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Flannel Dreams

by: Matt51 (Send Feedback)

Series: - No Series - #1
Chapters: 001 Word Count: 6400
Rating: MATURE
Warning(s): Other (See Author's Note)
Character(s): Jethro Gibbs, Tony DiNozzo
Category(ies): Established Relationship, PWP
Pairing(s): Gibbs/DiNozzo
Summary: Sometimes secrets are better when they are shared.

Author Notes: Warnings: Language, discussion of masturbation, slight mention of 'Chained'.

Chapters: 1

Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement intended.



Flannel is a textile of unusual representation and personality. It’s a conundrum of cloth, a mystery of material, and a versatile, multitalented and slightly puzzling bit of fabric. Although originally a product of Wales, in modern North America, flannel is stereotypically thought to be the chosen outerwear of woodsmen, farmers, and grunge musicians…with the occasional bull dyke thrown in for good measure…but it also swathes infants and children in warm, soft, fluffy blankets and pajamas or soothes adults on cold, winter nights with sheets and gowns and light-weight, loose-fitting, comfortable sleep pants. It can silently proclaim it’s wearer to be a foul-mouthed, beer-guzzling, illiterate red-neck…or can, just as noiselessly, announce the presence of a closeted, indulgent, pleasure-seeking hedonist. It’s simple and straight-forward and one of the best inventions known to mankind.

Unlike it’s more sophisticated relatives of damask and velvet and silk, flannel knows no social boundaries and will comfortably take up position anywhere on the human body, from the most intimate of locations under outer garments, adding a layer of simple, soft warmth, to the most readily visible with the naked eye, flagrantly making a fashion statement or, in some instances, an anti-fashion declaration. From Kurt Cobain to George Lucas, from Snoop Dogg to Mick Foley, flannel can change a person’s perspective…of the wearer or the viewer…and is a fabric destined to hang silently in closets or lay sedately in drawers around the world, waiting patiently for use, for many, many years to come.

For Tony DiNozzo, flannel was nothing more than a mystery. Oh, he’d seen it on countless people all through his life, had even worn it once while undercover and chasing through the backwoods of Virginia with Jeffery White, stumbling and sweating and swearing he’d never, *ever* let it within fifteen feet of his body again but it had always been something of an anomaly to the young man, something to be viewed and inspected from a tactful distance…like an inflamed cold sore or a suspiciously oozing lesion on someone‘s naked ass. It drew his eye and was kind of fascinating…in a morbid type of way…but he had no desire to touch it or, God forbid, get it anywhere near his exposed skin.

DiNozzo shuddered and momentarily dragged his disbelieving eyes away from the semi-darkened area of the shadowed closet and sat cautiously on the end of the pristinely made queen-sized bed, carefully making sure not to disturb the precise drape of the navy comforter over the edge of the mattress and box springs. His gaze rose, once again, like a moth to a flame, examining the dark, blurred shapes suspended in a small, neat row from the extending rod in the louver-doored alcove. He swallowed thickly and had to look away, clasping his hands tightly together as they hung poised between his wide spread knees, wondering if he’d somehow, stepped into some sick, perverse, parallel universe.

Glancing quickly toward the large, polished oak dresser just to his left, he recognized the small, neat row of designer bottles which contained his preferred colognes and scents: the Acqua di Gio by Armani he used every day before heading out to work was right there, next to the Chanel’s Eqoiste Platinum and the almost-empty container of Dolce and Gabbana for Men. He blinked at their normal alignment and then immediately turned to look in the opposite direction, the en suite bathroom easily viewed from his current, seated position. Even with the light off, DiNozzo could tell he was in the correct place…and not visiting some bogus, analogous location.

The large mirror balanced over the wide sink reflected a modest amount of light and the green gaze took stock of the toothbrushes suspended from the holder mounted to the slick, clean, tile surface of the splashguard and the partially used tube of Colgate resting peacefully between them. The red and white, half-full cylinder was curled tightly at one end, the configuration vigilantly pushing the remaining paste toward the capped opening and perfectly readying it for the next use. Yep, that was all recognizable. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary there. DiNozzo huffed out a soft, swift breath, and allowed his gaze to roam the immediate area again.

