Fic: Two Masters - 1/22
Oct. 11th, 2009 07:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xantheficTitle: Two Masters
Author: Xanthe
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Genre: Slash
Categories: BDSM, angst, hurt/comfort, romance.
Rating: NC17/FRAO
Status: Complete
Wordcount: 197,000
Posting Schedule: As this is such a long story, I'll post over one week, starting with part one on 11th October. Then three instalments a day, ending on 18th October when I'll also post the entire story to my website.
Spoilers: Judgement Day, Agent Afloat. This story is set during Season 6.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning: Graphic scenes of loving, consensual, lifestyle BDSM sex, including spanking, bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial, sex toys, dom/sub dynamic and pain play. "Lifestyle" means the dom/sub roles are lived rather than played at in sex game sessions.
Summary: Tony decides that he wants more from Gibbs than headslaps. But can Gibbs be persuaded to love again, and is Tony prepared to confront the demons from his past and learn how to trust?
Extract: "You can belong to me, or to the past - but not both. You can't serve two masters."
Dedication: This story is for Nikita, with love.
Thank you to:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nikitariddick for daily comments, whip-cracking, brow-soothing, and beta.
liresius for amazingly fast beta, chat and great insights.
flyingnorth, for audiencing, chat and squee.
haggitha, for audiencing and for the care parcels.
taylorgibbs for audiencing and cheerleading.
bluespirit_star for audiencing, squee, and for providing such wonderful graphics.
You have all been wonderful - thank you so much. Any mistakes are all mine.
Author's Notes:
This story is a somewhat bonkers, kinky soap opera with lots of sex and angst. It’s clearly a fantasy, and is intentionally "big" in tone, style and characterisation.
This story is NOT a "how-to" guide to BDSM. I do not enter into discussions about why people enjoy BDSM activities. If you want to know more, please visit sites like www.bondage.com.
If you don't like lifestyle BDSM stories, or you don't like the way *I* write lifestyle BDSM stories, then don’t read it. If you do like them, then slip into your leather harness and let's get started :-).
Two Masters
By Xanthe
Part One
Tony stared at the glass in his hand. He was drunk - no doubt about it. Pleasantly drunk. Not so drunk that he couldn't walk, but not so sober that he could stop himself doing what he was about to do next.
He put the glass down, got up, and left the bar. It was late, but hell, it was Friday, so he could stay out all night and not risk the full Gibbs death glare that came with staggering into work with a hangover the next day. And Christ, if Gibbs hadn't been such a bastard these past few months then maybe he wouldn't need to do this at all.
"So it's all his fault," Tony told himself, nodding vigorously, and trying not to be aware of the fact that he'd walked to the end of the street and was now standing outside a small, unprepossessing little bar with the name "Murray's" written above the door.
"Murray's." Tony hesitated in the doorway. "Murray…I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm coming in. Or maybe that should be coming out."
He took a deep breath, then pushed open the door and stepped inside. A man was seated at a desk in the small mirrored vestibule within.
"Good evening, sir," the man said politely. "I’m Gary. You are aware that this is a members' only bar, aren't you?"
"Yeah." Tony fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out the laminated card that had been burning a hole in his pants for the past two months. He gave it to the guy who swiped it.
"Mr. Yates? It's been a while since you were last here, sir," Gary said pleasantly, gazing at his computer screen.
"Well, you don't get out much when you're dead," Tony muttered.
"Sorry, sir?" Gary raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing…uh – look, I've kind of forgotten where to go? Like you said – been a while."
"Of course, sir. Just follow the stairs down into the main bar area. Tonight is regular dress but Saturdays are fetish wear only. If you want to book any of the private rooms then just ask – they aren't available on Saturdays as they're used for open displays – but any other night you should be fine."
"Okay. Good. Uh…what kind of fetish wear?" Tony asked, intrigued.
"Here's a leaflet, sir, but pretty much anything goes. Leather, rubber, costume – we hold themed nights on the first Saturday of every month. Tomorrow night it's pirates."
"Pirates?" Tony stared at him, trying hard not to laugh. "As in Captain Jack Sparrow? That kind of pirate?"
"That's right." Gary smiled pleasantly. "We'll set up a whipping post with a rack of cat o’ nine tails next to it for anyone who wants to try out some good, old-fashioned, sea-faring discipline."
Tony gazed at him blankly. Maybe he *had* drunk too much after all. "I know something about sea-faring discipline. Spent a few months handing it out recently. On a big ship. At sea," he added mournfully.
Gary grinned. "Well then – come along tomorrow night, Mr. Yates. I'm sure there will be some unattached sailors looking for a good flogging, and you look like the kind of man who knows how to deliver one." He gave a slightly coquettish wink.
"Uh…I do?" Tony glanced at himself sideways in the mirror. He was dressed in his clubbing clothes – black jeans, loose dark green and black striped shirt, and an expensive black leather jacket. He wasn't sure that he looked like the kind of guy who handed out good floggings. What *did* those kinds of people look like anyway?
"Yes, sir." Gary pointed at his computer screen. "You filled in a questionnaire with your preferences when you joined, Mr. Yates."
"My preferences…?" Tony asked blankly.
"You're a dominant?" Gary glanced at him. "A top? That's what we've got here. Is that wrong, sir? I can always change it…"
"No! Uh…that's fine. Leave it." Tony shrugged. "Dominant. Yes." He thought of Jeanne, laid out naked on his bed, wrists confined in a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, gazing up at him, so sweetly submissive. "Yeah. Dominant," he muttered.
