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The damp October air clings to their skin like a second uniform, thick with the scent of wet earth and the distant tang of decomposing flesh seeping from the body bag between them. Mosquitoes hum in lazy circles around the floodlights, occasionally dive-bombing Tim's neck where his collar gapes open. Somewhere beyond the crime scene tape, a raccoon rustles through last week's fast food wrappers—Tony had thrown a McNugget at it three hours ago to watch it waddle. Tony's knees pop like rifle shots when he stands at dawn, stretching toward a sky bleeding from indigo to molten gold.
He nudges Tim's boot with his own, grinning at the way his partner's face mashes harder into the rolled-up windbreaker serving as a pillow. "McSnory, wake up."
Tim's groan vibrates through the pavement. "What do you want, DiNozzo?" He doesn't bother opening his eyes, fingers twitching toward his holster out of habit. "Somebody here?"
"Nah, Probie." Tony's grin widens as he gestures broadly at the horizon, where the sun shatters through the tree line in honeyed streaks. "Look at that sunrise! It's so romantic!"
Tim finally cracks one bloodshot eye open. "And what," he deadpans, voice graveled with sleep, "you expect a kiss?"
Tony barks a laugh, tossing his head back—mistake. The motion sends Tim's instincts into overdrive. Still half-trapped in a dream about debug codes, he lurches upward like a marionette with its strings yanked. His fist tangles in Tony's gelled curls, jerking him down with the grace of a drunken octopus. Their teeth click. Tony's startled inhale tastes of stale coffee and wintergreen gum. Tim's nose mashed awkwardly against his cheekbone, but the heat of his mouth is shockingly soft, yielding under Tony's gasp. They stay like that for three thunderous heartbeats—Tim's free hand splayed on Tony's vest, Tony's fingers digging into his shoulder—before Tony reels back with a strangled sound.
"Well now," he wheezes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, voice cracking like a teenager's, "it's very Brokeback Mountain."
Tim blinks. Then blinks again. The raccoon stares at them from behind a pizza box.
"Uh," said Tim.
Tony's smirk returns, wild at the edges. "Round two, Cowboy?"
The body chooses that moment to release a particularly noxious puff of decay-scented gas. Tim groans. Tony laughs until he chokes.