“I don’t see why we need some outsider coming in and telling us what to do,” Rodney said, his entire body shifting restlessly, the way it always did when he was agitated.

 

They were standing in a reception party on the south pier, watching the Daedalus go through her docking procedures.

 

“Three marines have been murdered, Rodney,” John told him, placing a hand on Rodney’s wrist. The effect was instant; Rodney stilled, and he leaned in towards John, their thighs and upper arms touching. John smiled to himself; he doubted that Rodney had even noticed and that was part of the thrill of having such a complex submissive. After over two years of marriage he thought he had a pretty good idea how to handle Rodney, but his brilliant husband could still surprise him occasionally so he always had to be on his toes.

 

“Yes, I know, but that’s *your* jurisdiction!” Rodney complained. “I mean, you’ve always handled this kind of thing on Atlantis.”

 

“This isn’t the Wraith, or life-sucking black shadow entities, or anything else killing our people, Rodney,” John reminded him. “It’s murder – plain, old-fashioned murder, and, despite my best efforts, we still have no idea who did it.”

 

“Yes, but bringing in these other people, it’s like they’re saying you can’t do your job properly,” Rodney complained. John stiffened.

 

“Rodney, three of my men have died in as many months, one a month, all killed in the exact same way, and I haven’t been able to find whoever is doing it. I’m not proud – I’ll take all the help I can get,” John hissed. Rodney turned to him, his blue eyes contrite.

 

“I’m sorry. I know how much this has upset you…I just don’t like the idea of anyone coming in here and criticising you,” Rodney said softly.

 

“I know.” John tangled his hand affectionately in the long, curly ends of Rodney’s hair.

 

“And if Elizabeth was still here, she would never have sanctioned this,” Rodney muttered. John sighed – on that, at least, Rodney was right.

 

“But we’re under new management now, Rodney, and if this is the way Woolsey wants to play it, and if it means I don’t have to go into another marine’s quarters and find him staked out on the floor with his insides gutted and his throat cut then that’s fine by me,” John told him firmly.

 

John glanced at Woolsey. He felt kind of sorry for the guy; he was a submissive, which wasn’t a problem – some of the best commanding officers John had worked under were subs – but Woolsey was fresh out of what John suspected had been a stifling and unsatisfactory marriage. You could still see the little line around his neck from where his collar had been, and every so often Woolsey lifted his hand to rub the line absently, clearly missing the security the collar had given him. He was a man who liked rules – both in his personal and professional life, and he had a penchant for doing everything by the book. Needless to say, that didn’t always sit well with John’s more free-wheeling style of command.

 

John was trying not to get into unnecessary confrontations with the man, but, like Rodney, he wasn’t best pleased that Woolsey had called in NCIS to investigate the murders of these marines. He was keeping that to himself though – his wayward sub might pick up on it but John wasn’t going to fuel that particular fire by speaking his mind on the subject. Rodney’s loyalty and volatility were both well known to him – the combination in this instance might be explosive.

 

“So, Carson, did Steven say what these guys were like?” he called to the doctor, who was standing next to Woolsey in the welcoming committee, a goofy look in his eyes. Carson’s husband had been gone for six weeks doing the scheduled run to Earth and back, and John was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to survive if Rodney was gone for that long so he had no idea how Carson had got through it – although the usually good-natured doctor had become more and more tetchy as the weeks had passed.

 

“Hmm?” Carson turned towards him, his eyes still far away.

 

“The NCIS agents Steven has been ferrying over from Earth – did he say what they were like?” Rodney butted in, clearly eager for some gossip.

 

“Funnily enough, we had other things to talk about in the very brief conversations we’ve been able to have since the Daedalus came within range,” Carson replied, rolling his eyes. John snorted at that.

 

Rodney was about to open his mouth to dig a bit further so John poked him in the thigh with his finger to get him to shut up.

 

“But…” Rodney began. John shook his head.

 

“No need to ask – you’re about to find out,” he said, pointing at the Daedalus’s hatch which was just beginning to open.

 

“Oh shit,” Rodney breathed.

 

Yeah, oh shit, John thought, as a man emerged from the ship onto the south pier. John was a confident top, who had collared and kept his own sub for the past two and a half years…but, like all the other tops present on the pier, he recognised an uber-top when he saw one, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

 

Almost without realising it he felt the adrenaline surge and a sense of protective possessiveness kick in. He turned to Rodney, took his leash from his belt, and fastened it to Rodney’s collar, pulling him in close. Rodney melted against him, body fitting next to his in a way that was both familiar and reassuring, but John didn’t miss the little whimpering sound that Rodney made in the back of his throat.

 

The top who had emerged from the Daedalus was a decade or so older than John, and had an air of grizzled experience about him that made John feel like a ten year old standing in front of his father, Gil, in trouble for some misdemeanour or other. This top’s eyes were a startling blue, and you just knew they never missed a thing. He was tall and imposing, with a straight back and a toned physique, but that wasn’t what made him intimidating. No, it was those piercing eyes and the brisk, no-nonsense way in which he carried himself that made John’s hackles rise. He was good looking, with features that might once have been boyish but now, in middle age, had weathered into something harder and much edgier. Even so, John doubted there was a sub alive who wouldn’t find him extremely attractive. He didn’t appear to be making any kind of toppy statement in his clothing, which was a combo of plain black pants, black shirt, and a black jacket, but all the same, there wasn’t any chance at all that anyone would mistake him for a sub.

 

His hand was hanging loosely at his side and in it were five leashes. He didn’t even tug on them – he was so sure of his submissives’ obedience that he made no concessions to them and simply strode forward without glancing back, trusting them to keep pace. John craned his neck, eager to see the submissives that this man had collared.

 

They were an unusual bunch – there didn’t seem to be any unifying characteristics about them – this top clearly didn’t have a ‘type’. The one that took John’s eye immediately was the tall, handsome sub with brown hair. He had a mischievous look in his green eyes and John recognised immediately that he was trouble – not in the same way that Rodney had been when he’d first met him, but trouble all the same. He was wearing a pair of ass-hugging faded blue denim jeans and a tight black shirt, open just a little too much at the top to reveal an inviting patch of chest hair. There was a small silver and green earring in his left ear, and a studded bracelet on his right wrist. He was possibly slightly taller than his top, but if so only by an inch or two, and powerfully built, but John saw immediately that his wide grin and laid-back body language hid something. This sub was sharp, those mischievous eyes missing nothing. He was also deceptively strong, and he knew how to game-play with the best of them; it wouldn’t be wise to under-estimate him.

 

Then there was the pretty girl with the spider-web tattoo on her neck and the bright red lipstick. Her black hair was in pigtails, and she was wearing a short plaid skirt with heavy leather boots and a tight black tee shirt with a skeleton on the front. She also wore a number of studded wristbands and rings, and several chains around her neck, below her collar. She was the opposite to the other sub – her clothes screamed ‘fear me’ but her friendly green eyes and wide, open smile, hinted at a sweet nature. John noticed that of all of them, she stayed closest to Gibbs.

 

There was another woman, stunningly beautiful, with long, dark hair, deep brown eyes, and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ look on her face. She was dressed in plain chocolate brown jeans and a tight green sweater, and there was something dangerous about the way she moved. There was no subterfuge to her – she wasn’t deceptive, like the male sub. She moved like Teyla moved, with all the power and grace of a warrior, and John had a healthy respect for that kind of person. He was puzzled though – he was getting the same vibe off her that he got off Teyla and it wasn’t the vibe of a collared submissive – maybe there was something deceptive about her after all.

 

If he wasn’t sure about her, he was very sure about the man next to her, who couldn’t have radiated a more submissive vibe if he’d tried. He had a sweet-face and beautiful eyes, but he looked nervous and strangely out of place in the clunky, formal suit and tie that hid his body. His clothing was in stark contrast to the more obviously provocative apparel of the first male sub. This sub looked as if he’d prefer it if tops didn’t look at him, although John doubted many did considering whose collar he wore. He was tall, at least as tall as the first sub, maybe even slightly taller, and broad across the shoulders, but his hesitant nature made his height and breadth seem less imposing.

 

Then, finally, John’s gaze fell upon a man older than the top leading him by perhaps a decade. He had a gentle, almost distracted air about him, and kind blue eyes, but John sensed an inner steel beneath the genteel façade. His hair was a faded blond, and his eyes sparkled with an insatiable curiosity. He was wearing a suit, complete with a bow tie, and he had the manner of an affable eccentric.

 

Colonel Steven Beckett escorted the NCIS agents towards the welcoming committee, and made the formal introductions.

 

“Mr Woolsey, this is Special Agent Jethro Gibbs and his team. Agents Anthony DiNozzo, Abigail Sciuto, Ziva David, Timothy McGee, and Dr Donald Mallard.

 

John blanked out the stuttering welcoming sounds Woolsey was making – it would take a submissive of extremely strong stuff to stand his ground on first meeting with a top like Gibbs, although he guessed that Steven Beckett hadn’t been affected by the NCIS chief. Carson’s husband was steady and strong – the kind of submissive John had met many times in the military, and who he knew he could count on in battle. Gibbs wasn’t doing anything to unsettle Woolsey – just his presence alone was enough to turn the man into a gibbering wreck.

 

John could feel his hackles rising as Woolsey turned to introduce him to Gibbs. Who the hell did this guy think he was, walking onto Atlantis like he owned the place, and bringing his five collared submissives with him? How many subs did one top need anyway? John couldn’t imagine having room in his heart for anyone else – it was so full of Rodney. He didn’t want, or need, any other subs. Besides, he had a feeling that Rodney would be really crap at sharing. John always felt that tops who collared more than one sub were just showing off – trying to big themselves up to cover some basic insecurity. This guy though…well, on first impressions he didn’t seem remotely insecure.

 

“Pleased to meet you, General,” Gibbs said, holding out his free hand. John took it, and gazed, unflinchingly, into those clear blue eyes.

 

“And you, Special Agent Gibbs,” he replied, squeezing Gibbs’s hand firmly, showing he wasn’t about to be out-topped by this newcomer, whoever the hell he was. He wrapped his hand so tightly in Rodney’s leash that it cut off the blood supply to his fingers.

 

“This is my husband, Dr Rodney Sheppard,” he said. “He’s the Head of Science on Atlantis.”

 

Rodney didn’t say a word, he just stood there, quiet and obedient by John’s side. John wasn’t sure if he was over-awed, or whether the pressure he was exerting on Rodney’s leash was robbing him of speech. Gibbs nodded at Rodney but made no attempt to shake his hand. John was pleased about that – if Gibbs had asked for permission to touch Rodney he had a feeling he might have refused it, and that would have got this whole thing off to a really bad start. He didn’t want this man touching Rodney; he didn’t want this man within ten feet of Rodney if he could help it. Rodney was HIS, and he didn’t like the idea of this man, with his five submissives, trying to collar a sixth.

 

John gave a low, almost inaudible growl at that thought, but Gibbs had already moved on and was being introduced to Carson. John was suddenly aware of Rodney’s hand stroking his ass, gently but insistently.

 

“You know…you can tighten the leash if it’ll make you feel better but could you just not hold it so close,” Rodney whispered to him. “I think I’m gonna trip over your boots in a minute if you don’t loosen up.”

 

It was enough to snap John out of it and he gave his sub an apologetic grin and loosened his grip – but just a little. Rodney continued stroking his bottom, and slowly, very slowly, John felt his sudden, extreme sense of his own toppiness start to recede. It would seem that Rodney had also learned a trick or two about dealing with his top, he thought to himself wryly.

 

“I’ll show you to your quarters – you’ll no doubt want to get settled in – and then, uh, well, I’m not sure what you want to do next, but you’re very welcome to…” Woolsey prattled on, as the newcomers began walking off into the distance.

 

DiNozzo turned around, and glanced at John with an assessing look as they went. He looked him up and down, and then his face broke into what John could only describe as a leer, and he gave him a wink. There was a sharp tug on his leash and he muttered a, “yes boss, coming boss,” before running slightly to catch up with the others.

 

Now it was Rodney’s turn to growl, and the gently stroking hand on John’s ass turned into a prod.

 

“I’m not looking,” John protested.

 

“You think he’s cute though, right?” Rodney pressed.

 

“Yeah, but *trouble*,” John snorted.

