Three Figures On Your Heart - carleton97

Tim hates sparring with Ziva.

Not because she continually hands him his ass in new and creative ways (which is humiliating, though), but rather because she always seems to hit him in the mouth. Without fail, he will walk away from one of their sessions spitting blood and trying to gag down the nausea the coppery taste always causes.

She caught him square in the mouth today and Tim is glad he has the next two days off and won't have to explain his split and swollen lip to the rest of the -

Shit.

"What happened to you, Probie?"

He has to get better locks on his front door.

"Please, Tony, make yourself at home in my apartment when I'm not here."

Tony waves away his sarcasm and unfolds himself from where he'd been curled up on Tim's couch. He pulls the gym bag from Tim's fingers and grabs his chin to get a better look at his mouth. "Ziva?"

Tim thinks about denying it, but really? He's not much of a liar and he just nods miserably.

"She always gets me in the ribs." There's a commiserating tone in Tony's voice and hand on the back of his head is less of a slap and more of an affectionate rub. "Sit down, Probie."

He lets himself drop heavily onto the couch and slides down until he can rest his head on the back. He closes his eyes and listens to Tony puttering around in his kitchen, feeling the 6am meeting with Ziva in stiffening muscles and bruises. He jumps a little when Tony's mouth ghosts over his split lip and has to wince when he automatically returns the slight pressure. "Crap."

Tony laughs and presses an icepack into his hand, "Here, tough guy. Just close your eyes and relax."

Of course, hearing those words from Tony pretty much has the opposite effect, "What are you - "

A sharp bite to his neck, not quite hard enough to bruise, shuts him up just as effectively as the hands working his sweatpants and jock down around his knees. Tony licks an apology over the reddened bite mark as he finishes getting rid of Tim's pants and kneels between his legs.

Even after five months of doing this, of having Tony, Tim can hardly believe it's real when Tony pushes his t-shirt up over his head and leans forward to kiss the new, Ziva-approved bruising on his chest and stomach. A year ago, if someone had told him he'd be naked on his couch with a fully clothed Tony DiNozzo licking a wet stripe up his cock, he'd have laughed himself silly. Instead, he slides the hand not holding the icepack to his mouth into Tony's hair, petting him gently, careful not to pull as Tony's mouth moves over him.

The icepack falls somewhere out of reach when he can't concentrate on holding it steady any longer, and he reaches for Tony's hand, winding their fingers together and squeezing as Tony greedily swallows down his climax and licks him clean. Tony kneels up for a kiss, grimacing when his back obviously protests his previous position and, for once, Tim doesn't mind the taste of blood.

The End

disclaimer: NCIS isn't mine, but sometimes I like to pretend it is.