Disclaimer: NCIS is property of CBS and its creators.

Tony DiNozzo hummed as he tied his tie and stood back to examine himself in the mirror. Gray Armani suit, light blue dress shirt, blue and gray striped tie. Perfect. He'd knock his date's socks off—and hopefully a few other things as well, he thought, smirking to himself.

Tony was on top of the world. He'd finally gotten up the nerve to ask fellow NCIS agent Tim McGee out, and miracle of miracles, Tim had said yes. Tony was determined to make a good impression. Instead of taking Tim out, he'd opted to make him dinner—his special lasagna, salad, and homemade tiramisu. He could just smell the lasagna cooking. He took a deep breath, inhaling the rich smell of cheese and tomato sauce. Except. . .he wrinkled his nose. Why couldn't he smell it? It should be almost done by now, and the mouthwatering scent should be permeating the whole apartment.

Tony went into the kitchen and opened the oven door. The lasagna was sitting there, looking just like it did when he put it in the oven instead of hot and bubbly like it should be. Tony waved his hand in front of the oven. Cold. He checked to make sure he'd turned it on. Yep. Sometime between the last time he'd used it and now, his oven had died a quiet death. Now what?

Tony pondered his options. He couldn't ask a neighbor to borrow their oven. The only neighbors he knew were hot young women who he'd made passes at and who'd made passes at him. He didn't think any of them would appreciate his showing up on their doorstep asking to use their oven to make dinner for his date—his male date.

Okay, plan B. He'd make spaghetti. You could never go wrong with spaghetti, and he had some of his homemade sauce in the freezer he could thaw. He opened his cupboard and reached for the spaghetti, but his grasping hand came up empty. What? He was out of spaghetti? How could he possibly be out of spaghetti? He was Italian. Any Italian worth his salt always had spaghetti on hand. Tony ransacked his cupboards, looking for any kind of pasta, but again came up empty. No pasta at all? Heresy! He couldn't even find a box of packaged macaroni and cheese he could raid for the noodles.

Okay, plan C. Tony frantically searched his kitchen, looking for something, anything, he could serve Tim, but once again had no luck. All he could find was frozen pizza, frozen burritos, canned soup, and TV dinners. Definitely not anything to impress a date. He racked his brain, trying to think of simple things he could make with what he had on hand. Problem was, he had nothing on hand. No chicken breasts stashed in the freezer, no ground beef, no vegetables except what he'd gotten for the salad. He couldn't even whip up an omelette—he'd used all the eggs for the tiramisu.

Okay, plan D. He hated to resort to it, but there was an Italian restaurant that made a pretty good lasagna and would deliver. It wasn't as good as his, naturally, but it was passable, and hopefully Tim would understand.

Tony placed the order and started on the salad. He tore up the lettuce and started slicing tomatoes. He must not have been paying close attention, though, because all of a sudden there was a sharp pain in his finger, and he looked down, horrified to see blood dripping into the salad. All he could think was he should have ordered salad with the lasagna.

Tony snapped back to earth. He had to stop the bleeding. He ran it under water and took a close look. Shit, that was deep. He probably needed stitches, but there was no way he was canceling his date at this late point in time. He was going to make a good impression on Tim if it killed him. Which at this rate, it might.

Tony swathed his finger in a thick wad of gauze. Maybe Tim wouldn't notice. Yeah, right. It stuck out like, well, like a sore thumb, or finger in this case. Nothing he could do about it. Might as well finish getting ready.

Tony set the table with his best dishes. He'd planned to light candles, but the way his luck was going, that was probably a very bad idea. Instead, he rummaged through his door and came up with some electric candles that would do nicely—they'd still cast a romantic glow, but he wouldn't risk burning the place down.

As Tony was admiring his handiwork and running down his mental checklist of things to do, the doorbell rang. Praying it was the delivery man and not Tim, Tony opened the door. It was, in fact, the delivery man, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief. He placed the lasagna in the kitchen with the plates. He'd serve the lasagna there, and Tim would never be any the wiser.

Just as he set the lasagna down, the doorbell rang again. Tim this time, for sure. Tony straightened his tie one last time and went to let Tim in. He opened the door and just stood there, drinking in the sight. Tim, too, it appeared, had dressed to impress. He wore a tan suit with a red dress shirt, although he'd forgone the tie. The top button was open, giving Tony just a hint of chest hair, and leaving him longing to see more.

"Can I come in?" Tim asked nervously.

Tony stepped to one side. "Oh, yeah, sure, sorry about that." Way to get off on the right foot, DiNozzo, he mentally chided himself. "Dinner's just about ready. Have a seat and I'll get it."