On the floor, directly beside the cozy wing-backed chair he liked to sit in while reading or, in most instances, simply tying his shoes, was the pair of dark brown, Amedo Testoni loafers he’d slipped off before changing into the more casual clothes he now wore. He glanced down to his sock-clad feet and wiggled his toes against the pile of the carpet, purposely trying to avoid looking back toward the gaping closet once again. He failed.

‘Maybe I should just get up and investigate,’ he thought distractedly, squinting his eyes in an effort to view the suspicious items a bit more clearly without rising, but the thought of what he would most likely find contained within held him at bay and kept him securely seated on the end of the firm mattress. He warily eyed the belongings from the safety of his perch and sighed again. ‘Or maybe not.’

Flopping straight back, DiNozzo slipped his hands under his head and palmed the back of his skull, distractedly studying the shifting patterns on the textured ceiling overhead and watching the diffused light play and dance across the minute rises and valleys of the stiffened, swirling compound. It was peaceful here in the bedroom, especially with the windows mostly closed against the rapidly dropping temperatures outside, and the warmth of the comforter against his back slowly began to soak away the stress and tension of another long, tiring day on the job. He sighed again, with a bit more bliss, releasing his anxiety, and closed his eyes, content to rest serenely and just ignore the strange appearance of the unordinary apparel within the space of the neatly arranged closet. The silence of the room quickly pulled him toward sleep…

Jethro Gibbs quietly approached the threshold of the master bedroom as he searched for his missing companion, pausing just outside the room in the wide, unlit hallway. There’d been no sound from this area of the house for well over an hour and Gibbs had begun to believe his tired senior field agent had decided to call it an early night without informing him of the plan. Granted, the older man had retired to the sanctity of his basement immediately after their shared meal had been completed and the meager dishes washed and put away for the evening but he’d actually expected DiNozzo to follow him down after a short while, just so they could spend a few more hours in quiet, easy conversation or in relaxed, peaceful silence. Either way, Gibbs had found it surprisingly nice just to have the company and realized he just plain missed having the younger man in his presence.

Hence, the silent search. He’d risen from the depths of the basement after waiting for the younger man‘s anticipated arrival, expecting to find DiNozzo sacked out across the length of the comfortable couch and focused on some old-time movie or inane sports program playing on the moderately priced, flat screen television he’d finally been persuaded to purchase. After hearing too many softly voiced complaints and hushed grumbles about out-dated, archaic, black and white technology in a too-cold, unpleasant, and fairly smelly environment, Gibbs had reluctantly relented, secretly concerned the other man would just simply choose to return to the familiar sanctity of his own apartment and forego their recently established routine of shared companionship. If he couldn’t have DiNozzo lounging around in his basement, he’d settle for having him in the living room…any day.

But DiNozzo hadn’t been in the living room…or the kitchen…or out on the spacious back deck admiring the stars and the brisk, evening air. Gibbs had scratched his head in puzzlement and then forced himself into stillness, letting his senses stretch out and listening for any sound, any indication of the other man’s position. The electric hum of the refrigerator from the direction of the kitchen had been tuned out, as had the soft tick-tick-ticking of the antique clock on the mantel in the small room he used as an office, but there was no discernible human sound to be heard within the confines of the house.

Gibbs had immediately put his feet into motion and headed himself toward the only other place he thought his companion might be. He’d had a brief moment of unease as he’d considered the possibility that DiNozzo had gotten frustrated with the older man’s usual, nightly routine and just packed it all in, going back to his own place for a night of solitude. But he’d quickly stifled that idea, knowing the younger man would have taken the time, at least, to bid him a goodnight and, maybe, offer some measure of physical affection. No, Gibbs had known DiNozzo was still somewhere in the house…and his path had taken him unerringly toward the master bedroom.

