Fic: Two Masters - 2/22

[xanthefic]

Two Masters
By Xanthe
Part Two

Walter Skinner put some coffee onto brew and then sat back and waited. Fifteen minutes later, he buzzed an old friend into the building, and two minutes after that he opened his door to him.

"Gunnery Sergeant Skinner?" A familiar figure stood in the doorway, a little grin on his face.

"Private Gibbs." Skinner opened the door wide to let him in. Gibbs held out his hand, and Skinner took it – but only to pull his old friend into a bear hug. Gibbs gave a little laugh and slapped his back heartily. "You still getting into fights?" Skinner asked when he released him.

"Yeah. You still breaking 'em up?" Gibbs glanced at him from those steely blue eyes of his.

"Not so much these days," Skinner grinned. "Mostly, I sit behind a big desk and send other people out to get their hands dirty."

"I heard – Deputy Director of the FBI." Gibbs made a little motion with his head. "Don't know how you can stand all the paperwork - and the making nice with stupid people."

"Ah – you haven't changed, Jethro," Skinner laughed. "I hope you know that you have quite a reputation in the corridors of power. I've known Secretaries of State go to ground rather than take a call from you."

"I try to avoid them as much as possible too. They should do their jobs and leave me to do mine," Gibbs grunted. "Do I smell coffee?"

"Of course. I started a brew when I knew you were coming over."

Skinner gestured him into the kitchen and motioned with his head for him to sit down. He poured them each a cup and then sat down opposite his guest. Gibbs took a sip and sighed.

"Real Marine coffee," he said in a satisfied tone. "Just how I like it."

"Miss the old days?"

"Sometimes. Don't miss you chewing out my ass on the parade ground and making me scrub bathroom floors with a toothbrush though," Gibbs chuckled.

"Well, you were a stubborn little shit, Jethro. For awhile back there, I wasn't sure if you'd get yourself killed within five minutes of seeing action, end up in Leavenworth, or turn out to be the best damn Marine I ever trained," Skinner shrugged. "I'm glad it turned out to be the latter. Hell, Jethro – you've exceeded all my expectations. So I figure it was worth riding your ass so hard when you were just a punk kid with a hot temper and quick fists."

"Still got both of those," Gibbs grunted. "Just keep ‘em under better control now. Learned that from you, Walter."

"Yeah. The hard way as I recall." Skinner sat back in his chair, remembering how he'd once kept a rebellious Private Leroy Jethro Gibbs standing to attention on the parade ground for a solid six hours before he'd finally seen some kind of submission in those stubborn blue eyes.

"Is there any other way?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow, and Skinner was pretty sure he was remembering the exact same thing.

"Always knew you had the potential to be the best, Jethro – and you haven't proved me wrong," Skinner said softly. "I've followed your career at NCIS – your solve rate is phenomenal. I'm proud of you."

Gibbs actually looked touched by that. Then he cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable.

"You said you have something that belongs to me?"

"Yes." Skinner nodded, immediately becoming brisk and businesslike. "Found him in a bar, getting drunk - very drunk. He used a fake ID to get in."

"What kind of a bar?"

"My kind of a bar, Jethro." Skinner folded his arms across his chest. "One of *those* kinds of bars – that's why he needed an ID to get in. Oh – and he was carrying."

"His gun?" Gibbs looked angry.

"No – a knife. Said he had to. That it was a rule. One of your rules." Skinner sat back in his chair and studied Gibbs.

"He mentioned me by name?"

"Hell no! Boy might be stinking drunk, but he's sharp. He didn't tell me he worked at NCIS either; I figured it out – and his badge fell out of his jacket when I was putting him to bed."

"You put him to bed?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Jethro. He was wasted, so I put him to bed."

Skinner noticed that Gibbs's knuckles had turned white where he was clenching his fist around his mug of coffee. So that was the way it was.

"Didn't take long to figure out that the man whose rules he liked following had to be you. Never met anyone else with a set of rules they live by," Skinner grinned.

Gibbs just glared at him. "Who did the ID belong to?"

Skinner sighed. "He stole it. From a dead naval commander you had in your autopsy suite."

Gibbs's expression turned thunderous. "He stole evidence from a corpse?"

"That's what he said. I think he's been plucking up the courage to use it ever since."

"Christ. I'll kick his ass so hard he won't know what's hit him," Gibbs growled.

Skinner laughed out loud. "Figured you'd say that. Look, Jethro – that boy is trouble. Anyone can see that just by looking at him. But he's the good kind of trouble, I think. The kind of trouble you were, back when I first knew you – the kind that makes all the discipline and hard work worthwhile. Am I wrong?"

"No. But he's worked under me for eight years, and I've slapped a hell of a lot of good sense into him in that time. I'm surprised he'd do something like this. It's a rookie screw-up," Gibbs growled. "You don't ever tamper with evidence! He knows that!"

"He's desperate," Skinner shrugged. Gibbs looked up, startled. "He knows what he wants, Jethro," Skinner told him quietly. "I think he's wanted it for a very long time. And looking at you, I think you want it too. So, question is – why won't you step up and give you both what you need?"

A flicker of something passed across Gibbs's face. "No. I'm not doing this again, Walter."

"That boy belongs to you, Jethro. He's just waiting to be claimed. Leave him much longer, and you'll see him spinning out of control and pulling more stunts like this. Trust me – I know. I've been there."

"Yeah…" Gibbs glanced around. "Where is Fox, Walter? Out chasing after little green men again?"

"Don't let him hear you calling them that," Skinner grimaced. "Or you'll get the full hour lecture on the fact they aren't green."

"What colour are they then?"

"Grey," Skinner grinned. "I know I'm talking to a sceptic here, but he knows what he's seen, Jethro, and I don't doubt him for a second. He's out of town this week doing research for his new book – he'll be back on Sunday. But we're not talking about him – we're talking about you and that boy in my bed." Skinner leaned back in his chair. "How many men work for you, Jethro? Not the women – the men. How many men have you got on your team?"

