xanthefic | Fic: Two Masters

Two Masters
By Xanthe
Part Nineteen

Tony rubbed his forehead morosely. He had a pounding headache, partly from the pressure of deciding what to do next, and partly because the cleaner had entered the squad room fifteen minutes ago and was now vacuuming the place noisily.

He glanced at his computer screen again. 22:03. Gibbs had given him until 23:00, which meant that he was running out of time. What was it Gibbs had said? He could belong to him or to the past, but he couldn't serve two masters?

Tony gazed across the room at Gibbs's empty desk. Damn it, he was so tired of running from this. Gibbs had been in his life for eight years, and he'd loved the man for pretty much all that time. Now they were lovers, and Gibbs seemed to satisfy some aching need inside him that he hadn't even realised was there. The sex was pretty damn good too.

He wanted to be Gibbs's sub. Hell, he loved being Gibbs's sub. He ran a finger over the empty expanse of his neck. He missed wearing Gibbs's collar. He missed sleeping in bondage, with Gibbs's arm wrapped around him. He missed lying in Gibbs's bed and feeling warm and safe because Gibbs was pressed up close behind him. He missed waking up to the feel of Gibbs's hard cock sliding into him. He missed the bite marks, the spankings, and all the exquisite sexual tortures that aroused him more than he'd ever have thought possible.

Most of all though, he missed lying on Gibbs's couch, with his head on Gibbs's lap, and the feel of his dom's fingers as they gently stroked through his hair. He missed that so much it made him ache. He had come this far – wasn't it time to take the final step, and give Gibbs his total trust? Hadn't he been holding out on the man for long enough?

The cleaner finished vacuuming, and Tony sat back in his chair with a grateful sigh. Maybe now he'd be able to think more clearly.

His cell phone rang, and he picked up eagerly, thinking it was probably Gibbs calling to ask him when he was going to show. He was therefore taken by surprise when a familiar voice spoke in his ear.

"Hey, motherfucker. I'm home! Miss me?"

"Fuck off, Grasso," Tony snapped.

"Aw – I think you missed me. I think you missed the Friday nights we used to spend together."

"Yeah – 'cause it was so much fucking fun."

"You showed up every week – I think you liked it."

“You know why I showed up – and it had nothing the hell to do with liking it.”

"C’mon - we both know there’s something sick inside you, DiNozzo – something sick and fucked up and useless. That part of you liked it."

"What do you want, Grasso?" Tony growled.

"You. It's Friday night, and I'm at this gym where my little bro works. It’s late, and the place is shut. Little bro’s given me the keys, and I’ve got the place all to myself. I’ll text you the address.”

"Don’t fucking bother, Grasso. I won’t be coming.”

"You sure about that?" Grasso chuckled. "'Cause you left without saying goodbye. Seems to me like we have some unfinished business, DiNozzo."

"I was glad to get the hell away from that ship – and from you."

"Well, now you get the chance to show me just how much you hate my guts. No ship, no rules, nobody to interfere…just you and me. You got the balls for that, DiNozzo?"

The phone clicked, and Tony snapped it shut angrily. He shoved it into his pocket and grabbed his bag. He wasn’t going back to that. That fucked up deal with Grasso was in his past. There was only one person in his future – and he was waiting for him in a bar. They'd find a way to work this through somehow. It might be painful, and he knew he wouldn't like it, but if Gibbs hadn't given up on him then he wasn't ready to give up on himself.

He glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might just get there in time.

~*~

Stan sat back in his seat. He looked nervous – Gibbs wondered what the hell was coming next.

"I'm not trying to get Tony into trouble," Stan told him.

"Oh, Tony doesn't need any help getting himself into trouble," Gibbs muttered darkly.

"I wasn't sure I should even tell you this, but then I figured you ought to know. Tony left a lot of notes for his successor. He didn't know it'd be me, but I was grateful to him for the intel. There was one person in particular that he wanted me to keep a close eye on - Chief Petty Officer Dale Grasso."

"He told me he thought the guy was bullying his men – that he'd raised it with the skipper but been knocked back."

Stan nodded. “Last week, Petty Officer Lewin came to see me. Lewin is on Grasso's crew. They're good lads – they work hard, and Grasso makes sure they are the best, fittest and fastest crew on the flight deck.”

"You think Grasso crossed a line in how he handled them? Tony did." Gibbs gazed at Stan searchingly.

"Crossed a line? Hell yes! Lewin told me that Grasso makes his crew do a fitness regime every day. He oversees it, and whoever performs the worst during the week gets the honour of sparring with Grasso on Friday night in a gym on the lower decks."

"Sparring?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"He calls it that, but in reality he makes them take a good, old-fashioned beating. It was Lewin's turn last week, and he was terrified. Grasso is a bastard – he fights mean and his crew aren't supposed to learn anything from the experience. There are never any witnesses – people know to steer clear of that particular gym at that particular time. He’s careful – he never leaves any marks on the face – but he gives them a damn good kicking."

"How the hell was this able to go on?" Gibbs growled angrily. "Why didn't anyone stop it?"

"Tony tried to – but, like I said, the skipper didn't want that boat rocked – literally – and Grasso is smart. Nobody ever caught him in the act. And I’m sure that if they did, he'd just say it was a bit of friendly sparring and bruises were inevitable – but trust me, this was a systematic campaign of bullying against his men.”

Gibbs felt his jaw tighten. He nodded at Stan to continue.

“I questioned Petty Officer Lewin, and he said that Grasso stopped beating up on his men for a period of time during Tony's tenure as agent afloat. Once Tony left, the beatings started again. Lewin couldn't handle it any more – that's why he came to me last week to tell me the whole story."

"Tony told me that he'd warned Grasso off. Threatened to break the bastard's legs if he continued bullying his men," Gibbs said, finishing his coke. "I'm guessing that once Tony left, Grasso felt free to go back to his old ways."

"Oh, it's worse than that," Stan said softly. "Grasso's Friday night sessions never stopped, Boss."

