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Page history last edited by PBworks 17 years, 3 months ago



Author: NA63

Fandom: NCIS

Pairing(s): Leroy Gibbs/Tony DiNozzo

Warnings: BDSM

Spoilers: none

Summary: Tony has a need, one that's gotten him kicked off three different Police Forces. He tries to fight it, but eventually it always overpowers him - but this time it's Gibbs confronting him, and things are different, very different.


Nominated Category:

Most Intense Scene: Acted TV & Movies - Slash


Tony finds himself being slammed down on the bed; the mattress bounces, and he spares a second to worry about the bed frame. It can take a lot, but its starting to creak. Then he isn't thinking about bed frames or mattresses because his hands are being pulled back. The metal of the cuffs is digging into his wrists and dear god, his cock is hard and he just wants to hump the mattress until he comes.


"You're just begging for it, aren't you?" Quiet, stern, the voice behind him makes him want to come as much -- a thousand times more -- than the cuffs and being pushed down and being hauled back up until his back is arching.


"God," Tony breathes, and he's being pulled back even farther. Then he's on his knees but he has no balance, a firm grip on his wrists guarantees he isn't going anywhere. His left leg is at an angle, his right foot trapped at the edge of the bed, held tight between the thighs of his assailant.


Tony pulls, tries to lean forward, but an arm around his chest holds him still.


"So fucking ready for me," the voice grinds in his ear, and a finger touches his cock. He can't deny what he wants -- wouldn't even if he could. "Aren't you?"


"Please. Yes, please," he gasps, not sure if he needs to beg for more, beg for specifics.


"You need me fucking your ass?" And the finger leaves his cock, touches him on the ass. Slides towards his asshole and he whimpers.


"Fuck me," Tony begs, head tilting forward.


"Just like this?" The voice is in his ear, but the mouth is moving away. Hands pushing him forward aand Tony lets himself fall, legs spread and his hands still trapped and he can only turn his head enough so he can breathe.


"You want my cock up your ass?"


"God, yes," Tony begs, nearly gasping and then he feels it, feels the cock sliding inside him and he closes his eyes. Lets himself be taken, shoved into the mattress with every thrust until his head is pounding in the same drumbeat as the pounding his ass is receiving.


He clenches his teeth and tries to move his legs to hold himself up, but he can't, and he's shoved harder into the mattress, like being bludgeoned to death only this is probably the best thing that could ever happen to him. His cock thinks so, at any rate, and when the word 'boss' curls up in his throat Tony manages to hold it back.


When he comes, the name screams inside his skull. But it's one last secret he keeps, and when he rolls over and lets himself be uncuffed, he grins and nods towards the table.


The guy gives him a kiss before he gets dressed. There's a frinedly wink as he scoops up his money, then he's gone and Tony lays motionless on the motel bed for a long, long time.




Tony didn't have to look up the number; didn't have to go through his cell phone's stored numbers to look it up.


Tony hasn't called it that often, but he had the number memorised anyhow. His hand hovered over the numberpad of his cell, thumb over the first number. All he had to do was dial. Then the rest would be easy. He'd get dressed, drive over to that part of town, get a room from a clerk who knew enough not to smirk when someone paid for the night at an hourly motel.


He felt sick to his stomach, but that wasn't why he couldn't dial. Perhaps it should have been why -- it was getting harder to do this, but it was entirely too impossible not to. He'd tried, for an entire year he'd played the good boy and done everything expected of him and in the end he'd still sought out the locals and found a number he could call.


For the last seven months he'd called only when absolutely necessary. Ten times, so far, and there was nothing significant about this being number eleven. It isn't more often than before, it isn't less. In Peoria it had been less only because it had been too dangerous. He'd been working Vice, after all, and the chance of being caught...had been pretty damn good, after all. Transfered to another city and his records showed nothing.