"My boss likes to make sure we have a good mix of people – too many subs looking for doms or vice versa, and people get disappointed," Gary explained.
"Right. Yeah. Of course. Hadn't thought of it like that," Tony said. Thinking about Jeanne had sobered him up. He gave Gary a nod, paused for a moment, screwing up his courage, and then walked down the red carpeted stairs and into the bar below.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected but the warm, welcoming room he stepped into somehow seemed incongruous after all that talk about floggings. There was a fire burning in a grate in the corner and sturdy dark oak fixtures and fittings. Tony's investigator eyes took in the hooks embedded in the beams at various points around the room though - and the crossed whips on display on the far wall were hard to miss.
A few men and the occasional woman were dotted around the place, dressed perfectly normally. It wasn't exactly bustling, but then it was pretty late. Tony wondered how to start. Did you just go up to people and ask them straight out, or did you wait to be approached? Was it like a regular bar, or were there some strange rules and etiquette that he didn’t know about? Maybe he should have done more research. Months spent trawling through the pages of various bondage websites every night somehow hadn’t equipped him for this.
He didn't know what to do, so he went over to the bar, sat down, and ordered a whisky. The barman was a tough, wiry, older guy with a battered face. He gazed at Tony searchingly as he reached into his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and paid for his drink.
"Don't think I remember you," the barman said. "Have you visited us before?"
"Uh…yeah. I'm Brad Yates," Tony replied, flashing his laminated card at the guy.
The barman nodded thoughtfully and poured Tony his drink. Then he disappeared out the back. Tony gulped down his drink in one go and glanced around some more. One of the guys at a nearby table smiled at him. He panicked and turned away. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What the hell was he doing here anyway? He was so far out of his comfort zone it was unreal. Gibbs would laugh his ass off if he could see him now. Thinking of Gibbs just made him angry. The barman reappeared, so Tony ordered another whisky. If nothing else, at least he could get even more stinking drunk than he already was.
He nursed his whisky miserably while he looked around again. Maybe he should come back tomorrow evening, but…pirates? Where the hell was he going to get a pirate costume and just how dumb-assed was the whole idea of dressing up like Captain Jack Sparrow anyway? Tony couldn't see himself in dreadlocks. Then there was the whole flogging thing. Had that guy back there mentioned a cat o' nine tails? What did one of those look like? What would it feel like to be stripped to the waist and tied to a whipping post while some guy laid down lines of fire across your shoulders and back? Tony felt his cock respond just to the mental image, and he took another gulp of his whisky to quell it. What the hell was wrong with him?
That guy was smiling at him again. Tony ordered another shot of whisky and then took it and staggered over to a booth in the far corner of the room, so he could sit in the shadows and not be looked at. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. Maybe he'd got this all wrong.
He stared into his drink moodily, struggling with himself for the next half hour. He didn't want this. He shouldn't want this. Christ, he didn't even know what the hell it was he wanted. He had vague, half-formed thoughts and ideas, but the reality…? Who the hell knew?
He had made it through another couple of whiskies when the shadow fell over his table. He looked up into a pair of dark brown eyes.
"Anyone sitting here?" a deep voice asked.
Tony swallowed - hard. The guy standing in front of him was probably his own height but much broader, with heavily muscled shoulders that the soft folds of his expensive sweater did nothing to hide. His impressive chest tapered into a flat belly and slim hips. He had long legs, encased in a pair of plain black chinos. His smooth, bald head and the glasses he wore spoke of a bureaucrat, but he had an aura of authority that belied that. He carried himself with a self-confidence that reminded Tony of…
"You a Marine?" he asked, the drink making him stupid.
The guy raised an eyebrow. "Interesting question."
"Got an interesting answer?" Tony grinned.
The man grunted. "Been a long time since I was in the Corps, but yes, I'm a Marine.”
"Thought so." Tony nodded. "Can always tell. When you work with one for long enough…" He tapped his nose. "And then we're always coming across dead ones as well. So I know all about Marines.”
Mr. Marine shook his head and sat down across from him.
“Didn’t say you could sit there,” Tony said. The guy gave him a look of pure danger, the kind Tony was all too familiar with from eight years working with Gibbs. “Didn’t say you couldn’t, either,” Tony muttered. He finished his whisky and yelled at the barman for a refill.
"You've had enough," his uninvited guest said.
"Yeah. I really have." Tony grinned. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look kinda like Daddy Warbucks from the movie ‘Annie’?”
“Only people who weren’t invested in living,” Mr. Marine replied, deadpan.
Tony grinned. “Okay. I won’t call you ‘Daddy’ then.”
“That’s wise. In a place like this it could be misconstrued.”
Tony laughed. “Who're you?"
"I'm a friend of the owner. He called me – asked me to come over here and talk to you."
"Why?" Tony glanced over to the bar and saw the barman gazing at him steadily as he dried some glasses.
"Well, first off – because you're carrying a knife," Mr. Marine said pleasantly.
"How the hell did he…?" Tony looked down, befuddled. His knife was very well hidden, but obviously the barman had some kind of special observational powers. "Look – I didn't mean anything by it - I’m not looking for trouble!" Tony protested. "It’s just – it’s a rule, you see. Rule Number Nine: Never go anywhere without a knife."
"Do you like living by a set of rules?" Mr. Marine asked.
Tony grinned. "Don't have a choice." Those brown eyes continued to gaze at him, an assessing expression in their dark depths. "Yeah," he muttered. "I like it. His rules anyway. I like his rules."
"That why you're here, Mr…?"
