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Chapter Text

He landed face down on a gritty cement floor, his bound hands clenching uselessly behind his back.

"Ah, Mr. Gibbs," the well dressed man on the right side of dingy room greeted him with. He spoke with a Hispanic accent and Gibbs mentally filed it away for future reference.

Drawing his knees up under his body, Gibbs struggled to make it back upright, only to be stopped from actually standing by the sight of a gun pointed at his head. It was held by the larger of the two goons in the room, and he stilled immediately upon seeing it.

"I think I prefer you on your knees," the well dressed man said, strolling closer to him.

A groan from the heap on the floor and Gibbs' eyes widened briefly as he caught sight of his missing agent.

"Boss?" Tony asked hoarsely, squinting at him from across the room.

Gibbs grimaced at the sight of Tony's face. Even in the dim light, he could make out enough to tell that Tony had been beaten. The right side of his face was heavily bruised and his eye swollen shut.

They had gotten separated while searching what they had thought was an abandoned building. He hadn't liked the set-up going in, his gut telling him that it was too quiet, too still—even for someplace as empty as the old warehouse was supposed to be.

He knew they couldn't always get lucky; the same way he knew that there wasn't any point in wasting time thinking of what they should have done differently. Shit happened, and now it was time to figure out how to get out of their situation—preferably alive.

"Such a nice young man you have here, Mr. Gibbs," the well dressed man said, crouching down and running a manicured hand through Tony's unusually wild hair.

Something inside Gibbs clenched at the sight of their captor touching his agent, but he didn't say anything. This man was far more dangerous than his cultured appearance would lead most people to believe.

"Tell me, Mr. Dinozzo," the hand running through Tony's hair abruptly clenched down and pulled the younger man's head up with a cruel jerk. "Have you ever been fucked?"

Time shuddered to a stop around them. Gibbs could see the well dressed man's cold, predatory smile gleam and then expand as a horrified look came across Tony's face, before quickly disappearing.

Then the moment was over and he watched as a pained smile appeared on his agent's face, followed by the words, "No, but I've been pretty fucked up before!"

"I see," the well dressed man answered with a knowing upturn of his lips. Suddenly releasing Tony's head, the man stood up and looked at the goon standing beside them.

"He is yours," the well dressed man said, waving his hand down at Tony.

Gibbs watched in dawning horror as the larger man crouched down beside his agent and began whispering things in his ear.

"Niño lindo . . . pretty boy with the tight ass . . ." Gibbs heard more than once.

The well dressed man looked at him with a triumphant leer, and Gibbs growled back up at him.

He had seen the way the other man had looked at him, and he remembered the comment about liking him on his knees. If he could save his agent, then it would be worth it.

"You not man enough to do it yourself?" Gibbs asked at last, his voice a low growl of contempt.

The well dressed man strolled back to his side of the room. "He is not my type," the man said, carefully enunciating his words.

"So what's your type?" Gibbs spat back, twisting his lips on the last word.

The man stepped up to him and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him forwards and somewhat off balance.

"You, old man."

The hand in his hair twisted painfully, but he didn't pay attention to that. He couldn't; Tony's ass was on the line, and this time it was literal.

"Me for him, then," Gibbs said, not breaking eye contact with the man above him.

"You are too risky," the man murmured back, his eyes moving over Gibbs' face appraisingly.

"I won't fight if you promise to leave Tony alone," Gibbs offered, his knees aching from the hard unyielding floor.

The well dressed man shifted slightly and Gibbs knew he almost had him. Pursing his lips, the man said softly, "I would very much like to feel your lips around my dick, Mr. Gibbs."

"Done. I'll do it," Gibbs answered, not letting himself contemplate what he was agreeing to. "Leave my man alone and I'll do whatever you want," he bargained softly, his eyes shining up truthfully.

"Alejandro will not be pleased," the well dressed man said, his lips twisting upwards in a smirk. Suddenly the painful grip in Gibbs' hair was gone and he teetered for a moment before regaining his balance.

"But I can tell you mean what you say, Mr. Gibbs," the man continued, turning back to Tony and Alejandro and barking a series of short orders in Spanish.

The large man, Alejandro, paused from unbuttoning Dinozzo's shirt and with an angry growl he shoved Tony back on his stomach.

"Gibbs? What did you tell him?" Tony's unbeaten side of his face was tight with worry, the green eye on that side wide with barely veiled terror.

"Just be quiet Tony," Gibbs growled, only glancing at him briefly before turning his face back towards the well dressed man.

"Gibbs?" Tony's voice was pitched slightly higher and he finally looked back across the room at him for longer than a second.

"Tony," Gibbs' face softened a tiny bit at the sight of the distress in his agent's eye. "Don't argue with me."

In front of him, he heard the rustle of a belt being undone and he forced himself to look back up into the dark eyes of the man standing over him.

"I do not need to tell you that should you bite, Mr. Gibbs, I will be forced to shoot your man," the other man warned as he guided his cock into Gibbs' nearly slack mouth.

Gibbs gave a slight nod and then closed down his mind against everything except the task in front of him. He didn't have time to think about what he was doing. If he thought about it, he would gag and Tony would be dead. That wasn't a risk he was prepared to take.

The other man's hands slid into his hair once more, almost gripping tightly enough to rip it out by the roots, but instead of being distracted by the pain, Gibbs used it to keep himself grounded.

The well dressed man fucked his mouth, urging him on softly in a mixture of English and Spanish, all designed to embarrass him, he knew. He ignored it for the most part, letting it slide past his ears like water, only hearing a few phrases every so often.

