2. Discipline

Percy sat in his office with his phone to his ear, rolling his eyes as a half-choked Carla made her case for her attacker, the young ex-soldier that was fast failing Division's less physical tests, Roan. Carla made this excuse and that, but Percy knew her real reasons. The first was that she and Amanda had never agreed on Roan's candidacy for the program, and she needed a victory over his new star psychologist. The second was that Carla had a special fixation with the handsome youth, a point Percy could understand but thought was droll. She doted on him like a mother, having no idea that Roan had abhorred his mother and would never respect any woman because of it.

Percy sighed, tuning Carla out. What Roan needed was a father. His own father had died in the service when he was four, which was why Roan had joined the Marines in the first place, at age eighteen. For a time, the discipline of the military and the male-oriented society had been enough for Roan, but eventually his killer nature and inner anger had overtaken him. The rejection of his squad, men he had seen as surrogate father and brother figures, had broken him.

Only another surrogate father, a stronger one than those sensitive pretenders had been, could put the pieces back together.

Percy gave Carla some empty assurances, and hung up. He sat considering. Up until now, he had been canceling any would-be agent that failed any of the rigorous tests, mental and physical alike. He had not thought twice about these decisions. Yet, he hesitated to cancel Roan. There was a spark of strength and cruelty in his eyes that Percy thought could be useful, if only reigned in, and he also knew Roan looked up to him.

The man smiled to himself. He was no better than Carla. She had a soft spot for Roan, and he had a soft spot for the way Roan's admiration stroked his ego. Carla was fascinated by his cruelty, Percy was impressed by it. Carla thought he was cute, Percy found him to have the allure a baby shark might have for certain violence-oriented marine biologists. Carla was drawn in by the pain he was hiding, Percy was tempted by the challenge of exposing that pain, seeing the unshakable youth flayed raw by his own buried emotions.

The door buzzed, and Percy pressed a button to unlock it. The guards came in, dragging Roan in with them, both arms restrained. Roan was unharmed, and Percy guessed he had not put up a fight, for his sake. How adorable.

Percy lifted a hand. "Leave us." The guards left, and Percy turned his gaze to Roan. He stared at the youth long and hard. "Come here."

Roan came forward, head lifted, hands behind his back. Percy almost expected a 'Yes sir!' from him. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, but he stifled it quickly. Roan absolutely could not know that this was all a familiar game to Percy, one that he had been playing for years. Roan had to believe he was daddy's sole naughty little boy, his center of negative attention, or he would grow resentful and rebel, forcing Percy to cancel him. And that would be a waste- if not a waste of an agent, a waste of a diversion.

Percy got to his feet, pulled his jacket closed and buttoned it. He looked coolly at the youth. The long pauses served to create tension, and they were good for the perpetually calm young man. He needed to reflect on his mistakes, worry about what was coming; it would give the punishment more impact.

"What did you do?" Percy inquired.

"It won't happen again. I didn't mean to, she just-"

"Ah!" Percy cut him off sharply, holding up a hand. "Tell me what you did. No excuses. You're too direct for that, Roan."

Roan drew a breath. Despite his mechanical exterior, he felt a sense of dread deep in his gut that was new to him. Trepidation, and … fear? Was that possible? He had gone through almost a full tour in the Middle East without feeling fear. He had been numb from childhood to adulthood, not even fearing death save for those last moments awaiting execution in the military prison. Why was this different?

"I was in therapy," Roan said tonelessly. "Carla started talking to me about my childhood. I lost my temper. I moved her up against the wall and put my arm over her neck. Security came. I didn't fight. They brought me here."

Percy nodded, paused again. He looked down, then brought his gaze back up to meet Roan's eyes. Though his face did not change, Percy could see through the youth's eyes that he was shrinking inside.

"You have a problem with institutions, don't you?" Percy said. "School, juvenile hall, even the institution of the military, you've found a way to piss your way out of all of them. And now Division?"

Roan swallowed. "It won't happen again," he repeated, more quietly. "I don't want to get out of Division. I love Division. I just can't do the psych sessions."

"Oh. Oh, you 'just can't'. Mm." Percy nodded. "Well, Roan, you should know that I 'just can't' have agents without the proper mental structure. The fate of the country's security rests upon the work Division agents will do, and the fate of Division rests upon how good we are for the country's security. Understand?"