Tony searched his memory for the right name. "Yates!" he said at last, triumphantly.
"No - your real name." Mr. Marine folded his arms across his broad chest, suddenly looking very dangerous. "You see, Brad Yates was a regular here up until a couple of months ago."
"Really?" Tony wondered if he was still sober enough to stand a chance in a fight with this guy. Shit, now would be a really bad time to have to call Gibbs and ask for a rescue. Not *here* of all places. Probably better to take the beating that he felt sure was coming his way than call Gibbs out to this place and explain what the hell he was doing here.
"Yeah. Brad's a nice guy – commander in the Navy, commended for bravery a few times - but he's in his fifties – and you’re not. You're not Brad Yates. So, the question is…"
"Who am I?"
"And where did you get his member's card," Mr. Marine agreed, with an easy nod of his head.
"Okay…I'm sorry. Brad Yates is dead," Tony explained. Mr. Marine's expression darkened. "Hey – that's not my fault!” Tony said hastily. “Natural causes as it turned out, although we didn’t know that at first – cerebral haemorrhage. He ended up on one of our autopsy tables, and we did an investigation. His card was in his pocket, and, well, I might have borrowed it…I admit that. But I'd heard about this place, and I was curious, and he didn't need the damn card any more, and it wasn't evidence…well, not real evidence…I mean…okay, so maybe technically, but…"
Mr. Marine stared at him sternly, looking completely unimpressed by what he was hearing, and Tony winced. Then suddenly, much to his surprise, the other man started to laugh.
"Did I say something funny?" Tony demanded.
Mr. Marine shook his head. "Nope – you just remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"Oh, just someone I know – someone who also allows his curiosity to over-ride all good sense. Someone who gets himself into a lot of trouble that way."
"Am I in trouble?" Tony licked his lips hopefully. This guy was pressing all the right buttons. He was a Marine, just like Gibbs, and he exuded an air of solid authority. He looked more laid back than Gibbs, but he had that same "don't mess with me" aura that Gibbs had. He was older than Gibbs, and God knows Tony didn't even want to think about how much that appealed to him, with all the fucked up daddy shit he had going on.
"Oh yeah," Mr. Marine said. "You sure as hell are – but then I figure you’re used to that. Now, tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing here – and if you lie to me, I promise you that nobody in this city will play with you – ever. Got that straight, boy?"
Tony liked the way he said that word. Boy. Vance sometimes referred to him as Gibbs's ‘boy’, and he loved the way that sounded.
"You have the power to do that? Stop anyone in the city playing with me?" Tony asked, surprised. "I mean, there are other bars and clubs besides this one…"
"Yeah. And I can get you kicked out of all of 'em." Mr. Marine sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. "So start talking, boy. Let's see if you're as good as *my* boy at talking your way out of trouble."
Tony felt a slight pang of disappointment at the realisation that this guy already had someone in his life. Just his luck. He realised there was nothing left to be gained by lying, and he recognised that uncompromising look in the other man's eyes. It was like facing Gibbs after a screw-up; you just had to get on with it and tell it straight. Gibbs always knew when he was lying, and he had no doubt that the man sitting opposite had the same weird gift.
"My name is Tony DiNozzo," he said with a contrite smile. "I'm sorry I stole Mr. Yates's card. Like I said, I was curious…but I didn't want to use my own name because…well, because I've never done anything like this before. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I just…there's a guy…”
“Yeah, I figured,” Mr. Marine commented.
Tony ducked his head, gazing morosely into his empty glass. “I fucked up…and I got sent away to sea as a punishment…and now I’m back it’s like he can’t stand to have me around. He doesn’t laugh at the stupid shit I do just to get his attention, and he won't even slap my head when I screw up any more. It's like he's shut down on me. And there was this girl…you figure that too?”
Mr. Marine just gestured with his head for Tony to continue.
“I know, I'm drunk and not making any sense,” Tony babbled. “But I really liked her. Maybe I even loved her…I dunno. But she used to ask me to tie her up and do all this kinky stuff to her, and I'd look down on her and all I could feel was fucking envy, y'know? I just…I wanted that. Not from her…from him – from the guy I was telling you about. But he blames me for Jenny's death, and I did fuck up there, and sometimes I just wish he'd slap me around until he feels better 'cause that'd make me feel better too, but he doesn't. He doesn't know that I spent months at sea drinking too much and thinking about him and how I've screwed everything up. And now I'm back, and he can hardly stand to look at me, and it's been a long time – and I mean a very long time - since I last had sex because I don't want anyone else but him, and you have no idea how big a fucking revelation that is to me."
He ran out of steam and gazed at Mr. Marine pathetically. The other man gazed back at him silently.
"I can't even apologise to him," Tony sighed. "He hates that. Calls it a sign of weakness. Is that a Marine thing by the way or just him? Shit. I think I said too much. I'm very, very drunk."
"Oh yeah. You are," Mr. Marine said quietly.
"Still in trouble?" Tony asked.
"Oh, I suspect you're always in some kind of trouble," Mr. Marine said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I figure that's just the way you like it."
"This boyfriend of yours…I don't see him around." Tony grinned at him suggestively.
"He's out of town. He's a writer. He's away researching something right now."
"He sounds kind of boring." Tony wrinkled up his forehead.
Mr. Marine laughed. "Oh, he's many things, but nobody has ever accused him of being boring."
"You in love with him?" Tony asked mournfully.
"Yeah." Mr. Marine's whole demeanour changed when he spoke about his absent boyfriend; his expression softened and his entire body relaxed. "Yeah. I am.”
“Been together long?”
