Two Wolves - 14/19

[xanthefic]

“Don’t you want some?” Tony waves a slice of the pizza in the air. It actually makes Gibbs’s stomach roil; maybe all these months of eating plain, healthy food has changed his taste buds.

“Nah. Tanner already brought me some food while you were asleep. Besides, I’m in training.” Gibbs shrugs. “Can’t afford to lose now, Tony. Not with what’s at stake.”

Tony flashes him a look that tells him he’s well aware of what’s at stake, and then, in typical Tony fashion, ignores that particularly unpleasant subject and stuffs another slice of pizza into his mouth, chewing greedily. “Man, I’m starving. One more thing,” he says between mouthfuls. “When is finale night? When is all this going down?”

“Fight Night after next. So we have just over a week to plan this thing.”

“Had much less for missions before.” Tony shrugs.

“We’ll use the coming Fight Night to do recon and figure out how it’ll work on finale night.”

“Me and Sam will have to get the other fighters on board. That means telling them at least some of the plan. It’s a risk,” Tony points out.

“A calculated one. You know them better than me – any of them you think we can’t trust?”

Tony thinks about it for a moment and then shakes his head. “No. They’re all good men, and they all want to get out of here as much as we do. What does your gut say?”

Gibbs grunts. “My gut says we have no choice. We have to trust ‘em.”

He leans back, watching as Tony finishes the pizza and then begins sucking the grease off his fingers in a way that’s positively obscene. He feels his cock harden and winces. It’s embarrassing being naked and unable to hide any sign of arousal, and the drugs don’t help.

Tony finishes sucking and then looks at his erection and grins.

“No,” Gibbs says firmly. “We have no lube for a start, and you’re too badly hurt.”

“My mouth isn’t hurt, and my mouth would very much like to say thank you both for what it just received and what it’s about to receive!” Tony gives a lascivious grin. He slowly levers himself off the bed and then staggers as his feet touch the ground, wincing in pain as the movement clearly jostles his injuries. Gibbs reaches out a hand to steady him.

“Tony, don’t be an idiot…” he begins, but Tony just grabs his arms to give him support, sinks slowly down to his knees, and then swallows his cock with one smooth glide of his lips.

Gibbs shouts out loud, shocked by how good that feels on his erect cock. Tony looks up at him, his lips stretched taut around Gibbs’s cock, and gives a cheery wink. Gibbs puts a hand in Tony’s hair and strokes as Tony sets about giving him the best blowjob he’s ever had in his entire life. He thought Tony’s hand jobs were good, but this is even better.

Tony has clearly had plenty of practice, and his lips slide up and down Gibbs’s cock with expert precision. He draws back a little way and teases the slit with his tongue, while at the same time cupping Gibbs’s balls with his hand, juggling them skilfully, and Gibbs leans back against the wall, gasping with pleasure.

Then, without warning, Tony deep throats him with one swift movement of his head, and Gibbs feels himself coming. He tries to draw back, but Tony isn’t having it. He holds Gibbs in place and swallows down his come until Gibbs is completely spent. Then he draws back, smacking his lips together happily.

“Aw, you even provided me with dessert.” Tony winks. “You are truly a God among men, Gibbs.”

All Gibbs can do is snort. “You’ll be the death of me, DiNozzo.”

“Yup – they’ll put it on your tombstone: ‘Leroy Jethro Gibbs – sucked to death by Tony DiNozzo, aged 102. He died a happy death!’” Tony’s face becomes suddenly serious. “That’s how it’s going to be, Jethro. You and me, out there, living a life together until we grow old and die. It doesn’t end here.”

Gibbs gives a little grunt. He can’t think beyond getting out of here; he has no idea what their lives will be after that. He can’t afford to be distracted.

He helps Tony to his feet, and Tony glances at the bed and back at him.

“There’s only one bed, Jethro. Wanna share?”

Tanner told him they only had the room for the rest of the night, as it’s clear Tony is well on the road to recovery; tomorrow night they’ll be back in their stall as usual. Gibbs thinks it’ll be nice to sleep in a real bed again, even if only for a few hours.