~*~

Gary, the doorman, let him into the bar, even without a member's card. Tony figured Walter must have had a word with the management, or else Gibbs had told Gary to expect him. He walked down the stairs and paused for a moment on the landing, looking for his dom.

The place was busy, and it took him a moment to locate Gibbs. Then his gaze honed in on Gibbs's familiar taut shoulders and silver hair. He was about to run down the stairs when he realised that his dom wasn't alone. There was a man sitting opposite him, and he and Gibbs were engaged in an intense conversation. Their heads were so close together that they were almost touching, and there was an air of easy intimacy about them. Who the hell was this guy? Tony's stomach did a jealous flip as he recognised the blond hair and chiselled jaw of Gibbs's companion: Stan.

"What the fuck…?" Tony felt liked he'd been punched in the gut. Gibbs had told him to meet him here because it was 'neutral territory', but had somehow forgotten to mention that he'd be inviting his old boyfriend to the reunion. Stan the golden boy. Stan the perfect ex-sub who never fucked up. Stan who sure as hell never said his safe word and then walked out on his dom, leaving his collar behind on the door mat.

"Fuck you, Gibbs," Tony growled under his breath. It had taken him all his courage to come here tonight – and for what? To find this?

He turned and walked shakily back up the steps, out of the bar, and onto the street.

"FUCK!" he yelled, banging his fist against the brick exterior wall. "Fuck you, Gibbs. Christ, I should never have fucking believed in you."

He slammed his fist into the wall again then leaned against it, panting. He was dimly aware of the sound of his cell phone ringing. If it was Gibbs… He reached into his pocket and looked at the caller ID. Not Gibbs. He answered the call.

"You chickening out on me, DiNozzo?" Grasso asked. "Figures. You're the same weak sack of shit you always were."

Tony stared at the wall sullenly. Then he gave a bitter little laugh. Really, where else was he going to go? At least this way he got to slam his fist into something other than a brick wall.

"Screw you, asshole," he snapped into the phone. "I'm on my way."

~*~

Gibbs frowned. "I don't understand. You just said that the beatings stopped while Tony was agent afloat."

"No, I said that Grasso stopped beating his *men*. But he needed someone to beat up on.”

Gibbs stared at him. "What are you saying, Stan?"

"Tony felt like he’d let Grasso’s men down. Petty Officer Lewin was too scared to make a formal complaint against Grasso back then, but he begged Tony for help. And Tony said he’d take care of it.”

“Shit.” Gibbs had a feeling he knew where this was going now.

Stan leaned forward. "Tony did some kind of deal with Grasso, Boss. From then on he was Grasso’s Friday night sparring partner. It seemed to keep Grasso happy – I'm guessing Tony was a more challenging opponent than his terrified men. Still, I've no doubt Tony took a few beatings in the process – Grasso likes to win."

Gibbs felt a surge of protective anger. He wanted to believe it wasn't true, but it sounded all too likely. He remembered the many times Tony had taken the brunt of his own bad temper. Ziva and McGee would sometimes disappear when Gibbs was on the warpath over a case, leaving just Tony, with his wide grin and inane chatter, deflecting Gibbs for all that he was worth, taking the heat off the rest of them. And hadn’t it been Tony who had taken over the handling of Abby's useless replacement when Gibbs had felt like throttling the guy?

He thought of the many times Tony had placed himself in danger to save one of his team, from taking the full force of a bomb blast for Kate and McGee, to rescuing Gibbs himself when he'd been trapped in a car at the bottom of a river.

"Damn it! Damn Tony and his endless fucking need to take one for the team!" he growled, banging his fist down on the table. "Christ, I'm gonna kill him when I get my hands on him."

~*~

The gym was a small dive in a rough part of town. Tony pulled up in the parking lot and slammed the car door shut behind him. This was stupid. He knew that, but he also didn’t seem to care right now.

Grasso was right about the place being empty – they wouldn't be interrupted. Not that they ever had been before, back on the ship. One of Grasso's men had always stood watch outside the door, and the crew, by and large, knew to avoid the place. Grasso had a reputation for throwing his weight around, and nobody liked to mess with the man.

Tony paused outside the gym door. He remembered the first time he'd done this. He'd been upset and angry about being sent away from Gibbs and his team. He had also been lonely. He'd needed to bond with someone – and the boys on Grasso's flight crew had become his new team. They needed him – and nobody else had needed him on that hellhole of a ship.

Tony couldn't stand by and let those boys be bullied by Grasso. At least he was a veteran of close combat training with Gibbs. He knew how to fight hard and mean – he stood a chance with Grasso. His plan had been to whip Grasso's ass so hard that the bastard wouldn't touch his crew again.

"Yeah, and that plan was one total, giant failure, DiNozzo," he muttered to himself.

He’d fought hard, but Grasso had the edge on him. He'd gone down fighting though – he thought Gibbs would have been proud of him. Grasso seemed to find him more fun to kick around than his own men, and he'd challenged Tony to come back the following week and take some more – if he had the balls.

After that, it had become a regular weekly occurrence. Sometimes Tony showed up drunk – it dulled the pain and made the whole thing pass in a haze. There was something about Tony’s willingness to offer himself up repeatedly for their version of fight club that seemed to fascinate Grasso. Tony had been feeling so guilty about Jenny's death back then, and Grasso had sensed that in him – and exploited it ruthlessly. He seemed to know how to reach straight into Tony's guilt and twist it to his own needs. In the end, the whole thing had become so fucked up that Tony wasn’t sure why he was doing it any more.

The gym door was unlocked. Tony pulled it open and stepped inside.

Grasso was waiting for him. He was a big man, taller than Tony, standing at around six feet five, and he was built like the side of a barn. He was busy working on a punching bag when Tony entered the room, but he looked up, a smile creasing his features at the prospect of a more interesting opponent.

"Hey, motherfucker! I knew you’d come. You’re a sick fuck, DiNozzo – I think you actually like getting your ass kicked.”