Roan's face fell. "But sir-"

"Yes? Go on." A bit cynically, Percy added, "Speak freely, soldier."

"It's stupid," Roan blurted out. He frowned, and looked very young suddenly, like a difficult child trying to explain himself. "I am psychologically sound. You have my file, you know I had my reasons for what I did."

"Your reasons?" Percy laughed, unamused. "You terrorized your company, lost sight of your mission for the sake of personal enjoyment, and then killed your entire squad when they took issue with your little pleasure trip. You had reasons! Who cares!"

Roan's eyes widened behind the shield of his glasses.

Percy pointed at him. "Your reason for all of it, from cradle to near-grave, is that you are an animal: merciless and cruel, untamed."

Roan's hands tightened behind his back. He was almost being called a monster again, and this time it hurt. His temper began to rise inside him, as it always did when he was rejected. Percy was no longer his savior, just another double-talking old man.

"Now that natural viciousness can serve you, if you learn to control it," Percy told the youth. "But you've never had any interest in controlling it, have you? No, you relish shocking with it. It boosts your ego, it turns you on. But that killer instinct is a gift, not something to be whored out for shock value. Don't you see that?"

Roan scowled.

Percy pounded his fist on the table hard, and the sullen look vanished from Roan's face instantly. "Look at me when I'm talking to you," he said evenly, though stern. "You're a child. Without structure, you'll remain a child: a rebellious teen-man never able to use his gifts to his own benefit. It's a waste."

Roan stepped forward. "How can you say that to me?" he asked angrily. "Do you know how many people I've killed? The things I've done? How can you possibly call me a child?"

Percy's hand shot out so fast that even with his recent training, Roan was unable to avoid it. Percy's palm slapped across his cheek with spectacular force, sending his glasses flying straight off. Percy came around the desk before him.

"Because you are!" he snapped. He grabbed Roan by the front of his cement gray sweatshirt. "You are nothing but an unruly child reeling against the world in place of your parents. Well, guess what, kid?"

For once, Roan's face was devoid of its control. He gaped at Percy in shock, his cheek distinctly handprinted, his eyes actually moist. Percy's face remained harshly set, but inside, he was smiling; it felt good to take control of this one, the strongest of them all.

"Guess what?" Percy hissed again. He shook his recruit. "You want a parent to rebel against? Well, you got one. Go ahead. Rebel against me."

Roan's shock gave way to rage. He took hold of Percy's hands, which were surprisingly strong. He faltered briefly, but then his temper took over. He broke off the older man's grasp, and struck out at him. To his greater shock, Percy blocked his attack, stepping back into a defensive position. Roan hesitated. Was the old man bluffing? His movements were not those of an amateur or a pretender.

Roan picked up his glasses and put them on, never taking his eyes off Percy. Then, he returned, and tested him with a few jabs, which Percy blocked or deflected. While he was still uncertain of whether to take the fight seriously or not, Roan was jabbed in the stomach. He winced, stepping backwards.

"What?" Percy asked innocently. "Did you think daddy couldn't hold his own?"

Irritated that he had been caught off guard, Roan set his mind to the fight. He went at Percy in earnest. They traded shots, but Percy managed to get the second one in as well. Roan went in close, trying to kick his balance off while going hand-to-hand with him in a rapid succession of movements. Percy took a hit, but more than held his own.

"You go in too hot," Percy told him. He blocked a few more hits, and swiped at Roan's cheek without too much force; he didn't want the kid unrecognizable, after all. "You'll go cold fast like that. And then what?"

It was true. Roan felt the rush of his temper draining, and it was replaced by uncertainty. He made more of an effort, and lasted a while due to his talent, but finally Percy began to overtake the fight. The anger resurged, and Roan went at the Head of Division more viciously.

Percy decided it was time to end the fight before Roan got too confident and got him with a serious hit. He dodged a straight punch, and grabbed Roan's arm in both hands. He twisted it behind Roan's back so far it nearly fractured. Roan grunted in pain, and then cried out shortly in agony. Percy walked him back to the desk and slammed him face down over it. Roan struggled, but the attempts were disorganized.

"I could break it, you know," Percy told him. "If you had me in this position, I have no doubt you would snap my arm like a twig. Do you know why I am not going to break your arm, Roan?"

