ROK May 7th FIC: P.O.W., Mac Taylor/Leroy Jethro Gibbs, NC17, CSI:NY/NCIS
Title: P.O.W.
Author: CPWatcher
Pairing/Characters: Leroy Jethro Gibbs/Mac Taylor, CSI:NY/NCIS
Rating/Category: R
Spoilers: None really.
Prompt: Each painful crack of the cane brought a new angry line racing across an already bruised and battered back, and a muffled moan from two mouths.
Kink: POW Torture (non-explicit mention of beatings)
Prompter: tanzensiemitA/N: Had this started a long time ago, finally getting it posted. How it fills the bill. Also, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.
P.O.W.
He’d been there three days before they hauled the other prisoner in, beaten, bruises all over his naked body, varying in shades from angry red to mottled purple. He wasn’t foolish enough to move towards the man until the guards left, having done that previously and suffering an additional beating of his own for his trouble. When the door was shut and the lock thrown, Taylor went over to the man.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Gunnery Sgt. Gibbs, sir.” Jethro’s voice was a hoarse rasp against his dry throat.
“Well, Gunny, I’m Lt.Commander Taylor. I’m going to pat you down, see if anything’s broken.”
With quick skilled hands, Mac checked over the man, speaking to him in a low voice, while assessing his injuries.
Gibbs groaned when the hands ran over his ribs. “You think they’re broken, Marine?”
“No, sir. Just hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“They worked you over pretty good. You must have put up one hell of a fight," mused Taylor, as he wrapped Jethro's body in a flimsy blanket.
“They wanted to know where the rest of my team was. They didn’t believe me when I told them they were dead," Gibbs spat out.
“I’m sorry to hear that."
Gibbs surveyed the small cell they were in. It was more like a closet really, dark and cramped. The floor was solid concrete, infused with the smell of urine, feces and blood. And something else that had become all to familiar to Gibbs. The stench of death. He saw the prone body in the corner.
Taylor watched as Gibbs took in his surroundings. When they lit upon the body he spoke. “PFC Monroe, 23, from Georgia. They broke his ribs, pierced his lung. He was a good kid.”
“Bastards!” Gibbs said, coughing around his dry throat. Mac grabbed the single canteen of water his captors had thrown in and placed it to Gibbs lips, offering only several swallows.
“Sadistic bastards,” Taylor replied. “They don’t just want to torture us, they want to humiliate us as well.”
Gibbs' eyebrows rose in question. Mac nodded down towards his own blanket. “They keep us naked. The water or the food is laced with drugs, not sure which, probably both. Least that’s what I suspect. Doesn’t really matter though, because you got to eat and drink.”
“Fuck! What kind of drugs?” Gibbs asked as he tried to sit up further.
“Some kind of stimulant. Makes you hard. Painfully hard. I think they got a camera on us, watching. Watching our reactions to the beatings, to the drugs. Sick bastards.”
“Watching our reactions?” Gibbs questioned cautiously.
“Psychological warfare. Beat you, wear you thin, drug you, then subject you to humiliation, trying to break you. Trying to kill you, slowly, painfully. Don't worry about it. We're going to make it out of here. Rescue teams are on the way." Gibbs gave Mac a slightly dubious look. "No man left behind. Rescue will come. We just have to stay alive until it gets here. You get some rest, gunny. You're gonna need it for when the beatings start."
~#~#~#~#~
Day ten for Mac, seven for Gibbs and the beatings had become a regular non-regular occurrence. At various times of the day and night the guards would come in and pull either man out, chain him to the wall opposite the cell and beat him with a cane.
Gibbs had kept count as best he could and determined that there were at least five other POW’s in the facility. He found out that two of them were Taylor’s men. They had taken Monroe’s body the day after Jethro was put into the cell, left it hung on a fence outside the building where the POW’s could see it as they were being tortured.
Gibbs had mouthed off to the guards about it and got an extra severe caning, as well as a few punches to the face.
“You have to stop antagonizing them, Gunny.You’ve got to keep yourself alive.”