Not wishing to disturb the younger man’s rest, Gibbs stood at the open doorway and just looked his fill, leaning back against the jam and casually crossing his arms, admiring the long, lean body stretched out across the comforter near the bottom section of the bed. He smiled affectionately at DiNozzo’s relaxed, laid-back, peaceful position. He’d seen the other man fall asleep in some of the most unusual and ridiculous configurations during his time at NCIS, at the office and out in the field, but this wasn’t like that at all. No, he certainly looked comfortable enough, even with his legs bent at the knees and his shoeless feet still flat on the floor, and Gibbs almost decided not to bother him. Almost.

Pushing away from his position and silently traversing the short distance to his goal, Gibbs stealthily toed off his own shoes and slipped carefully in beside the snoozing man, making sure the dipping motion of the mattress was minimal. He stretched out fully on his side and propped his head up with a hand, taking the time to just study DiNozzo as best as he could in the growing darkness. This inspection wasn’t all that new for him, they’d seen each other plenty of times out in the blazing intensity of the mid-day sun and in the dim depths of dank, windowless cellars, but Gibbs had never really just taken the time to look…*really* look…at the younger man. Until now.

DiNozzo’s brown hair, recently highlighted by some over-zealous stylist who was trying to capture a new ‘look’, was mused and mangled into haphazard spikes around his head, a sure indicator he’d been rubbing or pushing his fingers carelessly across his scalp. Gibbs frowned in consideration. Maybe he’d had a headache and the gentle massage had lessened the severity of the ache. Maybe that’s why he’d sought out the solitude of the cool, quiet, dusky bedroom. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well and had come to the one place he’d known would be peaceful, away from the smells of sawdust and turpentine and wood putty. But, no, the fingers of both hands were now casually interlocked directly under the base of the skull, their position only communicating a relaxed and comfortable condition.

And there were no signs of pain or of undue fatigue around the closed eyes, the dark lashes laying quiescent against the tender skin and fanning almost obscenely out in length upon the flesh. Wife number three had been one of those grumblers, always complaining about men who were blessed with smooth complexions or full lips or long lashes she deemed were meant only for women and used to work with some wicked-looking, metal contraption in an effort to lengthen her own. Gibbs held in his snort and grinned, remembering how she’d ranted on and on about the unfairness of it all, delivering a tirade about how men were supposed to be rugged and handsome and never, *never* gifted with any feature she considered strictly necessary for feminine beauty…and all the while, crimping the hell out of her lashes with that medieval-looking torture device.

He chuckled softly. Boy, she’d probably go ape-shit if she ever got a close gander at DiNozzo.

Not realizing his silent perusal and remembered thoughts were slightly leaking out through small twitches and vibrations on the mattress, Gibbs was somewhat surprised when DiNozzo’s eyes suddenly opened, the lashes in question slowly rising, blinking lazily, and then finally staying open. The green gaze was glazed with the remnants of slumber and, even through the dimness, the older man could see his companion wasn’t quite fully awake yet. Still, those remarkable eyes turned his way and stayed.

“Hey,” he whispered into the quiet, bringing a hand up to card through that unruly head of hair. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

DiNozzo sighed contentedly and turned slightly, curling his body toward Gibbs’ offered natural warmth and pressing his nose into the older man’s chest. He snuffled a bit and then resettled, remaining silent.

Gibbs ran a hand slowly up and down the strong back, enjoying the closeness, but began to frown when DiNozzo stayed quiet. He shifted a bit and looked down into the sleepy face.

“You okay?” He asked softly, watching intently as the younger man flexed and stretched, reminding him instantly of some sleek, sated feline.

DiNozzo arched his back, eliciting a slight pop, and nodded but his response was totally unexpected. “Jethro, what’s that hanging in the closet?”

Gibbs was momentarily mystified by the whispered question. “What?”

DiNozzo abstractly waved a hand in the general direction of the closet and tipped his chin. “Those…shirts.”

The obvious distain coloring the word ‘shirts’ immediately made Gibbs grin. He knew what the other man was referring to and felt the need to do a bit of teasing of his own.