 

“You *like* trouble,” Rodney protested.

 

“Yes I do – and I have more than enough of it on my hands, thank you very much,” John replied, yanking Rodney’s leash slightly and pulling him in for a quick kiss. “It’s not as if you didn’t go all weak-kneed when you saw Gibbs anyway.”

 

“If I went weak-kneed it was simply from lack of oxygen because my top was strangling me with my own leash,” Rodney complained.

 

“So you didn’t happen to notice that we have an uber-top in our midst?” John asked.

 

Rodney’s eyes widened with feigned surprise. “Who? Gibbs?” he asked innocently. John slapped his ass for that and Rodney laughed and stole another kiss from him. “Seriously, you’re not really jealous are you?” Rodney asked.

 

John thought about it for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “Just…that guy is unsettling.”

 

“I think he’s supposed to be,” Rodney said. “But you know me – I’ve never been a fan of that kind of top. All strict rules and leash etiquette – bores me rigid. I much prefer what I’ve got.”

 

“Which is?” John raised an eyebrow, and they started walking back to their quarters.

 

“Well, you know, someone laid-back and a bit more casual.”

 

“You mean lax,” John said.

 

“No, I mean casual. I’m far too brilliant to be confined by a set of rigid rules,” Rodney said proudly. “You give me room to breathe.”

 

“And for that – I think a spanking is due,” John told him.

 

“What?” Rodney’s blue eyes were aghast, but John didn’t miss the little flash of hopeful anticipation in them either. Rodney would go to hell and back to escape a real punishment but when John talked about this kind of spanking they both knew it was for pleasure.

 

“Yeah…just to remind you that I could impose some more rules, *if* I really wanted to,” John replied.

 

“And *if* you could be bothered to enforce them,” Rodney muttered.

 

“And for *that*, I’m gonna get out my clamps,” John said.

 

“Oh shit,” Rodney sighed, but the sound was swallowed by John swinging him close and kissing him hard until his body melted against that of his top, utterly submissive and compliant, which was just how John wanted him.

 

~*~

 

 

“Nice.” Tony dumped his bag on the table and gazed around the suite of rooms. In the centre was a large living space, complete with big dining table. There was a galley kitchen off to one side and a smaller living room to accommodate anyone wanting some quiet time on their own. The bedrooms, all with en-suite bathrooms, opened off from the main living space. “Very nice,” Tony added appreciatively, throwing himself down on the sofa and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “First the ride on a spaceship, which, once you got over how cool it was, was actually pretty boring, and now this! I will be sleeping tonight on a completely different planet. It’s mind-blowing – I feel like I’m starring in my own movie.”

 

“Would that movie be ‘Zombies from Outer Space’?” Ziva asked. Tony made a face at her.

 

“Nope. It’d be, ‘Anthony DiNozzo – Intergalactic Hero Cop’,” Tony said, drawing his hand across empty space, imagining the title in his head. “Righter of wrongs, catcher of killers, and the best lay in two galaxies”.

 

“Even if he does say so himself,” McGee said, rolling his eyes at Ziva. She grinned.

 

“This, uh, ‘intergalactic hero cop’ – does he solve these crimes all by himself, or does he have any help?” Ziva asked, a dangerous look on her face. Tony shrugged and leaned back on the sofa, arms stretched along its back.

 

“I expect he has a couple of sidekicks,” he said confidently. “But he’s the hero – the star. They’re just there for show – they do a bit of fetching and carrying for him but he’s the man.”

 

“Uh huh,” Ziva said, her face a study in straightness. Tony knew that look all too well. He stiffened.

 

“Gibbs is behind me isn’t he?” he squirmed.

 

“Yes he is,” a voice said into his ear. “Nice to know your ego has room for a couple of sidekicks though.”

 

“I didn’t mean…that is, I mean, you’re not one of them! I’m just…I’m referring to probie here, and Ziva. Not you. I mean obviously, if anyone is the man, you’re the man. I’m just…that wasn’t what I meant at all,” Tony waffled helplessly.

 

“Glad to hear it,” Gibbs said. Tony braced himself…and just when he relaxed, thinking it wasn’t going to happen, it did – and the smack landed square on the back of his head. “Now, perhaps the intergalactic hero cop would like to do some work,” Gibbs said dryly.

 

“Yes boss.” Tony got up quickly, grabbed his bag, threw it into the nearest bedroom, and returned to the living room.

 

“Okay,” Gibbs said to his subs. “I know this is all very new and exciting, and yes, DiNozzo, the idea that we’re in a different galaxy is mind-blowing – but, we have a job to do.”

 

“Yeah…about that,” Tony said. Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s just that…I spent quite a bit of time talking to Colonel Beckett while we were on the Daedalus, and he was telling me about this stargate thing.”

 

Gibbs’s eyebrows crawled higher up his forehead.

 

“Okay…I don’t understand much about this kind of technology but was there a reason why we just spent eighteen days cooped up in a glorified tin-can when we could have stepped through a gate and got here in nano-seconds?”

 

“Tony has a point,” McGee butted in. “The stargate programme is top secret but seeing as we’re out here, I’m guessing we have clearance – so why not send us through the gate?”

 

“Three marines have been murdered,” Ducky mused. “You’d think they would want us out here sooner rather than later – is there a reason why we weren’t allowed to travel through this ‘stargate’, Jethro?”

 

“I was told they had some kind of a glitch with it and it wasn’t considered safe to travel between galaxies with it,” Gibbs shrugged. “They weren’t sure how long it would take to fix it so they made arrangements for us to travel here on the Daedalus instead.”

 

“Which was cool for the first three days but then got really dull,” Tony muttered.

 

“Okay, this isn’t our usual environment and that puts us at a disadvantage,” Gibbs said tersely. “However, I expect the same high standard of you out here as I do back home. We won’t have access to the same information or technical equipment but that’s no excuse for not doing our jobs properly. Ducky…” Dr Mallard looked up, and straightened. “Go and make friends with Dr Carson Beckett – he’s in charge of the medical facilities on the base. He’s also Colonel Beckett’s husband. I want you to set up an examining room and start autopsying the bodies.”

 

“I believe Dr Beckett has already conducted autopsies,” Ducky said, glancing at the file of notes in his hand.

 

“Do it again. Remember, everyone out here is a suspect at this stage,” Gibbs told him. Ducky nodded, and got up to leave.

 

“The rest of you – get out there and start talking to people. I want to know all about these dead marines – who their friends were, who they were sleeping with, whether they were collared or had collared anyone else…and, most, importantly, who their enemies were.”

 

“Yes, boss,” they all said in unison.

 

“Uh, Gibbs – what about me?” Abby asked. “I mean, I’m not technically a field agent so…”

 

“You can talk, Abs. And god knows, you know how to ask questions,” Gibbs told her, flashing her one of his rare smiles. She smiled back, basking for a moment in the sunshine of his smile. Tony envied her. Gibbs tipped her chin up and planted a soft little kiss on her lips and Tony felt the knife of his envy go even deeper. He shook himself. This was Abby for god’s sake – Abby who he adored just as much as everyone else on the team, including Gibbs.

 

“Just go out there and be yourself – you’ll do fine. And be careful,” Gibbs added. “All of you. We are out of our environment and it’s unclear what the dangers are. If in doubt, speak to me – do not, I repeat, do not take unnecessary risks. Now go.”

 

They all got to their feet and made towards the door.

 

“Not you, Tony,” Gibbs said. Tony hung back, wondering what was coming next. “General Sheppard is married,” Gibbs said, not even looking at him as he rummaged through his luggage for something.

 

“Oh come on, boss. He’s a good-looking top. A sub can look, can’t he?”

 

“Not if it causes problems,” Gibbs said firmly. “We’re here to solve some murders, not cause any.”

 

“You wouldn’t let anyone murder me, boss,” Tony grinned. “Besides, I noticed he didn’t seem too happy to have you here.”

 

“So did I – and you’ll remember I didn’t exacerbate that situation by shaking his sub’s hand. Now, the question is, is he unhappy we’re here because we’re muscling in on his territory – or is there another reason? Does he have something to hide?”

 

“Good question, boss. I’ll get out there and find the answer.” Tony started walking towards the door again.

 

“Not yet, Tony. First things first.” Gibbs found what he was looking for in his luggage and Tony’s heart did a little flip.

 

“You have already spanked me once today, boss,” he said, gazing warily at the hated strap that was dangling from Gibbs’s hand.

 

“I didn’t know there was a limit on the amount of times I could spank my sub in one day,” Gibbs replied, stone-faced, just a hint of a challenge in those blue eyes. Tony sighed.

 

“No boss, there isn’t,” he said.

 

“Good – into the bedroom, pants down,” Gibbs ordered.

 

Tony did as instructed. For some reason, and he had no idea why, he was the only one of Gibbs’s submissives who got a daily spanking. Every day, without fail, the boss turned him ass up and delivered a spanking. Sometimes it was long and arduous, other times just a couple of swats, but Gibbs never forgot. Tony thought he’d be kind of upset if he ever did.

 

Gibbs’s bedroom, was, naturally, the largest in the suite. It held a massive, king-sized bed although Tony doubted Gibbs would be needing that. Still, if the man went around with five leashed subs then people had to suppose he was sleeping with them and make appropriate arrangements.

 

There was a large armchair in the corner of the room. Gibbs motioned with his head towards it and Tony undid his pants, and lowered them to his ankles. He never wore underwear – it saved time when presenting himself for daily spankings and besides, it was part of his own particular dynamic as a sub that he enjoyed feeling naked and available under his clothes. He bent over the back of the chair, and rested his hands on the padded arms. God he hated the strap! He longed for a spanking that would involve Gibbs’s hand on his ass, and Gibbs’s knees beneath him – sturdy, intimate and reassuring. He didn’t like the impersonal feeling of being draped over a chair, and he sure as hell didn’t like the hard feel of firm, unyielding leather on his bare skin. Gibbs had never once taken him over his knee or spanked him with his hand though – he’d spanked both Abby and Tim in that way but not him. Never him. Tony wasn’t sure why but it was hard not to feel envious of his fellow subs.

 

Gibbs tapped his ass with the strap and Tony opened his legs wider, as instructed. This was kind of a game they played. Tony knew well enough what Gibbs required of him and the exact position he was supposed to assume, but he was naughty sub enough to not always want to give it to him that easily. Gibbs only ever spanked on the bare and Tony was used to offering up his ass for his top’s attention, but even so, he always felt like this, every single time; exposed, apprehensive, excited. The cool caress of the leather lasted for only a second before being transformed into a sharp sting as the strap thwapped across his buttocks.

 

“Oh shit,” Tony said, gripping the arms of the chair tightly. Another thwap, and then another, and then it was over. Just three strokes – barely more than a caress by Gibbs’s standards, and yet, despite his dislike for the strap, Tony couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He stayed in position, waiting for permission to rise, and then felt Gibbs’s hand tousling his hair.

 

“Good boy,” Gibbs said, and Tony felt himself glowing at the praise. He stood up, and turned.

 

“If you wanted to throw me down on the bed, I could show you just how good a boy I can be,” Tony said, in a soft, low tone. He knew the inevitable answer, but hell, they were in a whole different galaxy – maybe the rules had changed here.

 

Gibbs gave a little grin and shook his head.

 

“You never give up, do you, Tony?”

 

“Never will, boss,” Tony replied, pulling up his pants and fastening his belt.

 

Gibbs looked at him with that unfathomable look in his eyes, the one that made Tony feel he was going to say something – but he never did. They stood there, face to face, for a long time, neither of them speaking, and then Gibbs reached out, and briefly, for just one tiny second, touched the side of Tony’s face with his fingers; gentle, soft and caressing. Then the moment was gone, and the hand was withdrawn.

 

“Get out there and find this killer, Tony,” Gibbs told him, brisk and business-like again.

 

“Will do, boss,” Tony sighed, turning to go.

 

“And don’t forget who you belong to,” Gibbs warned. Tony let out a yelp as Gibbs swatted his sore ass lightly.

 

“Never could, boss,” Tony replied. “Never could.”

 

He wasn’t sure what that spanking had been about, just as he wasn’t sure what the usual daily spankings were about, and god knows his inscrutable boss would never tell him, but Tony felt a warm glow spread out from his smarting buttocks and up into his heart.