The bed isn’t big, but it’s bigger than the thin mattress he’s been sleeping on for the past few months. He helps Tony crawl back onto it and then slides in beside him. It’s so small that they’re jammed up close to each other, but Gibbs doesn’t mind; he likes the closeness.

They’re face to face, and Tony kisses him softly on the lips. Gibbs rests his hand on Tony’s hip and kisses him back, and they fall asleep like that, both of them aware that they’re facing the fight of their lives.

The next day Gibbs is put back into training. He works out with a vengeance, knowing that more is at stake than ever before. Tony sits in the corner of the gym watching him, looking tired but on the mend. Scott has been true to his word, and Tanner has changed Tony’s bandages and checked his injuries, giving him proper medical care.

Sam Hurrell finishes on the treadmill and grabs a drink from the table, then walks over to where Tony is sitting. He crouches down beside him, clearly asking him how he is.

Tony begins talking, softly, dipping his head to whisper into Hurrell’s ear. At one point Hurrell stiffens, and then he looks up, straight at Gibbs. Gibbs gives him a barely perceptible nod, and Hurrell’s face breaks into a big grin.

Later, in the showers, Hurrell clearly engineers it so he gets to stand next to Gibbs. The guard is leaning against the wall by the door, looking bored, clearly not listening, and the noise of the showers means the sound of their voices doesn’t carry that far in any case.

“Tony told me your plan,” Hurrell murmurs.

“You in?” Gibbs asks.

“Of course I’m in. I just hope I can do what you ask.”

“Of course you damn well can, Sam. You’re a Marine.”

Hurrell straightens at that, but Gibbs understands the lack of confidence; Hurrell has been here for over six months, and a man can forget a lot about himself and who he is in that time. Hurrell hasn’t been lucky enough to have a Tony come along and remind him, so Gibbs must do it for him.

“Once the off-season starts, some of the fighters will be sold off. I don’t know what they’ll do with the rest, but we might be split up, or transported someplace else. We have to act before that happens.”

“Yeah, but finale night?” Hurrell raises an eyebrow. “Never took you for the dramatic type, Gibbs.”

Gibbs shrugs. “Think about it, Sam. Finale night is when they’ll all be there. Not just Walid and Scott, but all the owners and all the sick bastards who come and watch. I don’t just want to escape. I don’t want to go running back to my old life, leaving this whole operation still going strong. Sure, I could spend the rest of my life tracking them down, but there’s no guarantee I’d get them all. No. I want to bring them all down, catch them in the act, and make them all pay.”

Hurrell is staring at him.

“What?” Gibbs asks impatiently.

“Never seen you this way before, that’s all. Feels like I’m seeing the man Tony told me about. I wasn’t sure he was even in there.”

“He’s here,” Gibbs growls. “Question is, will these men follow me? Matt, Greg…all the others. Will they risk their lives for my plan?”

“I’ve already spoken to them, and the answer is yes,” Hurrell tells him. “They look up to you, Gibbs. You’re a legend around here. But they’re scared; they’re only agreeing to it because it’s your plan, and they think you’re invincible. Don’t let them down.”

“I won’t,” Gibbs says firmly. “But this is no time for weakness. This plan only works if I play my part, Tony plays his, you play yours, and they all play theirs. We have to work together.”

"‘For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack’” Hurrell quotes at him.

Gibbs quirks an eyebrow. “What’s with all the wolf quotes? Did you swallow some kind of wolf reference book or something?”

Hurrell laughs out loud. “That was Rudyard Kipling, and, uh, I guess things like that tend to stick in my brain.”

“Yeah, you’re a regular inspirational quotes factory.”

Hurrell has gone a shade of bright red that has nothing to do with the hot shower water. He dips his head, looking supremely embarrassed. “I told you I attended leadership classes, Gibbs. That was one of the things they suggested. Learn inspirational quotes to inspire your men. I also know the entire St Crispen’s Day battle speech from ‘Henry Vth’ off by heart.”

“Well, don’t damn well quote that at me too,” Gibbs says, rolling his eyes. Then he looks at Hurrell’s earnest face and sighs. “Look, Sam, you’re trying too hard. Here.” He throws the bar of soap he’s holding onto the shower floor. “Try to pick that up.”

Hurrell looks at him, a confused expression in his eyes. He bends down, picks up the soap, and hands it back to Gibbs uncertainly.

