Warnings: Graphic etc. etc. . . . non con, violence against a major character, anal sex, discussion of bodily fluids, general unpleasantness and discomfort, asphyxiation, blow jobs, established slash relationship (Gibbs/Fornell), coercion . . . bad stuff. Don't like, don't read.
He landed face down on a gritty cement floor, his bound hands clenching uselessly behind his back.
"Ah, Mr. Gibbs," the well dressed man on the right side of dingy room greeted him with. He spoke with a Hispanic accent and Gibbs mentally filed it away for future reference.
Drawing his knees up under his body, Gibbs struggled to make it back upright, only to be stopped from actually standing by the sight of a gun pointed at his head. It was held by the larger of the two goons in the room, and he stilled immediately upon seeing it.
"I think I prefer you on your knees," the well dressed man said, strolling closer to him.
A groan from the heap on the floor and Gibbs' eyes widened briefly as he caught sight of his missing agent.
"Boss?" Tony asked hoarsely, squinting at him from across the room.
Gibbs grimaced at the sight of Tony's face. Even in the dim light, he could make out enough to tell that Tony had been beaten. The right side of his face was heavily bruised and his eye swollen shut.
They had gotten separated while searching what they had thought was an abandoned building. He hadn't liked the set-up going in, his gut telling him that it was too quiet, too still—even for someplace as empty as the old warehouse was supposed to be.
He knew they couldn't always get lucky; the same way he knew that there wasn't any point in wasting time thinking of what they should have done differently. Shit happened, and now it was time to figure out how to get out of their situation—preferably alive.
"Such a nice young man you have here, Mr. Gibbs," the well dressed man said, crouching down and running a manicured hand through Tony's unusually wild hair.
Something inside Gibbs clenched at the sight of their captor touching his agent, but he didn't say anything. This man was far more dangerous than his cultured appearance would lead most people to believe.
"Tell me, Mr. Dinozzo," the hand running through Tony's hair abruptly clenched down and pulled the younger man's head up with a cruel jerk. "Have you ever been fucked?"
Time shuddered to a stop around them. Gibbs could see the well dressed man's cold, predatory smile gleam and then expand as a horrified look came across Tony's face, before quickly disappearing.
Then the moment was over and he watched as a pained smile appeared on his agent's face, followed by the words, "No, but I've been pretty fucked up before!"
"I see," the well dressed man answered with a knowing upturn of his lips. Suddenly releasing Tony's head, the man stood up and looked at the goon standing beside them.
"He is yours," the well dressed man said, waving his hand down at Tony.
Gibbs watched in dawning horror as the larger man crouched down beside his agent and began whispering things in his ear.
"Niño lindo . . . pretty boy with the tight ass . . ." Gibbs heard more than once.
The well dressed man looked at him with a triumphant leer, and Gibbs growled back up at him.
He had seen the way the other man had looked at him, and he remembered the comment about liking him on his knees. If he could save his agent, then it would be worth it.
"You not man enough to do it yourself?" Gibbs asked at last, his voice a low growl of contempt.
The well dressed man strolled back to his side of the room. "He is not my type," the man said, carefully enunciating his words.
"So what's your type?" Gibbs spat back, twisting his lips on the last word.
The man stepped up to him and grabbed him by the hair, pulling him forwards and somewhat off balance.
"You, old man."
The hand in his hair twisted painfully, but he didn't pay attention to that. He couldn't; Tony's ass was on the line, and this time it was literal.
"Me for him, then," Gibbs said, not breaking eye contact with the man above him.
"You are too risky," the man murmured back, his eyes moving over Gibbs' face appraisingly.
"I won't fight if you promise to leave Tony alone," Gibbs offered, his knees aching from the hard unyielding floor.
The well dressed man shifted slightly and Gibbs knew he almost had him. Pursing his lips, the man said softly, "I would very much like to feel your lips around my dick, Mr. Gibbs."
"Done. I'll do it," Gibbs answered, not letting himself contemplate what he was agreeing to. "Leave my man alone and I'll do whatever you want," he bargained softly, his eyes shining up truthfully.
"Alejandro will not be pleased," the well dressed man said, his lips twisting upwards in a smirk. Suddenly the painful grip in Gibbs' hair was gone and he teetered for a moment before regaining his balance.
"But I can tell you mean what you say, Mr. Gibbs," the man continued, turning back to Tony and Alejandro and barking a series of short orders in Spanish.