"Nrrghh," grunted Roan. He stopped struggling before his arm bent in the wrong way and snapped. "No."

"Because I am a man, not an animal," Percy said. "And that has nothing to do with evolution or genetics or any BS like that. It's a choice. For men like you and me, it's a discipline."

"You're nothing like me," Roan seethed. "Nothing!"

"No? What do you think I am? Hm?" Percy twisted Roan's arm so hard the man screamed and pounded his free hand on the desk. "Tell me!"

"You're a fucking bureaucrat!" Roan shouted hoarsely. "You were born rich and you'll die rich! The hell do you know about a killer instinct?"

"You stupid, stupid brat," chuckled Percy. "You don't know a goddamn thing about me."

Roan screwed his eyes shut in pain. Though he was enjoying himself, Percy felt a tinge of something other than sadism towards the youth. His eyes traveled his strained arm, which would splinter soon, and then took in the whole of him. He was impossibly hot in the man's grasp, even through their clothing Percy could feel the heat rising off of him. His neck and ears with flushed from exertion and humiliation, very bright against his pale blond hair. His strong shoulders were heaving from his deep breaths. He was nearly there, but Percy wanted more than ever to see him break. He wondered how vulnerability would look on that hard face of his; he had only glimpsed it after the slap, but he liked what he saw.

"I'm not some entitled heir to a seat on the Senate," Percy said, more honest than he had expected to be with this fast-failing recruit. "I came from nothing. I've had to crawl my way up, fight for every ounce of respect I get, and it's never enough. No matter what I do, I'll never be as respected as those that have done nothing but be born to the right parents."

Roan was still, listening intently. Again, he should have doubted the man, but the sincerity rang true to him.

"Do you think there weren't times when I wanted to take my weapon and spray every single one of those shitheads with its fire?" Percy asked. "Of course I did! But why didn't I?"

"Because … you're not an animal?"

"But why?"

Roan twisted his head around to look over his shoulder at Percy. "Because you chose not to."

"Exactly," Percy said, pleased to be getting through to the youth. He relieved the pressure he was putting on his arm just slightly. "I taught myself this discipline early on, because I saw how far it could take me. A killer instinct is a valuable tool, but it must be honed, reigned in, focused, or it's only going to turn against its wielder. That level of ruthlessness is a gift, but it sets us apart from the herd. Do you need any more allegories to spell it out for you?"

"I get it," Roan said. "I understand. But I don't know if I can hide … who I am. I thought I was hiding it, by being no one, by saying nothing, but that only made it worse."

"You don't know how, because you haven't been taught." Percy released him, allowed him to stand, and then turned him so they faced one another. He took the young man's scarlet face in both hands, met his eyes. "I'll teach you. I will teach you everything I know, but you have to let me. You have to submit to the rules of Division, all of them. Can you do that?"

"I want to," Roan said, anguished, searching Percy's eyes. "I do."

Percy sighed. Roan would never be an agent, so much was clear. It broke his heart to see the pain in those eyes, the longing for a place that would accept him and give him some kind of purpose, no matter how dark. Percy knew he should cancel the kid right there, but he found that he could not. There was value in him, he found himself insisting as emphatically as Carla ever had. He simply had to find a way to use it.

Percy squeezed the youth's face, then lowered his hands to his shoulders. "Then, I may be able to make some allowances for you, if you truly mean it," he said. "But I won't waste time giving you special attention if you aren't going to change. You have to make an effort."

"I will."

"You have to try."

"I will."

"Roan, I taught myself discipline, but you aren't capable of that, are you?" Percy said, not really asking. "I can teach you, but you have to subject yourself to my lessons. Starting today."

Roan shifted on his feet, glancing down at them for just a second in a boyish manner.

Percy lowered his head to catch the youth's down-turned eyes. "You must be punished for your outburst today, and you will continue to be punished for any such action after. Can you submit to that?"

Roan looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, quietly but firmly, "Yes."

Percy's eyes lit, and he smiled slightly. The expression passed, though not the glint in his blue eyes. "Good. Good."

Roan stared at him uneasily as the man went around the desk. He unlocked and opened a drawer, spent a moment going through things. After a minute, he removed a long, heavy leather strap, much wider across than a standard belt. Roan frowned deeply. Was he for real?