“I told you to *try* to pick it up.” Gibbs throws the soap back at him. “The point is, you don’t ‘try’ and do something, Sam. You just do it.”

“Oh, I know this one.” Hurrell grins. “‘Do or do not. There is no try.’ That’s Yoda…uh, ‘Star Wars’?” he finishes with a squeak as Gibbs gives him a glare.

Gibbs puts a hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes. “You’re already a leader, Sam. I never met a more honourable man. You’ve been telling me a whole lot of things I should have listened to a hell of a lot sooner, and you never gave up. You don’t need to try to be a leader; you already are one. There’s no room for doubt. Just go out there on finale night and lead these men to victory.”

Hurrell’s face relaxes and something inside him seems to give. He jumps to attention and snaps off a smart salute to Gibbs. “Yes, Gunny!”

~*~

Tony wakes with a stomach full of butterflies on the morning of the penultimate Fight Night. Everyone knows they’re doing recon, and the men all know they have to win their fights to be guaranteed a place in the escape attempt the following week.

It’s still early, and the klaxon hasn’t sounded yet. His back is healing, but it’s itchy now that it’s scabbing over. He rolls his shoulders and rubs a particularly itchy part of his shoulder blade against the mattress. It only relieves the irritation a little, so he reaches back and tries to scratch at the scab. He’s done this before and it makes them bleed, but he prefers the soreness to the perpetual itching.

He’s just found the sore spot and started to dig in when his hand is grabbed and his wrist held in a vice-like grip.

“Do I have to borrow a set of chains from McGuire and tie you up to stop you doing that?” Gibbs hisses in his ear.

“Ooh…kinky.” Tony glances over his shoulder with a grin.

Gibbs rolls his eyes. “You’re jittery this morning.”

“How do you…? Oh, never mind.” Tony sighs. Gibbs always knows everything.

“You’ve been awake a long time, and it’s early.”

“Well, today might be the last day of my life so…” Tony shrugs.

Gibbs tightens his grasp on Tony’s wrist, and Tony can feel him pressing his entire body weight against him. “I will not lose out there, Tony.”

“Supposing you finally come up against someone who is better than you? I mean, this is their semi-final; this guy is probably good.”

“You’re not listening. I will not lose out there, Tony,” Gibbs repeats into his ear.

Tony can feel Gibbs’s erection digging into his buttocks, and he opens his legs and goes up on all fours. “Fuck me, Jethro. Fuck me like it’s the last time you’ll ever fuck me. Make me feel it,” he urges.

Gibbs needs no further invitation. He grabs the oil from under the pillow, and then Tony feels him sinking his fingers inside him. Before long, they’re replaced by the familiar burning press of his big, hard cock. Tony loves the sensation of being stretched, and he particularly loves the tingling fizz he feels every time Gibbs’s cock brushes his prostate.

Gibbs does exactly what Tony asked him to do and fucks him hard. It’s the first time he’s taken him from behind – before Tony’s always been on his back, but it’s too sore for them to have sex that way right now.

Tony likes how vulnerable it feels, kneeling there with his ass in the air as Gibbs pounds into him from behind. He likes being able to see Gibbs when they’re fucking, but there’s something raw and thrilling about doing it this way too.

Gibbs is like a piston, thrusting into him good and hard for a very long time. Choosing to have sex with Gibbs is one of the few things Tony has any control over in this place, and it makes him feel alive, as if he has at least some say in his own destiny. Gibbs’s cock hammering in and out of his hole makes him feel filled and complete.

Gibbs comes with a deep, pleasure-filled moan, and Tony grins, delighted that he can wring that kind of sound from his usually taciturn lover. He finishes jerking himself off, Gibbs’s cock still lodged inside him, and comes with a happy moan of his own.

Then he pulls forward and turns around, an unpleasant thought occurring to him. “What will you think about when you’re fucking that other guy in the pit later? Will you be thinking about me?”

Gibbs raises an eyebrow. “Jealous, Tony?”

“No!” Tony laughs and then makes a face. “Yeah. A little. I’m going to be watching, remember. I’m going to have sit up there and watch you stick it to some other guy.”

“I won’t enjoy it, Tony. It’s not something I do by choice.”