"Dale." Tony inclined his head sardonically. He knew Grasso hated being called by his first name. "You missed me then, judging by all the pathetic emails and phone calls."

"I missed kicking you around until you whine like a beaten dog."

"Your men not filling that need for you?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"They're a bunch of pussies. They fold too easily. Besides, none of them cries like you do, DiNozzo. I always liked that sound."

Tony took off his jacket and threw it down to one side. He tore off his tie and dropped that on top. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and threw that onto the pile of clothing.

"Before we start…" Grasso got out a bottle of whisky and put it on top of Tony's discarded clothes. "Thought you might be thirsty."

"You mean you want an easy fight." Tony raised an eyebrow.

"I don't need you to be drunk to take you down, motherfucker," Grasso growled. "I just like the way the liquor makes you cry for your mommy."

Tony felt his jaw tighten.

"Go ahead. Take a sip. You know you will before we're done. Everyone knew you're a drunk," Grasso grinned. "You used to drink yourself to sleep in your bunk, didn't you, DiNozzo? Homesick were you? Poor little momma's boy."

Tony stepped forward and took a swing at him, but Grasso was ready for him and blocked. He elbowed Tony in the ribs and then kneed him in the groin. Tony rolled sideways and got to his feet, fighting for breath. There were no rules in this fight. Grasso would fight dirty – and so would Tony.

"Nice to see you're still the same fucking loser you always were, DiNozzo," Grasso taunted.

"Nice to see you're still the same knuckle-headed bozo you always were, Chief Petty Officer Asshole," Tony replied. "Do you know that's what your men call you behind your back? Grasso – asshole. Kind of fitting, don't you think?"

He grinned pleasantly and deflected a pounding blow Grasso aimed at his ribs. A follow-up punch to his jaw sent him reeling sideways, and he went down onto the floor. He looked up at Grasso in shock; Grasso winked at him.

“We’re not on the Seahawk now, DiNozzo – that changes things," he said, with an ugly grin. "Your face isn't off-limits now. You have no idea how much I've wanted to pound my fist into that pretty-boy face of yours, DiNozzo. After tonight you won't be so pretty."

Tony reached up a hand to touch his split lip and felt the blood dripping down his chin. He got to his feet, feeling a surge of anger as the pain kicked in. He threw himself at Grasso and landed several hard, brutal punches. This felt better than pounding his fist into a brick wall. This felt much better.

Grasso would win eventually. He always did. And Tony would take the beating because on some level, he knew he deserved it. But first…first he got to fight out his anger and pain. He thought of Gibbs's betrayal, thought of him leaning across the table in the bar, talking to Stan in that intense, intimate way. Those thoughts drove him crazy, and he redoubled his attack, burying his fists into Grasso's midriff over and over again.

Grasso laughed out loud and blocked him, then cuffed him sideways, sending him flying. Tony lay on his back on the floor, blinking blearily as Grasso came towards him.

"You're feisty tonight, DiNozzo. I like it. It’ll make it all the sweeter when you finally beg for mercy."

"In your dreams, asshole. I never beg," Tony said, in a tone of derision.

Grasso gave him a macabre grin. "Nah – but you do scream."

~*~

“Did you say Grasso has been calling Tony?” Stan asked.

Gibbs frowned. “Yeah. Think I should be worried?”

Stan pulled on his lower lip thoughtfully. “Maybe. That guy's got one hell of a mean streak. He's a bully – and he's got some kind of weird obsession with Tony. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him before, the way Tony did. And nobody ever went into a fight with him willingly – and kept on coming back for more. He talks about Tony all the time – nothing complimentary, but he can't stop going on about him. It's kind of creepy. And if he's been calling him, then yeah, I think you should be worried.”

Gibbs reached for his cell phone. “I'll call Tony and warn him."

He glanced at his watch. It was past eleven now, and Tony still hadn't showed. He had been so sure that Tony wouldn't let him down. Things might have been strained between them this last week, but he'd seen something in Tony's eyes that told him not to give up hope. Had he been wrong?

Tony’s number rang a few times, but it wasn’t picked up. Eventually it went to voicemail. Gibbs snapped his phone shut with a growl.

"Idiot. He knew I'd want to talk to him."

"Did he know you were meeting me here tonight then?" Stan asked with a puzzled frown.

"No – Tony was who I was waiting for when you called."

"Here? In a fetish bar?" Stan looked startled. Then realisation set in. "Oh…you and Tony?" A little spark of sadness flared in his eyes but was soon muted. "Kind of makes sense," he sighed. "Is it good between you, Boss?"

"Yeah. It is." Gibbs gave Stan an almost apologetic smile. "I finally figured out what I wanted, Stan."

"Well, I always knew it wasn't me. That's why I left."

"Yeah." Gibbs made a little gesture of acknowledgement with his head. "Tony gets me, Stan. And he can handle me."

"Then he deserves you, Boss. Nobody else could handle you." Stan grinned. "I know I never managed it. So – where is he? You said you were meeting him here?"

"I told him to be here by eleven. We had something pretty big to discuss. I was sure he'd show." Gibbs frowned. "Oh shit…" He glanced towards the stairs. "Maybe he did."

"When?"

"When you and me were talking." Gibbs got up.

Stan got up too. "So why didn't he come over?" he asked, looking puzzled.

"Because you were here. He kind of has a thing about you, Stan."

"About me? Why?"

"Just…one of Tony's many insecurities." Gibbs made for the stairs at a run. He had a bad feeling about this. "Gary – have you seen Tony this evening?" he asked the doorman when he reached the upper landing.

"Yes, Mr. Gibbs. He came in about half an hour ago. Didn't stay long – left straight away looking kind of pissed off."

Gibbs cursed under his breath. "Did you see where he went?"