Gibbs frowned at the question. "On my immediate team – two. If you count the wider team then four…I guess. What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

"I haven't told you the name of the one snoring his head off in my bedroom right now," Skinner said. "But you know which one it is, don't you?"

If looks could kill, the expression on Gibbs's face would have laid waste to an entire city.

"Y'know – that look didn't scare me when Private Leroy Jethro Gibbs was fighting a losing battle with his Gunnery Sergeant back in boot camp – and it sure as hell doesn't scare me now," Skinner told him. "I saw how you looked when I said he was sleeping in my bed, Jethro. You didn't like it. That boy's yours, and you know it. The longer you let him run off-leash like this, the more likely he is to get into trouble – or get himself hurt."

"He'll be fine," Gibbs shrugged. "He's a grown man, Walter – not a boy. He's my best agent. He can take care of himself."

"Sure." Skinner nodded. "I agree. Fox was about the same age when I took him in, and he was a brilliant agent – the best - but he's still my boy. He always will be, even when we're both old men. And Tony's your boy. You know that, Jethro, in your heart."

Gibbs's eyes flashed when Skinner said Tony's name. Skinner leaned forward.

"What's the problem, Jethro? Why won't you claim him?"

"Is that what he wants?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Does he want what I can give him? Does he really know what it will entail?"

"He's a newbie." Skinner shrugged. "So what? When I took on Fox he'd been around the scene for a few years and learned all kinds of bad habits. We had to work on those. Took about a year of hard work to help him unlearn them. I had to take him down deep, Jethro. Right back to basics. Took him down and built him up again, and we've never been happier since, but Christ – that first year." He shook his head. "It was tough. It'll be easier with Tony. You can train him up from scratch. He's eager to please, and you're good at the training part."

"I don't think he has the first idea what he'd be letting himself in for," Gibbs growled. "He's probably got some stupid damn fantasy in his head – and I don't want to be the one who ruins that for him."

"Who says you'd be ruining it?" Skinner queried. "Way I see it, you'd be fulfilling it."

"You said he's a newbie?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah – he mentioned some girl he topped. Said he envied her and wanted that from you. He was pretty clear about it. He knows what he wants, Jethro."

"He doesn't have a damn clue!" Gibbs snapped, thumping his fist down on the table. Skinner stared at him steadily, and Gibbs had the grace to look a little abashed by his outburst. "You mention a girl – the Tony DiNozzo I know has chased more skirt than you can possibly imagine, Walter. He's never given the slightest hint of being bisexual."

"You sure about that?" Skinner asked. "'Cause it seems to me that he's devoted to you to the point of obsession. The way he said he liked following your rules…are you seriously telling me you've never noticed that?"

Gibbs made a gesture of annoyance with his jaw and it clicked, loudly.

"You know. You've known for years." Skinner shook his head wryly. "You are a mean son of a bitch, Jethro, keeping the boy hanging on like this, all this time."

Gibbs leaned forward. "He even been fucked by a guy, Walter?" he asked quietly. "I bet he hasn't. He's not just a newbie, he's Snow fucking White."

“And are you telling me you can just stand by and allow some other guy to be his first?” Skinner demanded. Gibbs’s jaw tightened again.

“I told you – I’m not doing this again, Walter. You know how it was with Jenny – and then with Stan. Training them up, looking out for them, caring about them – and then losing them when it’s time for them to move on. It hurts too damn much.”

“Then keep this one,” Skinner said softly.

“What?” Gibbs looked up, startled, as if that idea hadn’t occurred to him.

“Keep him. The way I kept Fox. Allow this one to share your life, Jethro, the way you never allowed Jenny or Stan to – not really. You were a damn good dom to them both, sure, but you always kept them at arm’s length. They knew it, and you knew it. That’s why they moved on in the end.”

“At least Jenny and Stan both knew what they were getting into. They were both experienced subs when I met them – hell, Jenny knew more than I did! Tony doesn’t know a thing. If we start this, and if he hates it – then I’ve lost him right there. Not just his friendship and trust, but our working relationship too. There’s no coming back from that.”

“And if you don’t start it, you’ll never damn well find out. Christ, Jethro – never took you for such a quitter.”

“Says the man who avoided Fox Mulder for a year before finally taking him on,” Gibbs muttered darkly.

Skinner grinned. “And look how that turned out! Taking on Fox was the best thing I ever did. Way to make my point for me, Jethro!”

“I should go,” Gibbs snapped, getting up.

“Don’t you want to check that he’s okay first?” Skinner got to his feet and jerked his head in the general direction of the bedroom.

“Hell no. I’m sure he’s fine. Won’t be the first time he’s slept off a hangover. Or the last.”

“You sure he’s fine?” Skinner asked. “You sure you can leave without at least checking for yourself?”

He saw the hesitation in Gibbs’s eyes and the flicker of annoyance that crossed his face and stifled a smile. Skinner knew exactly the kind of dom Gibbs was, and there was no way he’d leave here if there was even a hint of doubt in his mind that his boy might be in any kind of danger. Skinner had met plenty of more subtle doms in his time but never any more protective – and possessive – than Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

“Where is he?” Gibbs growled at last.

“This way.”

Skinner led him up the stairs and along the hallway to the bedroom. He opened the door quietly and allowed Gibbs to peer inside.

Tony was a messy sleeper. He was hugging a pillow to his chest, and his legs were entwined in the sheets which he’d kicked back at some point to reveal the fact that he was only wearing boxer shorts. Skinner saw Gibbs’s expression darken.

“Who undressed him?”

“I did.” Skinner gazed at him calmly. He knew that look in Gibbs’s eyes – it wasn’t an expression he’d seen in them in a long time, but he knew what it meant. Gibbs wasn’t happy to find his boy lying half naked in another man’s bed – Gibbs wasn’t happy *at all*. “He was out of it. Asked me if I was going to fuck him – and if I’d wanted to, I could. He was in no state to know what the hell was going on.”