Tony was pretty sure he had a problem. He couldn't keep a job, couldn't stay in the same city for more than two years. If he'd been superstitious he'd have blamed it on his grandmother's old country curses. But when he was feeling realistic, he knew it was simply because he couldn't stop, and sooner or later he slipped up and the wrong people found out.


All he could do was pray it wouldn't be sooner, this time, and that was the reason he couldn't bring himself to dial. For every week he was able to go without, he was able to stay.


He dropped his phone and curled up on the couch, wondering if channel surfing through a hundred cable channels would be enough to distract him. A cursory search told him that looking for the remote would take all evening, though, and when the doorbell rang, he considered it a godsend.


Tony headed for the door, sock feet slipping very slightly on the polished stone entryway. He peered through the peephole and blinked. Then he jerked the door open and stared.


"Gibbs?" He tensed, shifting into work-mode despite the fact that work meant getting a phone call. It had never brought his boss to his front door unannounced.


"Can I come in?"


"Sure!" Tony jumped back, held the door and tried not to stare as Gibbs walked past him. Something was up -- of course, because why else would Gibbs be here on a Friday evening? When just a few hours before Gibbs had practically chased them all out of the building, reports from yesterday's closed case fresh on his desk.


Gibbs walked into the living room; Tony followed and waited at the threshold. Watched as Gibbs did a slow survey of the room, and Tony was glad he'd not left the place a complete disaster. His cleaning lady came in Tuesdays and Saturdays; Friday nights were usually the worst.


When Gibbs finally turned to look at him, Tony felt his stomach hit the floor. He knew that look.


He forced out a not-quite-terrified, "Yes, boss?" and waited.


Gibbs' expression only turned more grave. "We need to talk."


Tony nodded. Been here, done this, and how fair was it that he'd only tonight managed to give himself another week respite?


Gibbs took a step forward then stopped; he seemed upset, and uncertain what to say. Not terribly surprising, Tony thought. Then Gibbs just sighed and said, "I got a phone call from a friend, today. Told me some rather disturbing things."


Tony nodded. The stomach-dropping fear had gone to numb, and he found himself wanting, perversely, to spare Gibbs this. "It's OK," he said, swallowing the habitual 'boss' at the end of it. He had to try twice before he could say the rest without his voice breaking. "I'll have my resignation on your desk by Monday."


He'd have to move again. Maybe this time he'd leave the northeast. Wasn't sure where he wanted to go instead, but something in him was screaming to run as far as possible.


"Resignation?" Gibbs was blinking at him, frowning. "I'm not asking for your resignation."


In a flash, the numb became ice-cold. Tony took a step backwards, found his heel come up against the wall. His hands curled into fists and he wondered if he thought that would somehow help. Fighting back. "You here to beat the shit out of me, instead? That's what Parkers did. Partner back in Philly; didn't take too kindly to finding out what he'd been working with."


His heart was pounding; Tony thought about all the times he'd sparred with Gibbs. All the times he'd played to lose, or been too distracted by the man himself to focus on what he was there for.


"I have to tell you, Gibbs, there's no way I can take you," Tony said, forcing an ironic tone of bravado. He wondered if this would be as bad as Philly. He'd spent two weeks in the hospital, and, not oddly enough, his "official" report of a mugging had never gone farther than a notation in his file.


But Gibbs was shaking his head. He looked confused, and started to ask a question. Then his face cleared and he looked unaccountably pissed off. "Christ, Tony, is that what happened?"


Things were flitting through Gibbs' expression, things Tony couldn't figure out. He knew what they were, but why he was seeing them.... "Yeah," he said, brashly. "In Philadelphia. Baltimore was a lot nicer about it. Got a boot to the ass and have a nice life somewhere else. No stains on my record so when you hired me, you didn't have a clue what you were really getting. I'd file a complaint of inter-agency disclosure of information if I were you."