“I know. Still doesn’t mean I have to like it. You’re mine, and I’ve never been good at sharing.”

“So, you’re the possessive type, huh?”

“Aren’t you?” Tony shoots back. “Imagine if it was me out there; how would you feel?”

“I’d want to tear the world apart to make it stop,” Gibbs replies, his eyes darkening. He grabs Tony’s head and looks intently into his eyes. “It’s nothing at all like what we do together, Tony. It’s nothing like this.” He pulls Tony’s head towards him and gives him a fierce kiss.

Tony wonders whether they could ever have got this intimate under any other circumstances. Now the real Gibbs has been unleashed, he’s a passionate, focused lover, and he knows what he wants, treating Tony’s body like he has dominion over it. He’s a generous lover, never failing to give Tony pleasure, but he’s also extremely forceful and demanding – which doesn’t surprise Tony at all.

Tony is glad he’s no shy virgin, because being locked up with this particular wolf is a challenge, no matter how attractive he finds the man. Gibbs isn’t holding anything back; he’s giving Tony everything he’s got, and Tony loves it. He doubts many people would be able to handle it though, and he wonders how Shannon managed it. No wonder there are so many ex Mrs Gibbses out there.

The klaxon sounds, and they’re herded through their morning routine and then taken to the truck. Despite the entirely welcome fucking, Tony is still jittery. He believes in Gibbs, and he believes Gibbs will win, but they all have a lot riding on the man right now. Can he deliver – or will he buckle under all the pressure? It’s a lot for one man to handle.

Ellis comes over to him, a sour look on his face, carrying a pile of clothes in his arms. “These are for you,” he says, holding up the clothes, but when Tony reaches out to take them he drops them deliberately on the floor and walks away.

Tony bends down and picks them up. “Aw…they shop at Sears, Boss, just like you,” he says, holding up a pair of black jeans and a red and black plaid shirt. Gibbs slaps the back of his head without missing a beat, and Tony squeaks in response, grinning wildly at the same time. “No underwear, no socks, no boots. I guess this is it,” Tony says with a sigh as he examines the clothes. “Kind of minimalist.”

“But not as minimalist as your current outfit,” Gibbs points out, glancing at his naked body.

“True.” Tony pulls the jeans on and zips them up. It feels strange to be clothed after so long naked, and the fabric feels rough against his skin. He pulls the shirt on and buttons it up and then smooths it down with energetic sweeps of his fingers. “How do I look?” He turns to Gibbs with a beaming smile.

“Like a lumberjack,” Gibbs grunts. Tony makes a face at him. “Rule number one or three – never date a lumberjack,” Gibbs adds.

“Uh, that’s not rule number one, Boss,” Tony says, confused. “Or three actually.”

“Someone else’s rules.” Gibbs gives a rueful little smile. He puts his hands on Tony’s shoulders and looks him up and down, and then he leans in and whispers in his ear. “You look great. I won’t lose. And I’ll definitely be thinking about you.”

He puts a hand on Tony’s jeans-clad ass, cups one buttock, and squeezes. Tony grins, suddenly feeling a lot less anxious.

They’re herded into the truck, chained as usual, driven for a couple of hours to their destination, and then hauled out the other end and shoved into the holding pen – except for Tony.

Scott appears, all beaming smiles and devious, piggy little eyes. He slaps a hand on Tony’s shoulder, making him wince as it lands on his whipped flesh.

“You’re with me, Tony!” he announces loudly. “Fight well, Leroy,” he says, with a glance at Gibbs. “I’ll keep this boy nice and safe beside me. You can have him back when you win.” That comment sends shivers up Tony’s spine, knowing the bargain Gibbs and Scott have struck between them.

He’s taken in chains up to Scott’s little camp on the bleachers. Several familiar faces are there; Frank, Tanner, McGuire, Ellis, and many of the other guards. Even Pete the truck driver is there, but he refuses to meet Tony’s eyes. Tony wonders if he’s angry that he stole his cell phone or guilty about what happened to him as a result.

He’s seated next to Scott, which is good. Although his hands are attached to his ankles by a chain, it’s a loose chain, and he has plenty of freedom of movement. He decides he can use the chains to his advantage when the time comes, if Gibbs is right, and Scott does have a cell phone.