“You’re such a fashion snob,” he kidded, resting a palm lightly upon the smooth, pale skin peeking out in a gap forming between the bottom of the light-green Henley and the top of the low-riding jeans.

“Am not,” came the pouted reply.

Gibbs chuckled and drew the unresisting body back into his embrace, enjoying how DiNozzo snuggled in once more. He could feel a light, cool breeze from the direction of the partially opened window closest to the bed and knew the younger man was, most likely, reacting to the dropping temperatures. He draped a leg over DiNozzo’s hip and snugged him in a little closer.

“Yes, you are,” he goaded quietly, pressing his lips to one stubbled cheek to soften his accusation. “And you know perfectly well those are just my flannel shirts.”

“You don’t wear flannels,” the words were slightly muffled against his neck but he could clearly hear the aversion in the tone again. “I would have noticed.”

Gibbs grunted, gave the young man one more tight squeeze, and then rolled him slightly away, so he could gaze comfortably down into the serious, sulking face. “I always wear flannels in the fall and winter…”

“No, you don’t,” DiNozzo interrupted, green eyes slitting slightly. “I’ve worked with you for nearly three years now and I’d never once seen you wear a flannel at work.”

“You’re right,” Gibbs agreed quickly, fingertips trailing over that wicked patch of exposed skin again. “You haven’t seen me wear them at work because I only wear them here, at home. They keep me warm when I work on the boat or do yard work. I stored them in the other bedroom so there would be more space for your things in here but, now that the weather‘s turning cooler, I switched them out with some of my summer shirts.” He shook his head in frustration, cupped the far hip in a solid hold, and frowned again. “Tony, they’re just shirts. What’s the big deal?”

“They’re…flannel…” DiNozzo explained weakly, refusing to look him in the eye now.

“And?” He prompted, expecting some logical explanation.

“And…well…they’re flannel.”

Gibbs sighed at the lame, irrational response and rolled away, moving to sit upright on the end of the bed. When DiNozzo made a move to follow him, Gibbs quickly put a hand out, palm to chest, and kept him down, flat against the mattress.

“No, you just stay right there,” he instructed without any heat but he could see confusion…and a bit of worry…instantly beginning to cloud the green eyes.

“Gibbs,” DiNozzo swallowed nervously but did as directed, no longer relaxed or sleepy. “I…”

“Just be quiet,” the older man grumbled and turned away, pacing swiftly to the darkened closet. Reaching quickly in, he easily snatched a lone shirt off one of a cheap, plastic hanger, and turned instantly back toward his companion.

The sight that greeted him was a bit surprising…to say the least.

Still lying back against the mattress, DiNozzo had maneuvered until he was propped up on his elbows, his upper body raised so he could clearly watch Gibbs’ activity unimpeded. There was a strange mix of expressions on that usually pleasant face and Gibbs found himself pausing to take it all in.

Gone was that wonderfully aggravating pout and, in it’s place, were lips slightly parted and slick with the residue from the ministrations of a wet tongue. He watched as that moist muscle appeared again, darting out to dab swiftly at the full lower lip, only to disappear into the confines of that remarkable mouth once again.

Gone, too, was the confusion and anxiety in those expressive, green eyes. Now, they were wide and glazed with an erotic mix of lust and expectation, the heated gaze fixed solely on the bit of soft fabric clutched in Gibbs’ hands. When that heated, arousing gaze finally rose and locked with his, Gibbs couldn’t ignore it’s intensity…or the flutter of wicked excitement that twisted deep within his own belly.

He took one, hesitant step back toward the bed, his solid body looming over the reclining man. “Tell me.”

The quiet demand made the younger man swallow and glance momentarily away but, when Gibbs stepped forward to stand directly between his companion’s wide-spread legs, DiNozzo was instantly looking back, his breath hitching once or twice in his lungs before steadying. The green eyes danced back and forth between the shirt and the man’s unwavering, blue stare, the look, alone, pinning him helplessly to the mattress with tight, invisible hands.

“I…I knew someone…once,” he whispered hesitantly, as if speaking any louder would bring the wrath of God…or Gibbs…down upon him. “A long time ago.”