Mr. Marine shrugged. “About ten years - and he still surprises me all the time. Keeps me on my toes. Never a dull moment when he’s around."
"Great. Just what I wanted to hear. Look…I should go…"
Tony got to his feet - and then immediately fell over. He would have crashed to the ground if Mr. Marine hadn't grabbed his arm in the nick of time. Tony lolled against the big man’s solid chest, and then he leaned over and threw up all over the table.
"Damn it!” Mr. Marine growled. “You're in no state to get yourself home."
"Sorry," Tony belched pathetically. The barman came rushing over, an annoyed expression on his face. "Sorry," Tony said again, helplessly. The room swam around him, and he cursed himself for getting this wasted.
“You okay to clean up, Hammer?” Mr. Marine asked. “I’ll take care of this one – get him home, so he can sleep it off.”
“Sure,” the barman sighed. “Just get him out of here.”
"He the owner?" Tony asked, as Mr. Marine picked up his arm, slung it around his shoulders, and walked him towards the stairs. "You said you know the owner. That him? Is he Murray? No…wait…you called him something else. Hammer? That his real name?"
Mr. Marine paused for a moment, a fleeting expression of sadness in his eyes. "Yes, Hammer’s his real name. And yes he’s the owner. Murray was his boyfriend – and his dom. Murray died a couple of years ago,” he said quietly. “Heart attack. He hadn’t been well for some time. Hammer bought this place after he died to give himself something to focus on – named it after him. Murray was a good friend of mine. I like to help out here when I can. Like tonight."
He dragged Tony up the stairs and out into the street. Tony wasn’t aware of much of what happened next apart from being slung into a car and then driven someplace else. Next thing he knew he was sitting in a beautifully decorated bedroom, and Mr. Marine was kneeling down in front of him, undoing his shoelaces. He removed Tony's shoes and then his socks.
“Bathroom is that way,” his benefactor said, pointing in the direction of an en-suite. “If you want to throw up – do it in there. If you miss, you’ll be clearing it up yourself in the morning.”
“Okay.” Tony nodded solemnly.
Mr. Marine helped him out of his leather jacket and then unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. His hands moved down to Tony’s belt.
"You gonna fuck me, Boss?" Tony asked.
"No, Tony. I'm not going to fuck you," Mr. Marine replied with a chuckle. He undid Tony’s pants.
“Oh. Right.” Tony felt a pang of disappointment. He shifted his hips so the other man could remove his pants.
“And I’m not your boss.”
“No. Sorry.” Tony gazed at him stupidly.
“Has anyone ever fucked you, Tony?”
“No.” Tony shook his head. “Thought if I chased enough skirt I’d be able to pretend I didn’t want it. Didn’t work.” He stared up into a pair of sympathetic brown eyes. “Don't even know your name," he muttered.
"We'll talk in the morning. I'll tell you then. You wouldn't remember it if I told you now in any case," Mr. Marine said, with a roll of his eyes.
He folded Tony’s clothes neatly and put them on a nearby chair. Tony's badge fell to the floor, and his new friend picked it up.
"NCIS? Figures. I suspected you were a fed."
"Yeah?" Tony gazed at him, trying to focus. "Why?"
"Well, I knew you were a cop because of what you said about Yates. And as for being a fed – takes one to know one."
"You're a fed too?" Tony wished he hadn't drunk so much. He had a feeling this was important.
Mr. Marine grinned. "FBI."
"No offence, but I can't stand you bastards," Tony told him solemnly. Mr. Marine laughed and pushed him down on the bed. He pulled a blanket over him. "D'you know a guy called Fornell?" Tony asked.
"Yup. He's one of my people as a matter of fact."
"Oh. Shit." Tony sighed. "You gonna tell him about this? About me?"
"Nope." Mr. Marine shook his head. "He's not the one who needs to know. Get some sleep, Tony. We'll talk in the morning."
"Sounds bad." Tony made a face.
“Yeah. Now sleep."
Mr. Marine grinned at him, and Tony grinned back and then closed his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Mr. Marine moving around the room. A moment later, he felt a hand smoothing his hair and heard the big man sigh loudly.
"You sure as hell are trouble, kid," he murmured. "Question is - what should I do with you? Lost boy like you…I figure you should be returned to your owner, don't you?"
Tony mumbled something incoherent and turned over onto his side. His eyelids flickered, and he watched hazily as Mr. Marine pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He looked at it for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something, and then he dialled a number.
There was a pause. Mr. Marine glanced over at Tony, shaking his head ruefully, and then looked away again as his call was answered.
"Hey – it's Walter Skinner," he said softly. "Sorry to call you so late, but I think I have something here that belongs to you, Jethro..."
End of Part One
Friendly feedback adored!
Two Masters - Part Two
Additional notes: Many years ago, I wrote a Skinner/Mulder, master/slave serial in The X Files fandom. It was called 24/7, and was one of my most well-known stories at the time. It still gets more hits than most of the other stories on my site.
When I decided to write a 24/7 dom/sub story for Gibbs and Tony, I thought it might be nice to revisit Skinner and Mulder to find out where they're at now. However, this is a Gibbs/DiNozzo story all the way. Walter and Fox will just be dropping by occasionally. You don't need to be familiar with The X Files or 24/7 to read this story. If, however, you are interested in the journey Walter and Fox went on, you can find it here. I should warn you that it's 600,000 words long though, before you go and read ;-). It's serialised so can be read in individual chapters which is less daunting.
Author: Xanthe
Fandom: NCIS
Pairing: Gibbs/DiNozzo
Genre: Slash
Categories: BDSM, angst, hurt/comfort, romance.