Mac comes on to fight first. Tony had forgotten what a big bastard he is. He looks more like a man mountain than ever as he lumbers into the pit. The crowd goes wild for him, chanting his name, and he waves and makes obscene gestures with his arms – which just sends them into even more of a frenzy.

“He’s quite the showman, isn’t he, Tony?” Scott murmurs, leaning forward and watching intently.

“You could call it that. I’d call him a great, big ham actor personally, but whatever.” Tony shrugs.

Tony sees Frank leaning forward too, and he knows the trainer will be assessing every single aspect of Mac’s performance to see if there are any weaknesses.

Mac’s opponent is also a big guy, and the commentator obligingly refers to it as a fight between two giants. They lumber around the pit for a while, bodies gleaming, yelling insults at each other. Then Mac strikes, and he’s faster than Tony expected for such a massive guy; maybe Walid’s trainer has been working with him on that, knowing that speed and agility are Gibbs’s strengths.

Before long, Mac is pummelling his victim into the ground, after which he does a victory lap around the pit, before returning to piss on the losing fighter.

“Aw, that’s gross.” Tony turns his head away. He knew it was Mac’s signature move, but knowing it and seeing it are two different things. He’s all the more grateful that Gibbs struck that bargain with Scott and spared him fighting Mac in the pit, or he would be experiencing a very different kind of evening right now.

Tony pulls on his lower lip glumly. Quite frankly, Mac is streets ahead of all the other fighters he’s seen. He’s bigger, stronger, and meaner. He also goes into that pit like he loves it and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. The other fighters, even the good ones, look like what they are; men who have been kidnapped and thrown into this nightmare against their will, doing their best to survive. Some of them try and play to the crowd to psych themselves up, but none of them look as at ease out there as Mac does.

Gibbs is good, and he’s bulked up a lot since his capture, but Mac is still a hell of a lot bigger than him. Does Gibbs seriously stand any chance against this guy next week? Supposing their plan doesn’t work, and the cavalry doesn’t turn up in time? Supposing Mac beats Gibbs to a pulp, and then rapes and pisses on him? Tony doesn’t think he could bear that.

Beside him, he can see Scott and Frank exchanging worried glances. They can see how invincible Mac is too, and they are clearly shitting themselves wondering if Gibbs can possibly beat him.

There’s a brief interlude while more sawdust is thrown down, and then Hurrell comes into the pit. Tony finds his hands curling into fists. They need Hurrell to win; if he loses he’ll go to another stable, and they need him for the escape attempt next week.

Hurrell is good, but so is his opponent. They fight a long, hard fight, before Hurrell takes him down. Scott, Ellis, Frank and all the members of Scott’s camp rise to their feet as one, and Tony finds himself rising with them, clapping his hands together and yelling in relief. He exchanges a happy glance with Frank and then feels complicit in this whole thing.

He can suddenly see how easy it is to get sucked in and how addictive it is. After awhile you barely care about the brutality, or the raping. It’s just part of the game. You get swept up in the emotions and forget these are real people who have been kidnapped and forced to fight and rape at gunpoint. He sits down quietly.

Scott is delighted. He shakes hands with Frank, and Tony guesses that Gibbs isn’t the only fighter they have money on. Then Scott reaches into his pocket…and pulls out a cell phone. Tony heaves a sigh of relief, noting which pocket Scott kept it in and what kind of a phone it is.

Scott punches in a number. “Did you see that?” he crows down the phone. “Now can you see Hurrell is worth more than the measly 50k you offered me for him? He’s a potential winner – next year, with the right training, he could win the entire season.”

Tony realises that he and Gibbs and the other fighters only see a tiny glimpse of this whole operation. They only see the inside of the stable, and the truck, and the holding pens and the pit. Sitting up here on the bleachers, you get a different perspective. There is clearly a whole other world going on up here, with stable owners doing deals with each other to buy and sell the best fighters, and money changing hands in the betting. It’s a big business – the sums being thrown around prove that – and Scott doesn’t just have his eye on winning this season. He’s already thinking about the next.

“We’ll see, my friend. We’ll see!” Scott says gloatingly into the phone. He waves his hand at someone sitting over the far side of the bleachers, presumably another stable owner. Then he finishes the call and replaces the cell phone in his pocket.

