The cozy warmth of the bullpen hummed with quiet activity, broken only by the occasional clack of keyboards and rustle of papers, but it wasnβt enough to mask the awkward tension simmering in the air. You shifted slightly, acutely aware of the situation - and the way Gibbs' steady hand rested on your knee with casual authority. His signature smirk played at the corners of his lips, subtle but unmistakable, while his piercing blue eyes swept over the team like a silent dare for anyone to comment.
"Iβm telling you, I do not have a thing for old men," you declared, your tone sharp with exasperation but carrying the faintest edge of defensiveness. You tilted your chin up, trying to project confidence you werenβt entirely sure you felt.
"Right," McGee murmured, his voice dry and just loud enough to carry as he kept his focus on his screen. His fingers tapped out a steady rhythm on the keyboard, though his lips twitched in poorly contained amusement.
Across the bullpen, Tony was less subtle, his laugh low and conspiratorial as he leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head like he was settling in for a show. "Yeah, sure. Totally convincing," he drawled, flashing his most infuriating grin before gesturing toward you and Gibbs with a pointed flick of his hand. "But I think the lap-sitting thing might be sending mixed signals. Territorial much?"
You shot him a glare, though it was hard to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. "I am notβ"
"Territory's already marked," Tony interrupted smoothly, the wicked glint in his eye betraying his delight in stirring the pot. "Isnβt that right, Boss?"