up to turn off his earpiece. His lips are practically against the shell of McGee’s ear when he speaks again.

“Maybe, McGee, the women are just an act to keep anyone from discovering the real man underneath.”

McGee’s transmitter is in his other ear, all anyone listening would hear would be the sudden sound of McGee choking on his own breath.

He has, Tony notices, backed up a step. If he hadn’t bumped into someone else, he might have backed up even more.

Tony straightens up too. His neck feels stiff, so he cracks it. Then he rolls his shoulders and directs his eyes at the front door.

“Maybe his contact isn’t really a contact, but a date, and we’re wasting our time with this lead. But it’s still a lead and we’re following it, Probie, like it or not.”

Still no sign of Graham. Tony turns his transmitter back on. No word from Gibbs. Or Kate. He pushes out a breath and McGee gulps loudly next to him. Tony looks back at him.

“Of course. I didn’t mean anything by…” McGee’s like a little puppy. It’s like he knows somehow that Tony was never allowed to have a dog.

“I know you didn’t, Probie,” Tony cuts him off, and for once, McGee lets him. Which means he’s upset. Sometimes the Probie is as sensitive as a girl—a girl who isn’t Kate, or Abby, or his mother, or Paula, or any woman he’s ever met actually. Weird. But back to the situation at hand. He just has to remember that McGee is only what? Twenty-six? And barely a field agent. He’s young, inexperienced…a puppy. “Once you’ve been in the field more, McGeek, I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in places like this.”

“As comfortable as you are?” The question is quiet, too quiet for Tony to guess at the Probie’s expression. He tries another look over. McGee directs a look back at him, strangely serious. “I saw you get some attention earlier…”

Tony grins automatically and lifts his chin.

“The DiNozzo charm,” he announces with a small stretch of his arms, then pauses when he sees the way McGee is regarding him. “What? Stop it.” It’s making his neck itch, getting stared at like that, all…looking under the surface…y. Not nearly as cool as he’d thought it would be, with McGee being so smart and knowing about it.

Tony flinches and Tim’s eyebrows go back up. He faces the entrance again and shrugs. A perfect DiNozzo shrug. He keeps his gaze on the door, but there’s a small smile on his face that Tony’s never seen before.

“Wait,” Tony ignores the door for the moment to try to pin McGee with a hard stare. “You think…You think I’m… No.”

“It’s okay, Tony. It’s really okay.” McGee still isn’t looking at him. And he’s still smiling that damn smile.

Tony puts a hand on McGee’s shoulder and lightly shoves him back. Back into the hallway, back against the wall. The fact that McGee only keeps on smiling just makes it worse. Tony feels this line form between his eyes.

He turns his glower on the guy who looks like he might object on the Probie’s behalf until the guy is gone, then he presses McGeek to the wall and gives him his best glare. McGee just stares back, red in the face and smug and even when he’s not pouting, he can’t help jutting out his chin, lifting his mouth, his smug, smiling, pink, pouting mouth.

“Fine,” Tony agrees out of nowhere, dropping his angry stance. McGee blinks, suddenly wary. He looks even more concerned when Tony turns off his earpiece again and loses his frown. “You’re right, Probie. Absolutely right.”

“I am?” McGee’s voice is rising again, though he doesn’t look angry. Surprised maybe. Puzzled, like someone in the playpen took his Speak ‘N Spell and he can’t figure out why. He just gets more confused as Tony leans in and props both hands on the wall on either side of him, keeping McGee trapped with him, in his space. McGee’s eyes fly around, to the door, to Tony’s face, to the inches of exposed skin at Tony’s throat, back to the door, back to Tony’s face.

It’s hot, the moving crowd pressing them closer in waves, leaving McGee off guard with nothing to hold on to but Tony, and he’s not going to do that. His breathing picks up, something that he’s trying to fight, and damn if that doesn’t make Tony want to smile again. He controls the urge for the sake of the moment, dips his eyes once or twice instead, letting them get heavy.

McGee’s mouth falls open and Tony lets his eyes obviously fall to the shining, wet pink lower lip, flicks his gaze up once, watching McGee’s eyes go wide and innocent. Blue. Beautiful.

“You know me too well…” Tony brings his head closer, his mouth hovering...holding…over McGee’s. “…Tim.” He’s so close he can feel the feather-soft exclamation locked in McGee’s throat.

His mouth feels dry, his lips hot when Tim breathes out.

McGee makes that soft noise again, choked, dry, like all he wants is to dart out his tongue and wet that tempting bottom lip again, like all he wants is for Tony to do it for him.

Something locks tight in Tony’s chest, the heat of the room, the space between them, the bright, stunned spark in McGee’s eyes. It should be too much, he needs air, but his feet aren’t moving.

He breathes out, startled, and McGee blinks.