Gibbs nodded silently and waited, gently pushing a leg against one of DiNozzo’s bent knees, eliciting another barely contained gasp. He twisted the flannel shirt in both hands and watched those eyes dilate further, the irises all but disappearing until all he could see was dark and black and smoldering against the pale skin. He wanted to reach out and caress the warm flesh but managed to hold still, barely fighting back the raw need to touch.

“Go on,” he rasped and nudged the knee again, just to hear that hitching gasp once more. When it came, it was insanely thrilling, and Gibbs felt his nuts begin to tighten in expectation.

DiNozzo seemed to instantly notice the subtle change and his gaze headed swiftly downward, homing in on the older man’s crotch. He stared at the denim-covered area and unconsciously licked his lips, his breath ghostly out in an almost-inaudible sigh. When he dragged his gaze back up the figure looming so tall and steady over him, he moaned softly at what he could easily see reflected in the older man’s eyes.

“Oh, God…” he panted raggedly, fairly thrumming with barely contained excitement.

“Take your shirt off,” Gibbs all but commanded, obviously not in any mood to wait, “and make in fast.”

Without breaking eye contact, DiNozzo quickly wriggled upright just enough to reach back and grasp at his shirt with one hand, pulling the garment up and over, losing sight of the older man for barely a second, and then tossing it haphazardly to one side, remotely aware it had cleared the edge of the bed and fallen to the carpeted floor below. He panted as the cool air continued to drift in, playing across his heated skin and making his flat nipples tighten into hard, little points. The sensation was remarkable.

Gibbs was watching, too, his eyes taking in the flush of excitement and the pebbling of the skin. He thought about closing the window completely but swiftly changed his mind, dragging his focus back to the shirt gripped tightly within his grasp.

“Now, the pants.”

DiNozzo froze, eyes going alarmingly wide. His hesitation made Gibbs growl.

“Tony…” he warned softly. He could see DiNozzo was hard, his dick filling out and pushing against the well-worn fabric of his jeans, so the delay was a bit puzzling, to say the least. “Take them off. Now.”

They’d never played this game before, had never given orders or made demands without tempering the tone with playfulness or affection…or outright lust…but there was a new, heady excitement to this situation which just couldn’t be ignored by either man. Gibbs growled again and DiNozzo was instantly in motion, fingers fumbling and working a bit clumsily at the button and zipper, trembling hands pushing and peeling the pants awkwardly down each leg, nervous feet twisting and kicking until the offending garment was gone…and he was totally bare under Gibbs’ hot, hungry gaze. He modestly tried to cover his hard dick with one hand but was immediately stopped.

“No,” Gibbs’ voice was rough and deep and it brooked no argument. “I want to see all of you. Lay back and let me look.”

And he did look, slowly and languorously, from the top of that tousled head all the way to the smooth patch of stretched skin covering the bent knees. He couldn’t see the lower legs or the big feet resting on the carpet from his current position but had no desire to move away. If anything, the sight only made him want to get closer but he held still and let his eyes travel the path his hands itched to roam.

The skin was remarkable, with only a small handful of scars or imperfections scattered here or there, and Gibbs marveled, again, at how lucky he was to have someone so attractive and so willing to share his bed at this point in his life. Not that he, personally, was a slouch or hard to look at in any way. No, the ex-wives and assorted other companions over the years had been very clear when they’d complimented him on his looks…it was his questionable disposition that usually drove them all away in the end.

Questionable disposition. Gibbs considered that last thought and paused, tearing his eyes away from the hard, desirable body stretched out so alluringly on the firm mattress, and focused, instead, back on the pleasing face, trying to gage the younger man’s temperament. DiNozzo didn’t look has if he’d lost any of his desire but…

He did his best to keep his tone calm and reassuring when he managed to speak again. “I think before this goes any further, you’d better tell me about this ‘thing’ you have for flannel.”

A slight frowned marred the expectant face but there also was a reappearance of apprehension that bespoke of an upcoming untruth. “’Thing’? I don’t have a ‘thing’ for flannel.”