"No, sir." Gary shook his head nervously. He and Stan exchanged the kind of anxious looks that irritated Gibbs. They were both so apprehensive of his anger. That made him even more desperate to find Tony. Tony was strong; he would stand up to Gibbs if he needed it, or joke him out of a bad mood. Tony wasn't afraid to get in his face and risk his displeasure like these two subs here. He needed Tony. Christ, he *loved* Tony, and he wanted to get hold of him, right now, and figure out all that had gone wrong between them.

Where the hell would he have gone? To his apartment? Maybe…but Gibbs's gut discounted that idea. It seemed to think that Tony would have gone somewhere much more dangerous. But where?

~*~

Tony laughed out loud as Grasso thudded a hard punch into his solar plexus.

"D'you want a drink, loser?" Grasso stood over him, offering him the bottle. It was tempting. Tony gazed at it blearily, blood running down his face.

"Just like old times, huh?" He squinted up at Grasso from his half-closed eye.

"Almost." Grasso waved the bottle impatiently in front of his face. "Sometimes you showed up drunk."

"Yeah." Tony reached out and took the bottle. "Sometimes I did."

Tony wondered why Grasso wanted him to get drunk. He’d never brought along liquor before. Was it just because he liked kicking him and calling him names when Tony crawled around in a drunken stupor on the floor? Or was there another reason?

Tony threw the bottle back onto his pile of clothes and got slowly to his feet again. He didn’t want to get drunk. He wasn't done yet.

There was a rage roaring inside him that was nowhere near being quenched. When he'd done this before, it had been for many different, complex, and often contradictory reasons. Tonight was different – tonight was about something else. He wasn't even sure what, as he launched himself at Grasso. He just knew that he hurt and wanted to be hurt in equal measure, and Grasso was the means by which to make it happen.

~*~

Gibbs went through the options in his head. Tony would have been feeling mad, jealous, insecure, pissed off as all hell. Where would he go when he was feeling like that? Gibbs turned to see Stan looking at him anxiously, and that was when the thought hit him.

“Damn it - he wouldn’t…”

Yeah. He would.

Gibbs grabbed his cell phone again and called McGee. “I need a location for the GPS in Tony’s cell phone,” he snapped. “And fast!”

Stan was staring at him, looking confused.

“Do you have any idea where Grasso might be right now?” Gibbs asked, pacing anxiously. He just hoped that Tony had his cell phone switched on. He hadn’t picked up earlier, but he could have just been ignoring the call – or not in a position to answer it.

“I think he stays with his brother here in DC when he's on leave. Why? You think he’s gone after Tony?”

“No.” Gibbs shook his head. “I think he's thrown down a challenge that Tony might just be stupid enough to accept.”

~*~

“I’ve been thinking,” Grasso said, as they circled each other warily.

“Must be a new experience for you." Tony threw a punch – but Grasso ducked out of the way.

“I bet nobody knows you’re here,” Grasso said, landing a glancing blow to Tony’s jaw.

Tony felt himself go cold. Was this Grasso trying to put him off his game? Or was something more sinister going on? The guy was a psycho – who the hell knew what he’d do?

“I had a good thing going until you screwed it up, DiNozzo,” Grasso told him. “The new agent afloat has been on my case for months because of you – I can’t fucking piss without him watching me. And he's trying to persuade that snivelling little shit Lewin to make a formal complaint against me.”

“Aw, I’m sorry I made it harder for you to be such a fucking bully,” Tony snapped.

Grasso's expression turned murderous. "Fuck you, DiNozzo," he snarled, and then he came at Tony, swinging punch after punch.

Tony suddenly realised that this was serious. Grasso had a grudge against him, and with no witnesses, and no prospect of any kind of interruption, the bastard was fighting harder and meaner than ever before.

It was now chillingly apparent to Tony that if he lost this fight he wouldn't just be crawling home on his hands and knees with a bloody nose.

The stakes had suddenly become much higher.

~*~

“I’ll find Grasso’s address,” Stan said, pulling out his cell phone.

How long would that take? Gibbs just hoped that Tony’s cell phone was switched on, and McGee would be able to get him the answer he needed. Otherwise, he had a horrible feeling that they’d be too late.

Gibbs’s cell phone rang, and he picked up, impatiently.

“McGee? What you got for me?”

~*~

Tony fought hard. He’d trained with Gibbs – he knew how to fight with the best of them. All he could hear was the sound of his own laboured breathing as he moved, darted, punched and parried. He was starting to feel tired. His arms ached, and he could feel the blood running down his face from a cut above his left eye, which was bleeding copiously. He could barely see a thing out of that eye, and he could feel how swollen it was.

Then he made a mistake. He moved too fast and tripped – and Grasso got a leg behind his knees and sent him reeling over backwards. Tony landed on his ass on the floor and before he had a chance to get back up again, Grasso had grabbed a handful of his hair.

Grasso pulled him up bodily by the hair and then raised his fist. There was a twisted grin on his face.

“Would anyone even miss a whiny-assed loser like you?” Grasso taunted. “You never had any friends on the Seahawk, and I figure you don't have any on dry land, either. Does anyone give a damn if you live or die, DiNozzo?”

Tony blinked the sweat out of his one good eye, trying to see. So this was it. Christ, he’d really fucked up this time.

At that moment, he heard a bellow of sheer rage from over by the door. There was a blur of motion, and then Grasso was yanked backwards, away from him, causing Tony to fall to the ground. He heard the sound of fist meeting flesh, over and over again, and Grasso’s grunts of surprised pain. Then the punching sound stopped.

“*I* give a damn,” a familiar voice said.

~*~

Gibbs looked down on Grasso – the man was doubled up, stumbling around and clutching his belly where Gibbs had landed several hard blows. Gibbs wasn’t done with him yet though.

“This is for your men,” he snapped, delivering a savage uppercut to Grasso’s jaw. Grasso almost went over backwards but somehow managed to stay upright, shaking his head blearily.

“And this is for touching what's mine.” Gibbs drew back his fist and then delivered a brutal punch that sent Grasso reeling. He was a big man, and he hit the floor with a gratifying thud. Satisfied that his opponent wouldn’t be getting up again any time soon, Gibbs left him in Stan’s custody and went over to his sub.