"If you're serious, then let's begin your lessons," Percy said. "Take down your pants and briefs, then put your hands on the arms of that chair and bend over."

"What?"

"You heard me."

They stared at one another over the desk, the strap between them. Roan turned his head in a half-inquisitive, half-discerning expression.

"Oh, I'm serious," Percy answered the look. "Why so surprised? Isn't this exactly what you've been begging someone to do since your fatherless childhood? What you've been daring someone, anyone, to do with you? Everyone else looks at you and sees a sadistic, apathetic monster. All I see is a bitter, angry boy screaming for a father's attention."

He had come around the desk, behind Roan. He suddenly slammed him down on the desk top again, holding him there with a hand gripped tightly at the back of Roan's neck.

"Well, you have it," he said harshly. "The only question is, are you going to face it like a man? Or are you going to run away from it, like you've done your entire miserable life?"

Roan grunted, but did not struggle. His face was burning with a humiliation he had never experienced before. At the same time, a streak of admiration for the man ran through him; he had never thought there was anyone strong enough to make him feel this humility and shame. Through the muddled emotions confusing the usually cold young man, one thought above all rang clear.

"I don't want to fail this program," Roan said. He shifted, the tension leaving his body, leaving him entirely defenseless: submissive, like a wolf rolling onto its back. "I don't want you to hunt me down and put a bullet through my skull because I failed. I don't want to be 'canceled'."

Percy frowned. "What do you mean? Canceled means out of the program. Why make such dire inferences from-"

"Don't." Roan lifted himself up an inch, glanced over his shoulder at Percy. "There's a shift in cadence and tone when a person uses a term that's doublespeak for murder. Even an expert like you can't hide the inference. If you're canceled, you're killed. The world thinks we're dead already, doesn't it?"

Percy raised his eyebrows. The youth was sharp. He did not disrespect him by denying it.

"Do what you have to do," Roan said quietly. "Punish me, teach me, I don't care. Just don't cancel me."

It was a simple plea, stated without melodrama, without tears, but it was sincere. Percy smiled, relieved that Roan saved himself with his compliance. This was one troubled student, but he was prepared to give him special attention. He did not quite know why, but Percy felt there were qualities Roan possessed that would make him worth the effort.

"All right, then." Percy released Roan, trusting him to keep himself in the position. "Don't get up. Reach back and take down your pants and briefs. Go on."

Roan lifted himself up enough on his elbows to obey the command. In that moment of baring himself so fully, there was more intimacy than any sexual encounter he had ever had. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his shaking nerves, and eased back over the desk fully. He felt ludicrously vulnerable, the office's cool air on his bare skin. His face burned with humiliation.

Percy took a moment to set aside his detached professionalism, and enjoy the benefits of being in authority. The youth had pulled his sweatpants down to just beneath the curve of the buttocks, but Percy could see the strength of his thighs, thick and taut, leading up to his rounded, ample ass. Percy smiled, looking over the smooth, pale, uninterrupted flesh beneath him, pristine before its inevitable contact with the strap. He wanted to reach out and squeeze the youth, but knew he had to maintain the illusion of respectability and purpose.

Percy gripped the strap's handle in his hand tightly. Fueled more by sexual tension than actual sternness, he was nonetheless stringent as he drew the strap back and let it crack against Roan's buttocks. The leather left an angry red stripe, three inches wide, across Roan's buttocks. The youth jumped violently, but did not make a sound.

"Impressive," Percy remarked. He swung back, and broke another whack against the young man's backside. "I would have expected more of a reaction from a man that's never even been spanked before."

"Was that-" Roan paused to flinch. "-in my file?"

"Yes, your juvenile psychiatric reports," Percy said. "Your mother detested you, but she was unable to reach out to you physically. She could not even bring herself to strike you. By the time your unfortunate generation was even conceived, corporal discipline had been abolished in every government system, most educational systems. No one ever knew what to do with you, and those that did did not have any legal means of doing it."

Roan stared blankly at the desk and the office, at Percy's empty chair. The strap burned fire into his skin. It shocked him how much it hurt, after he had spent so much time and energy strengthening his body with the rigorous Division combat training. His skin tingled with hot, stinging pain. His throat was tight and his eyes watered, but he did not let himself cry.