 

He belonged to Gibbs. However unsatisfactory and downright frustrating it was to be one of Gibbs’s subs, Gibbs took the time to tell him, with every daily spanking, that he belonged to him. It might not be much, but it was all that was on offer so he’d take it. He set off, determined to do his job to the utmost of his ability and make his top proud of him.

 

~*~

 

 

“I just don’t see why I have to have them in my lab,” Rodney said mutinously as John dropped him off at said lab on his way to his own office.

 

“Rodney – be nice,” John warned. “I don’t suppose they’ll be here for long.”

 

“You don’t know what it’s like to have non-lab trained personnel hanging around, getting underfoot, *touching* things,” Rodney grumbled. “It’s bad enough having you in there and at least you’re not totally stupid.”

 

“No I’m not and neither are you,” John retorted. “These people are here to do a job, and as part of that job they have to ask questions – now be nice and answer up or they’ll wonder what you have to hide.”

 

“What? Oh my god! You don’t think…they won’t suspect ME, will they?” Rodney asked, horrified. He hadn’t even thought of that.

 

“Well I don’t know – I suppose it depends on how suspiciously you act,” John told him. “And right now you’re acting pretty suspiciously. Got anything to hide?”

 

“Well, there’s the experiment you and Elizabeth expressly forbade me to work on – they wouldn’t be interested in that, would they? I mean they’re here about the murders, not that. Um…oh, shit…did I just tell you about the ‘on pain of severe punishment’ experiment? Oh god, I think I did.”

 

“Yes you did, Rodney, and we’ll talk about that later,” John said, rolling his eyes. “And this is another reason why I don’t think they’ll be hanging around your lab for long. Frankly, five minutes with Gibbs and his team and you’d confess all your sins at once. You’re not exactly hard to break, are you?”

 

“Break? Are they going to interrogate me? Oh shit…” Rodney glanced around his lab, horrified.

 

“Relax.” John put two calming hands on his shoulders, deposited a kiss on his head and then shoved him into his lab. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the forbidden experiment.”

 

“I was kidding about that!” Rodney lied to John’s retreating back.

 

“No you weren’t,” John threw back over his shoulder.

 

Rodney sighed and then glared at the pretty girl, her dark hair hanging in pigtails, sitting in HIS chair.

 

“Hi. I’m Abby,” she said, as he prowled over.

 

“Yes I know who you are,” he snapped, grabbing the back of her chair and wheeling it out of his way, then drawing up another chair and setting it in the vacant place he’d created in front of his workstation.

 

“Cool!” Abby said. Rodney ignored her. “You’re Rodney Sheppard”, she said.

 

“I can tell you’re a trained investigator,” he muttered. She grinned.

 

“Well, to be honest, I’m not. I’m kind of along for the ride. Gibbs knew we’d be gone for a few weeks and didn’t want to leave me behind, so he brought me along.”

 

“What, like some kind of trophy sub?” Rodney said maliciously.

 

“Not really. Anyway, I’m glad he did. This is SO cool.” She reached out a hand and touched the magnetic imaging spectroscope sitting in front of her.

 

“Don’t touch!” Rodney yelled. “Do NOT touch anything. This is a highly sensitive piece of equipment, calibrated to an exact equation and it must not be touched. God I hate it when non-scientists start playing around in my lab.”

 

“Me too!” Abby said. “It’s so annoying isn’t it? You just get something set up the way you want it and some idiot who doesn’t know the first thing about it comes in and presses buttons, or stands in the wrong place and just gets in the way.”

 

“You’re a scientist?” Rodney asked cautiously. “You have a lab?”

 

“I’m a forensics scientist.” Abby nodded. “And I definitely have a lab. In fact…” She glanced around, a sad look on her face. “I really miss my lab.”

 

“You don’t look like a scientist,” Rodney said, glancing at her attire which to his mind looked like an odd mix of leather sub and baby doll. Not that he was an expert on fashion.

 

“Neither do you. They’re usually old and boring, not hot with nice asses,” she said, glancing appreciatively at his posterior.

 

“Hot?” Rodney said. “Really?” John thought so of course, and it was true that when he dressed up for a night out he could turn heads but even so…it was always nice to hear it from someone else.

 

“Oh yeah.” Abby grinned at him. “Definitely. Did you calibrate the spectroscope using Vant’s Theorem or the Helsinger Tables?”

 

“Vant. Helsinger is an idiot,” Rodney said. “Wait – you know about them?”

 

“Sure.” Abby laughed and he felt himself relaxing. She really was impossible to hate for long. “And I totally agree. Helsinger got all his math back to front.”

 

“That’s what I always say!” Rodney exclaimed. They grinned at each other happily.

 

“I haven’t seen this model,” Abby said wistfully, gazing longingly at the spectroscope. “It’s the latest stuff and I never get the latest stuff, not even when I do my best begging for Gibbs. Could you show me the features?”

 

Rodney felt himself going to a happy place in his head. He demonstrated all the features on the equipment in detail, humming as he did so, pleased to have a chance to show off to someone who actually knew something, rather than the usual dimwits he had to put up with in his lab.

 

“It must be so weird to live out here, in a totally different galaxy,” Abby said later, over their mid-morning coffee and donut break. “What’s the weirdest, freakiest thing that ever happened to you here?”

 

“You mean apart from the life-sucking vampire monsters? Well, John nearly got turned into a bug once.”

 

“Really? No way!”

 

“Yeah. Or…oh no, I remember the freakiest thing ever – John and me were once sucked into a completely different universe where the people were…well, I grew to like them eventually, but they were a bit weird.”

 

“Weird how?” Abby asked, licking donut sugar off her fingers.

 

“Well, they were like us but they only slept with people of the opposite gender – they had some kind of taboo about same-sex relationships – and they didn’t seem to have any concept of dynamic at all. They just wandered around with no idea about whether they were dominants or submissives…now *that* was weird.”

 

“You’re making that up,” she said, eyes wide as saucers. “How would that even work?”

 

“I have no idea. They didn’t seem to have a lot of sex though,” Rodney said with a shrug. “It was strange, seeing myself in this other universe…”

 

“Wait – there was another you?”

 

“Yes – and another John, and another Carson. It was very like our own universe and yet so completely different.”

 

“I wonder if there was another me there,” Abby said.

 

“Probably.” Rodney shrugged.

 

“I wonder if she’s happy. I wonder what her life is like,” she pondered. “I hope she’s got a Gibbs looking out for her there, like I do.”

 

“Is he a good top?” Rodney asked. “He seemed kind of scary from where I was standing.”

 

“Oh everyone says that and I don’t get it,” Abby replied, shaking her head. “Wow, this coffee is nice – it has a real hit to it. I usually prefer soda but I’ll settle for this.”

 

“Caffeine – the drug of choice for scientists,” Rodney grinned.

 

“Yeah. But going back to Gibbs – he’s the sweetest guy.”

 

“How can you share him with all those other subs?” Rodney asked. “I know I couldn’t share John.”

 

“Well, it’s not really like that,” Abby replied.

 

“Don’t any of you get jealous?”

 

“Not really. At least I don’t think so. Maybe Tony does. And maybe we all would if he was sleeping with any of us,” she mused.

 

“He’s not sleeping with you?” Rodney asked, shocked. “But he’s collared you.”

 

“I know – but that’s just the way Gibbs likes to work. He kind of collects subs. Besides, he doesn’t really like having anyone on his team that he hasn’t collared. He says there can only be one boss, and that boss is him. He doesn’t want any of his subordinates answering to anyone else, or having divided loyalties – not in our line of work.”

 

“But…how does that work?” Rodney asked, genuinely curious. “You’re his collared subs but…”

 

“Ziva isn’t – a sub I mean,” Abby interrupted. “She’s a top.”

 

“And she let him collar her?” Rodney was totally confused now.

 

“Yeah – you’d be surprised how many tops would accept Gibbs’s collar for the chance of working with him. The man is a legend,” Abby said happily. “It’s not forever – Ziva knows that. But for now it suits her.”

 

“So how does it work?” Rodney asked helplessly. He had heard of arrangements like this, where a high-flying top collared colleagues for purely professional reasons, but they weren’t very common. Also, he didn’t get the feeling that Gibbs’s relationship with his subs *was* entirely professional.

 

“Well, he’s in charge, and he can discipline us, obviously. He’s…somehow he gives each of us what we need. With Tim it’s a sense of protection and belonging – he’s always wanted that and Gibbs makes sure he gets it. With Ziva, it’s maybe kind of a refuge, while she figures some stuff out. Heavy stuff. She never talks about it but he knows – he knows all of us really well. With Ducky – well, those two go way back. Gibbs collared Ducky years ago. I never heard the whole story but there definitely is one – if either of them gets close to talking about the subject they give each other these weird looks and clam up, and afterwards Ducky gets really clingy and Gibbs seems extra protective.”

 

“And DiNozzo?” Rodney asked.

 

“Ah Tony,” she grinned, shaking her head. “Where do I start? Tony needs a strong top. He’s looked all over for one but none of them are strong enough to take him on. He might not seem it because he’s such a wiseass but he’s smart, Rodney, and strong. Gibbs almost gives him what he needs, but he can’t – or won’t – give him everything because he can’t give him what he wants most – which is himself.”

 

“Why not? If he’s not sleeping with any of you surely there’s room in his life for someone?” Rodney asked.

 

“I’d like to see him happy, and I think Tony could make him happy,” Abby sighed, “but he won’t go there and I have no idea why. He just…won’t. Something to do with his past I think. He’s been married before, several times, and it never worked out. Maybe he’s just been burned too often.”

 

“And you?” Rodney asked, intrigued by this young woman’s life.

 

“Oh well…I have a history of getting into really bad relationships. Gibbs kind of saves me from myself,” Abby said, with a little smile. “He insists on meeting any top who wants to date me. If he says I can’t see them, then that’s it. Kaboosh. No dating.” She shrugged.

 

“But he doesn’t claim you for himself?”

 

“No. With him and me it’s more…paternal. He looks out for me and takes care of me. Not that I’d say no – I’m all for the daddy/girl roleplay.” Abby gave him a big grin, and Rodney felt himself flushing slightly at her openness. He was used to having some pretty frank conversations with people about their preferences, but this was a bit too much too soon. He was intrigued though, and genuinely interested in the strange setup these NCIS agents had.

 

“To be honest, I don’t think it’d work between us anyway,” Abby said. “I don’t think we really see each other that way, and it’d ruin what we have if anything happened between us. Don’t get me wrong – he’s still my top – he just chooses not to exercise some of the rights that come with that. It may seem weird to you but it works – for all of us. For now at least.”

 

“What happens if you meet someone who wants to collar you?” Rodney asked.

 

“I dunno. It hasn’t happened. Well…just once.” Abby grimaced.

 

She was silent for a bit, and Rodney wasn’t sure if she was going to say any more, but then she turned to him, took a deep breath, and started.

 

“There was this guy. His job was cleaning up crime scenes which I thought was totally cool, and we got talking and…well, Gibbs was away for a few days, and I was falling for this guy so I didn’t want to wait until Gibbs got home. I thought it was just going to be a fling but then it got more serious…and, you see, I just knew Gibbs wouldn’t allow it.”

 

“Why not?” Rodney asked, finishing the last drop of his coffee and scraping his finger around the rim to scoop up the dregs of the foam.

 

“I dunno – I suppose even though I was crazy about Mikel – that was the guy’s name – there was something about him that was setting off alarm bells. But instead of telling Gibbs about him, I started creeping around behind his back. I got it into my head that it was none of Gibbs’s business who I slept with – which was dishonest of me. If I want to wear the man’s collar then I have to abide by his rules.” Abby gave a little sigh. “I owe him that – and really, he never makes any demands on me. He’s only ever wanted my honesty, and I let him down. Badly.”

 

Her clear green eyes looked suspiciously glassy as she said that, and Rodney wasn’t sure whether to pat her arm in an attempt to offer clumsy comfort of some sort. Luckily she saved him from that decision by continuing with her story.

 

“Mikel wanted to take me away from Gibbs. He said all this crap – that Gibbs was using me, that I’d look better in his collar, that Gibbs was an abuser. None of that was true. I woke up to it eventually, and told Mikel I didn’t want to see him any more. He went ballistic, took me prisoner, took my collar off me and put his own on me.” She shuddered.

