Author's Notes: Alternative Universe [AU] and Alternative Reality [AR]. Don't read if you don't like AU/AR. Don't complain about it in a review. If you like your characters straight out of the box, TV show, this story is not for you.

Title: A Birthday Bash

Rating: M

Story Premise: A surprise birthday bash for G Callen becomes wonkier as the weekend progresses.

Category: A romance/angst/hurt/comfort/ novella.

Slash Warning: G/Sam. If you do not like slash, do not read this story. G/Deeks discipline.

Darkfic Warning: Novel includes non-con, dub-con, incest, rape, torture, violence, betrayal, and plenty of angst. Physical, mental, and emotional trauma. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) with flashbacks, nightmares, reliving the trauma, night terrors, anxiety and panic attacks, etc. OC Death

OOC Warning: None

Crossover Warning: None.

Warning: Major G Callen whump ahead.

NCIS: Los Angeles and its characters are owned by CBS and the producers of it. I do not own anything, but if I did I would torture G Callen more. I am grateful to CBS and the producers of NCIS: LA for their contribution to the world of entertainment.

My stories are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This is a work intended for entertainment outside the official storyline owned by CBS and the producers of NCIS:LA. I gain no profit from the creation and publication of this story. I love to play in the sandbox with the characters and their lives. I especially love to torture G Callen. It is fun!

Reviews appreciated and welcomed.

Marty's Bash

Chapter 1

On Thursday evening, G and Marty sat cross-legged and side by side on the hardwood floor in G's living room playing Jeopardy and sipping beers.

"Next question for you, Callen," Marty said. "What kind of insect is Jiminy Cricket?"

"I think I'm gonna lose it on this one question."

"You serious?" Marty laughed. "Put on your thinking cap."

"Thinking cap?"

"Maybe you don't have a thinking cap," he said. "It's inside your brain."

"Maybe it's the beer." He held up all three bottles consumed in the last two hours while playing their game. "How come I keep getting all the hard questions?"

"You got beer brain, Callen," Marty said, "and this isn't a difficult question."

"Why don't you call me G?"

"I thought it's reserved for Sam's use only."

"I wouldn't mind if you did." He'd tried for several months to get Marty to call him G, but he insisted it was Sam's name for him.

"And what would Sam think about it?"

"Well, you can when we're playing games at each other's houses."

"Okay, G," he said. "I like the sound of it. Rolls off my tongue nice."

"What?"

"What kind of insect is Jiminy Cricket?"

"Still on that?"

"Well?" Marty asked. "You lose an item of clothing if you don't get this right. I'm still fully clothed and you?"

"I know, don't rub it in." G glanced down at his attire. Boxers and socks. "Smarty Marty."

"I like that nick name, G."

"Good, because it fits you well, especially when we play Jeopardy."

"Yes, it does."

"You're the one who knows all the fancy, snazzy words," G said. "I can't think of the answer."

"It's not a trick question and it's not a fancy word," Marty said. "The word graces an ordinary dictionary's pages."

"Really, you certain about that?"

"Think about it."

"I did." G took another swig of his beer and held up the bottle. "I think this is the culprit."

"Blame it on the beer," Marty said. "What kind of insect is Jiminy Cricket? Come on G, it's easy, even an elementary school student could guess this question."

G glanced at him sideways.

"Less than a minute on the timer."

"I'm stumped."

"You're serious?"

"Where did you learn all the snazzy words?" G asked. "When you attended law school?"

"Yes, and no," Marty said, "always loved words. Love to mess around with them too. G, what kind of insect?"

He pursed his lips and threw up his hands in the air, surrendering. The bell went off on the timer.

"A cricket."

"What?" He asked. "That can't be the answer, Marty."

"Well, it is."

"Is too simple."

"Yes, and that's the point, G, an obvious answer," Marty said. "Remember, I get to choose which item of clothing you lose this time." He eyed him. "Stand up."

"After three beers?"

"Yes."

"I think my legs are numb from sitting cross-legged for over two hours."

"Would you call that mitigating circumstances?"

"Is that attorney speak?" G asked.

"I love to tease you with fancy words."

"I love to be teased with your snazzy words." He winked at him and stood up. G staggered for a few minutes before he gained his balance.

"Are those the boxers I gave you for Christmas?"