"Suck me, lick me like the dog you are . . . viejo puto . . . my old whore."

He couldn't think. At the edges of his awareness he could feel sickness in his gut threatening to overwhelm him, but he refused to acknowledge it, refused to give into it.

A particularly rough thrust pushed the cock past the barriers of his throat and he choked, his air abruptly cut off as the bastard in front of him moaned his approval. The obstruction disappeared and he gasped away the blackness that had been impinging on his consciousness. Suddenly the hand in his hair released him and the cock completely left his mouth. He saw the muscles twist under the well dressed man's trousers and then the man was behind him, putting a knee to his back, forcing him down flat.

Hands rucked up his shirt, roaming over his stomach and abdomen. They were softer than a laborer's, but not nearly as soft as they should have been, if the well dressed man really was as rich as his clothing purported him to be.

A quick jerk and snap and his jeans were undone, and he breathed slightly easier as those wandering hands moved over his hidden knife and past, not even stopping to investigate.

"Let's see how good a fuck this viejo puto truly is," the man announced jovially to the room, his accent becoming more pronounced as his excitement grew.

Gibbs could hear a gasping whine from across the room, and although it worried him to hear Tony make such a sound, he couldn't think about it.

His jeans and boxers were jerked down roughly, and he felt the chill from the cold floor touch his body. The well dressed man shoved his clothing down to his ankles and with a kick of one expensive shoe, he felt them pull completely off of his body.

A hand reached around to fondle his genitals, and then there was a hot breath in his ear as the well dressed man whispered, "Your lovers must have been very pleased with you in the past," the hand on his cock squeezing too hard for it to be anything except painful.

He grunted and fixed his eyes on the wall to their side.

Two spit slick fingers touched the cleft of his ass, spreading his cheeks wider than technically necessary before pushing into him with a slight burn. They twisted tightly within him, stretching him with a brutal scissoring motion and then exiting just as roughly.

He exhaled slowly, his hands clenching into white knuckled fists behind his back as he felt the thick head of the well dressed man's cock slowly push its way into his body. He imagined that some of the spit from the earlier blow job was still wet on the man's cock. He couldn't feel much beyond the burn of insertion, every inch hurting more than the last as it sunk farther into him, until finally stopping.

"Ohhh, Mr. Gibbs," the well dressed man gasped breathily into his ear. "I think I shall enjoy this very much," he said with a chuckle, rubbing a hand down the side of Gibbs' now sweating face.

His breath hitched when the man suddenly sat up and pulled almost entirely free of his body, causing Gibbs' sight to gray out somewhat with the very pronounced burst of new pain.

He felt those not so soft hands reach down and grip his still clenched ones before thrusting back in with a violent push.

"You are all fight, Mr. Gibbs. All fight and no screaming," the well dressed man whispered softly in his ear.

He bit the inside of his mouth as the man pulled out again, the pain only seeming to increase as the actual fucking slowly began. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Alejandro and the other armed man both jerking off as they watched his rape; their faces devoid of any emotion other than cruel lust.

He could kill this man before being stopped by the other two, but he didn't think he would be fast enough to save both Tony and himself afterwards.

As the brutal thrusting continued at his backside, he felt something shift and he grunted aloud at the fresh wave of pain. There was fire in his rectum now and he knew it had torn. He could smell blood and knew without a doubt that it was his own.

He tried to shift his body upwards to change the angle just slightly, but the well dressed man thwarted his movement with a punch to the center of his back, followed by a breathy chuckle.

"No Mr. Gibbs. I want this to hurt you every bit as it pleases me."

The thrusting continued unabated after that at a furious pace. The well dressed man's balls slapped against his ass and there was a lurid squelching noise associated with each push inside his body. He could feel the blood between his legs dripping under him and being spread by the wild motions of his rapist.

Gibbs could feel his breath wheezing in his ears, the pain almost overwhelming him as he sought to remain aware and conscious. A hand wrapped itself around his neck, just under his chin and pulled on his throat, cutting off his air, as the man's hand tipped his head backwards. He could feel the stretch as his spine was manipulated into bending in an unnatural way.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four, he counted the thrusts inside his head while his air was cut off. Then his head dropped forwards as the hand around his throat suddenly released and he gasped for air, his heartbeat pounding furiously in his head, but not quite loud enough to drown out the nearly insane laughter of his rapist.

Again the hand around his throat reappeared and he started counting once more, his vision getting dark at the edges before the hand released his throat. That time it had been six thrusts, and he knew that he couldn't make it much past eight.

The third time it happened, the well dressed man leaned over his back, putting his weight against his upper body and whispered into his ear, "Your life, viejo puto, it rests in my hands, si?"

The pain in his neck and back had stretched its way down his spine and met up with the pain radiating out from between his legs. He felt as though he was being ripped into pieces, and he clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.

At last the hand removed itself from his throat, and his head dropped to the filthy floor with a clunk as he coughed and gasped for air. He could feel finger shaped bruises forming on his throat as he swallowed repeatedly against the memory of being strangled.

The intensity of the cock in his ass increased once more, and he knew the well dressed man had to be getting close to completion.

Hands were pulling on his bound arms and he could feel his shoulders being pulled backwards even as he heard the well dressed man begin whispering in his ear again.

"I have enjoyed this very much, viejo puto. Have you?"

When he didn't answer, the well dressed man slammed the base of his hand into the side of his head, causing a loud CRACK to reverberate through the room as his head bounced off the floor.