Gibbs’s jaw tightened so much that Skinner was surprised he didn’t hear it snap.

“You wouldn’t have taken advantage of him, Walter,” he growled.

“I wouldn’t, no.” Skinner shrugged. “So it was lucky it was me he met in that bar tonight, wasn’t it? Could have been someone else; someone who didn’t mind taking advantage of the pretty kid with the big smile and tight ass.”

Gibbs turned on him with an expression that was distinctly murderous.

“I’m just saying,” Skinner said softly. “Another time he might not be so lucky. If you don’t claim him, Jethro, someone else will – and he’ll let them, while wishing all the time that it was you. You want that to happen?”

At that moment, Tony turned in his sleep, muttering something. He stretched out, revealing even more naked flesh than before. He had long, solid legs, and a broad chest covered in a thatch of dark hair. He was a beautiful boy – Skinner knew plenty of doms who would love to have a submissive like this in their beds.

Gibbs clenched his hands into fists, and then he turned and walked stiffly away. Skinner closed the door on the sleeping Tony and followed him.

“Jethro!” Skinner caught up with him by the front door. “When he asked me if I was going to fuck him, he called me ‘Boss’.”

Gibbs paused, his hand on the door, his body rigid. Skinner reached out to touch his shoulder, but Gibbs shrugged him off angrily.

“No,” he hissed. “No. I’m not doing this again, Walter. Damn it…haven’t I lost enough people?”

Skinner gave a nod of understanding. “Jethro, I know what’s going on. I know why it didn't work out for you with Jenny or Stan - and I know why all your wives left you too. I know you don't trust yourself to love again. I was there when you lost Shannon and Kelly, remember? Same as you were there for me when I lost Sharon.”

“Then why the hell would you do something this fucking cruel, Walter?”

“Because I know how it feels! And I know that at some point you have to stop punishing yourself for it - for not being able to prevent it, and for not being able to keep them safe. You have to trust yourself to love again, Jethro."

"I can't," Gibbs said hoarsely. "I can't keep losing people, Walter. I can't do it again."

Skinner sighed. "There are no guarantees, but it doesn’t have to happen again, Jethro. Look at me and Fox. He leads about the most dangerous life of anyone I’ve ever known, and yes, maybe one day that’ll kill him. But I’ve had ten years with him – ten years I wouldn’t have had if I hadn’t taken a risk in the first place. I wouldn’t change those ten years for anything – not one second of them - not even if I lost him tomorrow.”

There was a stubborn expression in Gibbs’s eyes that Skinner remembered all too well from when Gunnery Sergeant Skinner had faced off against Private Gibbs on the parade ground. Neither of them had been prepared to give up without a fight. Skinner had won that one but not before Gibbs had pushed him to the very limits of his patience. He suspected he’d need a similar amount of patience this time around too.

Skinner opened the door. “Think about it, Jethro,” he said softly. “I’ll keep him safe while you make up your mind.”

“I already have, Walter,” Gibbs growled, stalking out of the door. “I already damn well have.”

~*~

Fox Mulder let himself wearily into the apartment, threw his bag on the floor, took off his jacket, letting it drop where it fell, and made for the stairs. He might get spanked for the mess in the morning, but right now he didn't damn well care. He was just glad to have put a few hundred miles between himself and the boondocks – and the creepy in-breds there who'd chased him out of town with pitchforks.

"Which is something that really should only happen in the movies," he muttered to himself. His body ached from all the running, and he just wanted to crawl into the warm circle of his master's arms and relish the comfort of being home.

He undid his shirt as he climbed the stairs and dropped that where it fell too. Then his pants. His master might cut him some slack in the morning, once he explained, but Mulder suspected that if he delivered a heartfelt enough blowjob that would make Skinner mellow enough to ignore the breadcrumb trail of clothes leading from the front door to their bedroom. He kicked off his shoes outside the bedroom door, peeled off his socks, dumped his boxers, and then silently let himself into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, trying his best not to wake his sleeping master.

He slid into the bed, and his master moved and muttered something in his sleep. Mulder grinned and slipped his arms around…a very unfamiliar body.

"Whoa!" Mulder jumped back out of the bed as if he'd been bitten by a snake. He looked around, mystified. A dozen possible explanations leaped into his head, although his first thought was that a shape-shifting alien had taken Skinner's place while he’d been out in the boondocks.

He turned on the lamp and gazed into a pair of sleepy green eyes. The man in his bed was about ten years younger than him, with tousled brown hair and a lazy, hazy smile.

"Who the hell are you?" Mulder demanded.

"Tony," the man replied happily. "S'nice to meet you, thanks v’ry much." His head dropped back down onto the pillow, and he started snoring.

Mulder gazed at him from narrowed eyes. Then he stepped forward, took hold of Tony's hair, and pulled his head back. Tony blinked.

"I'm on it, Boss!" he said blearily. His hands moved involuntarily, as if typing on a keyboard.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my bed?" Mulder demanded, shaking Tony hard, pulling on his hair.

"Hmmm?" Tony smiled at him.

"Where's Walter?"

Tony frowned, as if trying very hard to concentrate. "Walter? He the big guy? Met him at Murray’s. Gonna fuck me, Boss?"

Mulder glared at him. "You a sub, Tony?" he asked, in a dangerous tone of voice.

Tony smiled happily. "Yeah.”

"And Walter picked you up in Murray’s bar?"

Tony's grin widened. "Yeah," he said again, in a dreamy tone of voice.

"I'm going to fucking kill him." Mulder dropped Tony like a lead weight and looked around the room. "Where the hell is he?" He ran into the en-suite, but there was nobody in there. "Tony? Where the hell is he?" Mulder demanded, but Tony was fast asleep again, his almost naked body wrapped around the pillow he was hugging. Mulder stared down at him angrily, and then he snapped off the light and strode out of the room.