 

“Oh shit,” Rodney said, horrified, because a similar thing had happened to him once and he still woke up screaming from the nightmares. “He took your collar? That happened to you too?”

 

Abby’s eyes widened. Rodney waved his hand.

 

“I’ll tell you about mine some other time. I want to hear about yours.”

 

“It was just so horrible. I don’t know what would have happened if Gibbs hadn’t busted a gut trying to find me. He showed up, just in time, because Mikel was saying that if he couldn’t have me then nobody could and I really thought he was going to kill me. Gibbs shot Mikel in the shoulder and took him into custody – he had him up on charges for abduction, removing another top’s collar without the sub’s permission, and coercing a collared sub.”

 

“Man – this sounds like a movie or something,” Rodney said.

 

“Yeah. It does kinda,” she said, but her eyes were sad.

 

“What did Gibbs do?” Rodney asked.

 

She took a deep breath. “Oh it was bad, but then I guess you know that.”

 

“Yeah.” Rodney gazed at her, one sub to another, both of them sharing an understanding of what she had faced.

 

“I let Gibbs down. He trusted me and I let him down.” She bit on her lip. “Once he’d taken care of Mikel, he just lifted me up in his arms and hugged me and hugged me. Then he took me home and put me straight to bed. I slept for hours and he never once left my bedside. Next day though…” She made a face, and then continued. “He gave me a choice. Said I could have my collar back if I wanted it, but I had to mean it, because he couldn’t go through this again. And if I accepted it back then I had to accept whatever punishment he was gonna hand out too.”

 

She trembled a bit when she said that, and Rodney watched her, transfixed.

 

“I wanted that collar back so badly.” She gave a wry little smile. “I went down on my knees, no question, and he put it around my neck and buckled it on and it was such a relief, you know? Then, without saying a thing, he grabbed my wrist, walked me into the bedroom, sat down on the bed, swung me over his knee, lifted up my skirt, pulled down my panties and gave me a spanking I’ll never forget until the day I die. He never said a word the entire time – just spanked my ass to kingdom come.”

 

“Oh shit,” Rodney breathed, empathising with her for all he was worth.

 

“You don’t understand,” she murmured. “He’d never spanked me before – never. And he hasn’t spanked me since then, either, other than a stray swat here or there. So it was just the once, but man…it hurt. He didn’t stop until I was sobbing my heart out, and my ass was burning every single shade of crimson you can imagine. He didn’t use a strap or anything, just his hand, but he’s got one hell of a strong spanking hand!”

 

“I can believe that,” Rodney said, and then he frowned. “But what I can’t believe is that we’re sitting here, and I’m having one of those subby chats – I never do subby chats! Ever!”

 

Usually the very idea of sitting with a fellow sub and droning on about their latest spanking or the latest way their top had been annoying or demanding was his idea of hell, but with Abby it was different. She just had something that made you like her and want to spend time with her. And her story was different too – he’d never heard of a relationship like the one Gibbs had with his subs, and he was intrigued by it.

 

“Me either!” Abby said with a wild, bright grin. “I can’t stand them. All they do is go on and on about how terrible their lives are and how boring their tops are. I don’t even usually like to hang out with other subs – well, except Tony and Tim because they’re cool – but that’s only because we don’t usually talk about sub stuff.”

 

They sat there in silence for a moment, grinning at each other, both of them flushing slightly from the embarrassment of being caught doing something they never usually did.

 

“So, about the spectroscope,” Abby said eventually. “Got anything else as cool as that to show me?”

 

“Oh, I have a whole lab full of stuff,” Rodney said, relieved that the subject had been changed and he was back on more familiar territory.

 

~*~

 

 

Ziva watched the small, slender woman swing her batons high, turn, and then deliver a swinging blow to the massive bear of a man who had been pursuing her. She was clad in a long leather skirt, split to the thigh, the golden skin of her bare midriff glistening as she fought. Her breasts were encased in a tight fabric that accentuated every single curve, and they heaved, plump and appealing, as she moved. He was wearing only a pair of plain hide pants, his feet as bare as hers. He had a broad chest and wide shoulders, his entire body was solidly muscled, and his hair hung from his head in a curtain of wild dreadlocks.

 

He lost his footing and she turned again, lashing out her baton towards him and catching him just behind the knee. He went down, swivelling, so that he at least landed on his back, batons held aloft, ready to continue the fight, but it was too late. She was too fast for him and within seconds he was immobilised on the floor, her baton held tight beneath his chin.

 

“You should not have fallen so easily. Is your ankle still sore from the injury you sustained last week?” the woman asked.

 

“No. I was just slow,” the bear-man replied. The woman reached out her hand and pulled him to his feet.

 

“We will repeat this exercise until I am satisfied,” she told him sternly. Then she turned her attention to Ziva.

 

“Welcome. I am Teyla Emmagan of Athos,” she said, walking over to where Ziva was standing, and bowing her head slightly in greeting. “And this is my submissive Ronon Dex of Sateda.”

 

Ziva felt a surge of envy rise in her gut, and tried her hardest to push it away. Teyla moved her hand, a gesture so small as to be almost unnoticeable, and Ronon Dex immediately came over to where they stood and dropped to his knees beside her, shoulders back, hands resting on his meaty thighs, back straight. He was so big that even kneeling he practically reached his top’s shoulder. Ziva felt another spike of envy at how beautifully trained he was, and she had no doubt at all that this diminutive woman had been the one to train him.

 

“I am Officer Ziva David,” she replied, giving a formal little head bow in return – it seemed appropriate in the circumstances. “I was wondering if you knew the three marines who were murdered,” Ziva said, feeling strangely flummoxed. “I am not asking you this because you are not from Earth. You should understand – I am also an outsider where I come from. I know how hard it is to fit in, and how easy it is for the finger of suspicion to point at what – or who – is unfamiliar and unknown.”

 

Teyla gazed at her steadily. “Thank you,” she said. “But I have had many positive experiences of working with your people. I have never been made to feel like an outsider among you.” Her eyes were piercing as she gazed, and Ziva had the uncomfortable feeling that this woman was getting the measure of her. “As for the marines – I knew them only by sight but I am saddened by their deaths. I do hope that you are successful in finding this killer, Officer David – I know that General Sheppard is extremely anxious about the safety of his people.”

 

“Sheppard is a good commander then?” Ziva asked.

 

“The best!” Ronon said vehemently, and Ziva turned to him, surprised. Teyla placed a hand on his shaggy head and he calmed a little, gazing up at her with an expression that could only be described as devoted.

 

“Ronon is correct,” Teyla affirmed. “Sheppard is a good man and a great leader. He is more worried than anyone about what has happened to his men. Having you here is not easy for him – but he will swallow his pride if it means the killer is caught.”

 

There was an intense pride in the way she spoke and Ziva thought that she looked like a creature from mythology, caramel skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, so exotically beautiful that it almost hurt to look at her. Beside her was this magnificent man, clearly as wild as a lion and yet as obedient to his mistress as any of the best trained Shinzoic submissives Ziva had witnessed in the show ring back on Earth.

 

Ziva snapped out of her reverie to find Teyla’s brown eyes fixed on her, a curious expression in their dark depths.

 

“I have never seen these weapons used in combat,” Ziva said, gesturing to the batons Teyla and Ronon had discarded, trying to distract herself. She couldn’t help noticing that Ronon’s nipples had been pierced, and he was wearing his mistress’s jewels in them – gold and red entwined.

 

Teyla clipped her leash to the chain joining the piercings and then to her belt. Ziva hoped Ronon was good at anticipating his top’s every move because otherwise he’d get one hell of a jolt of pain.

 

“I could show you how they are used if you wish,” Teyla said.

 

“I would like that.” Ziva nodded. “How about now?”

 

Teyla hesitated. “Combat practice will no doubt entail physical contact,” she said. “I notice that you are collared. Would your top be happy for this to take place?”

 

Ziva smiled. “Gibbs will not mind. It is true that I wear his collar, but I am a dominant – not a submissive. We do not have that kind of relationship.”

 

“I see. The ways of your people are often strange to me but this is something I understand,” Teyla said, making another of those subtle moves with her hand.

 

Ronon got to his feet and they walked in unison to where they had left their batons. His nipple leash was still attached to her belt, but he was so in tune with her movements that there was no question of it tugging on them.

 

“Among my people, it is common for a young top to take the collar of an older one as an apprentice for a fixed period of time. This helps them learn how to be a good top, as well as giving them the opportunity to study the top’s trade. Is that how it is with you and Agent Gibbs?” Teyla asked.

 

“It is…similar, yes.” Ziva nodded. Actually, that summed up her arrangement with Gibbs pretty accurately.

 

“Then I hope you learn well,” Teyla said. “He looks like a man who has much to teach a pupil who is prepared to watch, and listen.”

 

Then without warning she unclipped her sub’s leash, picked up a pair of batons and threw them at Ziva. Ziva only had a couple of seconds to react, catching the batons out of nowhere, before Teyla was upon her, her own batons slicing through the air with the precision of a dangerous weapon.

 

Ziva brought her baton up fast, deflecting the first few blows, and then turned and kicked at Teyla’s midriff. She just about caught flesh but then the Athosian woman had turned and was after her again, barely giving her time to breathe.

 

Ziva felt herself click into training mode, easily accessing the instincts that made her such a successful killer. She left thought behind, and tuned in to the sound of her own breathing and the smooth, polished moves of the woman standing in front of her.

 

Some part of her brain noticed, coolly, how beautiful Teyla looked as she fought. She was so graceful, elevating her fighting to an art form. Ziva didn’t waste her energy on grace – she was all sheer physical efficiency, darting and swinging, all her attention focussed on the woman in front of her and on how to outwit her and bring her down.

 

Ziva kicked out with her foot, catching Teyla a glancing blow that sent her stumbling towards the floor. Scenting weakness Ziva went after her, like a dog after prey. She could feel the darkness rising within her and revelled in it, taking it, twisting it, making it her own. This was who she was, and this was what she did.

 

She was shocked, a second later, to find herself on her back with Teyla’s knee pressed to her windpipe.

 

“You are good,” Teyla told her. “But you mistook my feint for a stumble.” She gazed down into Ziva’s eyes for a long moment, and Ziva felt as if all the darkness of her soul had been laid bare. It was the way she often felt around Gibbs too and she didn’t like how it felt. “You are more than you think you are,” Teyla told her mysteriously, and then she moved back, allowing Ziva to get up.

 

“I want what you have,” Ziva blurted.

 

Teyla gave her a questioning look.

 

“You are a killer, like me,” Ziva said softly. “Do not deny it – it screams from every pore of your body. And him.” She pointed at Ronon. “He is a killer too. You understand the darkness – both of you. I want that. I want someone who understands. I want someone I can go there with, someone I will not hurt with what is inside me.”

 

Teyla stared at her for a moment, and Ziva wondered if she’d got it wrong or gone too far; she frequently misread people.

 

“You and I, Ziva David, must talk properly,” Teyla said, and there was a kindness in her eyes that Ziva hadn’t expected. “But not now. My people are holding their annual Festival of Deliverance from the Wraith on the mainland tonight and I am to officiate at the ceremony. However – I would very much like to welcome you as my guest.”

 

Ziva blinked, taken aback. “I…I am not sure. I should ask Gibbs. We are here on an investigation so…”

 

“All from NCIS are welcome at the festival,” Teyla said firmly. “It is a good place to get to know people – and to ask the questions which I am sure would aid you in your enquiry. It would give me great joy if you would accompany Ronon and myself to the ceremony.”

 

Ziva felt that she would offend this noble warrior-woman far too much by refusing. This festival was clearly some kind of big deal – and Gibbs had asked them to mingle and get to know the people on Atlantis.

 

“I would be honoured,” she said at last.

 

Teyla nodded, and then came close. Ziva felt her stomach tighten – she didn’t like anyone getting in her personal space. Teyla ignored her body language and took hold of Ziva’s face in her hands, and then gently tipped her head towards her so that their brows were touching. Ziva felt oddly comforted by her touch and started to relax. Teyla drew back, smiling.