Time stopped again as blackness filled his vision. He tasted blood and knew that one of his shoulders was very close to being dislocated. His body felt as though it was on fire, and he felt his consciousness attempting to slip from his grasp.

"Snap out of it Jethro," he heard distantly and groggily he tried to shake his head. A sharp bolt of pain tore across his forehead and down his temple for his efforts and he instantly stopped moving.

"Hurt again? What am I going to do with you?" He heard a chuckle this time and finally recognized the voice. It was Fornell. At one point they had decided they were friends, and then later it had become more, and now he no longer knew what he'd do without the other man in his life.

"Well, have you?" An accented voice was still asking him and he finally heard it again as awareness came back fully.

"No," Gibbs finally managed to spit out hoarsely.

"Ahh," the well dressed man said, his breath noticeably hitching as he began to orgasm. "Too . . . bad!" The well dressed man added with a bark of laughter.

The pressure on his arms released and Gibbs slumped forwards on the floor, his shoulders aching as blood flow restarted. He couldn't see and belatedly, he realized that his eyes were still shut. Carefully cracking them open, he squinted at the light filtering in around his pounding headache. He could smell the comingled odors of blood, sweat, shit, and now semen. He had to swallow against the urge to vomit when he recognized that they were all emanating from his body.

The pressure in his backside eased and he heard the well dressed man standing up and redressed. Something fluttered down beside his head and he saw that it was a blood—and other bodily fluids—covered handkerchief. He turned his head away and found the well dressed man now fully clothed once again, looking down at him with cruel amusement.

"A memento of our meeting," the man said with a laugh. Then waving his hands at the other two men, he barked out something quickly in Spanish and then turned to exit.

"I kept my word, Mr. Gibbs," Gibbs heard him say on the way out. "I did not harm your man."

Chapter Text

Tony Dinozzo felt sick at what he had just witnessed and at what had almost happened to him.

Pulling himself upright, he barely suppressed a moan of pain. His left side felt as though it were simply one massive bloody welt, and with every breath he took, he felt a sharp bolt of pain through his ribs.

Please let them not be broken, he thought fervently as he rolled to his side.

Moving slowly, he maneuvered his bound arms from behind his back around to his front. He fumbled at his belt and clumsily removed his hidden knife, and a moment later he was free and stumbling over to where Gibbs still lay.

Gibbs' body was a mess. His shirt was still rucked up and Tony could see blood filled scratches running up and down his torso. His jeans were in a heap at his feet and the mess that between his legs was clearly visible, although Tony tried not to look too closely at it.

He quickly cut through the bindings around his boss's wrists and shoved the rope in his pocket, numbly thinking about DNA and epithelial evidence as he did. Gibbs' arms slid down to his sides and Tony was heartened somewhat to hear a groan emanate from his boss at the action.

"Boss?" He asked softly, putting his hand on Gibbs' shoulder and pulling him over on his side.

In a heartbeat, he felt the muscles under his hand tense as Gibbs pushed himself on his back and grabbed him by the throat with a familiar level of intensity.

"Tony?" Gibbs asked hoarsely, his eyes widening slightly before releasing his throat and slumping back down in obvious relief.

"It's just me, Gibbs. Just me," Tony soothed, his stomach hurting at the wary expression on his boss's face.

Gibbs nodded quickly at him, and then clenched his eyes as a wave of pain passed through him.

"I need to—," Tony tried to say, his throat closing off halfway through. He put his hand on Gibbs' shoulder and pushed lightly, trying to convey his meaning. "To get the bleeding under control," he managed as Gibbs nodded again, his face a picture of pained resignation.

Screw Rule 6, he thought fervently.

"I'm sorry boss," he whispered, pushing Gibbs' back on his stomach.

Carefully shrugging off his dress shirt, he gripped the bottom of his undershirt with one hand and pulled it off over his head. His eyes watered with pain as he moved, but finally it was off. Keeping his left arm next to his side, he sliced the shirt into strips with his knife, and then set about the uncomfortable task of packing them into and around his boss's still bleeding rectum.

He didn't have time to be sick. He could be sick later. He could rage and he could scream, but for now, he didn't have the luxury of that kind of time. The bastards who did this could still come back. They had to get out of there and find help.

God, Gibbs'll never agree to go to a hospital for this. It'd have to be Ducky. Could they ask Ducky to do this?

He pulled Gibbs' jeans and underwear back up slowly, taking care not to dislodge any of the makeshift bandages as he did.

"Gonna move you on your side boss," Tony murmured, wincing silently as he stretched out both hands to buckle up Gibbs' pants.

As he leaned back, one of Gibbs' hands came up and briefly clenched around his right hand. He squeezed back, the lump in his throat expanding as he did.

. . .

Gibbs knew that Tony was hurt. Hell, he'd have to be a fool not to miss the signs, incapacitated or not.

He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he wished that Tobias was here with them now. Tobias knew him better than anyone alive, and would be able to tell immediately how he felt just by looking at him.

Tony's arm came up around his shoulders, shifting him upright. The world swam for a moment and he instinctively leaned into Tony's side, trusting that he would hold him up.

"Come on boss," he heard Tony murmur softly in his ear.

Standing. He knew he'd have to make it upright to get out of here, but he honestly hadn't expected it to hurt so damn much. He grunted as they stood, a fresh wave of pain washing through his back and ass as he got to his feet.

He maneuvered his arm around Tony's shoulder as Tony's arm came up around him, and then gritted his teeth and started moving.

The door was unlocked. It figured.

Just another way of thumbing his nose at us, he thought angrily.