Rating: NC17/FRAO
Status: Complete
Wordcount: 197,000
Posting Schedule: As this is such a long story, I'll post over one week, starting with part one on 11th October. Then three instalments a day, ending on 18th October when I'll also post the entire story to my website.
Spoilers: Judgement Day, Agent Afloat. This story is set during Season 6.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to DPB, CBS, Paramount, et al. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning: Graphic scenes of loving, consensual, lifestyle BDSM sex, including spanking, bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial, sex toys, dom/sub dynamic and pain play. "Lifestyle" means the dom/sub roles are lived rather than played at in sex game sessions.
Summary: Tony decides that he wants more from Gibbs than headslaps. But can Gibbs be persuaded to love again, and is Tony prepared to confront the demons from his past and learn how to trust?
Extract: "You can belong to me, or to the past - but not both. You can't serve two masters."
Dedication: This story is for Nikita, with love.
Thank you to:
nikitariddick for daily comments, whip-cracking, brow-soothing, and beta.liresius for amazingly fast beta, chat and great insights. flyingnorth, for audiencing, chat and squee.haggitha, for audiencing and for the care parcels.taylorgibbs for audiencing and cheerleading.bluespirit_star for audiencing, squee, and for providing such wonderful graphics.You have all been wonderful - thank you so much. Any mistakes are all mine.
Author's Notes:
This story is a somewhat bonkers, kinky soap opera with lots of sex and angst. It’s clearly a fantasy, and is intentionally "big" in tone, style and characterisation.
This story is NOT a "how-to" guide to BDSM. I do not enter into discussions about why people enjoy BDSM activities. If you want to know more, please visit sites like www.bondage.com.
If you don't like lifestyle BDSM stories, or you don't like the way *I* write lifestyle BDSM stories, then don’t read it. If you do like them, then slip into your leather harness and let's get started :-).
Two Masters
By Xanthe
Part One
Tony stared at the glass in his hand. He was drunk - no doubt about it. Pleasantly drunk. Not so drunk that he couldn't walk, but not so sober that he could stop himself doing what he was about to do next.
He put the glass down, got up, and left the bar. It was late, but hell, it was Friday, so he could stay out all night and not risk the full Gibbs death glare that came with staggering into work with a hangover the next day. And Christ, if Gibbs hadn't been such a bastard these past few months then maybe he wouldn't need to do this at all.
"So it's all his fault," Tony told himself, nodding vigorously, and trying not to be aware of the fact that he'd walked to the end of the street and was now standing outside a small, unprepossessing little bar with the name "Murray's" written above the door.
"Murray's." Tony hesitated in the doorway. "Murray…I don't know who the hell you are, but I'm coming in. Or maybe that should be coming out."
He took a deep breath, then pushed open the door and stepped inside. A man was seated at a desk in the small mirrored vestibule within.
"Good evening, sir," the man said politely. "I’m Gary. You are aware that this is a members' only bar, aren't you?"
"Yeah." Tony fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out the laminated card that had been burning a hole in his pants for the past two months. He gave it to the guy who swiped it.
"Mr. Yates? It's been a while since you were last here, sir," Gary said pleasantly, gazing at his computer screen.
"Well, you don't get out much when you're dead," Tony muttered.
"Sorry, sir?" Gary raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing…uh – look, I've kind of forgotten where to go? Like you said – been a while."
"Of course, sir. Just follow the stairs down into the main bar area. Tonight is regular dress but Saturdays are fetish wear only. If you want to book any of the private rooms then just ask – they aren't available on Saturdays as they're used for open displays – but any other night you should be fine."
"Okay. Good. Uh…what kind of fetish wear?" Tony asked, intrigued.
"Here's a leaflet, sir, but pretty much anything goes. Leather, rubber, costume – we hold themed nights on the first Saturday of every month. Tomorrow night it's pirates."
"Pirates?" Tony stared at him, trying hard not to laugh. "As in Captain Jack Sparrow? That kind of pirate?"
"That's right." Gary smiled pleasantly. "We'll set up a whipping post with a rack of cat o’ nine tails next to it for anyone who wants to try out some good, old-fashioned, sea-faring discipline."
Tony gazed at him blankly. Maybe he *had* drunk too much after all. "I know something about sea-faring discipline. Spent a few months handing it out recently. On a big ship. At sea," he added mournfully.
Gary grinned. "Well then – come along tomorrow night, Mr. Yates. I'm sure there will be some unattached sailors looking for a good flogging, and you look like the kind of man who knows how to deliver one." He gave a slightly coquettish wink.
"Uh…I do?" Tony glanced at himself sideways in the mirror. He was dressed in his clubbing clothes – black jeans, loose dark green and black striped shirt, and an expensive black leather jacket. He wasn't sure that he looked like the kind of guy who handed out good floggings. What *did* those kinds of people look like anyway?
"Yes, sir." Gary pointed at his computer screen. "You filled in a questionnaire with your preferences when you joined, Mr. Yates."
"My preferences…?" Tony asked blankly.
"You're a dominant?" Gary glanced at him. "A top? That's what we've got here. Is that wrong, sir? I can always change it…"
"No! Uh…that's fine. Leave it." Tony shrugged. "Dominant. Yes." He thought of Jeanne, laid out naked on his bed, wrists confined in a pair of fluffy pink handcuffs, gazing up at him, so sweetly submissive. "Yeah. Dominant," he muttered.