“What the fuck for? So they can keep beating the hell out of me until they fucking kill me. Until they drug me up so fucking much I’ll hump the wall for them every time they put the cane to my back?”
"Look, Marine, they are going to find us. We just have to stay alive so there is someone here to rescue. Understand?”
Gibbs made no comment. “I said, do you understand, Gunnery Sergeant?" Mac voice, in full command mode, brooked no argument.
“Sir, yes sir.” Gibbs replied.
“Get some rest.”
Gibbs huddled down, Mac laying next to him. Sighing inside, Mac understood Jethro's concern. Who rescues the rescuers?
~#~#~#~#~
He almost didn’t hear the sound, an almost muffled strained groan to his right. Taylor feigned sleep and listened for the next crack of the cane. With the loud shout of the prisoner outside the cell, Mac heard the low whine on the inside as well. He turned his head slowly, and watched as Gibbs' body hunched forward rhythmically. He knew the other man was trying to rub himself off, the drugs making him hard at the most unusual of times. Mac had first hand knowledge of how difficult it was to ignore the erection after an unbearably long time. He’d succumbed to the inevitable on more than one occasion, vigorously stripping his cock to completion fast and hard to minimize any show for his captors.
He’d seen Gibbs do the same thing. But this was something different. Mac could tell something was wrong. Mac turned so he was on his side, his front just inches from Gibbs' back.
He spoke in a whisper. “Gunny. Gunny, you ok?”
Gibbs voice was low, strained, urgent. “No. No Sir,” Jethro groaned as the sound of the next strike of the cane and yell from the prisoner in the other room seemed to move like an electric charge over his body. “No. Not ok, not ok, damnit.”
It was then that Mac realized it had been more than thirty-six hours since they’d last taken Gibbs out for a beating. Over thirty-six hours where all Gibbs heard were the sounds of the cane whizzing through the air, the strike as it connected with skin, and the grunts that quickly morphed into cries of pain. And for more than thirty-six hours Gibbs had been inside his own head.
Taylor’s voice was firm. “How deep are you?”
“I..”
“Tell me boy. How deep are you? What do you need?"
Gibbs bowed his head in shame. “I need it to hurt. I can't cum... I need... I need the pain."
It was a reckless thing to do, Mac knew it. But if they came in and took Gibbs now, before he came down, they would surely break him. Mac couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen. He closed the distance between Jethro’s body and his own, throwing his blanket over their bodies.
He spoke in Gibbs' ear even as he pressed his thumbnail into one of the welts on Gibbs back. “You hear me, boy. You hear my voice, feel my touch.”
Gibbs groaned quietly. “I know what you need, boy. I’ll take care of you. I'll give it to you, give you the pain, make you whole, keep you sane. But you don’t fall again until I tell you to. You understand?”
When Jethro doesn’t respond immediately, Mac dug his fingers harder into the stripes on his back. "I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
“Sir, yes sir," Gibbs groaned out through gritted teeth.
"Under different circumstances boy, I’d take my time, break you slow, hurt you good, bend you to my will. Under different circumstances I'd make you mine. I promise you, when we get out of this, one day I’ll show you what a real caning feels like. But for now, for now I need you to do as I say. I want you to come for me boy. When I tell you, I want you to come for me."
Mac pressed his body tight against Gibbs, hearing the other man fight the moans trying to escape his lips. He reached his arm around and swatted Gibbs' hand off his dick. Gibbs was hard, hot and heavy and Mac knew without even looking that he had to be a painful purple. Mac rubbed his thumb across the tip eliciting a groan from Gibbs. He released Jethro's dick and reached further down and gripped his balls tightly, pulling down on them and eliciting a pain-filled hiss from Gibbs' lips.
“Can’t take you now boy. Can’t split that tight ass open and sink down in your heat.” Mac returned his hand to Gibbs' dick and stroked him ruthlessly, while pressing the nails of his other hand into the welts on Jethro's back. He timed his strokes to the lashes of the cane. "They tortured you here, boy. But when we’re out, when we’re free. I’ll turn your pain to pleasure. I’ll take you so damn far out of your head, you won't know your own fucking name, boy. Then I’ll tell you one word and make you release it all for me."