For a brief moment he thought he should have tried to beg for his job. Promise never to do it again, swear it was an aberration. But -- as much as he was in love with his job, and... as much as everything else made being at NCIS the best part of his life, he knew himself well enough to know. False promises wouldn't help.


"I am not here to fire you," Gibbs said. "I *am* here to knock some sense into you." He hesitated; Tony could see him flinching at his own words. Then Gibbs shook his head and walked closer. Tony knew how close the front door was. Knew how far he'd get before Gibbs could tackle him.


He didn't move. Hell, Gibbs deserved his shot.


"What the *hell* were you thinking, Tony? That's got to be the absolute *stupidest* thing you have *ever* done," Gibbs began, and he was completely wound up before he got past the first word. Half a step away from him, now, and shouting in Tony's face in that not-loud way Tony associated with marine sergeants everywhere.


He opened his mouth involuntarily to respond, and shut it again quickly.


Gibbs didn't seem to notice, or care, the attempt at defense. "Letting someone like that *cuff* you? Have you completely lost your mind?"


Tony started in surprise. This wasn't exactly the sort of complaint he'd been expecting. But Gibbs was still going. Standing closer, now, and Tony wished to god he had a wall behind him to hold him up.


"You know better than I do how often something like that leads to robbery, or even murder." There was a glint in Gibbs' eyes, hard and steel and normally it was exactly the sort of thing that made Tony dial those numbers he hadn't been able to call tonight.


He swallowed a hysterical giggle at the thought. He should have called; then he wouldn't be here, now, getting reamed. But he shook his head, and said, "I only take cash -- enough for what I need. Don't even take my wallet."


"And the part about you getting killed?" Gibbs challenged.


Tony shrugged. In all honesty, he hadn't ever really cared about that. He'd never been able to figure out if it was because he didn't seriously believe it would happen, or if he simply didn't care.


Or maybe that fear was part of what kept drawing him back.


"Goddamit, Tony!" Gibbs shouted, and Tony closed his eyes. Tried to think of excuses, or explanations, or hell, even a coherent question like why the fuck are you yelling at me?


Then suddenly, he didn't have to ask, and his first coherent thought after Gibbs' lips were pressing on his was, maybe this is why he's so mad.


Tony stared as Gibbs leaned away, half-ready to run in case this was some insane, cruel test before the real reason Gibbs was here revealed itself. Didn't move because his body only cared about the fact it was getting something he'd wanted for -- exactly nineteen months and three weeks, four days and a handful of hours. He should count, to be sure, but he didn't know exactly what time it was.


"I...." He heard his voice, cracking and whispering and desperate.


Gibbs leaned in again, close enough for another kiss, but instead he said, "You will not ever do something like that again, do you understand me?"


The "Yes, boss," slipped out, even though Tony had no clue what was going on.


"Tell me," Gibbs said -- commanded, and that tone was one Tony had never been able to convey exactly to any of the guys he'd hired. Even when they knew what he meant, they'd never got the tone down -- which hadn't ever really surprised him. He'd always just closed his eyes and pretended.


"Tell you what, boss?" he stammered, and his cock was straining against his jeans. He was pretty damn sure Gibbs could feel it, even with the two inches of space between them.


"*Tell* *me*," Gibbs ground out. And his hands slipped around Tony's back and onto Tony's wrists and held him.


"Oh, god." Tony's head slipped back, and he really needed that wall or he was going to fall backwards onto his ass. He swallowed, and this was insane -- this was being recorded, probably, to use at his trial. They were going to commit him, or arrest him, and this was all just evidence to prove the case.


Gibbs kissed him again, and Tony opened his mouth, feeling Gibbs' tongue slip inside his instantly; forcing his way inside except Tony wasn't fighting, wouldn't have tried to prevent him from getting in. He moaned, and let Gibbs kiss him, didn't try to pull his hands free of the grip that was really only mostly a suggestion.