Tony lets his gaze wander a little further along the crowd…and it comes to rest on Walid.

Walid is sitting on his throne, dressed as immaculately as ever. He’s wearing his sunglasses, and one of his legs is tilted neatly over the other. He looks as cold, withdrawn, and detached as always. There’s an aura of power around him. This is his domain. Here he is emperor and everyone else is a minion.

There’s a sneer on his polite mask of a face as he looks down on the crowd, and Tony sees that Walid despises his people even as he provides for their entertainment. Watching him, Tony gets a sense of the man’s huge ego. This is Walid’s tournament. It’s his baby. He created this entire world; he funds it, and he organizes all the fights.

The idea that a puffed up idiot like Scott could walk into his world, get lucky, and steal victory from him is obscene to him. He would lose, gracefully, if he thought his opponent was a worthy one who had outplayed him, but lose to an idiot like Scott? That prospect must be eating him up inside. No wonder he’s tried so hard to get into Gibbs’s head and cause him to lose.

Walid suddenly inclines his head in Tony’s direction, and Tony realizes he’s been seen. Damn – it’s always so hard knowing where Walid is looking behind the sunglasses. Tony decides, possibly unwisely, to screw with him, so he gives him a big grin and puts both his thumbs in the air.

“Take that, fucker,” he mutters under his breath, knowing just how angry Walid must be right now that he’s evaded that fight against Mac that Walid had scheduled for him.

Walid runs his hand over his goatee, looking supremely unconcerned, and Tony shifts uncomfortably. Unlike Scott, Walid is a formidable opponent and should not be under-estimated.

Tony asks to use the restroom, and is escorted there by McGuire. Gibbs is right; the toilets are too small for a guard to enter, and McGuire stays outside, guarding the door. Afterwards, as they leave the restrooms, Tony glances over to the holding pens. They’re visible from the toilets, and Gibbs sees him and jerks his head in his direction. That’s good too; next week, Tony will give them a signal to let them know if he made the call or not. The men will make their move either way, but their game plan will be different depending on whether rescue is potentially on its way, or if they’re on their own.

Tony returns to the bleachers and sits through the rest of the fights. It’s a fantastic evening for Scott, with most of his fighters winning. Tony knows why – they’ve all got the added incentive of knowing that they’ll get a chance to escape next week. Their numbers will be swelled by the new fighters they’ll take home, but Tony doubts Gibbs will trust the new men enough to tell them his plan. However, when Hurrell makes his move next week, Tony bets most, if not all, will decide to join in.

Gibbs is on last. It makes sense; Mac opened the evening’s ‘entertainment’, and Gibbs, his main rival, will close it. Mac won his fight, and the winner of Gibbs’s fight will face him in the finale.

Tony watches intently as Gibbs prowls into the pit. He moves so differently from Mac, with slow, controlled movements and a deadly kind of grace.

Gibbs glances up, looking directly at him, and Tony stands and waves both his hands in the air. He knows Gibbs doesn’t need any reminding what’s at stake here, but he wants him to know he’s fine and that Gibbs should concentrate on the fight and not on him.

Ellis yanks him back down to his seat, and then Gibbs’s opponent is released into the pit.

Tony watches, open-mouthed, as Gibbs delivers a master-class in fighting. Even the crowd gasps as Gibbs powers through, outwitting, outsmarting, and outfighting his opponent at every turn. Gibbs’s opponent is a semi-finalist, a man who, according to the commentator, has only lost one fight all season, but it’s like watching a master against a complete beginner. Gibbs has never looked more like a hungry wolf as he paces around the pit, stalking his prey and then bringing him down with his sharp teeth.

It’s all over in a matter of minutes, the fastest fight of the night, and the crowd is stunned.

Scott’s camp are all on their feet, cheering wildly. Tony sees Scott and Frank exchange a different look this time. They are hopeful; they think if anyone can beat Mac, it’s Gibbs, and having seen him in action this evening, Tony can see why.

The crowd hushes, and Tony wants to look away, not wanting to see what comes next. Then he steels himself. Gibbs has to actually do this; the least he can do is be there with him, every step of the way, just like Gibbs was there for him during that whipping.

