Shadows Keep On Changing - carleton97

It's way past midnight when Tim finally leaves Jeff's apartment. They would have been done hours ago if Brian hadn't insisted on changing the programming of the fight with the goblins again, but even Tim has to admit that the changes are awesome.

He yawns again and he's half-tempted to cut through the cemetery; it'd take 10 minutes off his walk home, but there was something so...creepy about it, even in daylight, that he doesn't seriously consider it. Besides, it's clearly against the posted rules.

Tonight, though, the cemetery's weird vibe seems to have reached all the way across the street because Tim would swear there was something following him. It's nothing as obvious as footsteps or hearing someone (something) breathing, but the hair on the back of his neck is starting prickle and Tim is nearly positive that the night has somehow gotten darker. When he finally gives in to his childish impulses and turns to check, it doesn't make him feel any safer when there's nothing but shadows behind him.

"Hey, dude, are you okay?"

The guy's about his age; his blondish hair is spiky and, even in the flickering street lamp, his eyes are very obviously green. He's James Dean cool in denim and leather and Tim wishes more than anything he hadn't squealed like a girl when he'd spun around.

"Yeah. No. I thought - It's very late." God!

"Yes, it is." The guy looks like he wants to laugh at Tim, but he manages not to. "I'm Dean."

Tim blinks and automatically follows the guy - Dean - when he starts walking in the general direction of Tim's apartment. "Tim. McGee. Tim McGee."

"And what is a fine, upstanding young man like you doing out so late, Mr. McGee?"

There's no way Tim is going to admit to programming an RPG until 3am. "Just at a friend's apartment."

Dean's obvious once over is like a touch and Tim knows exactly what he sees. Black shoes and socks - thank god his mother confiscated all of his white socks - brown pants, and a blue polo that's the only reason he's not wearing a pocket protector. The quintessential geek. Plus -

"Aren't you breaking curfew?"

"I'm twenty!" Stupid floppy hair. Stupid face. Stupid, stupid baby face.

Dean's eyebrows go up like he can't believe Tim isn't fifteen, but all he says is, "Sorry."

They walk the last block to Tim's apartment in silence, Dean's shoulder inexplicably pressed against his, and Tim isn't quite sure why Dean is still with him, let alone touching him. "This is me. It's been - "

Something howls from the direction of the cemetery. Tim's hackles rise and he desperately wants to be safe in his apartment. "What the hell was that?"

"A dog, man." Dean doesn't look freaked out, just vaguely concerned. "I thought I saw some big ass Cujo looking thing when I cut through the cemetery."

"Shouldn't we call Animal Control or something?"

"I'm sure someone will." Dean's shrug is a bit too dismissive for Tim's taste.

"This is a residential neighborhood. Nearly everyone will be asleep at this hour and leaving an unleashed, and possibly rabid, dog to run wild is - "

Dean steps right up into his personal space, one warm hand on his arm just below the sleeve of his shirt, and Tim's words die in his throat. "You need to relax, okay? We'll go up to your apartment and I'll call someone."

Tim is nodding and unlocking the security door before he even realizes what he's doing. He doesn't know Dean. At all. He doesn't even know his last name or what the hell he was doing in a cemetery in the middle of the night, but it doesn't matter. Dean is just another concerned citizen who is going to use his phone to report a possible rabid dog to Animal Control.

Apparently, after he's done checking out Tim's ass in the mirrored walls of the elevator and smiling - god, the dimples - as if he likes what he sees.

Tim can feel a red-hot blush searing it's way down his cheeks and does his best to keep his face averted as he hustles Dean down the hallway and into his apartment. He leaves Dean in the tiny living room with the phone and local directory and retreats to the kitchen for a glass of water and, possibly, a nervous breakdown. Tim knows he's not the best at reading social signals, but he's pretty sure Dean is attracted to him.

Tim rolls that thought around in his head. Dean - hot, cool Dean - is attracted. To him. To Tim. Who, if he is completely honest with himself, is neither hot nor cool, but he's pretty sure of Dean's interest, so maybe he's been wrong all these years. Or maybe Dean has some sort of predisposition towards geeks. Either way, there it is.

Right. There it is. The attraction. The panic attack. Either. Both. It's not so much that he's attracted to another man that's sending his pulse skyrocketing as the fact that the object of his attraction is apparently attracted back. It's somewhat of a novel situation for Tim and he's not quite sure what to do.

