Work Text:
Domesticated
by Lunardreamed
It's four o'clock in the morning when Tony struggles to fit his keys into the lock with all the finesse of a drunken sailor. Hah! Sailor! Get it. Jeez, he might as well be drunk. If Abby hadn't offered to drive him home, he'd be sleeping in the office. Lucky girl gets to catnap while the tests are running.
There. Turn the key right and turn the knob. Don't trip on the threshold. He's in. Straight to the bed. Ironic. Usually, he'd have a partner with him to be so single minded. He doesn't even get undressed or pull back the covers, just falls down, already asleep.
* * *
He manages to sleep through the day until the sun itself pierces his eyelids through the western-facing window. Damn. And if he wants to put a pillow over his head, he's going to have to unmake the bed because someone is compulsively neat. So, no more sleep. But if he's going to get up now, he'll need some coffee and he doesn't think he can make it to the kitchen. He flops his head towards Gibbs's side of the bed, where a small coffee machine sits on the nightstand. That'll work.
Work may have been too strong a word, but he's semi-capable of thinking now, so he'll take it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, on Gibbs's side as it happens, it occurs to him to wonder when Gibbs got a side of the bed. There's a reason he doesn't bring girls back to his place. It's his bed. All of it. He doesn't bring men to his place either, but, somehow, Gibbs has a side of the bed, a nightstand, and a coffee machine in Tony's bedroom alone.
He'll have to figure that out later. Right now, he wants a shower. At least, a shower is the only concept he can wrap his mind around. A long, hot shower. Long and hot. And if he wants it, he'll have to actually stand up and go into the bathroom. Ten feet's a long ways to go for a shower. Even a long, hot shower. But he's standing now, so he might as well follow through. Strip first. Shoes, pants, shirt, assuming he can lift his arms. Success! Now, he just has to get to the bathroom. Ten whole feet. For a shower. A long, hot - wha'd'ya know, he's there. All he's got to do is turn on the water and brush his teeth while it heats up.
Toothbrush, toothpaste. Open cap, squeeze. His accomplishments astound him. Damnit - that tastes awful. How does Gibbs stand that kind of toothpaste? That's better. Minty. This is why he doesn't bring people home - it's too damn confusing. Of course, Gibbs used Tony's toothpaste once and when they'd kissed, he'd tasted like mint and coffee. It was awful. Not like Gibbs at all, and the next time Gibbs showed up, he brought and left his own toothpaste. He tastes much better that way, so maybe it's worth it. And the water's ready.
Guuuuhhhhh . . . that feels soooo good. He doesn't remember when a shower last felt this good. Except for maybe a month ago, when he got home after being bruised by a couple of suspects. And then there was the time . . . ooooohhhhh yeeeeaaaahhhhh . . . this feels too good to think.
* * *
If the water weren't starting to chill, he wouldn't get out at all, but the decision's been made for him. He grabs one of the two towels and dries off as he wanders back into the bedroom. He feels so much better, awake and alert and ready to enjoy the rest of the evening.
Now, he just has to figure out who to spend it with. Probably not Gibbs. He was just here and they're careful not to do this too often. Fortunately, they're not exclusive. If he remembers right, a lovely, young woman slipped him a business card with her home number on it. A blond, he thinks. It should be right there in his coat pocket. He needs to pick up the coat anyway, because Gibbs hates it when he leaves his clothes strewn all over the floor. He hangs it on the coat rack and pulls out his phone to dial Shelly's number. He's frowning, wondering where he can take her, when the theme song from Magnum P.I. breaks the silence. He looks down at the caller id and smiles, tossing the card in the trash without a second glance.
"Yeah, Boss."
End