Tony was battered and bloody. Gibbs crouched down beside him and looked him over intently. He had a bleeding cut over one eye; the area around the eye was swollen and puffy, and the eye itself almost closed. He also had a split lip and several bruises on his face and torso.

"Were you having fun, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked sourly.

"Not really, Boss," Tony croaked, looking up at him, panting heavily, one hand clutching his ribs.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Gibbs reached out a gentle hand to touch Tony's bruised face. Tony caught the hand in his own, stopping him.

"Why are you here?" he rasped belligerently.

“Told you I'd reel you in - and not a moment too soon by the look of it." He sat back on his heels and surveyed his sub's injuries with a meaningful shake of his head.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"When you didn't show up at the bar I got McGee to trace the GPS in your cell phone. I figured something was wrong because Stan told me…"

“What the hell does *he* know about anything?” Tony interrupted.

“He took over from you as agent afloat on the Seahawk, and he thought I should know about your fight nights with Grasso. That’s what we were talking about when you saw us in the bar this evening."

"Oh." Tony looked nonplussed. "So…you weren't…uh…"

"Interviewing him as a replacement for you in my bed? Yeah. Right," Gibbs snorted. "You're an idiot, DiNozzo."

"I know." Tony stared at him moodily. “So, you know about Grasso?”

“I know you tried to protect his men by letting him beat up on you every week for a couple of months,” Gibbs snapped. “I can just about understand that. What I don’t understand is why the hell you let him beat up on you tonight.”

“I was angry. And…” Tony shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. So…I guess I’m in trouble for this?" He tried to get to his feet and gave a gasp of pain. Gibbs put a hand under his arm to steady him and then pulled him the rest of the way up.

"Hell yes!" he retorted. “You're in big trouble, boy.”

“Don’t remember it being in the rules,” Tony said petulantly. “What is it? Some new rule? Rule number eight – don’t get into fights you can’t win?”

“No. It’s an existing rule.” He took hold of Tony’s arm and slung it over his shoulder.

Tony gave him an uncertain look. “Can’t place it.”

"Damn it, it’s rule number five, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said in an exasperated tone. “Nobody touches you but me.”

"Oh come on! That wasn't touching! Well, not that kind of touching anyway…"

Gibbs silenced him with a glare, and Tony bit down on his already split lip. He glanced over at Grasso, who was lying dazed on the floor with Stan's cuffs on his wrists.

"Still never been beaten in a fight, huh, Boss?" Tony managed a faint grin as Gibbs deposited him on a chair in the corner of the gym. "Thought Grasso might have given you more trouble, but I guess not."

"You wore him out before I got to him. Also, I was kinda pissed." Gibbs picked up Tony's shirt from the pile on the floor and started to help him into it. "Really not happy about you being half naked in front of anyone, DiNozzo."

"For Chrissakes! It was a fight thing, not a sex thing," Tony said irritably.

"You don't get it." Gibbs grabbed his head and made him look at him. "Nobody gets to look at you half naked, Tony, and nobody *ever* gets to hurt you. Nobody gets to lay a goddamn finger on you! I thought I'd made all this clear."

Tony looked startled by his vehemence. "Didn't get my head around the not hurting me bit," he muttered. "Besides…I wasn't sure where we stood any more."

"That’s no goddamn excuse! I told you where we stood, Tony. You're mine – that's it."

He finished helping Tony back into his shirt and began buttoning it up for him.

"You're on punishment detail until further notice," he said as he worked. Tony glared at him mutinously. “Got a problem with that, DiNozzo? Want to argue with me about it?” Gibbs asked dangerously.

“All I want to damn well argue about is what you were doing in that bar with Stan,” Tony snapped.

“I *told* you. He called me this evening while I was waiting for you. He’d figured out what had gone down between you and Grasso, and he thought I should know. That’s it.”

“You sure? ‘Cause the two of you looked pretty damn cosy. You sure you don’t wanna take up with the golden boy again?” Tony demanded.

Gibbs reached out and slapped the back of his head. Tony had the grace to look a little abashed. He lowered his head and looked up at Gibbs through the eyelashes of his good eye.

“Okay. Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. Just, I see you getting up close with the sub who got away – what the hell am I supposed to think?”

“You are sailing really close to the wind right now, DiNozzo,” Gibbs growled. “Snap out of it.”

Tony swiped away the trickle of blood running down his jaw with the back of his hand. Then he looked up again, and finally Gibbs saw a hint of contrition in his eyes.

"Sorry, Boss. So…back on the short leash again, huh?" Tony asked with a little sigh.

"So short you'll be asking my permission to damn well piss," Gibbs told him tersely. “Like I said, you’re on punishment detail until further notice. I'll tell you what that entails tomorrow. For now – let's get you home."

He helped Tony into his jacket and then went over to Stan.

"See that bastard is busted for what he did to his men," he said, shooting Grasso a derisory glance. "Find some way of nailing him – get Lewin to testify - but don't drag Tony into this. I'll take care of him," Gibbs said grimly.

Stan’s gaze flickered over to where Tony was sitting. "Poor guy. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now."

Gibbs gave a wry grin and patted Stan's shoulder. "Yeah, but you'd never put yourself in his position, Stan."

"He make you happy, Boss?" Stan asked softly.

Gibbs glanced back at Tony. "Yeah, Stan. He really does. When he's not pissing me off.” Then he grinned again. “And sometimes even then,” he added with a wry shrug.

Stan smiled. "I'm pleased for you. Okay if I have a few words with him, Boss?”

“Sure.” Gibbs nodded, and Stan went over to where Tony was sitting.

“Wanted to say thanks, DiNozzo,” he said, crouching down in front of Tony.

“For what?” Tony growled, stiffening. Gibbs rolled his eyes; Stan really was Tony’s bete noir.

