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snowdarkred) wrote2009-10-12 06:07 pm
The Love of the Body of Man or Woman, Tony/Gibbs (Tony/Everyone)
Author:
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snowdarkred Word Count: 901
Rating/Warnings: R, for a bunch of vague sex. A. Bunch. Of. SEX. And minor swearing, but mainly sex.
Pairings: [deep breathe] Tony/Abby, Tony/McGee, Tony/Zi--you know what? I give up: Tony/Everyone, but especially Gibbs!
Author's Note: The title come's from Walt Whitman's poem "I Sing the Body Electric". It goes:"The love of the Body of man or woman balks account—the body itself balks account; That of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect." Um, yeah. *blushes* This fic? Yeah, this fic is dirty.
Summary: Tony was a sexual being. Hell, if he was given to poetic anecdotes, he'd even say that he'd sang the body electric every day of his life since he got his first hard on.
The Love of the Body of Man or Woman
Tony was a sexual being. Hell, if he was given to poetic anecdotes, he'd even say that he'd sang the body electric every day of his life since he got his first hard on. Bodies tangling in silk sheets, shuttering breaths breathed into soft skin, fingers trailing through sweaty hair, and he was in heaven. It didn't really matter to him who his bed partner was, just so long as they were able and willing. A horizontal tango at night, and the next day he showed up at work grinning and bubbling. He was a creature who got off on organisms themselves; he got turned on by not only his own pleasure but that of his partner's. Or partners'.
He fulfilled a lot of guy stereotypes and defied a lot of them to, but he knew which ones were which. He held no illusions about how he was perceived by others. They thought that his mind jumped to sex every six seconds. They were wrong.
It was every three seconds.
He couldn't help it, but he didn't really mind. His mind was a place of blurred images and vivid sounds, a mess of sexual situations. He loved it. The thoughts struck him constantly, and he was an expert at multitasking, so he never felt the need to feel guilty about it. He thought about what sex would be like with everyone that came within sixty-nine paces of him (and yes, he measured).
Since he spent most of his day at work, his coworkers were featured a lot.
He imagined placing hands on Abby's shoulders and pressing her down, following her down to the lab floor. Her spiky dog collar would scrape against the floor as their mouths fought to devour each other. Her black nails would scratch at his back through his shirt and he would gasp as she arched beneath him. She would probably want to be on top, so she would twist her hips to flip him over. He would hold steady, though, and he would brace himself against the floor as she snapped all the buttons on his shirt with her teeth.
Her schoolgirl skirt would bunch around her jutting hips, leaving him free to trace the tiny broken heart tattooed on the inside of her upper thigh. Her very upper thigh.
His mind swirled, and he could see himself stopping by McGee's desk one night as they worked a hot case and dragging him to the abandoned break room. There was a blind spot in the security video in between two of the cheep government chairs. He could lean into the other agent, run his hands down the front of his no-nonsense shirt and unstuck it gently. McGee would stutter that they were at work, they were in a government building, they shouldn't do this here. Someone could catch them.
“Relax, Probie,” he would whisper in McGee's ear. Tony knew that after this, McGee would never be able to hear that nickname without getting hard. “I got this.”
McGee would shiver and then lean towards him and plant a messy kiss on his jaw, just below his lips. The tables would shake with their frantic thrusts, and it would be so much the sweeter for extra spice of possible discovery.
Other possibilities crowded his mind, faces blurring together into a mesh of feelings and voices, touches that could never happen and looks that did every day. He tasted them in his mind, savoring the flavors like a good Chardonnay.
Falling to his knees in the Director's office, the carpet rough against his bare skin, knowing that he would be feeling the pure tingle of rug burn by the time he was done.....
Bending backwards over his desk as Ziva shimmied up his body, her Mussad-trained body flexible and solid against his as they slowly rocked together....
His back pressing hard against the metal shelving in Autopsy, the sharp handles digging into his spine as Jimmy lapped his tongue in a trail from his navel down, showing that the blushing assistant wasn't as innocent as he rep would have everyone believe, especially since he knew how to do that thing with his tongue ....
Stopping Ducky mid-sentence with a soft kiss, his hands coming up to cup the old man's face, his fingers traveling slowly over the web of laugh lines....
The Director's secretary, the security guard by the side entrance, that chick from Human Resources, that other chick from Human Resources. The woman that worked at the coffeehouse just off the base, the Navy officers in their dashing uniforms, or hell, even Fornell sometimes. Some were fleeting, others long and drawn out, and still others were featured repeatedly, as reoccurring characters in his mental sexapades.
Each night he returned to his apartment horny as hell, ready to get it on as soon as someone with a pulse (and preferably not covered in blood, though Tony has been known to make exceptions) walked through the door.
Maybe that was why Gibbs made sure to trail his car as soon as they got off from work. He wanted to make sure that he got there first.
“Who was it today?”
“A little bit of everyone.”
“Was I there?"
“Why would I dream about you when I can have this?"
“Good point.”
“Shut up and fuck me, Boss.”
“Sir, yes sir.”
Um, a condom for your thoughts? (I can't believe I just went there. Oh god.)
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I'm actually studying in English. It's one of the reasons I chose to study in the Netherlands and not in Germany. Here, they offer courses in English. Wheee.
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But er, yay! Thank you! :D
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