When Gibbs broke free, Tony said, quickly, "He strips me down, and cuffs me. And tells me what he's doing...des...describes what I want, and...does it. Fucks me," he said, closing his eyes because it was still -- faintly -- possible that this wasn't what it was.


Gibbs let him go and stepped away, and Tony felt the betrayal hit him. Like a slam of cold air that melted when Gibbs said, "Strip."


Tony blinked. His brain was spinning, and...there was a line of no return, and even if Tony had crossed it long ago, Gibbs had never stepped closer to it than a look which could always be chalked up to misinterpretation.


But Gibbs was looking at him, and the anger softened a little. There was something else, something that made Tony want to reach out and grab on. Gibbs stepped back, into the living room proper again, and removed his jacket.


Tony was so hard, he half-expected to come. More than half-expected it when Gibbs removed his shirt, and started kicking off his shoes. Tony's hands were shaking when he pulled his own shirt off, paranoia making him stay one step behind. When Gibbs stepped out of his pants, Tony was still partially dressed; when Gibbs pulled off his underwear and stood there, watching him with an eerily patient look, Tony scrambled. His clothes hit the floor and he stood there, surprisingly not embarrassed by the way he was completely erect.


He was a little surprised to find Gibbs half-hard himself, even if one corner of his brain was trying to point out that that was entirely the point.


"Tony," Gibbs said, his voice soft, without any command in it.


"Please," was all Tony could say, and when Gibbs pointed towards the bedroom, Tony fairly ran. Gibbs caught him beside the bed, grabbing his arms and pulling him around.


There was another kiss, but Tony was too distracted by the feel of Gibbs. Naked skin pressed up against his, and there was no way in hell he was going to last long enough for this to come to anything. He felt Gibbs' fingers run up the back of his neck, into his hair, then they gripped.


"Do you need the cuffs?" Gibbs asked, and his tone was... shocking. Needy and aroused and he was asking like he didn't *care*, and Tony was unable to answer right away.


"Not...sometimes," he whispered, and he wondered when he would ever be able to lie to Gibbs again.


He could always make love to a woman without bringing his own kinks into it. But when it was a man, he'd always had to know he was not the one in control.


Gibbs grabbed his wrists again and tugged, as though experimenting. Tony whimpered, and he had a flash of what was happening. Himself, cuffed and on the bed, and Gibbs -- dear god, *Gibbs* -- bending over him. Horrible, desperate noises were coming out of his mouth, and he wanted to bite his lip. But Gibbs was kissing his neck, and holding his wrists tightly, and Tony started thinking of ways he could avoid coming in the next two seconds so he could last long enough to get fucked.


"Please, please, please," he found himself saying, and Gibbs kissed him again. Then he was gone, walking away and Tony could only stare after him. Confused, even when Gibbs went to the closet and pulled out Tony's backpack and dug into the side pocket.


Then Gibbs was bringing over his cuffs and Tony couldn't move, even when Gibbs stepped up behind him and cuffed him. He wasn't sure he was even breathing as Gibbs pushed him down. Tony landed on his side on the bed, and he had barely any time to think that maybe he'd hit his head and this was all a dream.


"On your knees," Gibbs growled, and Tony cried out.


He couldn't move, and he knew Gibbs would be annoyed to have to say it again, but then there was a hand on his cock, and he was coming. Tony buried his face in the blankets, hips moving of their own accord as he fucked the fist wrapped tight around his cock. He wanted to move away, but the cuffs and the weight of Gibbs behind him held him in place.


His body was shaking and he could feel himself losing it, and if this whole evening wasn't already embarrassing as hell, this was mortifying. Coming, screaming into the blankets, and wanting so desperately to ask Gibbs if this was real, if he would stay, if -- he managed to choke back any real words because god knew he didn't need to ask *that*.


But he couldn't stop shaking, and he tried to breathe and wasn't entirely sure he was succeeding.