"Walter!" he roared, almost tripping over his own abandoned shoes as he ran along the hallway. "WALTER!"

He tore into the spare room, still yelling, and snapped on the light…to find his master reaching blearily for his glasses that were lying on the nightstand.

"Fox? I thought you weren't due home until Sunday?" Skinner said, in a befuddled tone of voice.

"I wasn't! I came home a couple of days early because the natives wanted to tear me limb from limb, and because I damn well *missed* you, Walter, and then I crawl into bed to find you've got yourself another sub in my absence! What the fuck is going on?"

Skinner sat up in bed and gazed at him calmly. "You done?"

"No, I'm not fucking *done*," Mulder snapped. "I can't believe you did this, Walter. For God's sake, after all we've been through…" He broke off, the enormity of it suddenly hitting him. His legs shook, his knees buckled, and he felt winded. He sat down on the side of the bed, feeling like someone had reached into his body and pulled out his heart.

"Walter?" he whispered.

"Idiot," Skinner said, rolling his eyes.

Mulder gave a shaky little laugh. "There's a really good explanation for this, isn't there?"

"Oh yeah," Skinner grinned. "Come here. You're naked – and it's cold." He pulled Mulder towards him and wrapped the blanket around him. Then he slid his large, capable hands over Mulder's cold skin, holding him close and warming him. "Like I have the patience and energy to take on another slave," Skinner muttered, kissing Mulder's jaw tenderly despite his gruff tone.

"Hey – I come home early, and there's some good-looking young sub asleep in your bed – what the hell am I supposed to think?"

"That clearly I haven't had sex with him because I'm sleeping down the hallway in the spare room?"

"There is that, yeah," Mulder said wryly. "Okay, then who is Tony, why did you pick him up in a bar, and what the hell is he doing in our bed?" Mulder asked, snuggling up close against his master's body for warmth. "Why isn't HE in the spare room, if he has to be here for whatever reason you've taken him in?"

"Because he’s so damn drunk I didn't think he'd remember the way to the bathroom, and he's already thrown up once tonight. Our room is the only one with an en-suite. I figured he was less likely to have an accident in there than in here."

"Oh. Right. That does kind of make sense." Mulder rested his hand on his master's thigh and stroked. "And the reason he's here at all?"

"I was doing a favour for an old friend - two old friends in fact. Hammer called to say that someone had got into the bar using a fake ID. I went to investigate and found Tony. He was too wasted to get home safely. That's where the favour to the *other* old friend came in. I knew a certain Leroy Jethro Gibbs would kick my ass if I allowed his boy to roam around the streets in that condition, so I had no choice but to bring him back here to sleep it off."

Mulder gazed at him, intrigued. "There's someone out there who can kick your ass? Who the hell *is* this Leroy Jethro Gibbs, and when can I meet him?"

Skinner gave a little laugh. "You just missed him as a matter of fact. Christ, what a night!"

“You’re telling me,” Mulder sighed. “Got the shock of my life when I found Tony in our bed.”

Skinner suddenly sat up and looked down on him. “Did you hurt him?”

“Of course not!” Mulder retorted. Skinner raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so I might have pulled on his hair a little, but he’s so out of it I don’t think he noticed.”

“What have I said about establishing all the facts and gathering all the evidence before jumping to conclusions?”

Mulder frowned. “I thought that only applied to conspiracy theories and investigations involving black oil?”

Skinner gave a little bark of laughter and rolled his eyes. Then he settled down beside his slave and gathered him up in his arms again. “Nice to know you still care enough to get jealous, even after ten years.”

“Jealous?” Mulder snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

“You were.”

“Was not.”

Skinner slapped his ass affectionately.

“Gonna spank me?” Mulder asked.

“For being jealous? No. For jumping to ridiculous conclusions and assaulting Tony? Probably,” Skinner told him.

Mulder sighed and rested his chin on his master’s shoulder. “Been awhile since you punished me.”

“Been awhile since you were last a total idiot,” Skinner grinned. “Now…it’s been one hell of a night, and I want to get some sleep. So shut up.”

Mulder closed his eyes happily. He didn’t care about the punishment. He was home, Walter hadn’t cheated on him, and his master’s strong arms were wrapped firmly around his naked body. It really didn’t get any better than this.

~*~

Tony groaned and opened an eye. Beside him, on the pillow, two vivid blue eyes gazed back at him curiously.

“Boss?” he muttered.

A white paw came his way and batted at his nose playfully.

“What the fuck?”

He sat up – too quickly – and his stomach roiled. His head was pounding, his vision was blurry, and for a second he thought he was going to throw up. He went back down again with a thud. Then the moment passed and everything came back into focus.

He found himself staring at a cat; a white and grey cat, with big blue eyes. That paw came towards him again, and he turned over to avoid it…only to find himself looking into two yellow eyes instead. Tony gave a little yelp. “Where the hell am I? Planet of the cats?”

This cat was a creamy colour and much smaller than the other one. Both its paws were tucked under its chest, and it was gazing at him with solemn scrutiny.

Tony groaned and sat up again. He had a vague recollection of the events of last night, and he winced. Christ, he’d made a total fool of himself, and now he was in someone else’s bed, in someone else’s apartment, waking up with someone else’s cats watching him. Not that it was the first time this had happened. It was never easy to make your excuses and sidle out of the door with your tail between your legs, hoping against hope that you never saw that person again.

He slid out of the bed and walked across the room to the pile of clothes lying on the chair. His heart gave a little thud when he remembered that he’d taken his NCIS badge to that bar last night. If Mr. Marine had stolen it, then Gibbs would surely kill him – but not before making him go through the entire story, from humiliating beginning to equally humiliating end. Tony heaved a sigh of relief to find that all his belongings were there – including his badge and knife.