“Leaving me all those notes. Best handover files I ever had coming onboard a new ship as agent afloat,” Stan told him serenely, ignoring Tony’s attitude. “Also – for taming him.” Stan gave a little grin and a backward nod in Gibbs’s direction. “You did something I never could, Tony. Hell, I don’t suppose there are many subs in the world who could handle the boss. You must be something pretty special.”

Tony gazed at him with a look of stupefaction on his face. Gibbs couldn’t stop himself grinning at the sight.

“Not really. I screw up all the time,” Tony muttered. “Like tonight for example.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure the boss will punish you for that, and frankly I think you deserve it. But I wanted to thank you also on behalf of those guys on Grasso’s flight crew. What you did for them took guts, Tony, and I know they appreciate it. Lewin hero-worships you like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He glanced at Tony and then back at Gibbs. “Well, almost like nothing I’ve ever seen.” He grinned. “The way you look at the boss comes close.”

“You telling me you don’t look at him the same way?” Tony asked grouchily.

“No.” Stan shook his head. “I left him, Tony, not the other way around. And for awhile I regretted it, I’ll admit that. Maybe I even still regretted it - until tonight.”

“What changed tonight?”

“Saw him with you. Could never compete with that.” Stan patted Tony’s arm. “So long, Tony. And don’t worry about Grasso – I’ll make sure that bastard gets what’s coming to him.”

He got up, returned to his prisoner, hauled Grasso to his feet, and pushed him towards the door.

“So long, Boss. Tony.” He waved his hand at them and then left.

Tony watched him go. “Nice guy,” he said to Gibbs. “Always liked him.” He gave his dom a wide, self-deprecating grin.

Gibbs gave a snort of amusement at the obvious lie and went back over to where Tony was sitting. "Come on. We're going home."

"You sure? I mean, d’you still want me now I'm not pretty any more, Boss?" Tony asked, as Gibbs helped him to his feet.

Gibbs laughed out loud. "Who the hell ever told you that you were pretty, DiNozzo?"

Tony gave a little chuckle, clutching his ribs painfully. "Don't make me laugh, Boss," he implored, as Gibbs put an arm around his waist to help him walk.

"Oh, you won't be laughing when I get you home, Tony. Trust me."

Tony leaned in close, and Gibbs held onto him tightly.

"I'm learning how to do that, Boss," Tony said quietly. "I'm kind of a slow study on this one. It's hard for me."

They swayed there for a moment, alone in the room. Gibbs kissed Tony's forehead gently.

"Yeah. I know," he said softly, holding his sub close. "But you're getting there, Tony. You're getting there."

~*~

Gibbs didn't say a word the entire journey home, and Tony was too exhausted to say anything. He stared out of the window wondering what 'punishment detail' would entail exactly. Gibbs had told him about it several weeks ago, but he couldn't remember all the details. He did know he hadn't liked the sound of it. He had a feeling the next few days were going to be anything but pleasant.

First they had to deal with the reasons behind their temporary break-up and then there was the issue of him breaking rule number five. Gibbs seemed really pissed off about that for some reason. Tony wasn't sure why - it wasn't as if he'd run off and had sex with another dom. Tony didn't think he agreed with Gibbs's interpretation of rule number five.

They pulled up at the house, and Gibbs helped him out of the car and into the living room, where he deposited him on the couch. Tony watched him punch a speed dial number on his cell phone.

"Kinda late to be calling someone, Boss," he ventured.

Gibbs glared at him. Tony bit down on his lip and tasted blood.

"Ducky – it's me," Gibbs said into the phone. "I need a consult. Yeah, I know it's late, but it's DiNozzo."

Tony winced. Gibbs finished up the conversation and snapped his phone shut. Then he sat down on the coffee table opposite Tony and put a firm hand on his jaw, turning his face so that he could examine his injured eye in more detail.

"Can you see anything out of that?" he asked. Tony shook his head. "Thought not. It's swollen shut, although hopefully the eye itself isn't damaged. It's bad, but I've seen worse."

"Really? When?" Tony asked, glad that Gibbs was talking to him again.

"Iraq," Gibbs replied tersely, and that ended that conversation effectively.

Ducky arrived, all bustling good humour and brisk efficiency even while he complained about being dragged out of bed this late on a Friday night.

"Saturday morning now!" he exclaimed, glancing at his watch as Gibbs ushered him into the living room. He took one look at Tony and gave a cheerful smile. "My word, Anthony, you have been in the wars! What on earth happened?"

"He's been an idiot," Gibbs replied, before Tony could reply.

"Ah - a fight over a young lady's attentions no doubt!" Ducky said, opening up his battered brown medical bag. "Well, not to worry, Tony, we'll have you right as rain in no time." He set about prodding Tony uncomfortably for the next twenty minutes.

Tony watched as Gibbs went over to the window and twitched aside the drapes. He stood there, looking glacial, while Ducky went about his business. When he was done, Ducky sat back and surveyed Tony with a sympathetic smile. "You'll live!" he pronounced happily.

"I'm not so sure about that, Ducky," Tony hissed, nodding his head in Gibbs's direction. "Have you seen the expression on his face?"

"Ah, my dear boy, I simply meant that you'd survive your injuries," Ducky said ruefully. "Whether you'll survive his displeasure, I couldn't say. He doesn't look best pleased. What in heaven's name did you do, Anthony?"

"I kind of screwed up." Tony made a face. "Again," he added.

Ducky patted his arm reassuringly. "Ah well, we all do that occasionally, Tony. And it's not as if Jethro hasn't made his share of screw-ups," he said in a louder voice. Gibbs turned to look at them, the death-glare on his face.

"Not helping, Ducky!" Tony said in a strangled tone.

"Jethro – I'm a tad concerned about possible concussion, and also about the state of that eye," Ducky said, brisk and businesslike. "Tony really needs to be under constant supervision for the next 48 hours. I know that might be awkward, and I'm happy to volunteer for the daytime shifts, but…"

"He'll be staying here, Duck. With me," Gibbs said impatiently. "I'll keep him under supervision, trust me. He won't be going anywhere."