He used his anger to propel him forwards, past the wrenching pain between his legs and in his lower back. He wasn't worried about his dignity. He honestly didn't give a damn about it, and even if he had, he knew he didn't have to be on his guard around Tony.

The journey to the outside was done slowly and in near silence as they stumbled and pulled one another along down the hallways and various stairwells of the old building. Finally, he found himself blinking at the unexpectedly bright sunlight, breathing the fresh air of a world that had continued on as usual while they had been inside.

His vision swam in front of his eyes once more, and slowed his pace; knowing that tripping over something would cause more things to hurt than they currently were.

"Aw shit." He heard Tony say under his breath just beside him.

Blinking furiously, willing himself to focus past the murky haze of pain that he had been in since leaving the room, he looked forwards and saw what Tony's issue was.

Their car's tires had been slashed and the windows busted. Their guns and phones had been taken back in the room, but now as he squinted, he could see their badges shining in the sun on top of the wreck of their vehicle.

"Guess we're walking, huh boss?" His agent's voice was one of resignation.

"Ya think, Tony?" He growled out, his voice harsher than usual.

They grabbed their badges before leaving. Gibbs could hear the well dressed man's laughter in his head as he did, and he used it to briefly cut through the fog in his mind.

"West of here, 'bout two miles," he grunted. "Passed a gas station."

So they went.

. . .

Either Gibbs' estimation of two miles was off or else they had taken an unusually long time to walk it.

Tony wasn't inclined to examine either possibility too closely.

Save for a few early efforts at figuratively lightening the load with a few half-hearted attempts at humor—he could hear Father Mulcahy's voice in his head laughing and saying, "Jocularity, jocularity!"—their trip was silent. They were surrounded by trees and grass and little chirping birds that Tony sort of wanted to scream out at for being so damn normal on a day so damned not.

His side ached and his head pounded, and his arm kept slipping down around his boss' shoulder, requiring them to stop and readjust every hundred feet or so, but he kept those pains to himself, thinking that Gibbs' own injuries far outweighed his own.

Gibbs was normally pretty taciturn anyway, and although Tony frequently felt the urge to fill that silence with trivia or randomness, he knew that this was not that sort of situation. Truth be told, he was a bit afraid to open his mouth. He wasn't precisely sure what might come out of it this time.

Thoughts like why and thank you so much, but . . . were circling furiously in his mind and he was pretty sure he didn't want to say anything until he'd had a chance to think—preferably alone and preferably while not in pain.

Once at the gas station, the biggest difficulty had been in convincing the guy not to call the police, and finally Tony had resorted to telling him a lie about how they were undercover blah blah, and the police would blow that royally. He'd winced with the word "blow," thinking Gibbs might react badly to that, but the man hadn't spoken, not even looked his way until he had asked for the phone, and then all he had said was one word.

"Fornell," was that word. Gibbs had turned pained blue eyes on him and he had nodded silently, that damned lump back in his throat even as he had begun dialing the number.

Tony wondered exactly when Fornell's number had become part of his memory banks. They had long speculated that something else was going on between Gibbs and Fornell, but that was all it had been, speculation. Now it seemed that Tony would get to see firsthand what it was all about, whether he really cared to or not.

With Gibbs driving, their trip out there had taken close to half an hour. So when Fornell showed up after only fifteen minutes, Tony could only gawk and stare for a moment before shaking his head and moving forwards to help his boss get in the car.

His conversation with Fornell had been short and brusque, not dissimilar to his phone conversations with Gibbs, but this was different because of whom it was they were talking about, because Gibbs was Gibbs and these sorts of things just didn't happen to him.

And what sorts of things are those, Tony? He asked himself rather harshly as he eased himself painfully down into the backseat of Fornell's car, just behind the federal agent himself.

The car wasn't new, but unlike Gibbs' vehicle, there wasn't any empty plastic cups taking up space in the seat with him. On the other hand, in Ziva's car, one tended to find CDs of what he presumed were musical groups, since most of them seemed to be in Arabic and were therefore unreadable to him.

Tim's car was the real treasure chest of junk though. Tony had often accused the probie of taking the words, "Living out of one's car" to a new level, and the proof was purely in the abundance of random technical devices and mismatched clothes that seemed to adorn every surface within.

In comparison, Fornell's car was almost too clean, but the evidence that it was his was still there if Tony cared to look closely enough. There was a stain on the carpet that might have once been a melted crayon—likely from his daughter, Emily—as well as a small pink plastic horse wedged into the seat cushions. Tony thought he recognized it from the previous summer's McDonald's toy collections, but he couldn't really be sure.

On the back of each of the front seats there were maps of DC and Virginia, and Tony could tell by the sheer bulk present that there were likely maps for each of the surrounding states as well. He knew that men like Gibbs and Fornell liked their concrete sources, and although he appreciated the usefulness of a hand-held GPS, he wasn't so far gone—Probie—as to not carry actual maps with him in his car as well. Of course, he kept them in the glove box and not out in the open, but that was just a matter of personal preference, right?

He watched as Fornell reached a hand over to Gibbs, and grabbed it as they worked their way back out to the highway. Whatever doubts Tony had had about there being something more about their relationship were squashed as he watched the hands of his superiors meet and hold through the remainder of the trip.

Chapter Text

Fornell could only make an approximate guess as when his regard for Leroy Jethro Gibbs changed from simply platonic to something more. It was after their rivalry had turned into friendship, after Jethro had gotten him out of jail for a crime he hadn't committed; after that asshole had dared to threaten his daughter's life. Jethro had been with him every step of the way and he hadn't backed down, even when Fornell was at his grisliest, snarling worst.