“Now” Mac said, giving a vicious twist and pull to Gibbs' cock. Both men groaned as the sound of the cane rained down on the soldier in the outer room. Mac’s hand over Gibbs mouth muffled most of his cries of completion.
Mac soothed Jethro into a fitful sleep, keeping vigil over the other man. He didn't know how long they had before rescue arrived, if rescue arrived. How ever long it took Mac vowed he would see this Marine through as much as he possibly could, before they both became just another causality of war.
~#~#~#~#~
Rescue came in the form of a precision Marine strike force in the middle of the night two days later, the sound of gunfire filling the corridor. The door to their cell burst open and their guard aimed and shot, hitting Mac in the left shoulder as he turned to shield an unconscious Gibbs, who was just deposited into the room after another vicious beating. Mac tensed for the kill shot that never came, his captor instead taking a bullet to the head. Taylor went in and out of consciousness as they were air-lifted from the compound.
~#~#~#~#~
Mac’s injury garnered him a ticket to the states. The day before he was set to be sent home he received a visit.
"Gunny. How you holding up?"
"Fine, sir. Thank you, for what you did, for everything," replied Gibbs.
Mac shook the extended hand. "You shipping back out?"
"Yes, sir. Got a flight in twenty."
Mac looked long and hard at Jethro. "You watch yourself out there boy. You keep your ass out of trouble. You hear me. That's an order."
"Sir, yes sir," Gibbs replied, raising his hand in salute. Mac smiled slightly and saluted. He watched as the Marine turned on his heels and left the hospital area, knowing he'd likely never see Jethro again, but praying all the while that the man would be safe.
~#~#~#~#~
Mac was home two days before he even attempted to empty his rucksack. The little folder piece of paper he found balled up in one of his socks only has two words scribbled upon it and it made him smile. "Rain check." He knew one day he'd see Gibbs again and he would keep his promise. They both would, because they were Marines.
End
Author: CPWatcher
Pairing/Characters: Leroy Jethro Gibbs/Mac Taylor, CSI:NY/NCIS
Rating/Category: R
Spoilers: None really.
Prompt: Each painful crack of the cane brought a new angry line racing across an already bruised and battered back, and a muffled moan from two mouths.
Kink: POW Torture (non-explicit mention of beatings)
Prompter: tanzensiemitA/N: Had this started a long time ago, finally getting it posted. How it fills the bill. Also, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.
P.O.W.
He’d been there three days before they hauled the other prisoner in, beaten, bruises all over his naked body, varying in shades from angry red to mottled purple. He wasn’t foolish enough to move towards the man until the guards left, having done that previously and suffering an additional beating of his own for his trouble. When the door was shut and the lock thrown, Taylor went over to the man.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Gunnery Sgt. Gibbs, sir.” Jethro’s voice was a hoarse rasp against his dry throat.
“Well, Gunny, I’m Lt.Commander Taylor. I’m going to pat you down, see if anything’s broken.”
With quick skilled hands, Mac checked over the man, speaking to him in a low voice, while assessing his injuries.
Gibbs groaned when the hands ran over his ribs. “You think they’re broken, Marine?”
“No, sir. Just hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“They worked you over pretty good. You must have put up one hell of a fight," mused Taylor, as he wrapped Jethro's body in a flimsy blanket.
“They wanted to know where the rest of my team was. They didn’t believe me when I told them they were dead," Gibbs spat out.
“I’m sorry to hear that."
Gibbs surveyed the small cell they were in. It was more like a closet really, dark and cramped. The floor was solid concrete, infused with the smell of urine, feces and blood. And something else that had become all to familiar to Gibbs. The stench of death. He saw the prone body in the corner.
Taylor watched as Gibbs took in his surroundings. When they lit upon the body he spoke. “PFC Monroe, 23, from Georgia. They broke his ribs, pierced his lung. He was a good kid.”
