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Slow hands. Tony DiNozzo closed his eyes and groaned as slow hands tormented him; teased him; sent him to the edge and back again. The one part of his brain that was not occupied by the feeling of sheer pleasure focused, albeit momentarily, on the idea of slow hands.
He would have never particularly thought about the phrase ‘slow hands.’ Not until tonight. Not until he found himself flat on his stomach on his bed with the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window, bathing his body in liquid quicksilver. Not until he felt slow hands caressing his dark hair. Slow hands ghosting over his sensitive neck, raising the minute hairs there. Tightening on his shoulders and back, kneading at the muscles there. Cupping his buttocks and separating them.
Oh God. Slow tongue. Tony’s hips bucked upwards, almost dislodging said tongue and hands. The slow hands soothed, petted. That slow tongue returned, this time to explore the shadowy area behind Tony’s balls. Tony’s hands gripped the sheets, a low keening sound spilling from his throat. He spread his legs wider, willing those slow hands to explore further.
The slow hands became firmer, stroking and kneading down Tony’s thighs. Slow kisses rained gently down his spine. Hot breath seared his crease. Slow tongue paid homage to Tony’s ass.
“God, please, more. Moremoremoremore.” Tony breathed and pleaded, and cajoled, but his slow-handed lover just chuckled. Tony’s cock wept into the sheets and his ass rose to meet those slow lips. The tension radiated off Tony in waves. Gibbs chuckled again and flipped Tony over. The moonlight had never shone down on anything half as beautiful as Tony, thought Gibbs. Defined chest with a light dusting of silky fine hairs; lean hips, faintly pale in the moonshine; strong yet somehow delicate-looking legs, and that cock. Nestled in a cloud of dark hair, it stood away from Tony’s body, heavy and full; the thick shaft tapering slightly at the dusky-purpled head, now glimmering with pre-come.
Tony reached for his cock. The pressure had been building for what seemed like hours. His body thrummed with tension; his jaw ached from the almost constant clenching. As his hand closed over the shaft, his lover play-slapped it away.
“Not yours. Mine.” A slow voice accompanied the slow hands as they closed over Tony’s cock. “I can feel your need, Tony. I can feel the come filling your cock; pulsing through the shaft. Let it go, Tony. Let it happen. Fill my hands with yourself.” The slow hands twisted and pressed and cupped and slid. Oh God the pleasure was so intense Tony couldn’t for the life of him differentiate it from pain. His body shook. His throat rasped. He felt every one of his atoms disintegrating and the pleasure exploded into a white-hot maelstrom of need and completion as Gibbs growled, “Come now Tony. Now!”
Tony lay on that moonlit bed, complete, satiated, and exhausted. Gibbs smiled a slow smile with those slow lips as they licked his slow hands clean of Tony’s essence.
Slow hands.
Wicked words.
Two lovers.