He looked around and saw an en-suite bathroom. It didn’t take him long to take a shower and get dressed, and then he took a deep breath, put his hand on the bedroom door, and steeled himself for whatever horrors the new day held.

There was nobody in the hallway, but he could see a flight of stairs, and he could smell coffee somewhere down below. He took another deep breath, wishing his head would stop pounding, and then walked slowly down the stairs like a man going to his certain doom.

He couldn’t remember *everything* about last night, but he was pretty sure that Mr. Marine wasn’t the kind of guy who let you just sneak out. In fact, the man reminded him a hell of a lot of Gibbs, and he couldn’t imagine Gibbs allowing some idiot he’d found using a fake ID in a private members’ bar to just leave without asking him a lot of angry questions first. Especially not if the fake ID belonged to a naval officer. And…oh God, hadn’t Mr. Marine said he was FBI? This just got worse and worse.

He froze, his hand on the banister, his heart racing. Supposing this guy knew Gibbs? He made a face and tiptoed the rest of the way down the stairs. If he was lucky, his benefactor from last night would be in the kitchen making breakfast, and Tony could make a run for the door.

He emerged at the bottom of the stairs into a large living room. There was a kitchen off to one side, and he could hear the sound of clinking cups in there. Good. He began walking towards the door, still on tiptoes…and suddenly came to a surprised halt.

There, standing in the corner of the room, nose pressed to the wall, was a naked man; a naked man with a glowing red ass.

“What the hell…?” Tony was startled into speech by the unexpected sight.

The man glanced over his shoulder, sighed, and then turned back and rested his forehead against the wall with a little whimper.

“I could say the same thing,” a dry voice behind him said. Tony twirled around to see Mr. Marine standing there, wiping his wet hands on a dish towel. “You weren’t going to sneak out on me, were you, Tony? After all I did for you last night?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh…no…obviously…” Tony plastered a bright, false smile on his face.

“He so was,” the naked man in the corner said. “He was tiptoeing across the living room on his way to the door.”

“Naughty.” Mr. Marine shook his head. “You.” He pointed at Tony and then at a chair. “Sit.”

Tony did as he was told with a little sigh; like Gibbs, this man was the kind you really didn’t want to piss off.

“You’ve caused me enough trouble for one night,” Mr. Marine told him sternly. “In fact, you’ve caused me more trouble in one night than Fox has in an entire year. I’m not sure if that says more about how well I’ve trained my slave, or more about how much trouble you are, Tony DiNozzo.”

“Your…*slave*?” Tony glanced at the man in the corner of the room and back at Mr. Marine.

“Yup.” Mr. Marine nodded. “Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

“Shit.” Tony held on to the edge of the table tightly as the room swam. Then he risked a glance back over at the naked man. “He uh…he…did you…?”

“Spank him? Yes, I did. Oh – and he has something to say to you. Fox?”

The naked man turned his head again. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“What the hell for?” Tony frowned.

“I uh…might have tugged on your hair in the night.”

“Oh. Right. Well, maybe. I don’t remember…oh wait…I do remember something.” Tony put his hand up to his hair and smoothed it and then turned back to the big man with a look of alarm. “But…shit – please don’t tell me you punished him for that?”

Mr. Marine shrugged. “What I punish my slave for is between me and him. Now - you look like you need coffee.”

“Thanks…uh…?” Tony winced, racking his brain. “Were we ever introduced?”

“Walter.” The man held out a hand to him. “Walter Skinner.”

Tony shook the hand, frowning as he tried to remember where he’d heard that name before. “Oh shit,” he said, as it suddenly came to him. “You’re the Deputy Director of the FBI, aren’t you?”

Skinner grinned. “Oh yeah. And you are the insubordinate NCIS agent who tried to get into a private members’ bar with a fake ID he stole from a dead naval officer, aren’t you?”

“Oh shit,” Tony said again, burying his face in his hands. “Can today get any worse?”

“In my experience – yes,” Fox said, from his corner. “That’s just me though. Your luck might be better than mine.”

“Or he might not be as much trouble as you are,” Skinner retorted.

“Are you kidding?” Fox snorted. “Look at him! He’s trouble personified.”

“Fox does have a point,” Skinner grinned. He went into the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with a couple of mugs of coffee. He put one in front of Tony and slapped down two headache tablets next to it. Tony swallowed them gratefully. Skinner sat back and watched. “I hope they clear your head, ‘cause you're gonna need all your wits about you for what comes next.”

“Sounds bad,” Tony muttered, taking a deep sip of his coffee. He glanced at the man standing in the corner again. There was something about him; something familiar. If his head wasn't hurting so much, Tony was sure he'd be able to place him.

Skinner leaned forward. "Tell me, Tony, do you have a boss? Someone at NCIS who should know that you stole evidence from a corpse during an investigation?”

Tony stared at him blankly. “Uh…”

“Whatever you do, don’t lie to him,” Fox said helpfully from his corner. “He can always tell.”

Tony closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. “Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs,” he said quietly. “He’s my boss. He’s gonna kick my ass to hell and back for this, but he’s the one you should tell. Or, you know, not, if you wanted to take pity on me.” He gave his best and most charming grin.

Skinner nodded thoughtfully. “Well done, Tony. You just passed the test. You’re trouble, but you’re a good kid at heart, so I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Tony looked into those dark brown eyes and felt more hopeful than he had in months.

“Yes, I will,” Skinner said firmly.

"Aw! Can we all hug now?" Fox butted in, from his position over by the wall.

"You know, the whole point of corner time is for quiet reflection on the wrong-doing that got you sent there in the first place," Skinner shot back at him. "But seeing as that's wasted on you right now, get dressed and get your ass over here where I can keep an eye on you."

Fox gave a whoop and scrambled into action. He got dressed in seconds, in a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt that were lying on a nearby chair, and then he joined them at the table. He was about to sit down in the chair next to Tony when Skinner gave him a malicious grin and snapped his fingers.