"My boss likes to make sure we have a good mix of people – too many subs looking for doms or vice versa, and people get disappointed," Gary explained.
"Right. Yeah. Of course. Hadn't thought of it like that," Tony said. Thinking about Jeanne had sobered him up. He gave Gary a nod, paused for a moment, screwing up his courage, and then walked down the red carpeted stairs and into the bar below.
He wasn't sure what he'd expected but the warm, welcoming room he stepped into somehow seemed incongruous after all that talk about floggings. There was a fire burning in a grate in the corner and sturdy dark oak fixtures and fittings. Tony's investigator eyes took in the hooks embedded in the beams at various points around the room though - and the crossed whips on display on the far wall were hard to miss.
A few men and the occasional woman were dotted around the place, dressed perfectly normally. It wasn't exactly bustling, but then it was pretty late. Tony wondered how to start. Did you just go up to people and ask them straight out, or did you wait to be approached? Was it like a regular bar, or were there some strange rules and etiquette that he didn’t know about? Maybe he should have done more research. Months spent trawling through the pages of various bondage websites every night somehow hadn’t equipped him for this.
He didn't know what to do, so he went over to the bar, sat down, and ordered a whisky. The barman was a tough, wiry, older guy with a battered face. He gazed at Tony searchingly as he reached into his jacket, pulled out his wallet, and paid for his drink.
"Don't think I remember you," the barman said. "Have you visited us before?"
"Uh…yeah. I'm Brad Yates," Tony replied, flashing his laminated card at the guy.
The barman nodded thoughtfully and poured Tony his drink. Then he disappeared out the back. Tony gulped down his drink in one go and glanced around some more. One of the guys at a nearby table smiled at him. He panicked and turned away. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What the hell was he doing here anyway? He was so far out of his comfort zone it was unreal. Gibbs would laugh his ass off if he could see him now. Thinking of Gibbs just made him angry. The barman reappeared, so Tony ordered another whisky. If nothing else, at least he could get even more stinking drunk than he already was.
He nursed his whisky miserably while he looked around again. Maybe he should come back tomorrow evening, but…pirates? Where the hell was he going to get a pirate costume and just how dumb-assed was the whole idea of dressing up like Captain Jack Sparrow anyway? Tony couldn't see himself in dreadlocks. Then there was the whole flogging thing. Had that guy back there mentioned a cat o' nine tails? What did one of those look like? What would it feel like to be stripped to the waist and tied to a whipping post while some guy laid down lines of fire across your shoulders and back? Tony felt his cock respond just to the mental image, and he took another gulp of his whisky to quell it. What the hell was wrong with him?
That guy was smiling at him again. Tony ordered another shot of whisky and then took it and staggered over to a booth in the far corner of the room, so he could sit in the shadows and not be looked at. Maybe he wasn't ready for this. Maybe he'd got this all wrong.
He stared into his drink moodily, struggling with himself for the next half hour. He didn't want this. He shouldn't want this. Christ, he didn't even know what the hell it was he wanted. He had vague, half-formed thoughts and ideas, but the reality…? Who the hell knew?
He had made it through another couple of whiskies when the shadow fell over his table. He looked up into a pair of dark brown eyes.
"Anyone sitting here?" a deep voice asked.
Tony swallowed - hard. The guy standing in front of him was probably his own height but much broader, with heavily muscled shoulders that the soft folds of his expensive sweater did nothing to hide. His impressive chest tapered into a flat belly and slim hips. He had long legs, encased in a pair of plain black chinos. His smooth, bald head and the glasses he wore spoke of a bureaucrat, but he had an aura of authority that belied that. He carried himself with a self-confidence that reminded Tony of…
"You a Marine?" he asked, the drink making him stupid.
The guy raised an eyebrow. "Interesting question."
"Got an interesting answer?" Tony grinned.
The man grunted. "Been a long time since I was in the Corps, but yes, I'm a Marine.”
"Thought so." Tony nodded. "Can always tell. When you work with one for long enough…" He tapped his nose. "And then we're always coming across dead ones as well. So I know all about Marines.”
Mr. Marine shook his head and sat down across from him.
“Didn’t say you could sit there,” Tony said. The guy gave him a look of pure danger, the kind Tony was all too familiar with from eight years working with Gibbs. “Didn’t say you couldn’t, either,” Tony muttered. He finished his whisky and yelled at the barman for a refill.
"You've had enough," his uninvited guest said.
"Yeah. I really have." Tony grinned. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look kinda like Daddy Warbucks from the movie ‘Annie’?”
“Only people who weren’t invested in living,” Mr. Marine replied, deadpan.
Tony grinned. “Okay. I won’t call you ‘Daddy’ then.”
“That’s wise. In a place like this it could be misconstrued.”
Tony laughed. “Who're you?"
"I'm a friend of the owner. He called me – asked me to come over here and talk to you."
"Why?" Tony glanced over to the bar and saw the barman gazing at him steadily as he dried some glasses.
"Well, first off – because you're carrying a knife," Mr. Marine said pleasantly.
"How the hell did he…?" Tony looked down, befuddled. His knife was very well hidden, but obviously the barman had some kind of special observational powers. "Look – I didn't mean anything by it - I’m not looking for trouble!" Tony protested. "It’s just – it’s a rule, you see. Rule Number Nine: Never go anywhere without a knife."
"Do you like living by a set of rules?" Mr. Marine asked.
Tony grinned. "Don't have a choice." Those brown eyes continued to gaze at him, an assessing expression in their dark depths. "Yeah," he muttered. "I like it. His rules anyway. I like his rules."
"That why you're here, Mr…?"