It was somewhere around their mutual disdain for the Punjab Express, and somewhere around the point that he had started cooking for them both. That was when he had started really getting a feel for the man, really starting to feel that this was a human being whom he could be comfortable with, as opposed to merely withstanding the force of.

They had started watching old westerns together, Jethro ironing and Tobias folding, all the time joking that if their ex could see them now, she'd probably fall over with apoplexy at the sight.

Then the unit he oversaw at the FBI had gotten a string of extremely worrisome, violent cases that had required him to work all hours of the night. Since he only had Emily on the weekends, and Jethro never seemed to sleep—always awake when Tobias came in, no matter how quiet he was—and since he knew the front door was always unlocked, he had started crashing on the man's couch during that time, knowing it was always available, at least to him.

And then, out of the blue, Jethro had cleaned out a room he hadn't actually known existed and produced something of a guest bedroom for him, grouching the entire time that he didn't want Fornell bitching about his back—even though he hadn't said a word about it to begin with. Tobias had noted with some interest that the room was closer to Jethro's own than the couch had been, and he had wondered if it wasn't just some subtle way of keeping an eye on him.

The thought had filled him with sort of a warm thrill at the base of his spine, something he hadn't been inclined to peer too closely at during the time. He liked to imagine that if he asked Jethro about the appearance of the guest room, that there wouldn't be any answer; just that damned grin and a shake of a contrary head.

He liked that. Diane wouldn't give him the time of day unless he wheedled for it, but Jethro gave him a bedroom of his own without his even voicing a desire for it.

One night, they had been watching some old western together, just like always, and then for whatever reason, he had simply nodded off. He had fallen asleep with his head resting on the back of the couch, but when he had awoken, he had been horizontal with a blanket over him and his head resting on a warm lap. He'd stirred slightly, and an equally warm hand had brushed down over the side of his temple and he'd heard, "Shh," emanate from somewhere above him.

He'd been so very comfortable, and he had known beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was safe; so with that soft instruction, he had simply closed his eyes and slid back into sleep. When he had awoken again the next morning, it was to find himself laid out atop Jethro's chest, the man very firmly asleep on the couch under him.

He had been inclined just to take a moment and stare down at the sleeping face just scant inches from his own. He had never seen Jethro asleep, and god help him, but he had found himself liking the sight.

Fornell had never found himself falling into relationships as easily as some—Dinozzo—did. He hadn't had the time for most of his adult life, and he knew that there weren't a great many that would be willing to put up with him long term. Diane had confirmed that and with her violently worded predilections for his future, she had squashed any hopes he might have had too.

Mostly his experience lay in the realm of a few no strings attached one night stands, in which he had bedded both females as well as a few males here and there. It wasn't something he could broadcast too loudly if he ever wanted to be promoted, but since the repeal of DADT, he had found himself wondering exactly what would happen if he ever found himself in such a position again, so to speak.

Besides, he had put in his time, done his bit for his country, the whole spiel. If the FBI wanted to fire him, then they'd have to find a damned good reason other than to pick on him for an off hours personal decision.

. . .

And then there had been the night of the party. If anything signaled a turning point in their relationship, it was that night.

They had been celebrating a successful joint venture between the FBI and NCIS; one that involved both of their teams. It wasn't often that a case turned out so well, especially when two agencies were forced to share information with people that they didn't necessarily feel comfortable around. Unlike in the past, Fornell and Gibbs had made it a point to push the importance of open communication between the groups, and they had done all in their power to demonstrate that in front of each of their respective teams.

"And take McGee with you," Gibbs had said, gently pushing Tim out the door and into Abby and Tony's awaiting arms. The young techie agent was drunk out of his gourd, and the last thing Gibbs had wanted was for the young man to wind up passed out at his place.

The rest of the members of their unusual group had already left, and now that Abby, Tony and Tim were gone, Fornell and Gibbs were finally alone.

Fornell had watched the exchange in amusement from his spot leaning somewhat drunkenly against a doorway on the opposite side of the room. He didn't get drunk very often, especially not around other people. Mostly because he didn't have the time, but also because he didn't trust very many people that much. In some ways, he could be as bad as Gibbs in paranoia, although he would never have admitted it aloud.

He watched as Gibbs closed the door and then slowly made his way to the couch, slumping down into the cushions as he sat.

"You look like shit," Fornell bantered, feeling almost certain that he was slurring his words.

"Ha," Gibbs countered, opening his eyes a fraction to glare non-threateningly back at him. "You don't look much better," raising the corner of his lips as he said it.

Almost imperceptibly, Fornell had felt his heart rate increase slightly as he had started to move closer to the where the other man was.

"You know," he said slowly, stopping just in front of where Gibbs was sitting. "You're not as big a bastard as you'd like to make out."

Then, maybe it was the alcohol lowering his inhibitions or maybe it was just because he was too tired to really give a damn, he had eased himself down until he was sitting on Gibbs' lap, face to face with him, his legs on either side of the man's own. He felt his center of gravity shift slightly and just as he reached out a hand to steady himself on Gibbs' shoulder, he'd felt one of Jethro's far too warm hands come up around his hip.

"And why do you say that?" Blue eyes were staring back at him in open challenge.

Inching forwards slightly higher on Gibbs' thighs, their chests nearly touching, Fornell had answered, "You're worse than a papa bear around your team. Someone looks at them wrong and bang! There goes Jethro Gibbs, jumping down their throat."