"So, you were shuffled around, caged when necessary, as you were caged by your mother in the basement for days on end when she was too afraid of you," Percy went on monotonously. "Repressed by force, and isolated by force. It caused emotional disconnect, which was fueled by your overactive ego: the world only falls into place when it revolves around you. That is why you are in such dire need of a reality check."

Roan pressed into the desk, trying to retreat from the relentless strap. He blinked back the tears as best he could, but they were near to spilling over. All he wanted to do was release all the years of pent-up emotion and bawl, but he could not. In a way, he did not even know how.

Percy began to comprehend this as the beating went on. He was not satisfied with Roan's quiet agony, he still wanted him broken beneath him. He decided to change tactics. He paused in the punishment, and after a moment, ran a hand over Roan's bottom soothingly. The raised welts were outlined with white, the rest a throbbing, bright red.

Roan inhaled deeply, and broke into a ragged pant. The kindness was worse than the pain. It was inexplicable, but the comfort was what cut through his layers of defense, pierced straight through to his heart. He felt small and unworthy of it; in that moment, he would have given anything to resume the whipping.

Percy sat on the edge of the desk, beside Roan's half-prostrate figure. He rustled a hand through Roan's blond hair. "It's why you're in such dire need-" He turned Roan's face by the neck towards his own, looked earnestly into his eyes. "-of human contact."

Percy gave him just enough comfort with his sympathetic gaze, his hand lingering on Roan's head, before he stood up again and resumed the beating. The shock of going from punishment to comfort and back again had the desired effect: this time, Roan found it harder to stifle his emotions, and Percy could almost hear him choking on them.

Percy held nothing back this time, striking the youth as harshly as possible. Roan squirmed uncontrollably, burying his face in his arms. As he moved, Percy noticed a glimpse of his genitals when his thighs parted, enticing him, bringing his arousal to a fever pitch. He knew he would make that mistake, knew that at last the excitement of total control over the young and lost would take hold of him. He sighed, half in disappointment and half in pleasure.

"Go ahead, son," Percy said. "Let it out."

Roan gasped down a deep breath, his eyes hot and uncomfortable from the unshed tears. His vision blurred. Percy rubbed his bottom heartily, and then sat on the edge of the desk again. He set the strap down, and brought his palm against the youth's bottom a few times. Feeling the disapproval so personally, Roan at last began to crack. He made a few indescribable sounds, moving his arm across the desk to shield his eyes. Percy could see the effects of a childhood spent hiding one's emotions, and he found it … tragically attractive.

Percy got to his feet, crossed his arms, studying the wonderfully lush marks covering Roan's backside. "All right," he said. "All right. Get up. It's over."

Roan sniffled, hoisting himself up on his arms. The arm Percy had twisted gave, and he half-fell back on the desk. Blushing, he forced himself to stand upright, hastily pulling his sweatpants back up to cover the smarting welts. He turned and looked at Percy, face blotchy, mouth turned down childishly.

Percy found him to be indescribably lovely. Roan's face was miserable, caught in a frown deeper than a man his age should be able to produce, and his eyes alone were shining beacons of hope and need. Percy loved seeing this rudimentary predator submitting to him, acknowledging him as the stronger species. It was primal and cruel- beautiful.

"There, there." Percy took Roan's face into both hands. All he wanted was to taste those tears in his mouth as he wrapped his lips around the youth's mouth. He rubbed off some tears from the corners of Roan's eyes with his thumbs as he surveyed his face. "It's done."

Roan was actually trembling from the effort of fighting his emotions. As Percy touched him, he stilled, exhaled shakily. Percy moved his hands from his face to his neck, down to his shoulders. Roan coughed, his shoulders shrinking beneath Percy's grip, and he leaned forward. He could not quite make contact, so Percy subtly moved him closer. Without even noticing he was being pulled, Roan stepped forward on his own, and threw his arms around his boss.

Percy lustily felt the youth in his arms, his hands wandering Roan's strong, broad back, down to his trim waist, his face brushing into his hair and neck. He was impossibly warm in his arms, and so young.