 

“Tonight, Ziva David,” she said, and then she took hold of her submissive’s chain and led him gracefully from the room.

 

Once alone, Ziva sank to her knees feeling utterly drained. This woman knew her on some level she couldn’t begin to articulate. Teyla understood her, the way nobody else had ever understood her.

 

Except Gibbs.

 

~*~

 

 

“So, will you be joining in the festivities on the mainland tonight, Dr Mallard?” Carson asked, moving a lamp so that it was shining at a more helpful angle in the makeshift morgue.

 

“I will not, my dear boy, no,” Ducky told him, peering through his protective goggles at the innards of the body on the gurney in front of him. “How about you?”

 

“Me? No.” Carson shook his head.

 

“Not a fan of revelling?” Ducky asked, glancing up.

 

Carson grinned, and shook his head again. He had only known the Medical Examiner for a few hours but he liked the man. He was Scottish for a start, and they’d swapped endless stories of the old country, chatting non-stop since Ducky’s arrival.

 

Carson had been pleased to assist him in the autopsies of the murdered marines, pointing out what he’d found first time around and generally acting as Ducky’s assistant as he’d had to leave his own assistant behind. Carson wasn’t used to dealing with the corpses of people who had been murdered and he was fascinated by the process, listening eagerly as Ducky outlined the clues that each body provided.

 

“Ah, I forgot!” Ducky said, smiling at him. “Your husband is the delightful Colonel Steven Beckett – I got to know him well on our journey here. He keeps an extremely well stocked Captain’s table – clearly a man who likes the finer things in life! And as tonight is his first night home in six weeks, I presume that you have plans for him.”

 

“I do, Dr Mallard, yes,” Carson grinned. “Extensive plans”.

 

“I’m sure,” Ducky chuckled. “And please, dear boy, do call me Ducky. Most people do. Besides, I feel as if I’ve known you for years – your sub is a man of great discretion but he missed you, and after a glass or two of fine Scottish malt he could be prevailed upon to talk about you. I have to say that it seems to me, having now met you, that every word of it was true.”

 

“Should I blush, Ducky?” Carson asked.

 

Ducky chuckled again. “Your sub thinks you are the finest doctor to ever graduate from medical school and he clearly admires you very much as a human being, even aside from being his husband and his top,” he said. “But don’t worry, Dr Beckett – he said nothing to embarrass you.”

 

“Ah now, if I’m calling you Ducky then you must surely call me Carson.”

 

“Thank you, Carson.” Ducky looked up from his work again. “I’d like that.”

 

“So why won’t you be going to the festival tonight?” Carson asked. “Would Gibbs not allow it?”

 

He privately thought that Agent Gibbs looked like the kind of top who kept his subs on an extremely short leash so he could imagine him refusing Ducky permission to go over to the mainland for the party.

 

Ducky looked up, a bemused expression on his face. “I hardly think Jethro would mind one way or the other, Carson,” he replied. “No, that’s not it at all. I want to mull over my notes, while they’re still fresh in my mind. There’s something about these bodies – I’m not sure what – but something is ringing a bell with me somewhere. I think I’ll retire to our quarters to go through my findings – see if I can piece anything together. I would also – no offence to you, Carson – but I would like some time alone with the bodies. I’ve very much enjoyed talking to you but I feel I’ve very much neglected talking to *them* in the process.”

 

“You talk to dead people?” Carson raised an eyebrow.

 

“Why not? You talk to your patients, don’t you?” Ducky replied.

 

“Aye, but for the most part they can at least talk back!”

 

“Indeed…but you’d be surprised what a dead body can tell you, Carson, if you’re prepared to listen,” Ducky told him. “Now run along, man! I can tell you’re itching to get your hands on that handsome husband of yours.”

 

“It has been a long six weeks,” Carson agreed with a laugh, pulling off his lab overalls. “And I’ve barely had time to say hello to him today what with all the post-docking checks he’s had to do on the Daedalus, and with all of NCIS being here – no offence, Ducky.”

 

“None taken,” Ducky chuckled. “Now go – I’ll be perfectly fine here. I do understand about love you know, Carson. I might be getting a bit long in the tooth but I remember the heart-stopping joys and agonising ecstasies of it all too well!”

 

“Remember?” Carson raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, it’s been awhile since I really indulged myself in that respect,” Ducky sighed.

 

“Is Gibbs neglectful then?” Carson asked. In his opinion, any man who had five subs had to be spreading himself too thin and he thought it was a shame if Ducky missed out just because he was older than the other subs in Gibbs’s harem.

 

“Good lord no!” Ducky replied. “The man is as good-hearted as they come. A little reserved, and, uh, overly focussed at times to be sure, and undoubtedly strict but with that lot on the end of his leashes he has to be! But our arrangement – his and mine – is a little bit more complicated than you might imagine. It’s best not to enquire, dear boy. Now go – your husband will be waiting for you!”

 

Carson couldn’t argue with that. He’d had six long weeks in an empty bed and he was itching to start running his hands over his husband’s body, reclaiming him as his own again. The mysteries of whatever arrangement these NCIS agents had between them could wait – he had a submissive to attend to.

 

“Thanks Ducky – my deputy, Dr Keller, is next door in the infirmary – if you need anything, just ask her. I introduced you to her earlier.”

 

“Ah yes! The twelve year old,” Ducky grinned. “Is it my imagination or are they letting children take medical degrees these days?”

 

“She’s nearly thirty!” Carson objected. “And quite a high flier. But…” He gave a broad, conspiratorial grin, “I do know what you mean! Having her around makes me feel like an old man!”

 

“Well if you feel old that makes me positively ancient,” Ducky lamented. “But I’m sure she can take care of me if I need anything so off you go, and don’t worry any more about me.”

 

Carson gave Ducky a quick, excited smile, and then left the surgery almost at a run.

 

There was a mouth-watering smell wafting out of his quarters when he got there. He stood a moment on the threshold, savouring it, and then entered. Steven was standing in the little galley kitchen, stirring something on the hob. He was clearly freshly showered, the little fringe of hair on the back of his neck curling wetly against the clean blue Henley he was wearing. His long legs were encased in tight blue denim, which clung perfectly to his superb ass.

 

Carson took a moment to gaze at him hungrily. God he had missed those long legs, that beautiful swivel-hipped motion of Steven’s body when he moved, the way he prowled more than walked, and his ass – firm and sweet and just aching to be fondled.

 

Steven was humming to himself and clearly hadn’t heard him come in. Carson tiptoed stealthily across the room, and then stole his hands around his husband’s body, and rested his chin on his shoulder. Steven gave a little start, and then glanced at him over his shoulder, a grin on his face.

 

“Something smells good,” Carson said, sniffing at Steven’s aftershave and noticing how he was freshly shaven. Steven was that kind of sub – he thought about his top, and liked to prepare himself nicely for him. The same service extended to food and the quarters they shared.

 

Steven’s dynamic was that he liked to serve by cooking good food, and keeping a clean living space. He positively enjoyed ironing Carson’s shirts, and would happily spend an hour or two on his knees beside the bed, polishing Carson’s shoes while Carson sat and read a medical journal in the evening. Every so often, Carson would reach out a hand and trace patterns on his submissive’s beautiful scalp, and Steven would press up into his hand, enjoying the caress.

 

Carson had never dreamed he’d find someone so companionable. He had always been the care-taker before, thinking up treats to surprise and delight his submissives. His romantic streak had often left him feeling exposed, as if he was the only one taking any pains in a relationship, the only one giving while his partners always took. It wasn’t like that with Steven.

 

“You’re home,” Steven said, his deep voice rumbling in his broad chest. “As for the smell – it’s your favourite.” He gestured at the pan in front of him, where two chicken breasts were nestled side by side in a creamy sauce.

 

“Aye, it is,” Carson said, “but I wasn’t referring to the food. I was referring to you. *You* smell good.” He could feel his cock hardening already as he pressed up against Steven’s perfectly peachy bottom in its denim prison.

 

“You want to use me first, or you want to eat?” Steven asked, with a grin in his voice.

 

“Both!” Carson nibbled on his ear and Steven threw the spoon down, turned around and enveloped his husband in his burly arms.

 

Carson had never had a submissive who was physically so much bigger than him before. He was no lightweight himself, with sturdy thighs and broad shoulders, but Steven was several inches taller than him and well built – although his long legs had a certain elegance to them that belied the general beefiness of his body.

 

Steven’s sheer, imposing physical presence wasn’t a problem between them though – onboard his ship, he was a surly, no-nonsense commander, giving orders with the best of them, and supervising his subordinates with a rod of iron. But in private he was not only happy to submit himself to Carson he positively craved it, and Carson guessed that he had seen a side of Steven that none of his subordinates even knew existed.

 

He took hold of his husband’s face in his hands, and pulled him down for a long, deep, exploratory kiss. Steven opened up obligingly, and Carson’s tongue darted hungrily inside his mouth. His hands went to Steven’s peachy ass and he held it firmly, reacquainting himself with its fine contours.

 

“I missed you,” Carson sighed when he released his sub.

 

“Not as much as I missed you. I’d dream about you holding me down while you slid into me, and wake up to find I’d come on the sheets like a schoolboy!” Steven told him. “Sometimes I’d kneel beside the bed in my quarters, close my eyes, and imagine you were there.”

 

“Oh Steven.” Carson took hold of his husband’s head again and kissed him firmly. He could feel Steven shaking slightly under his fingers – his husband was a man of deep emotions and it had taken some time to coax those emotions to the surface. Steven wasn’t a man who gave anything up easily, so those times when he shared what he was feeling were often hard won but with Carson he no longer put up any pretence. He was who he was, and he trusted Carson not to hurt him.

 

“Here.” Steven led him over to the table. It was beautifully laid, decorated with several lit candles, and a bottle of wine stood next to two glasses, ready and waiting. “Your favourite,” Steven said, a smug little smile playing on his lips as he opened the wine and poured it. “And I got this.” He nodded his head in the direction of the sound system where a plaintive melody was playing. Carson saw the CD case lying on the table and snatched it up.

 

“Latest recording,” Steven informed him, still looking smug. They shared a love of classical music and Steven knew exactly what to buy on his trips back to Earth.

 

“Oh love, you make me feel bad. I can never buy anything for you except the occasional bunch of Athosian cherries!” Carson exclaimed.

 

“Well that’s one of the perks of the job – I get to go back to Earth,” Steven said. “Besides…I love bringing you back these gifts. You know that.”

 

“Aye, I do.”

 

“Now sit down – let’s eat.”

 

Steven served up one enormous plate of dinner, and sat down opposite Carson. Carson took a bite of the food and sighed.

 

“Exquisite – as usual. I’ll have to start running again now you’re home or I’ll balloon!”

 

“You could always train with me,” Steven said, with a sly grin, as Carson loaded more food onto the fork.

 

“Not likely! No offence, love – you’re a fantastic commander of that ship of yours but you’re a complete harridan as a personal trainer. I’m fit enough to run an infirmary and that’s good enough for me.”

 

He held out the fork and Steven dipped his head and took a mouthful. Carson smiled at him – it felt so good to have him back. He’d missed their long conversations and the way Steven looked out for him. He’d never felt so sure about someone’s love before as he did about this sub’s love for him.

 

“What do you make of this Gibbs?” he asked, as they swapped stories of their time apart, and Carson fed them both their dinner from the shared plate. “Are his subs scared of him?”

 

“Maybe a little,” Steven said. “But then again he’s that kind of top. Half the subs on the Daedalus were scared of him – when they weren’t falling at his feet that is.”

 

“Were you?” Carson asked, looking up, suddenly feeling a little bit threatened.

 

“Scared of him or falling at his feet?” Steven queried, with an amused look at him.

 

“Both – either,” Carson said quietly. There was something about Gibbs – even the strongest tops found him unsettling.

 

Steven frowned. “Neither,” he replied. “Carson, are you jealous?”

 

“No. Well, aye, a wee bit,” Carson sighed. “Tops like him always seem to attract the subs. I’ve fought that losing battle all my life – it’s hard to snap out of it.”

 

“Carson, I’ve been in the military my entire adult life,” Steve told him firmly. “I’ve met tops like him before – well, maybe not *quite* like him but I’ve met the ones who totally believe in themselves and inhabit their top-space the entire time – like him. If I’d wanted one like that I could have had one, trust me.”