He ushered Tim into the dining room and held out a chair. Reaching for the bottle of red wine on the table, he held it up for Tim to inspect, like a sommelier in a fine restaurant. "Wow, that's a nice wine," Tim exclaimed.

"Let me pour to a glass, Signore," Tony said, continuing his waiter impression. He started to pour Tim some wine, but his elbow caught the glass, and it spilled onto Tim, splashing his shirt and landing mostly in his lap.

"Oh, shit!" Tony said. "Here, let me help with that." He reached for Tim and started unbuttoning his shirt so he could soak it, then realized what he was doing. "Oh, sorry. Maybe you should do that."

Tim blotted his shirt with his napkin. "No, it's fine, I'll soak it when I get home. At least it's red," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, no, you should soak it now," Tony insisted, once again reaching for the buttons, but Tim batted his hand away.

"I can do it," he said resignedly, realizing Tony wasn't going to give up. "Do you have a shirt and some pants I can borrow?"

"Hmm?" Tony was distracted by Tim's action. It looked like he was going to get his wish and see more of Tim's chest. He noticed Tim looking at him expectantly, and realized Tim was waiting for a response. "Oh, yeah," he said, tearing his eyes away reluctantly. "In the bedroom. T-shirts are in the top drawer, sweats are in the bottom drawer. You should be able to find something that fits."

"Thanks." Tim shrugged his shirt the rest of the way off and handed it to Tony, who was practically drooling over the sight of a shirtless Tim. "I'll be right back."

"Hmm?" Tony said again, once again distracted by the view. "Oh, yeah, I'll start this soaking."

While Tim changed, Tony blotted the shirt as best he could and set it to soak. Then he went to see what he could do with the table cloth. Unfortunately, his best white tablecloth was probably ruined. Tony sighed. He was making an impression, all right, just not the one he was hoping for.

Tim returned a few minutes later, dressed in one of Tony's t-shirts and a pair of sweats. He handed his pants to Tony. "So much for dressing to impress," he joked.

"Oh, you're impressive, all right," Tony leered before he thought better of it. It was true. The outfit certainly wasn't as classy as what Tim had arrived in, but the t-shirt fit him snugly and showed off his well-muscled arms to best advantage. Tony appreciatively watched the material stretch tight across Tim's chest and remembered the view beneath. What he wouldn't give for that sight again. At the rate he was going, though, that was highly unlikely.

Tim blushed. "Um, thanks, I think."

Tony realized what he'd said. "I'll get these soaking, too, and get dinner," he said, beating a hasty retreat. He didn't mean to sound so suggestive. Sure, he wanted Tim, but Tim wasn't some piece of meat. He deserved to be treated with respect, and that was what Tony was determined to do, if he could still salvage the evening.

Tony spooned out two portions of lasagna and carried the plates into the dining room, setting one in front of Tim, fortunately without incident. Tim dug in immediately. "This is delicious! I didn't know you were such a good cook."

"Well, I'm not," Tony admitted. "Well, I am, but I didn't make this. My oven died, so I ordered in. I hope you don't mind. And dessert's homemade."

"I don't mind. Though if yours is half as good as this, I'm sorry to miss it."

"I'll make it for you some other time," Tony promised. That is, assuming Tim ever agreed to another date, which at this point wasn't likely.

"It's a date," Tim said, grinning broadly.

The two men ate with the companionable silence of friends enjoying a good meal together. When the plates were clean, Tony stood up. "Let me get dessert."

"What's for dessert?"

"Homemade tiramisu," Tony said. "Fortunately, it doesn't require an oven, and even if it did, I made it ahead of time."

"Sounds delicious." Tim said. "I can't wait."

Tony went into the kitchen and got the tiramisu out of the refrigerator. Unfortunately, he yanked a little too hard, losing his balance and dumping the pan—upside down—on the floor. "Shit, shit, shit," he exclaimed.

"Are you all right in there?" Tim called.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Tony shouted back. "I'm afraid there's been a little mishap with the cake, though."

"That's too bad, I was looking forward to it."

"I've got some ice cream, though. Is that okay?"

"Sure."

Tony carefully got the ice cream out of the freezer and scooped some into two bowls. He wished he had something vaguely Italian, gelato, or spumoni, or even Neapolitan ice cream. But all he had was rocky road. That was okay, though. He figured it was hard to go wrong with rocky road.

The two men finished their dessert without incident and retired to the living room. An awkward silence descended. Tony cast about for something to talk about. "So, how's the elf-lording?"