Yep, there it was. A blatant untruth.

“Tony,” Gibbs sighed, placing one knee on the bed directly between those wide-spread knees, “you got hard the minute I put my hands on this shirt.” He dangled the garment directly over the younger man, allowing a sleeve to ghost lightly over the tender skin of one, inner thigh, and watched those green eyes close in something akin to bliss. He jerked the shirt quickly away and huffed in indignation. DiNozzo’s delighted reaction had been almost instantaneous…and Gibbs wasn’t sure he liked that or not. “Okay, that’s it. If we’re going to continue this, you’d better come clean to me now.”

DiNozzo opened his eyes and sighed in resignation, tipping his chin down so he could stare directly at the man hovering overhead, studying the strong face and the exasperated expression it held. He swallowed thickly and nodded, letting his gaze track to somewhere just past Gibbs right ear.

“When I was just a kid,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “I met this older guy and we started hanging out together. He was like the brother I never had and I was just happy to have someone to spend my time with.” He looked back into those intense, blue eyes. “You have to understand, Jethro, it was during that time when my parents weren’t speaking much to me and were doing everything in their power to make my young life as miserable as possible, especially my father. Mom, well,” he shrugged and looked away again, “my mother really just followed my father’s lead and went about her own business. Anyway,” he determinedly shook that train of thought away, “I was in my early teens and this guy…”

“This guy have a name?” Gibbs interrupted softly, easing down to one hip and sitting right next to DiNozzo’s left leg.

DiNozzo frowned and blinked in suspicion. “Why is that important?”

Gibbs huffed. “Well, he’s certainly left a lasting impression on you.” He offered a kind grin and sighed. “Look, just his first name is fine, Tony. I don’t think hearing you say, ‘this guy’, repeatedly is going to make the story come any quicker.”

DiNozzo mulled the idea around for a few moments and then nodded, still hanging on to a bit of sullenness. “His name was Ben, all right? Does that make you happy?”

Gibbs grunted noncommittally and gently laid the flannel shirt across DiNozzo’s belly. The reaction was immediate.

“Ohjesusgodalmighty…” erupted instantly from the surprised mouth and the fingers clutched spastically into the comforter until they began to turn white from the tension and pressure.

Gibbs slowly removed the shirt, dragging it languorously across the convulsing muscles, and looked down at the panting man, one eyebrow arched in wry humor…and a bit of honest amazement. “Well, *that* was sure different.”

DiNozzo’s gradually softening dick was coming back to full attention, curving upward in a hard, hungry arch, throbbing and bobbing as he twisted restlessly upon the firm mattress. He looked at his companion and just groaned in frustrated accusation.

“You’re trying to kill me…”

“Not if you tell me,” Gibbs promised, leaning forward and placing his mouth over DiNozzo’s trembling lips, brushing his tongue over and around and stealing away the last of the younger man’s resolve. When DiNozzo began to roll toward Gibbs again, in an blatant attempt for more direct physical contact, his plans were immediately stymied. “Not so fast, flannel boy.” He held the turning body still with a strategically placed hand to the hip. “You‘ve got a tale to tell.”

The nickname caused an abrupt, huffed snort. “Oh, that’s so funny, Jethro.”

Gibbs bunched the shirt up into a tight ball and placed it on the bed, directly beside DiNozzo’s head. There was no way the younger man couldn’t see the tempting mass of flannel, unless he closed his eyes or turned his head in the opposite direction, but Gibbs was having none of that. Sliding the hand slowly up from it’s position on the solid hip, the older man traced a wicked path all the way to the quavering chin, cupping it gently, and holding it in place.

“Tell me,” he asked again, more softly this time, and with a silent promise of relief.

DiNozzo’s eyes darkened at the sound and that marvelous tongue quickly darted out to wet the lower lip. “Ben showed me things…”

“What kind of things?” Gibbs interrupted quietly, his thumb soothing over the dampened skin of that lower lip, feeling a heated surge of breath flow over the point of contact.