“Bastards!” Gibbs said, coughing around his dry throat. Mac grabbed the single canteen of water his captors had thrown in and placed it to Gibbs lips, offering only several swallows.
“Sadistic bastards,” Taylor replied. “They don’t just want to torture us, they want to humiliate us as well.”
Gibbs' eyebrows rose in question. Mac nodded down towards his own blanket. “They keep us naked. The water or the food is laced with drugs, not sure which, probably both. Least that’s what I suspect. Doesn’t really matter though, because you got to eat and drink.”
“Fuck! What kind of drugs?” Gibbs asked as he tried to sit up further.
“Some kind of stimulant. Makes you hard. Painfully hard. I think they got a camera on us, watching. Watching our reactions to the beatings, to the drugs. Sick bastards.”
“Watching our reactions?” Gibbs questioned cautiously.
“Psychological warfare. Beat you, wear you thin, drug you, then subject you to humiliation, trying to break you. Trying to kill you, slowly, painfully. Don't worry about it. We're going to make it out of here. Rescue teams are on the way." Gibbs gave Mac a slightly dubious look. "No man left behind. Rescue will come. We just have to stay alive until it gets here. You get some rest, gunny. You're gonna need it for when the beatings start."
~#~#~#~#~
Day ten for Mac, seven for Gibbs and the beatings had become a regular non-regular occurrence. At various times of the day and night the guards would come in and pull either man out, chain him to the wall opposite the cell and beat him with a cane.
Gibbs had kept count as best he could and determined that there were at least five other POW’s in the facility. He found out that two of them were Taylor’s men. They had taken Monroe’s body the day after Jethro was put into the cell, left it hung on a fence outside the building where the POW’s could see it as they were being tortured.
Gibbs had mouthed off to the guards about it and got an extra severe caning, as well as a few punches to the face.
“You have to stop antagonizing them, Gunny.You’ve got to keep yourself alive.”
“What the fuck for? So they can keep beating the hell out of me until they fucking kill me. Until they drug me up so fucking much I’ll hump the wall for them every time they put the cane to my back?”
"Look, Marine, they are going to find us. We just have to stay alive so there is someone here to rescue. Understand?”
Gibbs made no comment. “I said, do you understand, Gunnery Sergeant?" Mac voice, in full command mode, brooked no argument.
“Sir, yes sir.” Gibbs replied.
“Get some rest.”
Gibbs huddled down, Mac laying next to him. Sighing inside, Mac understood Jethro's concern. Who rescues the rescuers?
~#~#~#~#~
He almost didn’t hear the sound, an almost muffled strained groan to his right. Taylor feigned sleep and listened for the next crack of the cane. With the loud shout of the prisoner outside the cell, Mac heard the low whine on the inside as well. He turned his head slowly, and watched as Gibbs' body hunched forward rhythmically. He knew the other man was trying to rub himself off, the drugs making him hard at the most unusual of times. Mac had first hand knowledge of how difficult it was to ignore the erection after an unbearably long time. He’d succumbed to the inevitable on more than one occasion, vigorously stripping his cock to completion fast and hard to minimize any show for his captors.
He’d seen Gibbs do the same thing. But this was something different. Mac could tell something was wrong. Mac turned so he was on his side, his front just inches from Gibbs' back.
He spoke in a whisper. “Gunny. Gunny, you ok?”
Gibbs voice was low, strained, urgent. “No. No Sir,” Jethro groaned as the sound of the next strike of the cane and yell from the prisoner in the other room seemed to move like an electric charge over his body. “No. Not ok, not ok, damnit.”
It was then that Mac realized it had been more than thirty-six hours since they’d last taken Gibbs out for a beating. Over thirty-six hours where all Gibbs heard were the sounds of the cane whizzing through the air, the strike as it connected with skin, and the grunts that quickly morphed into cries of pain. And for more than thirty-six hours Gibbs had been inside his own head.
Taylor’s voice was firm. “How deep are you?”
“I..”
“Tell me boy. How deep are you? What do you need?"