Tim looked like he was about to retort angrily, so Tony hastened to reassure him. "I'm honestly interested."

Tim looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. So what have you been up to?"

Tim eyed Tony suspiciously, still trying to decide if he was joking. Finally deciding he wasn't, Tim answered the question. "Actually, I've just gotten into Lord of the Rings Online. It runs parallel to the books, and it's got a really good storyline."

"I've never read the books,"Tony admitted, "but I've seen the movies. They're fantastic."

"The books are even better," Tim said. "The movies follow it pretty closely though."

"I'll have to read them," Tony said.

"Yeah, definitely. You've read The Hobbit, haven't you?"

"No," Tony admitted again, "but I've..."

"Seen the movies," Tim finished for him. "Those aren't as true to the book, though. They're good, but they brought in a lot of stuff from Tolkien's other books, and some stuff they made up, like that whole elf-dwarf romance thing."

"Hey, I thought that romance thing was pretty good," Tony protested.

Tim shrugged. "I guess, but not if you're a purist. That animated movie that came out in the late 70's was pretty good, though."

"I remember that," Tony said. "Smaug defined my image of what a dragon should be."

Tim smiled. "Mine, too. You really should read the book. It's fantastic."

"Yeah, I will," Tony said.

Tim was suddenly struck by an idea. "You have a Kindle, right?"

"Yeah," Tony replied. "Why?"

"You should download the book right now, and I'll read it to you."

"Read it to me?" Tony asked dubiously. "What am I, six?"

"You're never to old to be read to," Tim responded. "Just give it a try."

"Do you read to all your dates?" Tony asked, "Or am I just special?"

Tim blushed and looked away. "Some," he said, "but you are special." He met Tony's gaze again, and something sparked between them. Tony leaned forward to kiss him, but as he did, Tim stood up, and their heads knocked together.

"Ow," Tony said. Damn, he couldn't even get a kiss right. Smooth, DiNozzo. Real smooth.

"Sorry," Tim said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Tony contemplated grabbing Tim by the shoulders and holding him still while he kissed the stuffing out of him, but the moment has passed. "Here, if you really want to do this, I'll get my Kindle."

"I do," Tim assured him.

Tony got his Kindle and managed to download the book without crashing the browser or any other disaster, for which he was grateful. Maybe this date was looking up.

Once the book was downloaded, Tim settled onto the sofa and patted the space beside him. Tony sat down and leaned back, making himself comfortable.

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit," Tim began. Tony listened and found himself enjoying the story. Beside, Tim's voice was soothing, and he enjoyed listening to it. He closed his eyes and let it wash over him, and before he knew it he fell asleep.

"Tony, hey Tony, wake up!" Tim's voice interrupted his slumber.

"What, oh, sorry," Tony said.

"It's okay," Tim said, setting the Kindle down. "I'm sorry you're not enjoying it. I'd better go and let you get some sleep."

"No, don't". Tim made a motion to rise, and Tony stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I was enjoying it, really. I love hearing your voice. It was just so soothing, I guess I dropped off. I don't want you to stop, though."

"Really?"

"Really," Tony assured him. "Please, go on."

"Okay." Tim settled back down and picked up the Kindle. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he said shyly.

"I'm glad you talked me into letting you read it to me," Tony replied. Their eyes met again, and once again Tony felt the spark. He leaned forward, carefully, and this time his lips connected with Tim's. It was amazing, even better than Tony had imagined, and he'd imagined it a lot.

"Mmm," Tim moaned into his lips, deepening the kiss. He opened his mouth, and Tony gladly took the offered opportunity, mapping Tim's mouth with his tongue and reveling in the sensation.

At last they broke apart. "Wow," Tim said.

"Yeah, wow," Tony echoed. He leaned in for another kiss, and Tim kissed back eagerly. "Look," Tony said when they broke apart again, "why don't we take this into the bedroom?"

Tim hesitated. "I don't know. . ."

"No pressure," Tony hastened to assure him. "We can just get comfortable and you can read to me some more. Unless you want to do something else." Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

This time Tim initiated the kiss, wrapping his arms around Tony and rubbing his hands up his back. "Maybe a little of both."

"That's settled then." Tony stood up and offered Tim his hand, leading him into the bedroom. The night had started off badly, but he'd achieved his goal of getting Tim in his bed, and hopefully keeping him there, even if it hadn't quite gone according to plan. He'd definitely made an impression, though, he was sure, just not the one he was intending. Still, that was okay, Tony thought as he settled next to Tim on the bed and Tim prepared to start reading again. As long as it was lasting.