'B...b...boss... I... please...' Tim sputtered, the order unexpected. Gibbs was planning to whip him here? now? In the middle of a case, when he'd have no opportunity to curl up and lick his wounds?

'NOW, Timothy!'

He responded instinctively to the command tone, scooting away from the headboard so he could turn over onto his stomach. But, suddenly remembering Gibbs's earlier instructions, he hesitated.

'Boss, can't this wait until we're home? It's just... you wanted me to drive back in the morning, so I'm going to have to be sitting, and...'

Tim trailed off, his eyes widening as he realised that Gibbs meant for him to have to drive back with a sore butt. Swallowing hard, he stretched out face-down and buried his head, his hands fisted tightly in a pillow.

He was painfully aware that he was sprawled on a bed, like a teenager being disciplined by his father. Gibbs normally had him bend over a table or desk or, once, his basement workbench, and even that was enough to make Tim feel a very personal connection with his boss. This reminded him more strongly of the way his dad would always sit on his bed and take him over his knees, on the few occasions when he was spanked as a child. Including once, he remembered ruefully, for lying.

He heard Gibbs removing his belt and his body tensed in anticipation of the first lash.

He hadn't been spanked since he found out that his father knew about Gibbs's discipline methods. And approved. And would have done the same thing, if he'd thought he needed it, growing up.

Now, waiting for the inevitable pain at his boss's hands, he found himself wondering what it would have been like, with his dad.

It wasn't hard for him to think of an occasion when it might well have happened. At fourteen, desperate to see the new Star Trek movie on the day it opened, and knowing that the crowd outside the theatre would be too big by the time school was out for the day for him to have any chance of getting in, he'd cut class to secure a place near the front of the line. It hadn't occurred to him at the time that his father might whip him if he got caught; spankings were rare in his childhood, and the prospect of a belt being used was as foreign to him as Captain Kirk's forays into Klingon diplomacy. In retrospect, it was probably as close to a serious spanking as he'd ever come. But he hadn't been found out, the forged note about the non-existent dentist appointment not raising any suspicions at the school where a shy, quiet teenaged Tim had given them no reason to expect deception.

He was still lost in his memories when he felt the sharp pain of Gibbs's belt landing hard on his ass. And, for a moment, he thought it was his father, punishing him for his adolescent misconduct.

A second searing stroke tore a gasp of pain from him and brought him crashing back to the reality of the present. His hands tightened helplessly around fistfuls of pillow, and he yelped loudly as the belt landed again.

It was only then that he realised to his dismay that the thin walls would do little to muffle the sounds of Gibbs's belt against his ass or his own cries. Tony, in the next room, would know he was being spanked, as would any other guests in the small motel. Horrified, he bit down hard on the abused pillow, trying to suppress his anguished sobs.

The action reminded him again of his childhood. He'd always hated the idea of his sister hearing him cry. It was bad enough that Sarah could hear that he was being spanked, but no self-respecting big brother wanted to admit that a couple of swats on the ass reduced him to tears. Now, hoping to conceal the worst of his distress from Tony, he found himself very aware of his partner's frequent assertions that the team was a family... and he very much did not want his 'brother' hearing him screaming in pain!

And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't have to wonder what it would have been like, being whipped by his father. It would be like this.

He respected Gibbs deeply, trusted him without question, and was mortified by the knowledge that he'd let him down. He didn't think it would be any more intense, emotionally, if his father were the one making it so painfully clear that he'd messed up.

And, physically, he was pretty sure that the wide leather belt his father favoured when he wasn't in uniform would probably feel a lot like Gibbs's well-worn... and well-used... standard accessory. The only difference, he thought, would be that the slightly sharper sting and darker bruising where the end of the belt bit deeper into his flesh would be on the other side of his butt; his father, left-handed like himself, would position himself opposite to where Gibbs was now.

The pain continued to build, each stroke a blaze of fire. It wasn't long before he was sobbing into the pillow, his desire to remain quiet notwithstanding. Just when he was sure he could stand no more, it stopped.

Tim continued to cry, his shoulders shaking with tears, reacting as much to the emotions generated by his own mind as to the pain of the whipping. He regretted missing out on his usual post-spanking hug, but the thought of moving was too unbearable.

To his surprise, he felt the mattress dip and a moment later felt a comforting hand rubbing his back. It wasn't exactly a hug, but the sentiment was clearly the same.

As the sting began to fade, Tim, physically and emotionally drained, felt himself drifting towards sleep. He was dimly aware of Gibbs getting up from his perch at the side the bed, and he felt the loss of his presence with a bit of sadness. He heard the closet door open and close, but didn't have time for more than a moment's curiosity before he felt a warm blanket being gently laid over him. The last thing he was aware of before sleep claimed him was his boss's callused hands arranging the edge softly around his shoulders.