Gibbs bowed his head in shame. “I need it to hurt. I can't cum... I need... I need the pain."
It was a reckless thing to do, Mac knew it. But if they came in and took Gibbs now, before he came down, they would surely break him. Mac couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn't let that happen. He closed the distance between Jethro’s body and his own, throwing his blanket over their bodies.
He spoke in Gibbs' ear even as he pressed his thumbnail into one of the welts on Gibbs back. “You hear me, boy. You hear my voice, feel my touch.”
Gibbs groaned quietly. “I know what you need, boy. I’ll take care of you. I'll give it to you, give you the pain, make you whole, keep you sane. But you don’t fall again until I tell you to. You understand?”
When Jethro doesn’t respond immediately, Mac dug his fingers harder into the stripes on his back. "I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
“Sir, yes sir," Gibbs groaned out through gritted teeth.
"Under different circumstances boy, I’d take my time, break you slow, hurt you good, bend you to my will. Under different circumstances I'd make you mine. I promise you, when we get out of this, one day I’ll show you what a real caning feels like. But for now, for now I need you to do as I say. I want you to come for me boy. When I tell you, I want you to come for me."
Mac pressed his body tight against Gibbs, hearing the other man fight the moans trying to escape his lips. He reached his arm around and swatted Gibbs' hand off his dick. Gibbs was hard, hot and heavy and Mac knew without even looking that he had to be a painful purple. Mac rubbed his thumb across the tip eliciting a groan from Gibbs. He released Jethro's dick and reached further down and gripped his balls tightly, pulling down on them and eliciting a pain-filled hiss from Gibbs' lips.
“Can’t take you now boy. Can’t split that tight ass open and sink down in your heat.” Mac returned his hand to Gibbs' dick and stroked him ruthlessly, while pressing the nails of his other hand into the welts on Jethro's back. He timed his strokes to the lashes of the cane. "They tortured you here, boy. But when we’re out, when we’re free. I’ll turn your pain to pleasure. I’ll take you so damn far out of your head, you won't know your own fucking name, boy. Then I’ll tell you one word and make you release it all for me."
“Now” Mac said, giving a vicious twist and pull to Gibbs' cock. Both men groaned as the sound of the cane rained down on the soldier in the outer room. Mac’s hand over Gibbs mouth muffled most of his cries of completion.
Mac soothed Jethro into a fitful sleep, keeping vigil over the other man. He didn't know how long they had before rescue arrived, if rescue arrived. How ever long it took Mac vowed he would see this Marine through as much as he possibly could, before they both became just another causality of war.
~#~#~#~#~
Rescue came in the form of a precision Marine strike force in the middle of the night two days later, the sound of gunfire filling the corridor. The door to their cell burst open and their guard aimed and shot, hitting Mac in the left shoulder as he turned to shield an unconscious Gibbs, who was just deposited into the room after another vicious beating. Mac tensed for the kill shot that never came, his captor instead taking a bullet to the head. Taylor went in and out of consciousness as they were air-lifted from the compound.
~#~#~#~#~
Mac’s injury garnered him a ticket to the states. The day before he was set to be sent home he received a visit.
"Gunny. How you holding up?"
"Fine, sir. Thank you, for what you did, for everything," replied Gibbs.
Mac shook the extended hand. "You shipping back out?"
"Yes, sir. Got a flight in twenty."
Mac looked long and hard at Jethro. "You watch yourself out there boy. You keep your ass out of trouble. You hear me. That's an order."
"Sir, yes sir," Gibbs replied, raising his hand in salute. Mac smiled slightly and saluted. He watched as the Marine turned on his heels and left the hospital area, knowing he'd likely never see Jethro again, but praying all the while that the man would be safe.
~#~#~#~#~
Mac was home two days before he even attempted to empty his rucksack. The little folder piece of paper he found balled up in one of his socks only has two words scribbled upon it and it made him smile. "Rain check." He knew one day he'd see Gibbs again and he would keep his promise. They both would, because they were Marines.
End