Drakein. Part1
Title: Drakeî n; to see clearly
Series: Hc Svnt Dracones
Fandom: NCIS (original series)
Rating: PG 12/14 - few minor swear words in this part.
Character(s): Anthony DiNozzo
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t own them, never happened, never going to.
AN: Will form part of a series with various crossovers but can stand alone. The first story in the series, it actually falls chronologically towards the end of the middle of the arc. Contains a small hint to one of the crossovers in a blink and you’ll miss it kind of way.
Part one
The feeling of restlessness after weeks cooped up on board what amounted to a floating city; admittedly one without a much of a (legal) nightlife and limited legitimate entertainment facilities, did not really come as much of a surprise to (Very Special) Agent Afloat Anthony ’Tony’ DiNozzo. It was not like he had never spent time aboard a ship before; pretty difficult really given his line of work, however the odd hours and occasional day/over-night stay here and there simply could not have prepared him for the mind-numbing tedium of being tied to one rather tiny cabin, cum office, day in and day out for weeks on end.
Considering its sheer size he had actually seen less of his floating home/prison than one would expect for the kinetic agent. Sticking mainly to his office during official ‘Office Hours‘, his quarters, the mess, gym, Captain’s office and the labyrinth of interconnecting gangways comprised the extent of his territorial wanderings. This was partially due to the status afforded to the role he now occupied. Even the thickest skinned Agent was at least partially aware that whilst their job was viewed as fundamental for the continued smooth running of life aboard ship, the job title i.e. The FED, or Nark, overshadowed the person filling the position and as such went down about as well as an Undertaker trolling for business at a Wedding, when it came down to socialising among the enlisted personnel.
Tony tried to stay in touch with his ex-team mates, however replies to e-mails started to become fewer and farther between; there was only so many ways to avoid saying how much you hated your life in general and how you really, REALLY did not want to be here! Brutally and effectively cut off from his friends and support network, and home comforts (i.e. home cinema system and extensive DVD collection), Leon Vance had known exactly what he was doing when he had exiled one Tony DiNozzo.
Although ‘technically’ a promotion, with corresponding hazard and unsociable hours pay bonuses, like there was anywhere Tony could spend his unwelcome gains in the middle of the ocean! Tony was fully aware that his posting was meant as punishment for the part he had played in Director Sheppard’s hidden agenda and subsequently politically damaging death with accompanying official cover up; like he hadn‘t been punishing himself enough already over the whole torrid affair whilst fighting the fallout of a shattered heart too.
Realistically, somewhere deep down in the pits of his subconscious Tony knew that the ‘out of sight out of mind’ posting had the potential to take some of the rising pressure off his career. Internal Affairs had surely started to get sick of him by now. Two false accusations of murder and one dead Federal Agency Director were reason enough to haul butt the heck out of Dodge for a while, before his badge started to tarnish. He’d seen it happen before; throw enough mud at the cleanest of agents or police officer and eventually some it would stick no matter how clean and by the book they really were.
Just because Vance had seen fit to inadvertently cut him a break, before one might add he burnt out and completely lost the plot, did not mean he had to like the tooth pick crewing prick. Was it any wonder that on his first land fall since shipping out on the USS ‘My boat’s bigger than yours!’ Tony quickly found himself a hotel, complete with the three B’s - a Bar, Beer, and Babes.
Whilst technically off duty Tony was still mentally restricted from figuratively letting his hair down and cutting completely loose by a 24/7 ‘on call’ status and so limited himself to a single shot of whiskey and one alcohol free beer which he nursed for over an hour accompanied by a spot of mild flirting with the native bar staff, just to keep his hand in.
Being stuck away in a traditionally institutionally homophobic testosterone fuelled environment did little to restore his hibernating libido; which had been flagging more than a little since the whole Jeanne debacle. Even flirting with the barmaids seemed more effort than it was worth, so when the night-life started to pick up Tony found himself unusually turned off by the sight of bodies writhing on the dance floor to a thumping electronic bass line.
Beer bottle well and truly empty he wasn’t surprised to find it gone and his table already re-occupied upon his return from the men’s room. Taking it as a sign to cut his losses for the night Tony decided to head back, alone, to his hotel room and its wonderful civilian sized bed, with its soft sheets and blankets and of so soft mattress which had not chance of rocking or swaying beneath him.
Always keeping an eye out for potential trouble, Tony left the bar in good order, if not spirits, and made his way through the port’s peaceful streets intending on making good the remainder of his evening with a spot of good old fashioned bed appreciation. However, before he had made it more than half way to his intended destination something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.
Turning to investigate he ignored the garish neon sign of a drug store and concentrated on the view through the plate glass window of the shop next door. Unconsciously studying the framed flash sheets covering its white tiled walls he was struck by an ache in his chest, one of deep rooted home sickness as the varied designs and styles reminded him painfully of a certain Gothic lady.
He stood frozen for several minutes alone in his memories before his mind was able to break free and set his body in motion, not back to his soulless hotel room as he had intended by through the heavy shop door and into the brightly lit studio.
The realisation what he was about to do caused Tony to balk for all of a second, just long enough for his stomach to clench tight before being over-ridden by bravado, or maybe it was sheer stupidity, he never was later able to say for certain which.
A few quiet words with the artist in residence and several rough sketches later; Tony was privately amazed how easily it was to subvert drawing skills developed for painstakingly recording crime scenes, as he found himself calmly stripping his shirt off to lay face down, whilst his back was shaved clean.
The clean sharp smell of the disinfecting agent and the snap of latex gloves preceded the waspish machine buzz. The sharp stinging of sterile needles entering his skin initially burnt through his pain receptors, zinging in response to adrenaline heightened senses, but in short order the noise and pain/pleasure melded into a hypnotic numbness that pervaded both his mind and body.
At what point pain turned into a perverse sort of pleasure it was impossible to say; enhanced by the careful hands holding his skin taunt and the regular firm but gentle swipes of disinfectant soaked cloth, combined with the basic human need for physical contact, i.e.. simply to touch and to be touched; something he had not had the pleasure of since his exile and abrupt departure from DC.
Sitting inverse, astride the ancient looking barber’s chair, his head resting against his arms where they draped over the back, Tony smiled ruefully to himself as he felt an unmistakable tightening in his groin as his body responded to the unusual stimulation.
Feeling oddly relaxed despite the weird circumstances, Tony was content to remain still, enjoying the slow burn of his semi hard penis where it lay against his stomach, trapped between his body and the soft denim of his perfectly broken in jeans, the zipper’s metal teeth cool in comparison; their heat leeched into the cold leather of the chair back.
A sudden cessation of all sound from the compressor seemed shockingly loud in a twisted kind of way, rousing Tony from his peaceful state. Taking several long seconds just to breathe deeply before awkwardly turning against the sting of damaged flesh, he checked his back where if reflected in a mirror which the artist kindly held up for just that purpose.
Happy with the result of nearly two hours work, Tony handed over his cell phone to the red-headed young man, its built in camera utilised to capture a quick picture of his back, in all its glorious wounded and bloodied state before he was bandaged up and sent on his way with a tube of topical cream and a list of strict care instructions for his purchase.
That night in his lonely hotel bed, Tony dreamt turbulent dreams, of hot leathery wings wrapping him in a warm embrace and a great roaring filling his soul..