Tony searched his memory for the right name. "Yates!" he said at last, triumphantly.
"No - your real name." Mr. Marine folded his arms across his broad chest, suddenly looking very dangerous. "You see, Brad Yates was a regular here up until a couple of months ago."
"Really?" Tony wondered if he was still sober enough to stand a chance in a fight with this guy. Shit, now would be a really bad time to have to call Gibbs and ask for a rescue. Not *here* of all places. Probably better to take the beating that he felt sure was coming his way than call Gibbs out to this place and explain what the hell he was doing here.
"Yeah. Brad's a nice guy – commander in the Navy, commended for bravery a few times - but he's in his fifties – and you’re not. You're not Brad Yates. So, the question is…"
"Who am I?"
"And where did you get his member's card," Mr. Marine agreed, with an easy nod of his head.
"Okay…I'm sorry. Brad Yates is dead," Tony explained. Mr. Marine's expression darkened. "Hey – that's not my fault!” Tony said hastily. “Natural causes as it turned out, although we didn’t know that at first – cerebral haemorrhage. He ended up on one of our autopsy tables, and we did an investigation. His card was in his pocket, and, well, I might have borrowed it…I admit that. But I'd heard about this place, and I was curious, and he didn't need the damn card any more, and it wasn't evidence…well, not real evidence…I mean…okay, so maybe technically, but…"
Mr. Marine stared at him sternly, looking completely unimpressed by what he was hearing, and Tony winced. Then suddenly, much to his surprise, the other man started to laugh.
"Did I say something funny?" Tony demanded.
Mr. Marine shook his head. "Nope – you just remind me of someone."
"Who?"
"Oh, just someone I know – someone who also allows his curiosity to over-ride all good sense. Someone who gets himself into a lot of trouble that way."
"Am I in trouble?" Tony licked his lips hopefully. This guy was pressing all the right buttons. He was a Marine, just like Gibbs, and he exuded an air of solid authority. He looked more laid back than Gibbs, but he had that same "don't mess with me" aura that Gibbs had. He was older than Gibbs, and God knows Tony didn't even want to think about how much that appealed to him, with all the fucked up daddy shit he had going on.
"Oh yeah," Mr. Marine said. "You sure as hell are – but then I figure you’re used to that. Now, tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing here – and if you lie to me, I promise you that nobody in this city will play with you – ever. Got that straight, boy?"
Tony liked the way he said that word. Boy. Vance sometimes referred to him as Gibbs's ‘boy’, and he loved the way that sounded.
"You have the power to do that? Stop anyone in the city playing with me?" Tony asked, surprised. "I mean, there are other bars and clubs besides this one…"
"Yeah. And I can get you kicked out of all of 'em." Mr. Marine sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. "So start talking, boy. Let's see if you're as good as *my* boy at talking your way out of trouble."
Tony felt a slight pang of disappointment at the realisation that this guy already had someone in his life. Just his luck. He realised there was nothing left to be gained by lying, and he recognised that uncompromising look in the other man's eyes. It was like facing Gibbs after a screw-up; you just had to get on with it and tell it straight. Gibbs always knew when he was lying, and he had no doubt that the man sitting opposite had the same weird gift.
"My name is Tony DiNozzo," he said with a contrite smile. "I'm sorry I stole Mr. Yates's card. Like I said, I was curious…but I didn't want to use my own name because…well, because I've never done anything like this before. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I just…there's a guy…”
“Yeah, I figured,” Mr. Marine commented.
Tony ducked his head, gazing morosely into his empty glass. “I fucked up…and I got sent away to sea as a punishment…and now I’m back it’s like he can’t stand to have me around. He doesn’t laugh at the stupid shit I do just to get his attention, and he won't even slap my head when I screw up any more. It's like he's shut down on me. And there was this girl…you figure that too?”
Mr. Marine just gestured with his head for Tony to continue.
“I know, I'm drunk and not making any sense,” Tony babbled. “But I really liked her. Maybe I even loved her…I dunno. But she used to ask me to tie her up and do all this kinky stuff to her, and I'd look down on her and all I could feel was fucking envy, y'know? I just…I wanted that. Not from her…from him – from the guy I was telling you about. But he blames me for Jenny's death, and I did fuck up there, and sometimes I just wish he'd slap me around until he feels better 'cause that'd make me feel better too, but he doesn't. He doesn't know that I spent months at sea drinking too much and thinking about him and how I've screwed everything up. And now I'm back, and he can hardly stand to look at me, and it's been a long time – and I mean a very long time - since I last had sex because I don't want anyone else but him, and you have no idea how big a fucking revelation that is to me."
He ran out of steam and gazed at Mr. Marine pathetically. The other man gazed back at him silently.
"I can't even apologise to him," Tony sighed. "He hates that. Calls it a sign of weakness. Is that a Marine thing by the way or just him? Shit. I think I said too much. I'm very, very drunk."
"Oh yeah. You are," Mr. Marine said quietly.
"Still in trouble?" Tony asked.
"Oh, I suspect you're always in some kind of trouble," Mr. Marine said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I figure that's just the way you like it."
"This boyfriend of yours…I don't see him around." Tony grinned at him suggestively.
"He's out of town. He's a writer. He's away researching something right now."
"He sounds kind of boring." Tony wrinkled up his forehead.
Mr. Marine laughed. "Oh, he's many things, but nobody has ever accused him of being boring."
"You in love with him?" Tony asked mournfully.
"Yeah." Mr. Marine's whole demeanour changed when he spoke about his absent boyfriend; his expression softened and his entire body relaxed. "Yeah. I am.”