This close, it was hard to see facial expressions on the other man, but Fornell could have sworn a smile had crossed Jethro's face at his words.

"So that's bad?" Gibbs asked softly, lifting his other hand and wrapping around Fornell's remaining hip.

"Hardly," he scoffed, running a hand down the other man's chest and getting a barely noticeable shiver for his action. "Shows you give a damn," he added, pushing himself flush with Gibbs' chest. "Shows you care," he murmured, his lips scant millimeters from Jethro's neck.

The world was still seesawing around his alcohol addled brain as he moved his head slightly to lean it on Jethro's steady shoulder. This close, he could feel the sudden inhalation that came from Jethro's chest at his action. His hands pushed downwards under the lip of the other man's t-shirt and then slid upwards again, moving easily up the sides of the warm muscled chest in front of him.

"Tobias," Jethro whispered in a near growl, moving his hands down lower to cup around his buttocks, squeezing gently as they did.

He rolled his hips forwards slightly and felt a harder area of warmth meet his clothed groin as he did.

All he could hear was the sound of Jethro's deep steady breaths; a steady counter rhythm to the feel of his increasing heart rate.

"I don't want to wake up to regrets in the morning," he whispered throatily, pushing his nose forwards into Jethro's neck and gently nuzzling the skin there. He liked the way Jethro smelled. It was a comfortable smell with no excess frills or flowery intentions to work through.

"So don't," Jethro growled hoarsely, sliding a hand up to cradle the back of his head.

He picked his head up and stared back into Jethro's eyes.

"I want this," he admitted, pushing his lips forwards into Jethro's own.

Slightly chapped lips met his, gently moving and opening up to greet him warmly. A sly tongue nipped at the corner of his mouth and he sighed softly, letting it in as he did. Their kiss was sweet, almost chaste in its simplicity, and Tobias instantly could tell that it wasn't enough. He wanted more.

He broke the kiss with a soft gasp, pulling back with a daring grin.

"So, your place or mine?" He asked flippantly, barking a laugh and feeling unusually lighthearted at the same time.

A calloused hand gently stroked the side of his temple and this time he knew for sure that he had seen a smile.

"Mine," Jethro whispered, standing up and pulling Tobias up with him.

Fornell swayed dizzily for a moment until Jethro reached around his back and steadied him with a single touch. Then, after confirming that there was no danger of his falling, Jethro moved a hand down to grasp one of his own and moved around him, gently pulling him along towards his bedroom. The trip upstairs seemed to take no time at all, and it wasn't long before Fornell had Jethro under his body once more.

He watched in silent fascination as Jethro quickly pulled on his t-shirt, before quickly doing the same with his own. They had stripped to undershirts long before the party had been over, and with this action, both men were left only in pants.

He had long thought he was too old to feel self-conscious, but now Jethro's roaming, appreciative eyes proved otherwise.

"Something wrong?" He asked, trailing a finger down the center of Jethro's chest.

"Nope," Jethro grunted, pulling him down into a hard kiss, his hands blindly snapping open Fornell's trousers with a speed that would have impressed him under other circumstances.

Tobias shimmied out of his pants and boxers in one fluid motion, his sudden bout of self-consciousness over as his hard cock made itself known between them. He watched with glazed eyes as Jethro suddenly licked his lips and he fought against the moan that tried to escape his throat at the sight.

"You ever done this before?" He managed to ask hoarsely, his own hands trying to touch every reachable piece of skin in front of him.

He got an affirmative grunt for his efforts. He took comfort in that Jethro was no kid he'd have to coach through this. The thought made him moan as he wondered just how good the other man was. Practically clawing open Jethro's pants, he felt the hips under him rise as they both fought to get them off. Then finally—finally —they were gone and Fornell could feel only hot skin and flexing muscles beneath him.

He reached down and gently took a hold of Jethro's cock, rubbing a thumb over its tip and getting a responding groan for his efforts.

The idea that he might see Jethro let loose under him, actually lose control, made his hips thrust forwards hard, just as the other leaned up and caught his lips again. This time, their kiss was messy and wet as Jethro suddenly flipped him over on his back, cock driving down into his stomach as the other man let his intentions be known.

Jethro let him go with an almost silent gasp, and Fornell lamented against the lack of sound. Clearly, he'd have to do something to fix that. Flipping them back over with a grunt, he captured both of Jethro's hands and pushed them to the headboard, leaning forwards and panting slightly as he did.

A feral smile was his answer as Jethro responded, "Got a preference?" His hips rolling upwards on the last word.

Smiling his own half grin, Tobias hissed back, "I want to ride you until you beg me to let you cum." He slid downwards and caught one of Jethro's balls in his mouth, changing the man's bark of laughter to a low gasping moan as he did.

Letting the one in his mouth loose with a wet pop, he moved to the next, adding just a touch of tooth when Jethro dared to move too much. The suddenly tense body under him pleased a sadistic streak in him as he purposely drooled around his mouthful. Using a bit of the excess wetness to coat his finger with, he drew a wet path down Jethro's perineum, all the way to his opening before gently pushing the digit inside as far as he could reach and crooking it just so.

A whining gasp above him was his answer and he smiled around his mouthful, finally letting it go only when he was satisfied with the sounds coming from Jethro's throat. Pulling his finger free, he sat up and smirked back at the writhing man under him.

"You were saying?" Fornell asked, raising an eyebrow as he did.

Still breathing hard, Jethro slid skilled hands down his chest, moving them around to the back of his ass. Belatedly, Tobias realized he could feel slickness on one of those hands. Suddenly feeling two fingers at the entrance to his hole, he leaned forwards and caught himself on Jethro's flexing chest, shoving his tongue into the other man's mouth just as the fingers pushed not so gently into his ass.

