On a side note, would anyone be interested in reading shifter fic for the new Star Trek movie? I'm trying to decide if I should give into that plot bunny (or is that a plot tribble?).
Title: A Quiet Evening at Home
Word Count: 548
Disclaimer: They're not mine, pretty as I find them. Go to the producers if you want to talk money.
Summary: AU but following canon events: Just a quiet evening at home.
Gibbs wasn't really surprised to get home and find Tony in his kitchen. The younger man had been shooting him odd looks off and on through the case and they had planned to spend the evening together before their Lieutenant Commander managed to get herself kidnapped.
What did surprise him was how good the kitchen smelled.
“Whatcha making?” Gibbs asked, leaning a shoulder on the door frame and sniffing deeply. He identified chicken, and tomatoes, and definitely garlic, but there were a number of other nuances on the air he wasn't as sure of.
“Chicken piccata,” Tony said, his back still to Gibbs as he leaned over the stove. He was still wearing his t-shirt and jeans left over from the football game he'd headed out to play this morning, and Gibbs let himself appreciate the way the jeans molded onto Tony's ass, something he hadn't let himself do in the office.
“Smells good,” Gibbs offered.
Tony turned and looked over his shoulder, smiling broadly. “Flatterer,” he said teasingly. “Now go get out of that monkey suit. Good as you look in it, I want to see your neck.”
Gibbs felt a hint of color reach his cheeks. In a shirt without a collar, the bruise Tony had left on Friday would be quite visible. Not that Gibbs was complaining. Not at all. He smirked at his mate and sauntered off to the bedroom to change, picking out a jeans and t-shirt combo that he usually wore in the basement. And, just to ensure he had Tony's attention, he didn't pull the shirt on until he was back in the kitchen with green eyes fixed on his neck.
“You're going to let that burn,” he teased when Tony showed no sign of turning back to his cooking after the shirt settled into place.
“My nose is better than that,” Tony said smugly but finally turned back to his cooking.
Gibbs watched contentedly from a seat at the table as his mate finished dinner. They ate take out a lot, whether together or apart, but sometimes, when there was time and energy, one of them would cook. It didn't happen often, but it always made Gibbs smile when it did. It was nice to see this kitchen alive and in use again.
“Ta da,” Tony said as he set the plates on the table with a flourish.
Before he could turn and take a seat, Gibbs caught Tony's hand and pulled him close. Standing, he pressed his nose into Tony's neck and took a deep breath, a move he had wanted to make since he got home. He nudged aside the shifter's shirt with his chin, exposing the bruise he had left on Friday, and laid a kiss over the hint of teeth marks that lingered.
Tony sucked in a deep breath at the touch and ran his hands down Gibbs' back. “Right back atcha, boss,” he whispered before pulling away. “Now eat, before all my hard work gets cold.”
Gibbs chuckled and sat, waiting until Tony sat himself before digging in. “You're right, too good to waste,” he said after the first bite, and from the twinkle in his green eyes, Tony knew just what he meant.