Tony pulls back, breathing in, switching on his earpiece, his smile.

“Almost got you there, Probie,” he crows, his voice not quite breaking. He directs his body at the door and narrows his eyes. Federal Agent Anthony DiNozzo. That’s who he is. Anthony DiNozzo, Heartbreaker.

McGee coughs. He’s scowling again, Tony knows it without looking. Probably got his lower lip out and everything.

It’s…it’s very hot in here.

Because the place is crowded with bodies. It’s peak time for meetings and hook ups, fast, rough sex in the backroom or in the parking lot next to his car, hands working apart suit buttons, trying to be quick, because he’s close to coming just from that first look from across the bar.

If that’s what Graham is interested in, that is. Graham. The guy they’re waiting for. If he doesn’t show up soon, it’s not likely he will. Tony cracks his neck again.

“Very funny, Tony,” McGee says at last. Tony jerks into motion, waving his hands around in nice, big, distracting Italian gestures.

“More than you deserved, Probie, thinking I was…” There’s that knot in his chest again. “Well, anyway, now when you get your next invite to the back room, you can…”

“You two done?” Gibb’s voice is sharp, earpiece or no earpiece. Tony straightens and looks over his shoulder, just in case, and catches McGee doing the same. He clears his throat.

“Yeah, Boss. Any sign of Graham?”

“No…” Not a good tone. “I’m just tying up communications to mess with you.” Ouch. They’re both wincing with the sting of that one. A Gibbs slap without Gibbs even in the room with them. “Of course he’s here, DiNozzo. Now you two go get him, and—discreetly—direct him back out to us. Think you can manage that, Tony?”

“Yes, Boss.” There’s really no point in saying anything else when Gibbs levels that much sarcasm at him. Tony jerks his head at McGee, who puts on his game face and nods.

“Because I happen to think you’re both right, and Graham isn’t really involved.” And there goes the faint hope he’d once held that Gibbs hadn’t heard any of his…conversation with the Probie. He can’t inhale. Not breathing, that’s going to be a problem if he ever wants to run his own op. Not that that will matter when Gibbs kills him.

“And we don’t need this kid’s career ruined over this, do we?” Gibbs drives home his point, only he gives this little sigh of exasperation at the end that makes McGee freeze. Tony swallows. Suddenly he can breathe again even if his voice sounds like it’s being pushed through a coffee press.

“Discreet, Boss, got it.” He nods too, because somehow Gibbs will know if he doesn’t. He does not look over at McGee as McGee takes his place at his side.

“Now get back to work,” Gibbs barks and his earpiece goes silent again.

Tony lifts his head and spots Graham instantly, vying for a place at the bar. He coughs. Of course. He would have spotted him in a second.

“Come on, Probie,” he says, and re-buttons his collar. “I’ll show you how to work discreetly.”

“You wouldn’t know discreet if it put on a wig and sang, ‘I Got You Babe’,” McGee snaps at his back and Tony flashes him a grin as they glide together through the press of people. Tony opens his mouth to remind McGee of what he needs to do, but at his look McGee moves away to come up on Graham from his left.

Another few ops working with Tony, and the kid would be a real field agent in no time at all.

“Always preferred ‘If I Could Turn Back Time’ myself,” Tony whispers, and when the Probie scowls at him, shares his sudden smile with Graham as he comes up beside him.

“Why’s that, Tony, all the men in uniform from the video?” McGee tosses back quietly a second later, looking far, far too pleased with himself. Tony narrows his eyes for a moment and then gives the Probie a look designed to put the fear of DiNozzo into his baby face. Or something, because McGee blinks, his eyes wide.

“My friend and I would like to buy you a drink,” Tony murmurs against Graham’s ear, still eying the Probie, his voice hot and suggestive against Graham’s rough cheek. Graham looks up, startled, and then back down when Tony holds his badge down low for only Graham to see.

There are hours of entertainment in the way McGee squawks when Tony’s words sink in, and the way he glares between Tony and Graham after that, like Tony is going to try a three-way right now. Honestly, that comes later. McGee ought to know that.

Tony smiles again, so friendly that some of the fear leaves the Lieutenant’s face. He gets up at Tony’s urging, pale and unsteady, and Tony swings an arm around his shoulders, keeping it there as they move toward the door. Just two guys, heading out into the parking lot for…whatever.

Totally discreet. Take that, Probie.

He catches a glimpse of McGee, frowning in confusion again as he realizes that there’s more to Anthony DiNozzo than meets the eye. But even with the little line wrinkling his forehead, Tim takes his position one Graham’s other side and turns his fierce look on anyone getting in their way.

Comments

[rispacooper.livejournal.com]

Slutty, slutty cheese

[dlasta.livejournal.com]

That should be on t-shirts everywhere.