“Sexual things…” DiNozzo admitted hesitantly, his eyes locked with those of the man bending over him. “His mother used to sew…had all these different types of fabrics laying around…and we used to take them and…”

Gibbs watched, fascinated, as some distant memory took hold and rolled through DiNozzo‘s body, causing the younger man to cease in his explanation and close his eyes in remembered surrender. He dropped his gaze and fixed quickly on the flushed, arching cock, watching as it dribbled thickly and wetly into the shallow hollow of the inverted navel. He wanted to bend down and lick the bitter fluid from it’s temporary hiding spot, to run his tongue up and down that thick, full length, and to swallow it all down until it just gave up and surrendered completely to him. But, instead, he tempered his desires and just sat back, content to watch and wait…for now.

“Sometimes…sometimes we’d jerk off using them,” DiNozzo confessed quietly, a heated blush coloring his cheeks, most of his neck, and all of his upper chest. “She had all kinds of different fabrics: satins and silks…corduroys and brocades…cashmeres and chiffons…we’d use them all.”

“But *especially* the flannels,” Gibbs supplied knowingly and smiled reassuringly at his companion.

“Yeah,” DiNozzo agreed, maintaining his embarrassment, “especially the flannels.” He shrugged and sighed out a heavy breath. “Well, Ben didn’t. He actually liked the rougher textures, the ones that gave a bit more resistance and pull, the ones that took you right to the edge of pain.”

Gibbs grunted his understanding and reached carefully for the balled-up flannel shirt, making sure to keep it well away from DiNozzo’s exposed body. “But you didn’t like those rough fabrics, did you?” He asked rhetorically, feeling the tension spring back into the waiting body. “You liked the softer, smoother ones…the ones that warmed and comforted and let you move without discomfort.”

“Yesss…” the confession was hissed out as the green eyes diligently tracked the flannel shirt‘s movement.

“Did you do it often?” Gibbs asked, trailing a corner of the bunched-up shirt lightly over one of DiNozzo’s biceps, watching the flesh twitch and shake.

“Yes…” came the whispered reply again. “Every chance I could.”

“Is that why you don’t like to get near flannel now? The memories come rushing back in?”

DiNozzo moaned softly and swallowed before answering. “Yes, that, but I…I still…”

“Still what?” Gibbs prompted, letting the fabric tickle over the slope of the armpit and dance across one hard, aching nipple.

“I still get a hard on whenever I see it,” the sensation made him surge upward and Gibbs immediately took the shirt away, listening to the rough, ragged panting in the silence of the room.

The honest revelation made Gibbs pause. “*Every* time?” He just couldn’t disguise the perverse amazement in the tone of his voice.

DiNozzo could only nod, his eyes were glazed with desire but his face flamed with humiliation.

“So, that’s why you don’t wear flannel.” It was a statement, not a question. Gibbs’ sharp mind was working hard now. “And that’s why you were so concerned with the appearance of my shirts in the closet.”

“Yes,” DiNozzo just gave up and rolled toward the blissful sanctuary of Gibbs’ body, hiding his embarrassed face against the warm, solid chest. “I even did a few months in therapy right after college but nothing works. Believe me, I‘ve tried.”

Gibbs grunted his understanding and looked at the shirt in his hand. It would be, in all honesty, a small comfort to give up to make DiNozzo more comfortable within his home. They were just inexpensive shirts from Sears…even though they’d been washed to a butter-soft consistency and almost-lovingly maintained over the years…and could easily be replaced with long-sleeved t-shirts or light-weight sweatshirts during the cold months ahead. Yep, that wouldn’t be so bad.

Then, his gaze tracked unerringly toward his dresser, remembering what was now housed within the top drawer. He closed his eyes and groaned.

“What is it, Jethro?” DiNozzo was instantly pulling back, concerned at the almost-painful sound he’d heard grumbling within Gibbs’ solid chest. He looked bleakly up at the other man, seeing the open disappointment in the blue depths, and immediately thought the worse. He sighed in resignation. “You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you? I guess…I guess I should have told you before we…before we…you know.” He released a ragged breath. “I’m really sorry.”