 

“Aye, I know. I’m sorry, love. I’ve just missed you so much,” Carson said. “Look, I feel like a dirty slob still in my work clothes. Why don’t I go and take a shower and get changed and we can talk about what we want to do with the rest of the evening.”

 

Much as he wanted to get his hands on his husband, he also craved simply being with Steven, chatting and catching up – sex could wait.

 

Steven nodded and Carson took himself off to the shower, berating himself for questioning his husband in that way and doubting him for even a fraction of a second. He got changed into some chinos and a smart shirt and then returned to the other room…and stopped dead in his tracks.

 

Steven was kneeling, stark naked, in the centre of the room, head down, hands resting on the golden skin of his thighs. He’d oiled himself, and the candles threw soft orange shadows over his solidly muscled body, making his entire body glow in the dim light.

 

“Oh dear god,” Carson breathed, all the blood in his body rushing straight to his cock, making it instantly harden.

 

Steven glanced up, and traced his hand over the marriage collar Carson had put on him the year before.

 

“I’m yours, Master,” he whispered softly. “I’m here to serve you – and only you. If you’ll take me and use me as you see fit?”

 

Carson’s cock went into spasm at the words. All couples had their own dynamic, and this was theirs. Unlike many subs, Steven had little interest in sexual pain however expertly and subtly administered – oh, he’d endure it if Carson wanted to hand it out, but it gave him no particular pleasure.

 

No, what Steven loved was to offer himself up to serve his master – and right here, right now, in this private space, alone together, that was what Carson was; his master.

 

“Straighter,” Carson said, slipping effortlessly into the role. He ran a hand over Steven’s hard, muscled shoulders. His husband’s back was already ramrod straight but little details like this enforced his mastery over Steven and his sub’s beautiful cock hardened appreciatively in response.

 

Carson removed his radio earpiece and turned it off, and then reached for Steven’s where it was lying neatly on his pile of discarded clothes and turned that off too – there was no way they were going to be interrupted tonight, not after so long apart.

 

Carson circled Steven a few times, and then paused in front of him and ran a finger over Steven’s lips.

 

“I’ve missed having this warm mouth to spill myself into,” he said. “Will I take you there first?” Steven opened his mouth obligingly, and Carson slipped a finger inside, wetting it and then drawing it back over Steven’s lips, wetting them too in the process. Steven moaned, his cock now hard as iron. “You’ll not come for a long time yet,” Carson told him, knowing how much it turned Steven on to be denied orgasm. “I’ll take my pleasure in you twice before I allow you yours – if I decide you’ve earned it.” Steven nuzzled against his hand, and Carson allowed himself the sheer sensory pleasure of caressing his husband’s scalp. Then he grabbed Steven’s smooth head in his hands and raised it to look at him. “And earn it you must – make no mistake about that. I’ll be using you long and hard tonight, Steven Beckett,” he said.

 

Steven’s eyes were sex-stupid and the sight was so arousing it was all Carson could do to contain himself. He decided that he’d be no good for anything in this scene if he didn’t at least take the edge off his passion a bit first.

 

“Hands behind your back and open your mouth,” he ordered.

 

He undid his pants, knowing it was killing Steven not to be able to do that for him, and released his hard cock. Steven’s eyes lit up in anticipation and Carson gripped his head firmly in his hands and slid his cock between Steven’s waiting lips.

 

“I’ll use you hard tonight,” he breathed, his fingers caressing that warm scalp. “Keep your hands where they are. You have nothing to serve me with but your lips so work them well.”

 

He knew the words were working for Steven, as he dipped his head back and forth, taking his time, stretching his lips expertly over Carson’s hard cock. It felt so good to be here, just the two of them – husbands, lovers, a dominant and his sub, a master and his servant.

 

Carson gave a groan of pleasure and offered himself up completely to Steven’s mouth. Within seconds he was coming, holding Steven’s head as he pumped out down his sub’s warm throat. Steven drank down his come like a thirsty man, loving that Carson was using his throat in this way. His brown eyes were full of adoration as he gazed up at his top.

 

“That was beautiful, my love,” Carson breathed. He stood there for a long time, his softening penis still in Steven’s mouth, his fingers still caressing Steven’s head. Finally he withdrew. With that initial urgency over, he could enjoy the scene in more detail – and he liked a slow-burning scene the same way he liked a fine wine. “Now, I need you to hold that erection of yours while I get to know this beautiful body again,” he murmured. “But first things first – undress me.”

 

Steven couldn’t have been happier to oblige. His throat seemed to convulse with a kind of humming purr as he got to his feet and began unbuttoning Carson’s shirt. His long fingers smoothed the fabric sensuously and he took his time, savouring each second, pausing only to press a kiss against Carson’s neck, or jaw, or mouth as he worked.

 

Carson allowed him to take his time – this was an important part of what Steven enjoyed and Carson loved it too. The sense of adoration he got from his sub made him swell up with pleasure, feeding his own inner top, making him feel powerful and invincible. It still amazed him that he’d managed to keep and collar a sub such as this, a man so handsome and attentive, so good at his job. Yes, on the deck of his ship Steven could bark orders, confident in his abilities as a military commander, but here, alone together, he was Carson’s submissive, happy to kneel before him and serve him with his naked body.

 

Carson shook his head – he’d been an idiot to be jealous of Gibbs for even an instant. Steven was his, his collared sub, and nobody would ever take him away from him.

 

Steven had finished undressing him, and was now folding his clothes neatly and placing them on the nearby chair. His erection was still almost painfully hard, jutting out in front of him, proud and pulsing.

 

“Let me inspect you,” Carson said, running a hand over Steven’s oiled, muscled back. He moved his hands all over his sub’s body, claiming him. “You’ve taken care of yourself – that’s good,” he said, reminding himself of the sheer joy of having all this hard flesh under his fingers. He stopped at Steven’s ass, taking his time to cup the globes of flesh and squeeze them. “You’ll serve me with this ass tonight,” Carson said. “I’ll make good use of it.”

 

“It’s yours, Master. Use it however you want,” Steven whispered, in a low, hoarse voice.

 

“I know it’s mine – and I’ll remind you of that fact too, over and over again,” Carson told him. “While I pump into you.”

 

Steven’s cock was desperately leaking pre-come but Carson knew he wouldn’t take pity on his sub just yet. Steven liked being asked to hold on – and Carson liked making him.

 

“On the bed, love,” he said, taking Steven’s hand and leading him over to the bed. He sat down on the bed and pulled Steven between his open thighs. Then he inspected his cock, running his fingers over it, making Steven shudder with need.

 

“Beautiful – keep holding it, love,” he ordered. Steven sighed, and pushed against him, clearly longing for the friction on his cock, making Carson chuckle. Even a well-behaved sub like Steven had his weaknesses.

 

“On your hands and knees on the bed,” Carson ordered. “Serve me with your hole, Steven.”

 

Steven obeyed eagerly, clambering onto the bed and raising his ass in the air, bracing himself on his hands and knees.

 

Carson climbed up behind him. He reached for the lube standing waiting on the nightstand, and spread it over his fingers. Steven’s hole was already open for him, and it didn’t take much effort to slip his fingers inside – to find it already lubed.

 

“I see you prepped for me, love,” he said.

 

“I’m yours, Master,” Steven replied. “All of me. It’s only right I should keep myself ready and open for you, so that you can take me whenever you want.”

 

“Good lad.” Carson’s cock reacted to the sight of Steven’s ass, held up in the air, ready and waiting for him, the pink hole stretched enticingly. Within seconds he was hard again. He ran his lubed fingers over his cock and then nudged it into Steven’s hole. Steven gave a gasp, and pushed his body back, impaling himself on Carson’s cock. This felt so good! Carson knelt there, trying to catch his breath.

 

“All right, Steven – serve me with this greedy hole of yours,” Carson said, and his husband needed no more prompting. He slid forward and then back again, keeping a steady, even pace. His interior muscles squeezed Carson’s cock as he went, doing all the work, milking Carson for all he was worth.

 

Carson rested his hands on Steven’s thighs, gripping tightly, as Steven moved back on forth. He loved the way Steven’s muscles moved under the skin of his back as he worked, loved watching his engorged cock disappearing into Steven’s body, and the way it felt as Steven worked it hard, drawing every last ounce of pleasure from his body.

 

Carson threw his head back and started moaning as his second climax of the evening drew close.

 

“Oh god, Steven…that’s good…I’m so close…serve me…oh yeah,” he groaned, and then he was coming again, deep inside his sub’s body. Steven gradually slowed, before coming to a complete stop.

 

“Good, Steven – that was so good,” Carson said. “You served me very well.” Steven positively glowed with the praise. “You can move forward now,” Carson said, and Steven pulled away from him, allowing Carson’s limp cock to slip out of his body with a satisfying little plop.

 

Steven turned, and knelt on the bed in front of Carson, eyes down, shoulders back, his pulsing cock still standing out proud from his body.

 

“Good lad,” Carson said. “Now – I want to watch while you bring yourself off.”

 

Steven nodded, and rested back on his heels, then took his hard cock in his hand, rubbing it fast.

 

“Slowly,” Carson warned. “I want to enjoy this. I want to watch you pleasure yourself.”

 

Steven gave a strangled little cry in the back of his throat and his frantic hand stilled, the quick strokes becoming slow. He threw his head back, a tiny rivulet of sweat running down his neck. “Good lad,” Carson said. “Keep working it.”

 

He sat himself down on the bed, bunching up the pillows, and rested his chin on his hand. He would have gladly taken Steven’s cock in his mouth and sucked him to climax, but Steven had done well this evening and he knew that if he kept the sense of service through to the end, his sub would love him all the more for it.

 

Steven’s hands were big, the fingernails always clean and well kept, and he moaned as his cock slid through his palm, slowly, the purple head emerging and disappearing. Carson sighed, drinking in the sight of his beautiful husband, kneeling naked and submissive on his bed, utterly without any kind of artifice, giving himself completely to his dominant.

 

“That’s it – that’s beautiful,” Carson said. Steven’s hand continued to do its slow work, his entire body shaking with the effort of not speeding up and increasing the friction. “Don’t come yet,” Carson warned, although he knew Steven would never come without being given express permission.

 

“No, Master,” Steven whispered.

 

Carson lay back down and gazed contentedly at his husband. He knew he was being a little cruel, keeping Steven on the brink for so long, but he also knew that some part of Steven loved it when he did this, and he was enjoying the show Steven was putting on for him.

 

The candles had burned down low and the room was in semi- darkness now, but he could still see Steven’s sweat-soaked body as he thrust his cock into his palm, over and over again.

 

“Please, Master,” Steven whispered at last.

 

“Not yet, my love,” Carson said. “Serve me some more. I want to see how long you can last.”

 

“Please!” Steven whimpered.

 

Carson rose up and crawled across the bed; he knelt beside Steven and kissed the side of his sub’s face. “Not yet,” he said. “You’re mine remember, Steven. Your body is here to serve me.”

 

“I know. I serve you. I do serve you, Master,” Steven whimpered, and Carson could feel his whole body convulse with the effort of not coming.

 

“Then keep going, give yourself up to me with no expectation of coming. Just think of my pleasure, in watching you,” Carson said.

 

He almost felt something change as he said that. Steven nodded, swallowing hard, and Carson saw him make that mental adjustment from being the Commander of the Daedalus, with all the responsibilities he bore there, to being Steven Beckett, beloved submissive of his husband. He was here to serve, to lose himself in that service, and by so doing to find his true inner being.

 

“That’s it – let it go,” Carson whispered, stroking Steven’s trembling body lovingly. “You’re mine now, let it go. Serve me, my love. Serve me.”

 

Steven’s body started to relax, and his movements became slower as he sank down into his sub-space – a place where he desperately needed to be. Carson smiled; they had been a long time apart and Steven needed this so badly. He needed the peace of being what he was in his heart – Carson’s willing sub, serving him.

 

Now there was no conflict. Steven didn’t beg any more; he was where he needed to be in his head. Carson stroked him gently as he worked his hard cock, now lost somewhere inside his own mind.