He gave a groan that was half relief and half pain. It had been too long since he had last done this, and he was feeling it. Jethro's free hand stroked down the side of his head again as those fingers began moving within him.

Shifting his head away from the wet mouth in front of him, he groaned again. He knew that Jethro would never purposely hurt him, but at the present, it certainly felt purposeful.

"This your idea of revenge?" He growled out, reaching out and pulling roughly on the other man's lower lip with his teeth. Grabbing a conveniently placed nipple from the plateau in front of him, he simultaneously bit down and pinched, just as the fingers inside him hit his prostate.

His moan of pleasure was echoed by Jethro's, and he briefly released the man's mouth only to reattach it to his other nipple, biting down sharply and feeling a shudder roll through them both. In retaliation, or so it seemed to Fornell, Jethro suddenly thrust another finger into his already stuffed asshole, and he grunted at the sudden intrusion.

"You trying to prove you're still a bastard?" He asked, feeling his body finally starting to relax enough to take the fingers comfortably.

"Nothing to prove," a sweating Jethro panted out, teeth marks standing out on his lip from Tobias' former gesture.

"Because it comes naturally?" He quipped, suddenly feeling bereft as the fingers abruptly left him.

Hands pushing against him and he shifted voluntarily, moving upwards and settling just over the other man's cock. Jethro guided himself inside slowly, his eyes tight and his throat tense as he moved, and Tobias leaned his head back as he felt his body sink downwards over his cock.

Moving down until it was completely inside his body, Tobias stopped and swallowed hard, trying to memorize the sight of the other man spread out before him; so damned needy looking in his obvious desire for him.

"Move," Jethro ground out, blue eyes now staring piercingly back up at him, a hint of desperation shining clearly through them.

Shifting so that his knees were evenly placed on either side of his body, Tobias began working up and down slowly on the cock in his ass. He could feel Jethro twitch as he did so, but his laughter soon turned into a groan as the heat in the room suddenly seemed to rise to all new heights.

Guiding himself carefully up and down, he leaned back and placed a hand on the bed behind him, feeling the change in angle immediately and nearly crying out at the sensation.

"If you come . . ." he gasped out, " . . . before I tell you to . . . I'll beat your ass." He picked up the pace, feeling his dick beginning to bounce against his abdomen as he did. "And then I'll tell everyone you can't get it up," he added, too far gone to even laugh at his own words.

Strong hands came up to rest against his hip, squeezing gently at first and then harder as Jethro began to help lift him up and down, faster and faster. Their motion was only hindered twice; once when he reached out a hand to stroke himself and it was batted away by Jethro; and then again as the body under him suddenly surged upwards, flipping them over with an almost violent motion and causing him to cry out at the change in positioning.

Jethro began thrusting into him at a much faster rate, grunting softly with each downwards motion. Stars began to flash in front of his retinas as pleasure began to ebb and flow through and between them. A calloused but slick hand abruptly grasped him around his dick, stroking him much slower than he would have preferred.

"Jethro," he gritted out, glaring and thrusting his hips upwards as he did. "Damn it," he groaned as the other man forced him to take the slower rate.

He felt himself getting close, and then suddenly much closer, his eyes shutting almost of their own accord as he felt Jethro's thrusts suddenly turn ragged.

Just when he thought he couldn't hold on much longer, Jethro grunted out, "Now?"

His eyes flying open at the question, his entire body trembling as he rested on the precipice of orgasm, he nodded swiftly, unsure if he could even form words. Giving another couple of shuddering thrusts, Jethro suddenly collapsed against him, his penis pulsing inside his body as he came hard. Tobias' vision grayed out as he came, the final feel of a calloused thumb brushing over his tip pushing him over the edge and into post-orgasmic oblivion.

He came to at the feeling a wash cloth moving itself gently over his chest and then lower down to his ass. Seconds later, he heard Jethro reach and presumably put it on the bedside table beside them, before rolling back over and gently pulling a greatly relaxed Tobias into his arms. A shift and he heard a click, and then the room was plunged into pleasant and complete darkness.

"Mmm," he murmured, scratching at his chest lightly. "We should do that again sometime."

A soft laugh and then the hand resting at his shoulder reached up and brushed its way through his hair, what little of it he still had. The sensation was soothing, and familiar in a way that his conscious self didn't yet recognize.

Another moment of silence and then he added, "But I'm topping next time."

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Ducky was waiting for them when they arrived at Gibbs' house. Fornell parked the car and then slowly disengaged his fingers from Gibbs' grip.

Glancing at the man beside him, he said, "Just opening the door. Don't go anywhere." He gave Jethro a tight grin and was relieved somewhat when he got a slight nod in return.

Exiting the car, he barely gave the ME a nod as he hurried to get to the front passenger door. He helped Jethro out, hearing a catch in his breath as he pulled him up to a standing position.

I'm going to break that son-of-bitch's neck with my bare hands; he seethed silently to himself as they made the slow arduous trek inside.

The stairs were difficult, but Fornell resolutely kept moving them forwards. He knew that Gibbs wouldn't truly be able to relax until he was in his bed—in their bed. Distantly, he heard Ducky's steady stream of conversation with Dinozzo as he got him situated downstairs; as always, it was rather one-sided, although for decidedly different reasons than usual.

Gently setting Gibbs down on their bed, he brushed a hand across his sweating brow and said, "Just hold on. I'm going to get some towels."