Tony grimaced, and Ducky shot him a sympathetic smile.

"I really do think that's for the best, Tony," he said. "Just in case any complications develop. I'm sure you'll be fine, but it's best to be on the safe side. Jethro – you'll need to wake him every two hours to ask him some basic questions and be sure he's compos mentis."

"Every two hours. Understood." Gibbs nodded curtly, and Tony wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Not only had he caused all this mayhem, but now his condition meant that Gibbs had get up every two hours in the night to check on him. He had a feeling that his punishment detail had just got exponentially worse.

"Tony's being very stoic about it, but he's in a fair bit of pain, so I'm leaving some heavy duty pain killers." Ducky waved them in the air and then put them on the coffee table. Gibbs looked at them expressionlessly, and then at Tony, and Tony thought the pain he was in right now was the least of his problems.

"He'll need rest for a few days," Ducky added.

"Oh, he'll get it," Gibbs said grimly. "I'll make damn sure of that."

"Here's some topical cream for the cuts and bruises." Ducky left that on the table too. "Call me if you notice anything unusual, or if he deteriorates in any way."

Ducky got up and began gathering his things. Tony gazed at him mournfully, wishing he could stay. He was dreading being left alone with his dom right now. Ducky seemed to sense his mood because he patted him reassuringly on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine, Tony," he said, with a benign smile. "I have no doubt that Jethro will make an eminently efficient nurse – if a little lacking in the bedside manner department."

Gibbs escorted the amiable doctor to the door, while Tony waited in trepidation for his dom's return. When Gibbs came back, he got a glass of water and handed it wordlessly to Tony, along with a couple of painkillers.

"Painkillers make me really woozy, Boss, and the pain really isn't that bad…" Tony began. Gibbs fixed him with his death glare again. Tony swallowed the pills obediently. “We gonna talk about what happened?” Tony asked. “Because okay, I accept the punishment detail because we both know I screwed up. I just don’t see how it’s breaking rule number five. I wouldn’t cheat on you, Boss. You know that, right?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Gibbs gave his sub a look of intense exasperation.

“No,” Tony said petulantly. “Look, I get that I took my shirt off – I get that much, and I get why you’re pissed about that - but it wasn’t so that he could ogle my body. Trust me, Grasso really wasn’t interested in me in that way.”

“You let him touch you, Tony.”

“I let him hit me,” Tony frowned. “That’s something else.”

“You treated this body – my property – like it wasn’t worth anything to me. And it is,” Gibbs told him, touching a finger to his chest. “And so is the person inside. Isn’t that the point of rule number five, Tony?”

Tony gazed at his dom helplessly. “I guess…when you put it that way…” Maybe Gibbs did have a point after all. He blinked, trying to clear his head.

"Bed," Gibbs ordered. He helped Tony to his feet, slung his arm over his shoulder, and they walked slowly and wearily up the stairs to the bedroom. Gibbs dropped Tony's arm when they got inside, and Tony glanced around.

"Shall I just…" He pointed at the floor. Gibbs turned to give him a questioning stare. "Just…you said before that when I was on punishment detail I didn't get a mattress, pillow or blanket," Tony recalled, with a wince. He wasn't happy about the prospect of long nights spent on the hard floor, but he wanted to show Gibbs that he knew he'd screwed up. He was willing to take whatever his dom handed out.

"Yeah – that's the default setting each morning," Gibbs said. "But if you stick to all the rules, and if I think you've made progress during the course of each day, then you can earn back the mattress, blanket, and pillow by bedtime. That starts tomorrow though. Tonight, I have to wake up every two hours to check on you – so you'll sleep in the bed where I can keep an eye on you. That's for my convenience, not yours. Understood?"

He stood in front of Tony, gazing at him from steely eyes.

"Yes, Boss," Tony said quietly. He started to hobble, slowly, in the direction of the bathroom.

"Where the hell are you going?" Gibbs demanded.

"Uh – to piss, clean my teeth…" Tony paused, confused. "That not allowed?"

"Tony – when I said earlier that you needed my permission to piss, I meant it. You're not just on a short leash, DiNozzo – you're on punishment detail. That means you ask for everything – for food, water, to use the bathroom. Everything."

Tony nodded, slowly, recognising that this was less about causing him embarrassment and discomfort than Gibbs re-asserting his authority over him. It actually felt kind of restful. It was a relief to know that he wasn't going to be allowed to make any decisions for himself in the foreseeable future. It wasn't as if he'd been doing that great a job of it recently anyway.

"Yes, Boss," he said obediently. "So…uh…can I?" He gestured with his head in the direction of the bathroom, and Gibbs nodded curtly.

When he returned to the bedroom, Gibbs helped him undress and then pointed to the side of the bed.

"Sit."

Tony did as ordered, and Gibbs reached for something on the nightstand. Tony's stomach did a sudden flip; it was his collar. Gibbs held it up.

"You want to wear this again, Tony?"

Tony swallowed hard. "If you'll let me, yes."

"Once it's on, only *I* get to say when it comes off," Gibbs told him meaningfully.

Tony nodded. "I can live with that, Boss."

"Can you?" Gibbs rocked back on his heels and looked at his sub thoughtfully. "See, thing is, you can't be my 24/7 sub just when you choose to be, DiNozzo. If the going gets tough again, like it did last Sunday, then I have to know that you'll commit to staying and figuring it out."

Tony gazed at the collar mutely. That was one hell of a big commitment. Could he do it? He longed to feel the leather around his neck again, but Gibbs was asking a lot from him.

"If you'd stayed last weekend, instead of taking off your collar and running out on me, then tonight wouldn't have happened." Gibbs ran a gentle finger over his bruised face.

"I know."

"The collar saves you from yourself. That's why I need to know, before I put it back on ya."
Gibbs’s gaze was searching. "Not asking you to be perfect, Tony. Just to stick with it, even when it's tough."

Tony looked up at his dom from his one good eye. "I want to wear the collar so much, Boss."