"Oh, god, Tony," he heard Gibbs say, and he didn't have time to ask what he meant -- why he sounded so shocked. Because there were fingers spreading him open, and the sound of a cap and the smell of lube, and he didn't have time to even wonder how the fuck Gibbs had gotten a hold of that before Gibbs was positioned behind him and sliding inside.


Tony's hands were in the way, but neither of them tried to move them. All Tony could do was raise his left knee up towards his chest to brace himself, and let Gibbs fuck him.


Fuck him. Tony gasped, and the realisation hit him in the chest, in the stomach, in his cock. Gibbs was fucking him. Had him pinned to the bed and still had a hand on Tony's cock, slick with Tony's cum and sliding loosely up and down. Tony had no idea if he'd get hard again; it barely seemed to matter.


Gibbs was fucking him. Hard, and moving faster, and from the sound of it he was no farther away from coming that Tony had been from the moment Gibbs had stepped too near.


"Please," Tony said again, quietly this time and he felt no urgency in it. "Fuck me," he whispered, and the words seemed to hit Gibbs. A hand gripped his hip, hard, and Tony arched into it, tried to spread his legs wider as though Gibbs needed his permission to fuck him. Gibbs slammed into him, hard enough to shake the bed into the wall, and then Gibbs was shouting, long and hard and still pounding into Tony's ass like he was never going to slow down.


When he came, the shout was cut off and the hand on Tony's hip tightened even more. Tony lay still as Gibbs froze; slowly, inch by inch, Gibbs collapsed against Tony's back.


Tony still didn't try to move, even when Gibbs shifted. The hand on his hip moved to his thigh, then there was a kiss on his shoulder blade, and perversely, Tony's paranoia flashed again and he bit back the question. Why?


Gibbs moved off the bed, and Tony didn't look back. Stared at the wall and tried to make the joy win out over the fear. Gibbs had *fucked* him, and even if the world came crashing down in the next ten seconds, nothing could change that.


He felt his wrists pulled back, and the sound of the key warned him. Then his wrists were free and Tony brought his arms in front of him, still not rolling over.


There was a dull thump as Gibbs dropped the cuffs on the floor, then the bed dipped down and suddenly there was Gibbs, naked and sweaty and sticky and pressed up against him. Arm wrapped around his middle and holding him.


Another kiss on his shoulder, and Tony wondered if he could force himself to relax. Gibbs' hand was moving slowly up and down his stomach, now and the implication was clear.


"Tony?" Soft, concerned.


"Yes, b--" He choked on the word, because surely right now he should be calling him something else. Jethro? If he wanted to get his ass handed to him, maybe.


"Next time, I'm going to tie you to the bed. So I can see your face when you come."


Tony froze. Then he rolled over, not moving away but staring, his face barely an inch away from Gibbs'. Tony's mouth dropped open, but he couldn't say anything.


Gibbs smiled and kissed him again. The first gentle kiss he'd had.


"Are leather cuffs okay? I don't know that I want to use metal cuffs," Gibbs asked, glancing up at the bed frame. All Tony could do was nod, fast, and grab onto Gibbs and press his face against Gibbs' chest. Gibbs hugged him tight, and Tony closed his eyes.


Maybe he'd hit his head, and these hallucinations would land him in the hospital for a week. Maybe....


"I love you," slipped out, and he couldn't be sure he'd even said it loud enough to hear it himself.


There was a kiss on his forehead. and what sounded a hell of a lot like a chuckle. Then fingers on his chin pulled his head up, and Tony found Gibbs staring at him. Then there was a quirk in the corner of his mouth -- a second later, Gibbs was smiling as widely as Tony had ever seen.


"Good," Gibbs said. "That makes this easier."


"Makes....what?" Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know. But Gibbs was *smiling*, and it made Tony want to crawl up and kiss him.


"I love you, too," Gibbs said, and Tony didn't have to go anywhere because Gibbs was sliding down to meet him.


It was a long time before Tony could speak again, and when he could -- he found he didn't want to.

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