He wondered how many times Jethro had gone to bed wounded and alone since living in this house.

At least he's not by himself this time, Fornell consoled himself. And he's going to have to shoot me to get rid of me, he swore silently.

He came back with the towels and pulled back the bedclothes before laying them down over the sheets. He wasn't sure exactly what kind of mess they were going to be looking at, but judging from Dinozzo's voice on the phone, it was bad enough.

Helping Gibbs lay down on his side, he quickly pulled off his shoes and shirt in quick succession, and then followed with his own. He dropped them to the floor and then climbed into bed next to Gibbs, taking his sweating hands in his own just as he heard Ducky's footsteps on the stairs.

He wasn't sure that he'd ever seen such a look of abject misery Gibbs' face before. It sickened him; knotting his gut and making the fury in his chest threaten to turn into acid in his throat.

"Jethro?" He heard Ducky's unusually sober voice call out from the doorway.

Fornell watched as a wave of tension passed through Gibbs' body. He hated to do it, but the sooner they got this over with, the sooner they could be alone.

"Yeah Duck," Fornell answered, bringing a hand up to Gibbs' face and cupping his cheek gently. "We're ready."

. . .

Tony was miserable. It wasn't just his injuries, although painful, but having to wait here in Gibbs' house while more than aware of what was happening upstairs.

Ducky had given him a once over, and though his injuries weren't anything to be laughed off, the older man had told him that he seemed to be more bruised and swollen than actually broken. Then he'd given Tony a plethora of ice packs from his satchel, and with a somber parting glance, had left him alone to go upstairs.

Now that he was alone and could think—something he had been avoiding—he couldn't help think of all the ways their situation was his fault.

"Always the one needing saving," he muttered to himself, wincing as he tried to shift positions on the couch. "Can't ever save Gibbs," he added, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

That's not true, his subconscious pointed out; butting its way into his misery. What about the time you had to give him mouth-to-mouth?

"Okay, one time to the hundreds of times he's saved me. Fine," he growled, turning his head into the back of the couch. Maybe he could smother himself.

Hah.

He'd known he was in deep when he'd woken up in that room, bound up like a turkey. He had been able to tell from their eyes that his kidnappers were a nastier sort. When Gibbs had been tossed in too, his heart had simultaneously leapt and died. Being raped was a horrible idea, but for Gibbs to offer himself up instead . . . gah.

If he could have just gotten a hand free or kicked out or something, maybe created a distraction with his famously loud mouth, but no; he had been frozen as his boss' mouth had been raped. He'd been frozen as Gibbs' jeans had been yanked down and though he hadn't wanted to watch, he'd made himself do so, as his boss had taken it all in stoic silence.

He knew what was going on upstairs. Gibbs, horribly private Gibbs, was having to endure Ducky's examination of his body in a terribly intimate fashion. The thought made him sick.

He tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position but finally had to give up on it. It wasn't as though he deserved to be pain free. Gibbs certainly wasn't.

. . .

"I know you don't want to, but you're going to have to go to the hospital eventually, Jethro," Ducky said in a soft voice.

Fornell watched as Jethro clenched his eyes shut for a moment. Gibbs was on his side with his back to Ducky, and so Fornell was the only one who could see the pain on his face.

"I can gather the evidence here and run the tests at NCIS, but unless you want to run the risk of permanent damage . . ."

"Ducky," Fornell interjected softly. "I'll take him, I promise. But not before tomorrow."

Blue eyes opened and stared back at him in pained relief, and he bent his head forwards to rest against Gibbs' tense brow.

It was after Ducky had left, having promised to take Dinozzo with him, that Fornell dared say anything more than two words to Gibbs about anything.

"Jethro," he said in a near whisper, giving Gibbs' hands a short squeeze. "Is there anything you need, or do you just want to sleep?"

He knew that the chances of Gibbs being able to sleep were slim to none, but luckily they had the pain pills, and perhaps that would give him a few hours of unawareness.

Lord knows he needs it.

"Teeth," Gibbs grunted, closing his eyes as an almost imperceptible shudder moved through him.

"You want to brush your teeth?"

Gibbs nodded, opening his eyes again to stare back at Fornell in misery.

"Aw shit, Jethro," Fornell said as understanding dawned in his head as to why Gibbs needed to brush his teeth.

He climbed out of bed and helped Jethro to his feet. He didn't think that the other man could take wordy declarations of love right now, and he certainly couldn't handle anything resembling pity. The best he could do was show him how he felt through his actions, and then hope that Gibbs wouldn't try to shut him out.

And if he does, I'll kick his ass. The thought made him feel better.

He helped Jethro brush his teeth and then helped him limp to the toilet. In an attempt to give the other man some privacy, he started to turn away after getting him seated. However, a hand caught his arm as he turned, and he stopped and looked back at his lover's face.

"Not like you ain't seen everything already," Gibbs said, his voice rough for reasons that Fornell didn't really feel like thinking too much about.

He nodded and then waited until he was needed again to help his lover back upright. Gibbs leaned more on him now than he had outside, and Fornell knew he had to be in a lot of pain to be willing to rely on someone else.

He moved them back to bed and helped Jethro put on a pair of sweats, before handing him a couple of pills and a glass of water. Then he pulled the covers up around their shoulders and wrapped his arms tightly around Gibbs' chest. Jethro leaned his head down to rest just under Tobias' chin and let out a soft sigh.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jethro," Tobias murmured in a barely audible voice.

After a minute, Gibbs nodded and then began to relax.

It was a start.