The large man, Alejandro, paused from unbuttoning Dinozzo's shirt and with an angry growl he shoved Tony back on his stomach.
"Gibbs? What did you tell him?" Tony's unbeaten side of his face was tight with worry, the green eye on that side wide with barely veiled terror.
"Just be quiet Tony," Gibbs growled, only glancing at him briefly before turning his face back towards the well dressed man.
"Gibbs?" Tony's voice was pitched slightly higher and he finally looked back across the room at him for longer than a second.
"Tony," Gibbs' face softened a tiny bit at the sight of the distress in his agent's eye. "Don't argue with me."
In front of him, he heard the rustle of a belt being undone and he forced himself to look back up into the dark eyes of the man standing over him.
"I do not need to tell you that should you bite, Mr. Gibbs, I will be forced to shoot your man," the other man warned as he guided his cock into Gibbs' nearly slack mouth.
Gibbs gave a slight nod and then closed down his mind against everything except the task in front of him. He didn't have time to think about what he was doing. If he thought about it, he would gag and Tony would be dead. That wasn't a risk he was prepared to take.
The other man's hands slid into his hair once more, almost gripping tightly enough to rip it out by the roots, but instead of being distracted by the pain, Gibbs used it to keep himself grounded.
The well dressed man fucked his mouth, urging him on softly in a mixture of English and Spanish, all designed to embarrass him, he knew. He ignored it for the most part, letting it slide past his ears like water, only hearing a few phrases every so often.
"Suck me, lick me like the dog you are . . . viejo puto . . . my old whore."
He couldn't think. At the edges of his awareness he could feel sickness in his gut threatening to overwhelm him, but he refused to acknowledge it, refused to give into it.
A particularly rough thrust pushed the cock past the barriers of his throat and he choked, his air abruptly cut off as the bastard in front of him moaned his approval. The obstruction disappeared and he gasped away the blackness that had been impinging on his consciousness. Suddenly the hand in his hair released him and the cock completely left his mouth. He saw the muscles twist under the well dressed man's trousers and then the man was behind him, putting a knee to his back, forcing him down flat.
Hands rucked up his shirt, roaming over his stomach and abdomen. They were softer than a laborer's, but not nearly as soft as they should have been, if the well dressed man really was as rich as his clothing purported him to be.
A quick jerk and snap and his jeans were undone, and he breathed slightly easier as those wandering hands moved over his hidden knife and past, not even stopping to investigate.
"Let's see how good a fuck this viejo puto truly is," the man announced jovially to the room, his accent becoming more pronounced as his excitement grew.
Gibbs could hear a gasping whine from across the room, and although it worried him to hear Tony make such a sound, he couldn't think about it.
His jeans and boxers were jerked down roughly, and he felt the chill from the cold floor touch his body. The well dressed man shoved his clothing down to his ankles and with a kick of one expensive shoe, he felt them pull completely off of his body.
A hand reached around to fondle his genitals, and then there was a hot breath in his ear as the well dressed man whispered, "Your lovers must have been very pleased with you in the past," the hand on his cock squeezing too hard for it to be anything except painful.
He grunted and fixed his eyes on the wall to their side.
Two spit slick fingers touched the cleft of his ass, spreading his cheeks wider than technically necessary before pushing into him with a slight burn. They twisted tightly within him, stretching him with a brutal scissoring motion and then exiting just as roughly.
He exhaled slowly, his hands clenching into white knuckled fists behind his back as he felt the thick head of the well dressed man's cock slowly push its way into his body. He imagined that some of the spit from the earlier blow job was still wet on the man's cock. He couldn't feel much beyond the burn of insertion, every inch hurting more than the last as it sunk farther into him, until finally stopping.
"Ohhh, Mr. Gibbs," the well dressed man gasped breathily into his ear. "I think I shall enjoy this very much," he said with a chuckle, rubbing a hand down the side of Gibbs' now sweating face.
His breath hitched when the man suddenly sat up and pulled almost entirely free of his body, causing Gibbs' sight to gray out somewhat with the very pronounced burst of new pain.
He felt those not so soft hands reach down and grip his still clenched ones before thrusting back in with a violent push.
"You are all fight, Mr. Gibbs. All fight and no screaming," the well dressed man whispered softly in his ear.
He bit the inside of his mouth as the man pulled out again, the pain only seeming to increase as the actual fucking slowly began. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Alejandro and the other armed man both jerking off as they watched his rape; their faces devoid of any emotion other than cruel lust.