So he stands there, unmoving, looking down on the pit as Gibbs approaches the man he just beat. And, as he watches, Gibbs looks up, straight at him, and nods. Tony nods back, remembering their conversation that morning. Neither of them smiles. Neither of them wants this. It just has to be done. Tony feels sorry for the poor bastard Gibbs will fuck and feels sorry for Gibbs having no choice but to fuck him, but none of them have any choice in the matter, and the alternative is much worse.

Tony holds Gibbs’s gaze as he fucks his opponent, sharing the unpleasantness of the moment with him. Gibbs is at least merciful with his victims. He doesn’t draw it out, or, as one of the fighters did earlier, withdraw when he’s on the brink and come on his opponent’s body. He just does what he has to, and then draws back and, with one last look at Tony, he stalks out of the pit.

“It would seem,” Scott says, leaning towards Tony. “That Leroy was right. Our little agreement does seem to have properly incentivized him. I’ve never seen him more on fire. I think Mac had better watch out next week.”

He claps a happy hand on Tony’s shoulder, making him wince again, and then shoves him towards the stairs. They go back down to the truck, where Gibbs is already being chained up, ready for transport. Scott is all beaming smiles, congratulations, and pumping handshakes, as if he really believes Gibbs is his friend, and not a man he is coercing and blackmailing to victory. “Well done, Leroy! Excellent fight! The best of the evening!”

“I must concur,” a silky voice says from behind them. Tony turns to see Walid standing there with his entourage of bodyguards. “That really was a most impressive victory, Jethro.”

Gibbs stiffens at the use of his real name, and Scott just looks confused. Walid ignores Scott completely, clearly considering him to be a complete nonentity, and leans in close to Gibbs. He removes his sunglasses, and Tony gets a flash of those cold, dark eyes.

“I must congratulate you, Jethro. I expected to see Tony fight Mac in the pit tonight but it would appear you outplayed me.” He pauses for a moment, considering that. “A most novel experience.” He inclines his head graciously. “Enjoy your moment while you can, Jethro, because this is your last week in Scott’s stable. After next Fight Night, you will belong to me.”

He replaces his sunglasses and then, with a dismissive look at Tony, he moves silently away, his entourage following.

“Oh no, you sick freak. After next Fight Night, you will belong to me,” Gibbs growls under his breath, so quietly that only Tony hears him.

Tony glances at Walid’s retreating back, and is reminded of a cobra, sleek, silent, cold, and deadly. Then he glances at Gibbs and sees the snarling wolf, hackles raised, teeth bared, ready to do battle with the snake. One thing is certain; they are heading for a showdown far more epic than anything that will take place in the pit. It is Walid and Gibbs who will do battle next Fight Night, and only one of them can win.

But which one will it be: the cobra or the wolf?

~*~

Gibbs spends the next week surreptitiously training his men. He watches their training fights when he can, offering them little bits and pieces of encouragement and advice, and is gratified when they visibly blossom. It seems Hurrell was right about their high regard for him. He doesn’t approach the new men; like Tony, he’s of the opinion they’ll all join in on the night, but he doesn’t trust them with the plan beforehand in case they tell one of the guards. Only he, Tony, and Hurrell know the entire plan. Greg, Matt and the others know there will be an escape attempt but not what form it will take. Hurrell has just told them to be ready when the time comes. He’s a good Marine, and Gibbs can see the men responding to his leadership.

The last Fight Night of the season is upon them all too quickly. After months of gruelling days and boring nights, suddenly the time flashes by, and all too soon it’s the night before the big fight. The door is locked behind them in their stall for the final time, and Gibbs finds himself looking at Tony, and Tony looking back.

“So this is it,” Tony says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Look, Jethro, whatever happens tomorrow…”

“Don’t, Tony. Just…don’t.” Gibbs shakes his head.

There are so many ways tomorrow could go. His plan could work, and all this could end. Or his plan could fail, Tony could be raped and murdered, and he could end up in a truck on his way back to Walid’s stable for the off-season. Or they could both die out there. Mac might kill him in the pit, or Walid might decide to kill him, just because he can. Or Hurrell might get the men free and arm them, and there could be a shoot-out where they all die.