Then, suddenly, there was another sound, one the younger man had just recently begun hearing more frequently since becoming intimate with his boss, a sound that had begun to mean more to him than just about anything else in the whole world: Gibbs’ laughter. DiNozzo had slowly seen a lessening of stress in the older man and an emergence of a truly wicked sense of humor over the past several months. He had, somewhat selfishly and childishly, hoped it was because of their new-found closeness. Now, the sound brought nothing but a fresh wash of pain and rejection. Gibbs was laughing at him…laughing at his insane predilection for flannel.

“Ah, Tony,” Gibbs was chuckling outright, unaware of his companion’s depressing feelings. He briefly tightened his hold on the younger man and then rose, turning to look down on the dejected figure once he was standing. He frowned at what he saw. DiNozzo was pale and almost teary eyed and, worse of all, his dick was now perfectly limp and flaccid against one thigh. “What’s the matter?”

DiNozzo looked up at him from the bed, reluctant to end what he’d once hoped would be more than the usual passing fling. Finally, he forced the words out. “I guess I should go.”

“Go?” Gibbs queried. His confusion was written all over his face. “What the hell for?”

Propping himself back up on his elbows, DiNozzo tipped his chin toward the flannel shirt still clasped within Gibbs’ hand. “You don’t need someone who’s going to sport wood every time you go out to rake the leaves or mow the lawn.”

“Don’t do much mowing in the winter, DiNozzo.”

“Yeah, well,” he pulled himself to the end of the bed and looked down at the floor, fleetingly wondering about the socks still on his feet, “shoveling snow, then.”

Gibbs sighed and shook his head. “Tony, look at me.”

Reluctantly, the head came up, but the face remained solemn and closed. He didn’t look away from Gibbs, even as the older man turned and marched straight back to the closet. DiNozzo *did* blink when he reached in and roughly yanked all the flannel shirts from their hangers, sending the hooked, plastic triangles spinning and scattering across the floor at the bottom of the closet. He had to avert his gaze when Gibbs finally turned back around, his arms covered and draped obscenely in yards and yards of lovely, wonderful flannel.

“See all these shirts?” Gibbs asked rhetorically, not waiting for a reply. “Well, they’re all gone, each and every one of them.”

DiNozzo’s head snapped up and he watched in amazement as Gibbs strode purposefully in the direction of the waste can positioned harmlessly next to the heavy, oak dresser, shoving the shirts in as far as they would go and scooping up the sleeves that threatened to spill out, jamming them back in with as much force as the container could take. He blinked stupidly at the activity, not truly believing what he was seeing, but unable to look away from the remarkable sight. Gibbs was actually getting rid of a possession…for him.

“You don’t have to do that,” DiNozzo couldn’t stop the soft, meek words, even if he’d wanted to.

“They’re just damn shirts, Tony, and I can do what I need to do around the house without them. I’ve got other things I can wear while doing the chores that shouldn’t make you uncomfortable. Got that?” He waited patiently for some response and was slightly gratified to see the somewhat-hesitant nod. Though, the shell-shocked expression on the pale face just had to go and Gibbs had the perfect solution for that particular setback. “But we may still have another little problem.”

DiNozzo frowned but kept his eyes on the older man. “What?”

Gibbs turned and slid the top drawer of the dresser open, reaching quickly to one side and removing a particular article of clothing. He shook it out, placed it strategically in front of his lower body, and whirled around to face his captive audience once again. He couldn’t contain the wicked grin he knew was plastered upon his face.

“I may not need those shirts this winter, Tony,” he cocked his head to one side and leered toward the younger man, “but I just can’t get in between those cold sheets without my flannel sleep pants.”

Gibbs barely had time to catch DiNozzo as the younger man launched himself from his perch on the edge of the bed and jumped into his waiting arms, throwing them both back against the oak dresser, and rattling the small collection of bottles that lined near one side. As they gave up the fight against gravity and toppled over, all Gibbs could think of was the coming winter nights…and how he’d never have to worry about cold sheets again.


END

Chapters: 1

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MTAC - NCIS Fic