"Comes with obligations, Tony." Gibbs held it up. "Need a commitment from you this time. I know that doesn't come easy for ya, but it's the only way."

Tony gazed at the collar helplessly, wanting it, needing it, but knowing he wouldn't lie to get it. Gibbs would never trust him again if he did.

"If you wear it, you'll commit to being my 24/7 sub, and to answering all my questions honestly, without holding back. You don't get to hide from me any more, Tony. Not ever again. If you accept the collar, you have to agree to that."

"That's not easy, Jethro," Tony said quietly.

"Nothin' good ever is, Tony."

"I’ve kept myself safe this way for a long time. It’s worked for me.”

Gibbs looked at his bruised face with a meaningfully arched eyebrow. "This is the third crisis you’ve had in as many weeks, Tony, and the third weekend I’ll spend nursing you. You're not exactly doing a great job with the keeping yourself safe thing."

"That's because I didn't have my normal defences, Gibbs!" Tony protested. "You stripped them away. I needed to go to ground and be alone, so I could find a way to block it out. You made me face myself instead."

"Had to happen one day, Tony. Could be a hell of a lot better for you, going forward, if you’ll accept the collar and the conditions that come with it. Less lonely. Less painful too, in the long term. Hard in the short term though. I accept that, and I’ll help you through it, but it’ll be tough. No doubt about it."

"Will I still get a safe word?" Tony asked.

"Will you use it?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Then you can have a safe word. Got some trust to rebuild here though, Tony."

"I know." Tony bit on his lip again, tasting the familiar, salty tang of his own blood.

"Why did you do that tonight, Tony?" Gibbs demanded. "Why did you go to that gym? You knew Grasso would kick your ass in a fight – you knew that from experience."

"Yeah." Tony nodded. "I knew."

"The other times I could understand. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm still pissed about it. We'll talk about your insatiable need to take one for the team some other time. But that wasn't why you went there tonight. What were you looking for tonight, Tony?"

"I don't know. I wasn't exactly thinking straight. I saw you with Stan, and I got mad." Tony shrugged.

"With me? With Stan? Who did you get mad at, Tony?"

Tony gazed at him blankly. He'd never thought about who he was angry with. He'd just assumed…

"With myself," he said quietly, realisation kicking in. "For screwing it up with you so much that you'd go back to Stan. You were the only good thing I ever really had - and I fucked it up."

"So you wanted to punish yourself again?" Gibbs sighed.

"Yeah. I guess. I never saw it that clearly before."

"If you wear the collar, you’ll have to agree, once and for all, to let me decide what punishments you're due. It's a hell of a lot safer in my hands," Gibbs said wryly.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, with a little wince. "I think you're right there, Boss." He felt like all the fight had gone out of him as he finally accepted that one basic fact. He'd always struggled with it before - it had been one of the hardest aspects of his submission. "Been punishing myself for years though, Boss. Hard habit to break."

"Yeah – but if you accept this collar, then you agree to give me the responsibility for your punishments. That means you won't get to punish yourself any more, Tony," Gibbs told him firmly. Tony stared at him helplessly. "You can ask me if you feel you need to be punished for something. You can explain it to me, so I can understand, but you have to accept my decision. If I say no, then that's it. My word is final.”

Tony shook his head. "I don’t know if I can do that. That's really hard, Boss."

"Yeah, it is. But d'you know what else is hard? Finding some bastard beating up on your sub – now that's damn hard. Do you know how that felt, Tony?" Gibbs demanded. "And knowing that you'd gone there willingly, knowing what he'd do to you? Do you know how that made me feel?"

Tony blinked his good eye, feeling a wave of deep and unexpected sadness.

"Sorry, Boss," he whispered throatily. He was exhausted and drained beyond belief, and he realised that he'd reached rock bottom. All this struggling had got him nowhere, and he was so tired of it. He looked up at Gibbs again. "Collar me, Jethro," he requested softly. "I accept your terms. Just…collar me again. Please?"

Gibbs looked at him from steely eyes, their blue depths piercing him to his core. Tony sat there meekly, taking the full force of that stare, gazing up at his dom in abject submission. He wasn't hiding any more. He was completely spent.

Gibbs didn't say a word. He seemed to see the truth in Tony's eyes and accepted it without question.

He stepped forward and fastened the collar around Tony's neck, caressing Tony’s throat as he buckled the strip of leather in place. Tony closed his eyes, gratefully accepting the collar and all the obligations that came with it. It felt warm, snug and familiar around his neck, and he gave a shuddering sigh of relief to feel it there again.

"Sleep," Gibbs said gruffly. "No bondage tonight – not while you're on pain meds. Wouldn't be safe."

He helped Tony to lie down, and then he got into the bed beside him. Gibbs turned off the light and reached out and took his sub in his arms. Tony went easily into his embrace, coming to rest against Gibbs's solidly muscled body. He rested his chin on Gibbs's shoulder and relaxed as Gibbs placed his hand on his butt and stroked it firmly. It wasn't sexual – it was just calmly reassuring.

Tony closed his eyes. God how he'd missed the gentle comfort of sleeping in this bed, next to this man. He'd missed wearing this collar, and being held by these firm, capable hands. He was so damn glad that he was back here, in Gibbs's bed, where he belonged.

~*~

End of Part Nineteen
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Two Masters - Part Twenty

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Posted by

ashbear02.livejournal.com

Oh. Dear. Lord. I'm not sure if i want to beat Tony for being a complete idiot that can't seem to be honest, or give him the biggest tightest hug for being just that insecure. I also feel sorry for Gibbs, the whole thing with Grasso thing was seriously intense. And on top of everything else that was going on? Holy Crap. I'm kind of in awe.

I'm in looove with this fic, and I can't wait for tomorrows final three parts~!

Again, thank you for the daily brain-breaking. It was lovely...if a tad depressing today.

Posted by

Xanthe's Story Journal

Fic: Two Masters - 19/22

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