"Not there. If you won't stand quietly in the corner, then you can kneel beside me in deep submission."

Fox glared at him. "In front of the newbie?"

Skinner raised an eyebrow. "You know, it seems to me that I already spanked you pretty hard this morning, but there's plenty more where that came from. My right arm is nowhere near tired."

Fox was by Skinner's side in seconds. He sank to his knees with a sad sigh, and Tony was just starting to feel sorry for him when Fox glanced up, looked straight at him with eyes full of mischief, and winked. Skinner clicked his fingers, and Fox lowered his gaze submissively to the floor.

Skinner took a sip of his coffee and then dropped his bombshell. "So, tell me, Tony, how long have you been in love with Jethro Gibbs?"

Tony choked on his coffee, and Skinner patted him helpfully on the back and then went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He returned with a dishcloth as well to wipe away the coffee that Tony had spewed all over the table.

Tony drank the water gratefully and then looked at Skinner through narrowed eyes. "You know, I admit that I was wasted last night, but I don't remember mentioning any names."

"You were, and you didn't," Skinner agreed. "But Jethro and I go back a long way, and from what you were saying, it didn't take me long to figure out that you were his boy."

"Yeah. Well. I'm not." Tony watched as Fox rested his chin on Skinner's thigh and closed his eyes. Skinner moved his hand absently to stroke Fox's hair. Tony's gut clenched in envy. "That's kind of the problem, isn't it?" Tony said with a wry shrug.

"You can't take your eyes off him," Skinner said softly, looking at where Tony was looking. "Is this what you want for yourself, Tony? You want something like Fox has with me?"

Tony cleared his throat. "Yeah. Something like that. I don't pretend to understand the master/slave stuff, or how that even works, but…being his, belonging to Gibbs like Fox belongs to you…that…yeah…that."

Tony gazed stonily at the table. He'd gone to that club last night with only a hazy idea of what it was he wanted. Now, sitting here, seeing Fox with Skinner – it suddenly all slotted into place for him, and now he knew *exactly* what he wanted.

"So, how do you know Gibbs?" Tony asked, looking up again.

"Known him for years. I was his gunnery sergeant back when he was a raw new recruit. They gave me the tough ones - the ones that nobody else could tame. Jethro had already gone through a couple of other gunnies before they threw him in my direction."

Tony gave a smile of pure delight. He loved imagining a young Gibbs testing the resolve of even the toughest gunny.

"He was the most stubborn, infuriating, pig-headed bastard I ever met." Skinner grinned.

"Still is!"

"And the best Marine I ever trained," Skinner added. "We went head to head a few times, but once I finally managed to instil some discipline in him, got that wild temper of his under control and won his respect, he turned out to be one of the most loyal, honourable men I ever had the pleasure to serve with."

"So you're the guy who tamed Gibbs?" Tony gave an awed whistle. "Wow. And you're still alive? I'm impressed."

Skinner laughed. "Oh, I don't think Jethro is the kind of man you ever really tame," he said, shaking his head. "He's feral – you can invite him to sit by your fire, and he'll fight at your side and share his kill with you, but he's a lone wolf at heart."

"Yeah," Tony said quietly. "I know. He doesn't want anyone sharing his den, huh?"

"I'm not so sure about that," Skinner mused. Tony glanced up, surprised. "Even a lone wolf needs a mate," Skinner said with a shrug. "He had one, and a cub too, but he lost them. He's kept the world at bay with that growl of his ever since, and God knows, his bite is even worse than his bark."

"Oh yeah." Tony grinned. "I know all about *that*."

"But he's acquired a pack, whether he likes to acknowledge it or not," Skinner said. "He wants people to look out for, to take care of. And you – you're trouble, but I figure you're the kind of trouble he enjoys."

"Maybe once," Tony sighed. "But not for a long time. Look, Walter, I won't lie to you; I screwed up. He can barely stand to look at me now, and he doesn't…" He paused. Skinner raised an eyebrow. "He doesn't hit me any more," Tony finished with a little grimace. "He used to slap the back of my head all the time – it felt affectionate, felt like he liked me, like I belonged. Then I screwed up, and Jenny died, and he hasn’t slapped me since. Now I don't know where I stand with him. I don't think he likes having me around any more. I got sent away as a punishment – not by him, but he didn't do anything to stop it, and I was the last one he brought home. Kept saying he was working on it, but seemed to me like he was taking his time."

"Tell me about Jenny," Skinner requested.

Tony shook his head. "I can't. Gibbs would kill me."

"Thought she died in a fire," Skinner pressed.

"She died because I screwed up. I was supposed to be protecting her, but I was out having a good time instead." Tony gazed at the table again, unable to meet Skinner's stern brown eyes. Skinner and Gibbs – they weren't the kind of men who tolerated screw-ups. Not when members of the team got killed as a result.

"Look at me, Tony," Skinner said firmly. Tony braced himself and then looked up, fully expecting to see contempt in Skinner’s eyes. It wasn’t there. Skinner's dark brown eyes were stern but compassionate. "You been punishing yourself for that ever since, Tony?" Skinner asked.

Tony bit on his lip, remembering night after night on the Seahawk, when he'd drunk himself quietly into oblivion in his bunk.

"Yeah. Sometimes I just wish he'd do it for me. I know it'd be bad, but I could take it, if it meant I won back his good opinion. If I got things back to how they used to be between us. He used to respect me – I used to deserve his respect. Nowadays, I just say stupid ass things all the time because I know he already thinks I'm a screw up. Nothing I can do to change that. Might as well just go along with it. Be who they expect me to be. Used to think he saw through me, but not any more. Not for a long time. If he does, he doesn't care."