"Yeah."

"You don't wear them to work."

"I don't want to be caught with my pants down." G laughed. The black, silk boxers were splashed with huge red and smaller purple hearts.

"Well, guess what's going to happen right now?" Marty didn't say a word and watched as G stripped off his boxers. "Now, you're under oath so you'd better do as I say."

"I am?"

"Yes, remember the winner dictates the transpiration of events."

"The what?" G asked. "For once Marty, speak English."

"That was English." Marty laughed. "Very sexy body. Remove your socks."

"I have to sit for that, and if I do I might not get up afterward."

"Whatever you have to do to accomplish the task."

G sat on his new sofa. Marty helped him pick out this piece of furniture, a chocolate brown microfiber fabric with turquoise and deep violet pillows. The half-circle shape created the perfect place to watch television and spend long hours with Marty playing video games. He removed his socks.

"Ooh, now that's exactly how I like my man, naked."

"I'm glad you didn't say, men."

"Come here."

G wobbled over to Marty, standing less than six inches from him.

"Kneel, hands behind your back."

"Come on, Marty, it's been a tiring and long day."

"Ah, ah, ah, G, obey."

G sighed making more noise than usual, getting his point across. He kneeled, his body coming into direct contact with Marty's.

"Take charge of me."

"What?" G's jaw dropped.

"You know I like it when you boss me around."

"Strip and make sure you fold all your clothes and place them in a single neat pile," G said. "Faster Marty or get a spanking."

With the threat of a spanking session, he slowed his efforts to a snail's pace, removing each item of clothing and folding it before taking off another.

"You want a spanking?" G crawled over to the sofa, climbed onto it. He knew standing first might result in a face plant. The beer had done its job on his body. He felt relaxed. "Come here, Marty, right now!" Marty plodded over to G with his head down. "Over my knees, you have been a bad boy today." Marty laid on G's lap and squirmed around trying to find the most comfortable position. "That's going to cost you." G planted a hard slap on Marty's upturned buttocks.

"Ouch! Damn that hurts," Marty said. "You're supposed to warn me."

"Stop squirming around on my lap and lie still," G said. "Count them for me, Marty. You failed to catch your suspect today and Sam and I had to step in for you."

"Sorry, G."

"No, it's Callen for your punishment session."

"Sorry, Callen."

"Ten."

"Ten?" Marty asked. "But you've never given me more than five."

"This is different," G said. "You placed our team in danger. Promise it will never happen again."

"I'm sorry, Callen, I'll do my utmost to prevent it from happening again."

"Your utmost?"

"Damn it, Callen, you are serious about this?"

"Deadly serious, Marty, your utmost sucks," G said. "Starting on Monday, Sam trains you in strength training, because frankly Marty, you suck at catching suspects."

"I was off my game today, Callen, please, not ten."

"Yes, Marty, ten and tell me why you were off your game."

"Damn it, I not sure I want to do that."

"You cheating on me, Marty?"

"Never, I'd never do that."

"Then?"

"I was working on your birthday present."

"My birthday present?"

"Yes, please don't make me tell you any more."

"Okay, I'll scale back this one time, giving you the benefit of the doubt," G said. "Eight spankings."

"Eight spankings?" Marty's jaw dropped. "That's not scaling back, please not eight."

"You've had one, seven more."

"Please, can we negotiate?"

"Is this an attorney thing?"

"No, an 'I need my ass to sit on in the bullpen and car' negotiation." Marty laughed.

"Only one negotiation will satisfy me."

"Callen!"

"Yeah, Marty."

"You said you'd never pressure me for that again."

"Yeah, if I could discipline you when you needed it," G said. "Do we have a deal?"

"How many?"

"The perfunctory five."

"You like the new word I gave you?"

"Love the word, perfunctory—hurried, rapid, and automatic."

"What?"

"Everyday, Marty."

"Callen!"

"Are you whining?"

"No."

"Promise me."

"I promise I'll do it."

"Starting tomorrow."

"Damn."

"Well?"

"Yes." Before Marty could finish saying the word 'yes,' his ass was plastered with the perfunctory, five, fastest smacks his ass had ever endured. He gasped and cried out, his cheeks staining with tears while his ass was branded with the red hand prints of his Senior Special Agent.