“Been together long?”
Mr. Marine shrugged. “About ten years - and he still surprises me all the time. Keeps me on my toes. Never a dull moment when he’s around."
"Great. Just what I wanted to hear. Look…I should go…"
Tony got to his feet - and then immediately fell over. He would have crashed to the ground if Mr. Marine hadn't grabbed his arm in the nick of time. Tony lolled against the big man’s solid chest, and then he leaned over and threw up all over the table.
"Damn it!” Mr. Marine growled. “You're in no state to get yourself home."
"Sorry," Tony belched pathetically. The barman came rushing over, an annoyed expression on his face. "Sorry," Tony said again, helplessly. The room swam around him, and he cursed himself for getting this wasted.
“You okay to clean up, Hammer?” Mr. Marine asked. “I’ll take care of this one – get him home, so he can sleep it off.”
“Sure,” the barman sighed. “Just get him out of here.”
"He the owner?" Tony asked, as Mr. Marine picked up his arm, slung it around his shoulders, and walked him towards the stairs. "You said you know the owner. That him? Is he Murray? No…wait…you called him something else. Hammer? That his real name?"
Mr. Marine paused for a moment, a fleeting expression of sadness in his eyes. "Yes, Hammer’s his real name. And yes he’s the owner. Murray was his boyfriend – and his dom. Murray died a couple of years ago,” he said quietly. “Heart attack. He hadn’t been well for some time. Hammer bought this place after he died to give himself something to focus on – named it after him. Murray was a good friend of mine. I like to help out here when I can. Like tonight."
He dragged Tony up the stairs and out into the street. Tony wasn’t aware of much of what happened next apart from being slung into a car and then driven someplace else. Next thing he knew he was sitting in a beautifully decorated bedroom, and Mr. Marine was kneeling down in front of him, undoing his shoelaces. He removed Tony's shoes and then his socks.
“Bathroom is that way,” his benefactor said, pointing in the direction of an en-suite. “If you want to throw up – do it in there. If you miss, you’ll be clearing it up yourself in the morning.”
“Okay.” Tony nodded solemnly.
Mr. Marine helped him out of his leather jacket and then unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. His hands moved down to Tony’s belt.
"You gonna fuck me, Boss?" Tony asked.
"No, Tony. I'm not going to fuck you," Mr. Marine replied with a chuckle. He undid Tony’s pants.
“Oh. Right.” Tony felt a pang of disappointment. He shifted his hips so the other man could remove his pants.
“And I’m not your boss.”
“No. Sorry.” Tony gazed at him stupidly.
“Has anyone ever fucked you, Tony?”
“No.” Tony shook his head. “Thought if I chased enough skirt I’d be able to pretend I didn’t want it. Didn’t work.” He stared up into a pair of sympathetic brown eyes. “Don't even know your name," he muttered.
"We'll talk in the morning. I'll tell you then. You wouldn't remember it if I told you now in any case," Mr. Marine said, with a roll of his eyes.
He folded Tony’s clothes neatly and put them on a nearby chair. Tony's badge fell to the floor, and his new friend picked it up.
"NCIS? Figures. I suspected you were a fed."
"Yeah?" Tony gazed at him, trying to focus. "Why?"
"Well, I knew you were a cop because of what you said about Yates. And as for being a fed – takes one to know one."
"You're a fed too?" Tony wished he hadn't drunk so much. He had a feeling this was important.
Mr. Marine grinned. "FBI."
"No offence, but I can't stand you bastards," Tony told him solemnly. Mr. Marine laughed and pushed him down on the bed. He pulled a blanket over him. "D'you know a guy called Fornell?" Tony asked.
"Yup. He's one of my people as a matter of fact."
"Oh. Shit." Tony sighed. "You gonna tell him about this? About me?"
"Nope." Mr. Marine shook his head. "He's not the one who needs to know. Get some sleep, Tony. We'll talk in the morning."
"Sounds bad." Tony made a face.
“Yeah. Now sleep."
Mr. Marine grinned at him, and Tony grinned back and then closed his eyes. He was vaguely aware of Mr. Marine moving around the room. A moment later, he felt a hand smoothing his hair and heard the big man sigh loudly.
"You sure as hell are trouble, kid," he murmured. "Question is - what should I do with you? Lost boy like you…I figure you should be returned to your owner, don't you?"
Tony mumbled something incoherent and turned over onto his side. His eyelids flickered, and he watched hazily as Mr. Marine pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He looked at it for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind about something, and then he dialled a number.
There was a pause. Mr. Marine glanced over at Tony, shaking his head ruefully, and then looked away again as his call was answered.
"Hey – it's Walter Skinner," he said softly. "Sorry to call you so late, but I think I have something here that belongs to you, Jethro..."
End of Part One
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Two Masters - Part Two
Additional notes: Many years ago, I wrote a Skinner/Mulder, master/slave serial in The X Files fandom. It was called 24/7, and was one of my most well-known stories at the time. It still gets more hits than most of the other stories on my site.
When I decided to write a 24/7 dom/sub story for Gibbs and Tony, I thought it might be nice to revisit Skinner and Mulder to find out where they're at now. However, this is a Gibbs/DiNozzo story all the way. Walter and Fox will just be dropping by occasionally. You don't need to be familiar with The X Files or 24/7 to read this story. If, however, you are interested in the journey Walter and Fox went on, you can find it here. I should warn you that it's 600,000 words long though, before you go and read ;-). It's serialised so can be read in individual chapters which is less daunting.