"Did Gibbs ever say that he blames you for what happened to Jenny?" Fox asked, unexpectedly, from his position at Skinner's knee. He glanced up at Skinner who nodded at him to continue. "Just…before Walter took me in, guilt was pretty much my middle name. I blamed myself for a lot of stuff, and when I felt bad about it, I'd spin out of control and start doing stupid things. Walter knows how to bring me down, how to get the pain out. It's not always nice, and other people don't really understand it, but it works for us."

"He's never said it, no - not in so many words, but then Gibbs isn't a great talker. Thing is, Gibbs and Jenny had a thing once. She was special to him," Tony shrugged. "So of course he blames me. I think the two of them would have got back together eventually."

"Bullshit!" Skinner said. Tony looked at him, startled. "Look, I'm not going to talk about Gibbs's personal life, but I will tell you there's no chance he would ever have got back with Jenny," Skinner told him firmly. He glanced at his watch. "Okay. I think we've sat around for long enough. I said I'd help you, Tony, and I will. You got any pets at home? Anything that needs looking after?"

"Nope." Tony shook his head.

"Good – then you're staying here today. And tonight…" He leaned back in his chair and gave a wide grin. "Well, tonight I believe it's Pirate Night at Murray's bar."

"Oh God," Fox sighed. Tony glanced at him; Fox rolled his eyes. "Walter is the perfect master in many respects," Fox confided. "But he has a terrible weakness for dressing up. Which wouldn't be so bad if he didn't also like dressing me up."

Tony couldn't help laughing out loud at that. Skinner grinned happily at his slave.

"No point keeping a slave if you can't dress him up every now and then. Tony – you look like a man who appreciates the finer things in life, judging by those expensive shoes you're wearing," Skinner observed. "So maybe you don't have Fox's reluctance to dress up. Now, I'm going out for awhile, but when I get back we'll pick out some outfits to wear. Fox – while I'm gone, I want you to show Tony some of the items in the playroom. Tell him how it is for you – how our living arrangement works. Don't leave anything out – the bad or the good. Tony needs to make a decision about just how far he wants to go with this."

"How far?" Tony raised an eyebrow. Skinner got to his feet.

"Me and Fox – the only thing that works for us is a 24/7 master/slave relationship, but that's not the only way to do things," he said. "There are other ways. You need to decide what appeals to you most, Tony, and then we can go looking."

"Go looking?" Tony frowned.

"For the right sexually dominant man to give you what you need," Skinner told him. "Isn't that what you were doing at Murray's bar last night? I mean, I presume you didn't expect to bump into Gibbs while you were there? So you must have been looking for someone who'd do instead. You hit on me at one point."

"He did?" Fox narrowed his eyes. Skinner tapped his head reprovingly.

"I turned him down. Plenty of doms wouldn't. Now, can I trust you two not to get into any trouble while I'm gone?" He glared at them with mock severity.

"Hey, I'm a trained federal agent!" Tony protested.

"So was Fox when I first enslaved him, but he's been trouble his entire life." Skinner grinned. "Don't do anything stupid and don't leave the building unless there's some dire emergency like a fire."

"Where are you going?" Fox asked, getting to his feet. Skinner gave Tony an entirely inscrutable glance.

"Out," he replied, bestowing a kiss on his slave's cheek. "And I mean it about the bad parts, Fox. Be honest with Tony. He should get the full disclosure. I won't be around to hear any of it."

Fox grabbed him and kissed him back. "There's nothing I'll say to Tony that I couldn't say to your face, Walter."

Skinner's eyes suddenly blazed with a fierce love behind the spectacles, and Tony felt that stab of envy again. He couldn't imagine Gibbs ever looking at anyone like that, least of all him.

~*~

Gibbs returned home, dumped the bag of groceries on the kitchen table, and then froze. Someone was in his house. Nothing had been touched, but he could hear a faint noise emanating from downstairs. He drew his gun and walked silently towards the basement door. He kicked the door open, gun raised, and then he lowered his hand with a sigh.

Walter Skinner was crouching on his boat, the sleeves of his expensive shirt rolled up to his elbows, the sander in his hand, working on the wood grain. He glanced up as Gibbs made his dramatic entrance.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Gibbs demanded.

"You missed a bit." Skinner pointed.

"I didn't miss anything. I just hadn't gotten around to that part yet."

"Nah. You missed it." Skinner grinned at him.

"Anyone else but you would have a bullet through their hand right now for touching my boat," Gibbs growled, running down the stairs into the basement.

"Yeah, and you don't like the idea of anyone touching what belongs to you, do you?" Skinner raised an eyebrow.

Gibbs glared at him. He took the sander off Skinner, threw it onto the workbench, and then examined the area Skinner had been working on. Damn it, Skinner was right – he *had* missed a bit.

"Hey – it was me taught you how to build your first boat," Skinner reminded him. "Back then, you were more into getting your hands covered in grease with those stupid damn wrecks of cars you were always trying to get working again. I showed you how to build something from scratch, with your bare hands, Jethro."

"And now you want me to do it all over again," Gibbs grunted.

Skinner grinned. "Tony isn't a boat, Jethro. I think he'll give you more trouble than this fine young lady here." He slapped the wood heartily. "But the sense of satisfaction will be all the greater for that, my friend."

"I haven't changed my mind, Walter, so if that's why you're here you can just turn around and leave."

"This place feels lonely," Skinner said, glancing around. "Did you ever allow Jenny or Stan to stay over? Bet you didn't. Been a long time since you shared your space with anyone, Jethro."

"No intention of ever doing it again, Walter. Now, I have some groceries to unpack. You can see yourself out – same way you saw yourself in."

He strode towards the stairs and took them two at a time. He was almost at the top when Skinner spoke.

"Why does Tony blame himself for Jenny's death, Jethro?"

Gibbs paused, his shoulders tensing, and then glanced back down. "That what he said?"

"Yes." Skinner gazed up at him steadily. "Seems to think you blame him too. Christ, what the hell happened to you, Jethro? If he screwed up, then you deal with it, work through it with him. You don't just leave him hanging. Didn't I teach you anything?"

