"Do you want to order pizza?" Tony calls as he stares at the sad state of his fridge. Tim doesn't say anything,
so Tony shuts the door and heads towards the bedroom, which Tim disappeared into as soon as they got home. "Or
maybe Thai? I've had this craving for garlic shrimp..."
Tony trails off as Tim steps out of the bathroom. He's taken off his coat and tie, and his shoes. Loosened his
collar and rolled up his sleeves. But there's something about the way he's walking towards Tony that's far from
casual. The look in his eyes brings back this afternoon, when Tim snagged the perp as he flew by, trying to
escape, and slammed him into a wall. Tony licks his lips, but it doesn't help the dryness in his mouth.
"Turn around," Tim says, and Tony gets hard, just like that. Just like he had this afternoon. Only he doesn't
have to try to hide it now.
"I'm okay with Chinese," he says, ignoring Tim's command. "Although I really don't like the shrimp at--"
The rest of his words are knocked out of him when Tim grabs his wrist and spins him around. The wall flies at
his face, but Tim's not as rough with him as he was with Simmons. Tony has time to get his free hand up and brace
himself. Then Tim's kicking his legs apart and stepping in close, chest pressed heavy against Tony's back.
"I don't want Chinese," Tim murmurs, breath hot against Tony's ear. "Or Thai. Or pizza."
Tony swallows. "So what do you want?"
"I think you can figure it out," Tim says. "Don't move."
Tony rests his forehead on his arm, breathing open-mouthed as Tim reaches around and unbuckles his belt, unzips
his fly, and unbuttons his pants. The fabric shushes down to his knees, followed by his boxers a second later.
"You think I didn't notice?" Tim asks as he cups Tony's cock. "I'm not some unobservant newbie anymore."
"Didn't care if you noticed," Tony says, which isn't true. He's really, really glad that Tim noticed, especially
when Tim's finger slips between his cheeks, slick with lube. "Just didn't want anybody else to."
"Uh-huh," Tim says, like it doesn't matter at all what comes out of Tony's mouth. He pulls back on Tony's hips,
forcing him to bend his knees. "Like Gibbs doesn't notice everything."
Tony opens his mouth, but that's when Tim slides in. Slow, easy, and totally in command. Tony drops his head to
the wall, breathing in old paint and dust as he braces his hands and pushes back hard on Tim's cock. Tim takes
the hint. He pulls out slow, and then slams back in, hard enough that Tony's elbows give out.
"That the best you can do?" he goads, though the words are half-trapped by the wall. Doesn't matter, because Tim
reaches around at last. His grip is tight. Perfect.
"God, Tony," Tim pants against his back. The rhythm of his hips starts to falter, but his hand's doesn't, and one
last hard stroke from both is all it takes to send Tony over the edge. Tim comes with a loud groan, hand clenching
on Tony's hip. He sags against for a few seconds, and Tony welcomes his weight.
"Was that okay?" Tim asks, pulling out and moving back. "I wasn't too rough, was I?"
Tony snorts. He straightens and turns around, ignoring the burning in his thighs and ache in his knees. "Just
about right," he says, pretty sure that the huge grin on his face gives away how much he's lying. Tim's looking
smug, though, so Tony gestures behind him. "But you get to clean up the wall."