Tim thinks maybe he should just stop thinking about it so much and let whatever happens ... happen. Maybe it's the fact that he's been up for about 36 hours, but that sounds like a fine plan and he exits the kitchen just as Dean is hanging up the phone.

"The fine civil servants of Cambridge have earned their wage tonight. The dog has been taken care of without injury."

"Good. Good. That's...good." Tim rocks back on his heels and tries to think of something to say that will result in Dean confirming said attraction and, possibly, doing something about it. "So, ah -"

Whatever undoubtedly lame conversational gambit he is about to launch is cut off by Dean gently pushing him back against the wall and leaning into him. Dean hovers over his neck, simply breathing, long enough for Tim to rethink his position on the existence of vampires.

Dean brushes his nose up the length of Tim's throat and sucks a biting kiss below his ear. "Is this OK?"

Tim knows if he opens his mouth to answer, he'll say something stupid and off-putting and generally ruinous to his chances of finally getting laid, so he just nods frantically and tightens the hands that have somehow twisted themselves in Dean's t-shirt. He feels Dean smile against his skin and has time to think, holy cow! before firm lips are brushingteasingsliding against his.

Dean kisses like he's got all the time in the world to explore every angle of his mouth. His tongue is a teasing pressure against his palate and over the sensitive skin of his lips. Tim does his best to return the kisses, even though all he wants to do is just hang limply against the wall, moaning his pleasure, as Dean draws careful patterns on his shoulders and chest with his fingers.

Dean's body is hard against his, tight with muscle and arousal, and Tim wants to see him, to touch him, to learn him, but he doesn't have the words to ask even when Dean finally releases his mouth to kiss and lick a path over his adam's apple.

Then his mouth is gone and Tim swallows back his confused whimper when he feels strong hands at the waistband of his pants. Dean is on his knees in front of him, unfastening Tim's pants and tugging them down around his thighs. He's pretty sure he looks ridiculous with his pants pulled halfway down and his underwear doing little to disguise his erection, but Dean just makes some sort of muffled noise and presses his mouth to Tim's stomach. He curls his fingers under the waistband of his underwear and drags them down over his cock, being careful not to get anything tangled in the stretched white cotton.

Tim knows what's coming and even the thought of it, of Dean taking him into his mouth, is pushing against whatever control he has. The only warning he has is the whisper of damp breath over the head of his erection before his world contracts to a few inches of heat and wet and the fluttery soft pressure of Dean's mouth. His hands scramble for purchase against the wall; he needs something, anything to hang on to and he doesn't want to just grab Dean's hair. Well, he does, but he's pretty sure that would bring the evening to an early end.

Not that he's going to last much longer. He shudders hard and manages to get a handful of Dean's shirt as a strong hand pushes between his legs and gently cups his balls. Calloused fingers press against his perineum in rhythm with the smooth motions of Dean's mouth and Tim's gone.

Pleasure is a white-hot pulse he can feel throbbing behind his eyes and against his eardrums and in every single cell of his body. It leaves him weak and breathless and he's just about ready to slide to the floor when Dean stumbles to his feet and presses him back against the wall again. He must have undone his own pants at some point because Tim can feel the slide and catch of his damp erection against his hip.

The finesse of Dean's previous kisses has disappeared, but Tim doesn't mind the sharp press of teeth against his lip as Dean thrusts harder and harder against him. He manages to get his arms working enough to pull Dean against him with one hand on his neck and the other shoving beneath his loosened jeans. He threads his fingers through Dean's hair and pulls his head back, sucking a patch of skin into his mouth and palming the muscled curve of his ass. Dean makes some kind of noise and Tim can feel him tense before his stomach is painted hot and wet.

Dean collapses against him, letting Tim hold him up as his panted breath condenses against the side of his throat. Tim tries to keep himself from thinking, from expecting anything, but there's so many things he wants and he doesn't know if Dean would want to give them to him or if Dean would want to give them to him and -

"Geez, relax." Dean stretches lazily, not bothering to move his body away from Tim's. He smirks a little at Tim's involuntary moan and kisses him again, his tongue darting between Tim's lips.

"Wanna show me the rest of your apartment?"

The End

disclaimer: Supernatural and NCIS aren't mine, but sometimes I like to pretend they are.