Gibbs turned and stomped back down the stairs, his temper flaring. "You don't know a damn thing about this, Walter!"

"I know that kid is beating himself up. I know he's eaten up with guilt inside. I know he's drinking too much, and I know it'll only get worse if you don't handle it."

"Damn it!" Gibbs slammed his fist down onto the work bench. Skinner gazed at him dispassionately. Gibbs grimaced; Skinner was the one person in the world who could face him down and win. Gibbs might not like it, but he'd learned it the hard way, a very long time ago. "You don't understand," Gibbs said quietly. "It's more screwed up than you can imagine."

"How did she die, Jethro?" Skinner asked. "Not the bullshit story I saw on the news – something about a fire? The truth, Jethro; was it Tony's fault?"

Gibbs sighed and ran a hand over his chin. "He was supposed to be protecting her, but she sent him away. She was dealing with the fallout from a mistake she made a long time ago. She didn't want anyone hurt in the crossfire – so she ordered him away."

"She actually made it a direct order?"

"Yeah." Gibbs nodded. "She didn't tell him what was going on – he just assumed she wanted some personal time. Then she was killed in a shoot out. Too complicated to explain, but we had to find a way to cover it up."

"No wonder Fox always believes in his conspiracy theories," Skinner commented dryly.

"No offence, Walter, but I've always thought Fox was a little crazy," Gibbs said, with a glimmer of a grin.

"None taken. I've met that forensics scientist of yours, so I figure we're even in the crazy stakes." Skinner grinned back at him. Then his grin faded. "So, you *do* blame Tony."

"I didn't say that, Walter!" Gibbs protested. Skinner just kept on looking at him, with those brown eyes that had always been able to see through any bullshit. Gibbs sighed. "Look, if it had been me – or you – there's no damn way we'd have cared if it was an order or not, Walter. We would have done our jobs – and Tony's job was to protect Jenny. He screwed the pooch."

"Yeah. He kind of did. And so did you, Jethro."

Gibbs grabbed a bottle of bourbon off the shelf, unscrewed the cap, and took a deep gulp, straight from the bottle. "How d'you figure that?"

"So the kid screwed up – but it was an honest mistake, and he was obeying orders. Now, you can kick his ass all over town for it – you can bawl him out and give him a hard time if he deserves it - but the one thing you don't do, the one thing you never do, is give up on him."

Gibbs slammed the bottle down on the workbench and glared at Skinner. "Who the hell says I've given up on him?"

"He does," Skinner said firmly. Gibbs felt his gut clench. "He says you stopped slapping his head." Skinner raised an amused eyebrow. "Says you're cold towards him these days – distant. Says he was sent away as a punishment, and that you didn't try too hard to get him back."

"My hands were tied!"

"So?" Skinner took a step forward so that he was in Gibbs's face. "That sounds like an excuse, Private, and I don't damn well accept excuses. I remember a young Marine who screwed up once. They were going to throw him out of the Corps, but I saw something in him, so I pleaded with them to give me one more chance with that kid. Hell, I went to the *line* for that kid, and I'm glad I did. He turned out to be the finest Marine I ever trained. But I could have given up on him back then, and neither of us would've ever known what he could become. I didn't give up on you, Jethro – now don't damn well give up on Tony."

"I told you, it's more complicated than that. *He* is more complicated than that."

Gibbs reached for the bottle of bourbon again, but Skinner got there first and grabbed it.

"This isn't going away, Jethro. You handle this, or I swear *I'll* kick *your* ass all over town, because I'm not giving up on you this time, either. You're lonely, and this place feels cold and empty. Now, I know what a stubborn bastard you are – Christ, if anyone knows it's me - but Tony's a good kid, and he deserves someone who'll give him what he needs. If that's not you, then I'll find someone else for him."

Gibbs felt a savage burst of fury at that, and he gave Skinner the kind of glare that stopped most men dead in their tracks. Skinner just raised an eyebrow.

"If you don't claim him someone else will. Won't be what he really wants, because for some reason what that poor kid really wants is you. But he's looking for something and won't stop until he finds it. I'm going to make sure he stays safe while he's looking, and if that means introducing him to the kind of people who can help him, then that's what I'll do."

"Fine." Gibbs shrugged. "I really don't give a damn, Walter."

Skinner gave a wry shake of his head. "Sure you do, Jethro." He pressed the bottle of bourbon into Gibbs's hands. "Sure you do," he repeated softly.

He strode towards the stairs, jogged up them, paused when he got to the top, and glanced back down. "I'm taking him to Murray's bar tonight, Jethro, if you want to show up."

"I don't," Gibbs grunted. "No time for the scene, Walter, as you well know. All that dumb-assed dressing up that you seem to like so much. Bunch of posers in leather, playing at it."

"They're just having fun, and not all of them are playing at it, Jethro, as you well know. Even if they are, there's no law against it. And I really hope you weren't including me in your little tirade."

Gibbs glanced up to see the dangerous glint in Skinner's eyes.

"Hell, I know you're good at what you do, Walter. They appointed you their leader didn’t they? Guardian of the DC S&M scene, or some kind of crap like that?"

Skinner chuckled. "It's a responsibility I take very seriously, old friend, and you're lucky that you *are* an old friend, and that I know what a lonely, miserable bastard you are, so I'm prepared to let your comments pass. As Guardian of the House, I know many of the best doms on the scene, and I'll be very pleased to introduce Tony to them this evening – if you have no objection."

Gibbs glared at him. "Do what the hell you like. Like I said, I really don't give a damn."

Skinner nodded. "You just keep telling yourself that, while you skulk down here in your lonely basement, with only your boat and your bourbon for company. If, however, you feel like taking a chance and claiming someone who desperately wants to belong to you, then you know where to find him. Just don't leave it too long – or someone else might get there first."

~*~

End of part two
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Two Masters - Part Three