 

Carson honestly thought Steven could have held that erection and pumped himself all night with his own hand if he’d asked him. He didn’t intend to ask him – he allowed Steven to keep the rhythm for a long time, until he was sure his lover was deep inside his own sub-space, and then he took over, pushing Steven’s hand out of the way and replacing it with his own.

 

“Serve me with just your cock,” he whispered. “Hands behind your back.”

 

Steven obeyed instantly and Carson played with him for some time, revelling in the feel of all that hard flesh in his hand. Then he squeezed more tightly, going faster.

 

“Not yet, not yet,” he said, as he worked Steven’s cock hard. Steven was gazing straight ahead, lost, giving himself up entirely to serving Carson, however Carson wanted that service.

 

“That’s it, that’s good, you’re so good,” Carson told him. “Now – you can come. Now. Come.” He gave Steven’s cock two more hard strokes with his hand and then Steven was coming, so hard he could feel his entire body shuddering, his come spurting out everywhere. He was panting like a workhorse, his body covered in sweat, and he looked so happy.

 

Carson leaned against his husband, holding him up in the aftermath of his orgasm, and Steven rested against him, his big arms holding onto Carson while his breathing slowly returned to normal.

 

“That was beautiful, love, thank you,” Carson said softly, stroking Steven’s back gently. Steven drew back.

 

“Thank you,” he said, his dark eyes loving and sincere. “I’ll get a washcloth and clean you, Master,” he added, and Carson guessed that by the fact he was still addressing him as ‘Master’, Steven was in a happy place in his head and didn’t want to leave it just yet.

 

He nodded, and Steven got off the bed, returning seconds later with a warm washcloth. He cleaned Carson lovingly, and then took care of himself. Carson got into the bed and then lifted the covers.

 

“Come here,” he said. “Damn it but I’ve missed you so much, love.”

 

Steven got into the bed beside him, and wrapped his arms protectively around his top. Carson had found through being with Steven that he enjoyed this more than he would ever have expected. He leaned back against Steven’s shoulder, and felt Steven kissing him reverentially on his neck and the back of his head.

 

Then, sated, at peace, and totally and utterly content, Carson closed his eyes and drifted slowly off to sleep.

 

~*~

 

 

“Hi boss.”

 

Gibbs exited his bedroom into the lounge area of the NCIS suite and came to an abrupt halt. Tony was standing there, wearing a pair of tight black leather pants with a lace-up crotch that left absolutely *nothing* to the imagination, and a cutaway top that exposed his nipples. He was wearing heavy eyeliner and a hint of lip-gloss; a long silver and emerald earring dangled from his left ear and a silver band was snaking its way up his left arm.

 

“DiNozzo,” Gibbs said abruptly.

 

“Like my outfit for the festivities?”

 

“It’s fine,” Gibbs grunted. “If you want to be groped all night by leering tops.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” Tony grinned.

 

Gibbs gave another grunt and made his way into the smaller living room off to one side. He found Ducky there, surveying pages of notes set out in front of him on the coffee table.

 

“Ah, Jethro – you’re back,” Ducky said, glancing up. “Did you see what Anthony is wearing for this party on the mainland this evening? I do hope you’re not going to let him go out like that.”

 

Gibbs shrugged. “Nothing to do with me, Ducky. He’s a grown man and can wear what he likes.”

 

“Oh dear – he will be disappointed,” Ducky lamented. “I’m sure the outfit was chosen merely to provoke a reaction from you and it’s failed – so now he’s stuck with actually wearing it, in all its ghastliness.”

 

Gibbs shrugged again, and peered at Ducky’s notes over his shoulder. Ducky took his glasses off and glanced up at him.

 

“Seriously, Jethro, are you never going to put that poor boy out of his misery?” he asked.

 

“He knew what the deal was when I put my collar on him, Ducky,” Gibbs said, shifting uncomfortably. “Now, what have you found?”

 

Ducky’s blue eyes surveyed him keenly for a long moment and Gibbs stared back at him stonily. He wasn’t in the mood for this right now.

 

“All right, Jethro,” Ducky murmured. “But one of these days you and I are going to have a long chat about this.”

 

“The dead marines, Ducky,” Gibbs prompted pointedly. “What have you found?”

 

“I’m not sure. The bodies were all staked out on the floor in their quarters. The strange thing is…their throats were cut and then their insides were removed and very neatly placed in little piles next to the bodies. It’s almost as if the killer was performing his own autopsy. What I don’t know is – why?”

 

“Any drugs in their systems? Rohypnol? Any other kind of date rape drug?” Gibbs asked.

 

“No.” Ducky shook his head. “Admittedly Dr Beckett’s tox screening facilities are dissimilar to our own, although sophisticated in quite a different way. You would not believe some of the technology they have here! These ‘ancients’ whoever they were, were certainly an advanced civilisation. All these rumours we’ve heard over the years about the lost city of Atlantis and it turns out to be true! I must admit I had my doubts because it all seemed so preposterous and I wasn’t terribly supportive when Ra…” He broke off, and glanced at Gibbs with a little wince. Gibbs felt his gut tightening as he guessed what Ducky had been about to say. “Well, that’s another matter,” Ducky said hurriedly. “You know, if I had the time, I’d like to investigate…”

 

“Any sign of a struggle?” Gibbs interrupted.

 

Ducky considered that. “No. Ah, you’re wondering why these fit young marines didn’t put up more of a fight?”

 

“I’ve spent the day talking to the marines on this base and I found out that all the murdered victims were subs,” Gibbs told him. “And promiscuous subs at that; the kind of subs who wouldn’t turn down a one night stand if it was offered to them by a reasonably attractive top. That could explain it. Maybe they consented to the tying up, not realising what would come next.”

 

“Maybe.” Ducky nodded.

 

“Keep searching.” Gibbs rested his hand gently on the nape of Ducky’s neck and squeezed affectionately, and his old friend smiled up at him.

 

“You should be happy, Jethro. You deserve to be happy,” he said softly.

 

Gibbs shifted uncomfortably. “I’m not hurting anyone again, Ducky.”

 

“Yes you are. You’re hurting yourself – every single day. Can you deny that you care about Tony?”

 

“I care about all my subs, Ducky.”

 

“You know what I mean. He’d be good for you, Jethro – lighten you up a bit. You do have a tendency towards melancholy at times, you know. I understand why but the past is in the past – you have to let it go.”

 

“Can’t do that, Ducky,” Gibbs shrugged. “End of conversation.”

 

“You know I won’t let up until we resolve this, don’t you?”

 

“Nothing to resolve,” Gibbs replied briskly, irritated by Ducky’s continual need to discuss a topic he had no intention of discussing – not now and not ever if he could help it. “Now, I have a party to go to. You’re not coming?”

 

“No, I want to continue looking at these,” Ducky replied, waving at his autopsy notes. “Have fun.”

 

“It’s not pleasure, Ducky – it’s work,” Gibbs reminded him. “These people will let their guard down at this party, and we might end up finding something.” He gazed absently at Ducky for a moment.

 

“What is it, Jethro?” Ducky asked gently.

 

“Just…I have a bad feeling about tonight, Ducky,” Gibbs murmured. “Can’t place it but it’s not good.”

 

“You always listen to your gut, Jethro,” Ducky reminded him.

 

“I know – just can’t figure out exactly what it’s trying to tell me.”

 

He turned to go but Ducky called him back.

 

“Jethro – the quarrelsome children next door wearing your collars have just spent eighteen days cooped up onboard a very small ship,” Ducky told him. “Do let them have some fun tonight – it doesn’t all have to be about work.”

 

Gibbs rolled his eyes. “They can have fun, Ducky, just as long as they remember what we’re here for.”

 

His subs were all ready and assembled in the other living room when he returned. Ziva was clad in black leather pants and a silver vest top, hair tied back, a black earring dangling from one ear. She looked – dangerous. Gibbs made a mental note to keep an eye on her. Abby was wearing pretty much her usual garb, which was always a little avant-garde at the best of times – and she’d added some kind of all-over body glitter for special effect. McGee, in a navy polo shirt and stone-coloured chinos looked as unprepared as ever for anything that might involve him loosening up a bit around tops. And Tony, of course, looked the exact opposite.

 

“Okay.” Gibbs made a circuit of them, fastening on a leash at a time until he had them all in his hand. “Ducky has just reminded me that you’re all human, so by all means have some fun tonight. But no drinking, and remember that three marines have been murdered.”

 

“When you say ‘fun’ – does that include casual, meaningless sex with complete strangers?” Tony asked. Gibbs glared at him. “I’m just asking because, you know, I’ve just spent eighteen days cooped up with you guys with no hot tops in sight – present company excepted, boss – and, no offence, but I’m raring to get out there. New tops to meet, new positions to be tied up in – that kind of thing. I mean, this is my chance to have sex on a completely different planet!”

 

“The usual rules apply, Tony – you ask first and you stay safe. Apart from that.” Gibbs shrugged. “I don’t care who the hell you sleep with.”

 

He watched the flash of frustrated disappointment that spiked in Tony’s eyes at the lie he’d just told and wondered how this game could possibly end; Tony goading him, trying to push him into a response, any kind of response, and him riposting, cold and calculated, neither of them giving an inch. Maybe Tony thought he could break him, and that one day he’d just throw him over the nearest surface, rip off his pants and take him out of sheer exasperation – but if he thought that, he didn’t know Gibbs very well. His self-control was legendary – which was a good thing, because he was using every ounce of it dealing with Tony DiNozzo.

 

“Let’s go,” Gibbs said tersely, turning and walking towards the door. He rarely tugged on their leashes – it was up to them to keep up, and for the most part they walked behind him in unison, like the tightly ordered and well-disciplined little squad he’d taught them to be.

 

They made their way down to the puddle jumper bay, where a queue of people in brightly coloured party clothes were waiting to be ferried across to the mainland.

 

John Sheppard was directing people into various jumpers. He came up to them immediately.

 

“This one over here is for you,” he said, waving his arm at an empty jumper. “No need for you to wait in line.”

 

“Thanks.” Gibbs glanced at Sheppard’s uniform. “You coming to the party later?”

 

“I don’t think so. Rodney will kill me because the food is always really great at Athosian festivals and he won’t go if I don’t go, but no.”

 

Sheppard shook his head. His dark hair was mussed up in a way that Gibbs didn’t expect from such a high ranking military commander – he also didn’t like the way Sheppard slouched and loped. On the other hand, he’d heard nothing but good things about the man since he arrived, and his men all seemed to think that the sun shone out of his ass so Gibbs was prepared to cut the other top some slack until he got to know him better.

 

“Any reason?” Gibbs asked, watching Sheppard’s facial expressions closely.

 

“Nope.” Sheppard looked a little uncomfortable and something about his body language rang alarm bells. Gibbs handed his subs’ leashes to Tony, and took Sheppard by the arm, leading him off to one side.

 

“General, if there’s anything going on here then I suggest you tell me because if I find out later, well, let’s just say you won’t like it.”

 

Sheppard’s mouth quirked into a little grin. “Oh yeah?” he said. Gibbs held his gaze for a moment, while Sheppard fought a visible internal battle with himself between insolence and helpfulness. Finally, he sighed.

 

“Look, Gibbs…it’s not that I know anything. It’s just…look, the reason I didn’t want to say anything is because it sounds dumb. But…I just have a bad feeling about tonight. Something feels wrong and don’t go asking me what I’m basing that on because it’s nothing. Just…”

 

“A bad feeling in your gut?” Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah.”

 

They looked at each other for a moment. “I have the same feeling,” Gibbs said quietly. “Look – you stay here, Sheppard, keep an eye on the city, and I’ll go over to the mainland and keep an eye out over there. We’ll check in with each other every hour on the hour. That way we’ll cover the most ground.”

 

“Good.” Sheppard looked visibly happier.

 

“You do not have to solve this alone now, Sheppard,” Gibbs told him. “That’s what we’re here for.”

 

“I know. Just…this is my base, Gibbs, and these are my people. You have no idea what we’ve been through out here, the dangers we’ve faced…”

 

“Yes I do,” Gibbs told him firmly. “I’ve read every single report you’ve filed, General. Didn’t understand some of ’em I’ll admit, but I read all of them on the journey over here. You’re a brave man, and, what’s more, you care about your people – and that’s a quality I approve of. Now, work with me on this and we’ll solve it together.”