“Come here,” Tony says quietly, holding out his hand.

Gibbs takes it, and Tony pulls him in close. It’s such a comfort to feel all that warm, solid flesh against his body. Tony wraps his arms around him and moves him in a silent dance around the stall.

“But I do know one and one is two," Tony sings into his ear. “And if this one could be with you, what a wonderful world this could be.”

Gibbs thinks of Rajul, Steve, Ben, Brian and all the others. He thinks of what he’s been made to do every time he stepped out into the pit. He thinks of the way they whipped Tony until the blood ran down his back. And he thinks of the long nights alone, facing himself and his own weaknesses in this tiny stall before Tony arrived.

“Doesn’t seem like such a wonderful world to me,” he mutters into Tony’s shoulder.

Tony laughs. “Sure it is. You’re just looking at this the wrong way.”

Gibbs thinks about the dark days before Tony got here. Then Tony arrived, turning night into day with his smile, and charisma, and sheer zest for life. He thinks about how Tony brought with him a towering, unshakeable belief in Leroy Jethro Gibbs that made him believe in himself again, when he’d nearly forgotten who he was.

He thinks of the slow, inching progress they made towards admitting a truth they’d been denying for ten, long years. He thinks of Tony’s hands on his body in the night, giving him company and comfort and asking for nothing in return.

He thinks of Tony stealing oil to massage into his skin and pressing little kisses onto his scars. He thinks of long conversations in the night, talking about his life in a way he’s never done with anyone else. He thinks about how that wasn’t easy, and yet somehow it was easier than it should have been, because it was Tony he was confiding in. He thinks of Tony’s lips on his, and the feel of Tony’s body under his fingers, and his mouth, and around his cock.

“But I do know that I love you, and I know that if you loved me too, what a wonderful world this could be,” Tony half-whispers, half-sings into his ear.

Maybe he’s right. Gibbs takes hold of Tony’s head and kisses him on the lips, gently pushing his tongue into Tony’s mouth, and they dance to the sound of music only they can hear, kissing as they go.

Later, they sink down onto the mattresses on the floor, and Gibbs finds the oil and buries himself deep inside Tony’s body. They might not have tomorrow but they have tonight, and if it’s their last night together Gibbs wants to savour every second of it.

He isn’t sure how many times they make love. He doesn’t know how many times they kiss, or how many times he comes deep inside Tony’s body. He doesn’t know how many times Tony arches up against him and comes in his mouth, or on his fingers.

All he is aware of is the smoothness of Tony’s skin under his lips, the softness of his hair under his fingers, the warmth of his lips against his own, and the soft mewling sound of his cries of pleasure. They don’t speak, they just make love, their bodies rising and falling against each other in a rhythmic dance that neither of them wants to end.

They perform what might be their final dance together until finally they can dance no more. Then they just lie there, looking at each other, tired fingers tracing gentle circles on each other’s bodies. When they finally fall asleep, it’s with their arms wrapped around each other, and their bodies entwined.

In the morning, after he’s showered, Gibbs gazes at himself in the mirror, looking at his shorn head where Frank shaved him the previous day. He is the wolf, the hunter, but he doesn’t need anger to help him fight anymore; he has something much better to fight for now.

There is a different atmosphere in the truck as they drive to the venue. Hurrell, Greg, Matt and the others are all hyped up; he can see it in their eyes and the way their legs bob nervously up and down. Their eyes are on him for the entire journey, and he can feel the burden of their expectation upon him, weighing him down. Then Tony puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, and he remembers that he isn’t alone.

Hurrell leans forward. “For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf,” he says softly, gazing at Gibbs.

Gibbs nods and straightens. “And the strength of the Wolf is the Pack,” he replies, glancing around the entire truck as he speaks. He sees the fighters straighten too, nodding at him, understanding.

Hurrell grins, and Gibbs grins back at him, thinking that maybe the inspirational quote school of leadership doesn’t suck as much as he thought it did.

The truck comes to a halt, and the doors are opened. Gibbs feels a cool wind on his face, and he looks up to see a bright, full moon in the sky.

“It’s a good omen,” Tony whispers in his ear. “Wolves like a full moon.”

~*~
End of Part Fourteen
Part Fifteen
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