by Nix
(crimsonquills AT gmail DOT com)

This was ridiculous. Ridiculous and embarrassing and juvenile. You were supposed to sort this kind of thing out in your twenties. Who had a...a...a fucking sexual identity crisis at 51?

God, Gibbs hated that phrase. Sexual identity. As if who you went to bed with could have any real effect on who you were. Except apparently that careless self-assurance was a conceit of the unquestioning heterosexual, because Gibbs couldn't just shrug off the thoughts he was having now.

He didn't even know when it started. He sure as hell hadn't looked at DiNozzo when he hired him and thought, "Hey, it'd be nice to heat up the sheets with this guy." No, his opinion at the time had been something more along the lines of, "If I can just get him to stop goofing off, he could be a top agent."

Nor had it hit Gibbs at some dramatic moment, like the first time he saw DiNozzo naked, which happened pretty often around the showers, or the first time he almost got himself killed, which also happened with regrettable frequency. No, he just looked up one day and saw DiNozzo smiling and caught himself watching a little longer than he normally would have. Gibbs had dropped his eyes at once, but he already knew it wasn't the first time he'd done that.

He became hyperaware of the way he looked at DiNozzo...and of the way DiNozzo looked. His bright grin, his shoulders, the skin at the small of his back, the way his hands wrapped around his weapon, his hips, the line of his neck... Hell, Gibbs caught himself checking out the man's ass.

When had he started checking out other men's asses? Okay, so he'd noticed, once or twice, but it was just aesthetic appreciation, right? A couple of times he'd looked at a guy and thought, "Sure, I can see why she'd want to bang him," but that didn't make him gay. Fuck, three wives said he wasn't gay. Which didn't meant he couldn't like men, a little voice in the back of his head reminded him. You didn't hang out with Abby for long before your education in the "vast sexual spectrum" began, and Gibbs had known Abby for years.

Bisexual was the word, apparently. Bisexual. Shit.

Having a word for it didn't make it any easier when he jerked off in the shower at night and caught himself thinking about DiNozzo. About Tony. About what it would be like to have him there, water running down his body, his hair plastered dark and wet against his skull, his lips parted for Gibbs's cock, his tongue soft and wet on the head. Would he close his eyes, eyelashes spiky with water, as he swallowed Gibbs down? He imagined what it would be like to have broad, blunt-nailed hands gripping his hips. He fantasized about feeling a rough hint of stubble against his thighs when Tony got down that far, because in Gibbs's fantasies Tony could take him that deep, could just open up and take everything.

It was his favorite fantasy. God, when had he developed a favorite fantasy about the man?

Gibbs tried not to think about it, except when he had to, but the knowledge would catch him at odd moments. He wanted DiNozzo. Wanted him more than he'd ever wanted anyone before, and he knew that because he would not have chosen to put himself through this...this reorganization of how he thought about everything, from how he got dressed in the morning to the dreams he had at night.

How had DiNozzo managed to undermine Gibbs's own blissful ignorance? He wasn't exactly the subtle type. Sneaking was not DiNozzo's strong point. But he'd wormed his way into Gibbs's thoughts and made him acknowledge things he'd been quite happy ignoring.

And what was he supposed to do now that he knew? Gibbs wondered. Keep ignoring Tony? How the hell was he supposed to do that, when he saw the man damn near every day, when he worked closely with him for hours at a time, when they sat stakeouts together, when they showered together?

Almost involuntarily, Gibbs looked up across the office and caught Tony looking back at him. Their eyes met and Gibbs couldn't help the thought that ran through his head: I want you. He thought he'd covered it. He was good at that, and Tony looked puzzled. But then a spark of recognition lit in Tony's eyes and the corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin and something changed in the way he sat or the way his eyes twinkled or the lift of his eyebrows or something and Gibbs felt an answering surge of knowledge.

He broke their gaze and looked back at the computer, but for once, just for the moment, Gibbs couldn't focus on work.