 

“Okay.” Sheppard nodded. “Okay,” he repeated, running a hand through his untidy mop of hair, making it stand up on end even more.

 

Gibbs fought down an urge to take a comb to it – Sheppard might be a top, but he reminded him a little of his own most exasperating sub, Tony DiNozzo. Both were brave and smart and allowed their external appearance to fool people into thinking they weren’t as sharp as they were; dangerous men to know, both of them, but good people to have on your side in a fight.

 

The mainland was warm, and there was a balmy breeze blowing. Several large fires were dotted around a beautiful bay, and there were already a couple of hundred people walking around, drinking out of earthenware goblets.

 

A beautiful woman approached him, and handed him a goblet with a little bow.

 

“Welcome to our feast,” she said. “May we be blessed with another year of deliverance from the Wraith.”

 

He took the drink and sniffed it suspiciously.

 

“It will not cause intoxication,” she told him. There was a tall man with dreadlocks by her side, and he recognised them immediately from Ziva’s description in their debriefing earlier. Teyla clearly liked to display her sub because he wore only some hide pants and a pair of tough looking boots – he was naked from the waist up, save for the plain, sturdy collar around his neck, and the glittering jewels in his nipples. “Those who wish to partake of something stronger should visit the tent over there.” Teyla nodded her head in the appropriate direction. “May I serve your submissives?” she asked.

 

“Sure.” Gibbs nodded. He kept them leashed all the same – he wasn’t prepared to let them go off-leash until he was sure about this place. He sipped the drink, which tasted like a particularly tangy kind of fruit juice and was clearly non-alcoholic, as she had promised.

 

“Deliverance from the Wraith,” an Athosian man said, passing them by and raising his goblet in their direction. Gibbs swung his goblet in the air at him in reply. He had never met a wraith but he’d read all about them in Sheppard’s reports. He could see why these people would want to celebrate another year of escaping their vampiric clutches.

 

“Oh my god – these are fantastic,” Abby was saying, pointing to the jewelled nipple rings Ronon was wearing. “See, Gibbs – it’s completely tasteful. I don’t know why you won’t let me go and have mine done,” she said, with a little pout at him.

 

“You can have them done if you want, Abby,” he told her, with a little shrug.

 

“Cool!” Abby’s eyes glowed.

 

“All I said was that you might want to wait until you meet the right top and have him or her do it for you,” Gibbs reminded her. “It’s an intimate thing, and you can only do it once. You don’t want to go to some cold, clinical branding and piercing parlour somewhere and then wish you’d waited.”

 

Teyla nodded, her dark eyes glowing in the firelight. “Agent Gibbs is correct, Abby,” she said quietly. She was a top of such quiet presence that everyone listened intently to what she had to say. “When I pierced Ronon, it was a special moment for us. I would have been disappointed if another top had already pierced him – or if he had arranged for his own piercing.”

 

“They’re just so pretty,” Abby pouted, her fingers curling and uncurling eagerly.

 

“You may touch them,” Teyla said, with a bow of her head.

 

“Cool!” Abby reached out and gently fingered the jewelled decorations. “Did it hurt when you were pierced?” she asked Ronon.

 

“Compared to being shot in the leg, or having a wraith tracker implanted? No,” he told her impassively.

 

Teyla smiled. “Ronon finds it easy to withstand physical pain. The issue for me was to make him feel something in the moment – not anger at being hurt, because he has been hurt too often in his life, but an understanding that by accepting that hurt at my hands he was offering himself to me, without rancour or reserve, and allowing me the special rights of a dominant over her submissive’s body. It was beautiful.” She leaned over and kissed each jewelled nipple with a kind of devoted reverence, in memory of the occasion.

 

Abby’s eyes glowed softly, sadly, in the firelight and Gibbs sighed, and ran a hand over her hair, stroking it gently. He wished he could make things right for her, and find her what she needed. She was too lovely to be so alone. Yet this was a choice she had to make for herself – if only she didn’t always choose precisely the wrong kinds of tops. He knew why she was attracted to the more abusive tops, and understood that her kind heart always stopped her seeing the bad in people when his own alarms would have gone off at first meeting.

 

“It is time for me to formally bless the ceremony,” Teyla said. “As our guests it would do me great honour if you would partake of the ceremonial ritual.”

 

“What does it involve?” Gibbs asked cautiously. Teyla laughed.

 

“Nothing more than standing with me,” she said.

 

They moved over to the largest fire and Teyla stood up on a small wooden dais and addressed the crowd.

 

“Welcome friends and fellow fighters against the Wraith,” she said, her normally quiet voice now commanding enough to be heard across the small bay. “We come together to mark another year in our fight against the Wraith, to celebrate the triumphs and mourn the losses. Celebrate your lives, dear friends, and remember those who are gone.”

 

She held up her goblet and then poured the contents into the ground. A buzz went up from the crowd and then everyone poured the contents of their goblets into the ground, murmuring their thanks or whispering the name of a loved one who had died during the year. Gibbs followed suit and gestured to his subs to do the same. Teyla clapped her hands and everyone fell silent again.

 

“We welcome Mara, sage and prophetess, to pronounce her tidings for the coming year,” she said, and a wizened old lady shuffled forward. An immediate hush descended and Gibbs glanced questioningly at Teyla, wondering what this was about.

 

“Mara is a sage – she helps our young people find their true path, and uncover the essence of themselves,” Teyla said. “For those who are unsure if they are dominant or submissive, Mara is always able to help. And for those who seek different kinds of answers, she can sometimes see into the mists that hide our future from us.”

 

“Yeah, we have those kinds of people too,” Tony muttered. “But we call ’em charlatans.” Gibbs reached out and pinched Tony’s ass, hard. “Ow,” Tony yelped. Gibbs gave him a warning glare.

 

“Mara – what does the year bring?” Teyla called.

 

Mara gazed around the crowd, her eyes glassy and unseeing. She waved her arms around and Gibbs could almost hear Tony’s eye-rolling.

 

“It will be a good year,” Mara pronounced finally. “The Wraith are in disarray, fighting amongst themselves. There will be losses among our people – but they will be few, and the Wraith will not cause them. And this I foresee! Rejoice people of Athos and our friends – rejoice!”

 

The crowd broke out into another round of clapping and then began to disperse, laughing and dancing as they went.

 

Mara turned again, and then stopped, her entire body quivering. She raised a bony finger and pointed it straight at Gibbs.

 

“Oh god,” Tony sighed. “More crap. Don’t believe a word of it, boss, unless she tells you you’re going to take a tall, dark handsome sub to your bed.”

 

“Quiet, Tony, or all that’ll happen is that I’ll take a long, dark, whippy crop to your ass,” Gibbs hissed.

 

Mara was walking towards them, that glassy-eyed stare still intent upon Gibbs in a way he was finding really un-nerving.

 

“You,” she said, coming to stand right in front of him. Her body was quivering and she looked quite insane. “I have met only a few like you. A Yedahl is rare – a blocked Yedahl ever rarer. You have known great loss though, I can see that,” she mused. “Still, a blocked Yedahl is a danger to himself and everyone around him.”

 

Gibbs stared at her impassively; he had no idea what she was talking about but there was something very compelling about her. It was impossible for him to take his eyes off her while she spoke to him.

 

“Now hear this, Yedahl. Hear this!” she hissed. “You came with five, but you will leave with only one.”

 

Gibbs felt a shiver crawl up his spine at her words. Then her wizened face crumpled into a frown.

 

“But first you must claim what is already yours – and only in the fire of extreme pain will you find the will to act.”

 

“Whatever the hell that means,” Tony muttered.

 

“Remember what I said! A blocked Yedahl will cause only pain wherever he goes, and he denies the world the gift of his true power. And you, who came with five, may leave with only one,” she repeated. Then she leaned in close, so close that he could smell the fruit drink on her breath. “Or you will not leave at all,” she added, in a low, chilling tone.

 

Then suddenly she was whirling around again, and her bony finger was pointing at someone else, and she was gone.

 

“What a sweet old lady!” Abby beamed. “And also kind of scary. What did it all mean, Gibbs?”

 

“I have no idea,” Gibbs said tersely. His gut feeling about this evening was turning out to be correct. He didn’t believe in fortune-telling or soothsaying or any of that crap but this woman had seriously un-nerved him.

 

“Well it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there’s five of us, and Gibbs arrived with us,” McGee pointed out.

 

“So it could be a threat,” Ziva said. “He leaves with one but arrives with five? Does this mean that four of us will die?”

 

The NCIS agents all looked at each other, and Gibbs felt a surge of protective anger at the thought of any of his people dying.

 

“Nobody threatened anyone,” he told them all sharply. “She’s just a harmless old lady. Now, it’s time we got down to some work. Go mingle, people – and find out what you can. And Abby – don’t go far. You’re not as experienced in these situations as the others.”

 

He released all of them from their leashes and watched them spread out into the crowd.

 

“I am sorry,” Teyla said coming over to him. “Mara meant no harm. She speaks only what she sees.”

 

“Okay.” Gibbs shrugged. “What does Yedahl mean? She mentioned that word a few times.”

 

“Ah.” Teyla nodded. “There are the Yeda – I am one – we who learn our path and come into our dominance in due course, usually as young adults. We struggle at first, but we learn to understand our dominant energy and channel it wisely; sometimes this takes great work and meditation, as we must strive first to master ourselves before we can master a submissive. We know that with our sexual dominance comes great responsibility but it takes us time to learn the limits of our own power. When we do, we find great peace within ourselves. We are the Yeda, and we are commonplace – I believe this is how it is for most dominants. However, then there are the Yedahl – Mara recognises that you are one and, from what little I have seen, I believe she is correct.”

 

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

 

“Yedahl are simply born, and you are rare,” Teyla explained. “Yedahl have an understanding of who they are from a very early age. You do not need to search, meditate or soul-seek. You inhabit your dominant energy from childhood. It is as natural to you as breathing. For you there is no struggle – you are already your own master and have high standards for yourself. There are submissives born the same way – we call them Sedahl. They understand inherently that their nature is strength and look only for a dominant who can help them express themselves to the fullest extent. If they do not find such a dominant then they often self-destruct, spiralling wildly out of control. They need grounding – they are special people and often accomplish great things. When a Yedahl and a Sedahl find one another, it is a thing of great beauty – but very rare.”

 

“She said I was blocked,” Gibbs murmured, not believing any of this stuff but intrigued by it all the same.

 

“I cannot speak to that,” Teyla replied. “I do know that a Yedahl must express his or her dominant energy or else it turns in on them, causing great pain. A blocked Yedahl is dangerous indeed – a Yedahl must express their dominant sexual energy in a safe, loving partnership, or else it will destroy them and those around them. Only you know if this is true though.”

 

Gibbs glanced across the crowd, and caught sight of Tony, in his tight pants, flirting with a tall, graceful Athosian top. He was so used to the knife stab in his gut that he barely acknowledged it.

 

Sometimes though…sometimes, at night, he had dreams where he was covering Tony’s body with his own, driving his hard cock into Tony’s warm, welcoming ass. He dreamed of kissing Tony’s mouth, of making those teasing eyes smoky with need and eager with submission. He dreamed of merging with his beautiful sub, their bodies moving as one as he rode Tony hard until they were both quivering with pleasure.

 

Gibbs woke from those dreams covered in sweat, and a heartbeat away from driving to Tony’s apartment, forcing his way inside, and taking what was his; and Tony *was* his damn it.

 

He felt an age-old need churn in his gut, demanding his attention. It would be satisfied only by him finding a submissive who reciprocated his energy and passion, and with whom he could truly be himself.

 

The merging, the melding…it called to him, a fierce ache deep inside. If he relaxed his self-control for even a moment it rose up, insisting that he claim Tony as his own and make it damn clear to his wayward sub that he was never, ever again to flirt with any other dominant.

 

And yet, if he wouldn’t bed Tony how could he blame him for seeking pleasure elsewhere? It wasn’t fair on Tony to deny him that. He was an attractive sub and a natural flirt – of course other tops would be interested in him and of course Tony needed that.

 

Gibbs dragged his gaze away and found Teyla staring at him, a sympathetic look in her dark eyes.

 

“I see how it lies with you, Yedahl,” she told him kindly. “And I hope that one day you find a way to be who you truly are.”