Percy could not contain himself anymore. He turned Roan's face to his own, and crushed his lips into the youth's. Roan recoiled at first, an instinct from years of never letting himself go unless it was on his own terms. Percy grasped him commandingly, and his resolve gave. He kissed Percy back, deeply, without restraint, and the Head of Division knew he had him.

"Wait."

Roan pulled back, dazed. Percy took him by the arm and led him to the hidden elevator in the back of the room. He punched in a code, and the doors opened. They went in, and were delivered to Percy's private suite in seconds.

"You have a room here."

Percy smiled. "Of course. You didn't think Division's show-runner was the only one sleeping off the premises, did you?"

Roan looked around as he walked into the room. He ran his hands over furniture, glanced at the few photographic artworks framed on the walls. The room had a false warmness, in its richness of wood finishes, but there was a distinct feeling of impersonality. Roan, being spartan in his own tastes, approved.

The bed was large, luxurious, and given much more attention than the rest of the furniture. Percy met Roan's gaze, snorted in amusement, and went to the bar on the side of the room. "Would you like something? For the sting, maybe?"

Roan shook his head. "No."

Percy poured himself two fingers of whiskey. "Brave boy." He poured another glass, extended it to Roan. He did not want any last nerves to ruin this for him. "Come on. I won't think any less of you for it."

Roan took the glass. He looked in it, and gulped it down in one go. Alcohol had little effect on him, but the slight buzz of it coursing through his veins felt good. Percy reached out and removed his glasses, set them on the table. He took the glass and poured the young man another drink.

"I don't want you to think this has any bearing on our professional relationship," Percy said, trying to hang onto the last of his dignity. "That beating was not foreplay. I will not always comfort you, I will do things that make you hate me, often, repeatedly. Do not think for a moment that this means you're in the clear."

"I wouldn't even want to be with you-" Roan downed half of his fresh drink. "-if you would give me any less."

Percy smiled. Roan was a sharp tool meant to be used, and he was intelligent enough to know it; he did not bother with inane pretensions to more power, the way Amanda did. It was such a tender age he was at, and yet he completely understood himself; even if he did not like some of his qualities, he accepted them. It took a great deal of inner strength to reconcile one's reality with what one wished themselves to be.

Percy set his glass down and moved Roan's drink from his face. He kissed the youth voraciously, and it was returned, more than matched. When he drew back, his eyes were full of purpose and resolve. He began working on Percy's tie, undid it quickly and set to unbuttoning his shirt. Percy took no action, content to watch him and all his exuberance.

Once he was sufficiently aroused by Roan's tongue wandering down his bared chest and neck, down his stomach, almost to the crotch Roan's hands were busily trying to reveal, hands at his slacks' zipper, Percy took charge. He removed his own belt, unzipped his own pants, and took Roan by both wrists.

With a pleasure laced with greed, Percy maneuvered Roan through the room, to the bed. Roan grinned, the first time Percy had seen even a trace of a smile on his face, and kept kissing and biting at his superior. Percy allowed it for a few minutes, and then turned Roan to face the bed, and bent him over it. He easily brought down Roan's sweats and briefs, for the second time that day.

The puffy welts lining Roan's buttocks gave Percy a renewed sense of dominance, and he clenched at them with both hands. Roan flinched away from the kneading at first, then leaned into it. He tripped as he tried to kick his sweats and briefs off from around his ankles, clumsily falling over the mattress, making his position all the more undignified. Percy held him there lightly, opening a nightstand drawer and removing a bottle of lubricant.

"It's perfectly normal to be anxious," he told the youth as he slathered the liquid on. "It's rather obvious you've never done this before. With a man, I mean."

"I'm not scared."

It sounded juvenile, but Percy could tell it was genuine. "No, you're not. It's the lack of ever having any fear that's driven you so far in your rebellion, isn't it?" he remarked. "You're a tough kid." He pulled back Roan's head by his blond hair. "I appreciate that."

Roan opened his mouth to speak, but Percy entered him them, and his words were cut off with a soft gasp. His head was released, and he bowed it into the sheets, which he grasped in his fists. He felt violated in some way, in a way he never had during sex before; there was no struggle to impress or interest to feign, only a perversely humiliating gratification.

One of the last things Percy thought before his common sense was lost entirely, was that the line had been crossed, and there would be no going back from here. He knew enough to worry for a second, before losing himself in the undeniable pleasure.