He could kill this man before being stopped by the other two, but he didn't think he would be fast enough to save both Tony and himself afterwards.
As the brutal thrusting continued at his backside, he felt something shift and he grunted aloud at the fresh wave of pain. There was fire in his rectum now and he knew it had torn. He could smell blood and knew without a doubt that it was his own.
He tried to shift his body upwards to change the angle just slightly, but the well dressed man thwarted his movement with a punch to the center of his back, followed by a breathy chuckle.
"No Mr. Gibbs. I want this to hurt you every bit as it pleases me."
The thrusting continued unabated after that at a furious pace. The well dressed man's balls slapped against his ass and there was a lurid squelching noise associated with each push inside his body. He could feel the blood between his legs dripping under him and being spread by the wild motions of his rapist.
Gibbs could feel his breath wheezing in his ears, the pain almost overwhelming him as he sought to remain aware and conscious. A hand wrapped itself around his neck, just under his chin and pulled on his throat, cutting off his air, as the man's hand tipped his head backwards. He could feel the stretch as his spine was manipulated into bending in an unnatural way.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four, he counted the thrusts inside his head while his air was cut off. Then his head dropped forwards as the hand around his throat suddenly released and he gasped for air, his heartbeat pounding furiously in his head, but not quite loud enough to drown out the nearly insane laughter of his rapist.
Again the hand around his throat reappeared and he started counting once more, his vision getting dark at the edges before the hand released his throat. That time it had been six thrusts, and he knew that he couldn't make it much past eight.
The third time it happened, the well dressed man leaned over his back, putting his weight against his upper body and whispered into his ear, "Your life, viejo puto, it rests in my hands, si?"
The pain in his neck and back had stretched its way down his spine and met up with the pain radiating out from between his legs. He felt as though he was being ripped into pieces, and he clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out.
At last the hand removed itself from his throat, and his head dropped to the filthy floor with a clunk as he coughed and gasped for air. He could feel finger shaped bruises forming on his throat as he swallowed repeatedly against the memory of being strangled.
The intensity of the cock in his ass increased once more, and he knew the well dressed man had to be getting close to completion.
Hands were pulling on his bound arms and he could feel his shoulders being pulled backwards even as he heard the well dressed man begin whispering in his ear again.
"I have enjoyed this very much, viejo puto. Have you?"
When he didn't answer, the well dressed man slammed the base of his hand into the side of his head, causing a loud CRACK to reverberate through the room as his head bounced off the floor.
Time stopped again as blackness filled his vision. He tasted blood and knew that one of his shoulders was very close to being dislocated. His body felt as though it was on fire, and he felt his consciousness attempting to slip from his grasp.
"Snap out of it Jethro," he heard distantly and groggily he tried to shake his head. A sharp bolt of pain tore across his forehead and down his temple for his efforts and he instantly stopped moving.
"Hurt again? What am I going to do with you?" He heard a chuckle this time and finally recognized the voice. It was Fornell. At one point they had decided they were friends, and then later it had become more, and now he no longer knew what he'd do without the other man in his life.
"Well, have you?" An accented voice was still asking him and he finally heard it again as awareness came back fully.
"No," Gibbs finally managed to spit out hoarsely.
"Ahh," the well dressed man said, his breath noticeably hitching as he began to orgasm. "Too . . . bad!" The well dressed man added with a bark of laughter.
The pressure on his arms released and Gibbs slumped forwards on the floor, his shoulders aching as blood flow restarted. He couldn't see and belatedly, he realized that his eyes were still shut. Carefully cracking them open, he squinted at the light filtering in around his pounding headache. He could smell the comingled odors of blood, sweat, shit, and now semen. He had to swallow against the urge to vomit when he recognized that they were all emanating from his body.
The pressure in his backside eased and he heard the well dressed man standing up and redressed. Something fluttered down beside his head and he saw that it was a blood—and other bodily fluids—covered handkerchief. He turned his head away and found the well dressed man now fully clothed once again, looking down at him with cruel amusement.
"A memento of our meeting," the man said with a laugh. Then waving his hands at the other two men, he barked out something quickly in Spanish and then turned to exit.
"I kept my word, Mr. Gibbs," Gibbs heard him say on the way out. "I did not harm your man."
More in chapter 2. Your author is very evil. She knows it.