Hot

Title: Hot – A Sullivan’s Base Story

Author: Ranger

More than anything, Jordan loathed night duties.

He flopped over in Sullivan's bed, leaned his chin on his hands and glared into the darkness of Sullivan's bedroom.

"Yes, you can sleep here." Sullivan had told him an hour ago as he changed into uniform, cutting off the scowl with a firm kiss that suggested any more whining would be unwise. "I'll be back at six, with the whole morning off. We can make up for it then."




"Big, fat, hairy deal," Jordan said sullenly, and yelped as his lover's hand contacted sharply with his bottom. "Ow! Jake, that's MEAN!"




"My shifts are clearly posted up in the kitchen," Sullivan said sternly, "It's not like they come as any surprise to you."




"You're the captain of the block for Pete's sake," Jordan yanked his lover's tie out of reach and stalked away to the window with it, arms folded. Unhurriedly, Sullivan got up and followed him, hand outstretched.

"Which gives me more responsibility, not less. Tie, please."

"For WHAT? They're all locked up by now, they're in cells until morning, what are they going to do that means YOU have to be there instead of your grunts?!"

Sullivan's hand closed on his wrist a split second after the word made it out of his mouth, and Sullivan towed him without hurry to the bed, unhindered by Jordan's struggling.

"Jake, no! NO! It's not FAIR!"




Sullivan took a seat and lifted his hissing, spitting partner off balance and over his knee, tucking him firmly enough under one arm to prevent him diving headfirst for the carpet. The other hand found its way under Jordan's shirt and tugged down the tight, closefitting briefs to half-mast.

"We are not going to do this every time I go on night shift, Cary Jordan. If necessary I'll swap shifts and do a week of nights so we get in plenty of practice."

Jordan squirmed, trying to lever himself up on his partner's hard thigh. Sometimes he had the suspicion that Jake used this position as a bargaining tool in itself, well aware that with his rump bare, upturned and all too easily accessible, he was a good deal more cautious about releasing his impulse to scream at full blast.

"This is NOT fair! This isn't debating!"




"You weren't debating, matey boy." Sullivan's hand ran over his backside, warning him that his voice was rising. "You were shouting."




"I had good reason for shouting, I HATE you going on night shifts!" Jordan yelled, losing his temper.

"Done?" Sullivan inquired politely. Jordan twisted, trying once more to wriggle off his lap.

"NO! They don't NEED you on night shift!"




"Done now?"

Jordan scowled at the floor, folding his arms as best he could over the captain guard's lap. Sullivan shook his head.

"Do you really want to add sulking to the list, Jordan?"

Jordan didn't move. The captain guard caught a brief glimpse of the pout that could wither flowers, aimed at the floor. It slipped, fast, at the sound crack of his hand across Jordan's upturned behind.

"Jake, don't! I'm sorry! Don't, pleeeeeease!"

"My guards are not 'grunts', young man, and I don't like hearing them called that," Sullivan pointed out, landing five more sound and accurate swats across the rapidly-pinkening bottom. "They are actually highly-skilled career men with a good deal more qualifications than you have at present."




"I'm sorry," Jordan pleaded, "I won't say it again-"




"Good. I also don't like listening to stamping, whining and shouting when things don't go the way you want."

Jordan shut his eyes, tears starting to fill them as six more sound spanks landed, not in the least deterred by his kicking.

"I'm sorry, Jake, dooooooon't, please-"




"And I don't like sulking. Which is something I think you know."




"I do!" Jordan said hastily. "I'm sorry, I won't, I promise! I'll be good, I won't make a fuss about night shifts any more; I swear I won't."




It was amazing how rapidly Jordan's erratic moods focused in this position. Sullivan emphasised his point with three more sound swats to the now bright pink bottom over his lap and slid Jordan to his feet, holding his arms.

"Good. Are we done?"

"We're done," Jordan promised immediately. His eyes were bright and watery, and he was gulping a little, but he was clearly very sincere. Sullivan got up and stripped him of shirt and briefs, pulling the dress tie out of his hand before he pushed his lover gently across to the bed.

"Good boy. Don't watch TV all night. I'll be back by six."




Jordan climbed under the covers but clung, pulling until Sullivan sat down and bent his head, wrapping both arms tightly around the slight, curved body of his partner. Jordan buried his face in Sullivan's shirt, inhaling deeply. All the scents that meant Jake, the soft bass growl in his ear that was more comforting than anything else in the world.

"It's all right, sunshine. It's okay."




"I HATE when you're gone all night," Jordan said a lot more plaintively into his neck. Sullivan ran both hands down his back, rubbing soothingly along the curves of his spine. Slight and fluid as a dancer, his Jordan.

"It's an important time to be on duty. Sometimes night is the best time for counselling. A lot of the inmates feel less inhibited at night, more ready to talk."




"So let them talk to other people!"




"It's my job; it's my block and my inmates," Sullivan said firmly. "And I pull the same number of night shifts everyone else does, that's also my job. Go to sleep, I'll be back before you wake up."

"How am I supposed to sleep when you're not here?" Jordan demanded crossly.

Sullivan grinned, sliding one hand under the covers to pinch the still hot bottom.

"I'll remind you of that the next time I have to prise you out of bed."

And now here he was. Abandoned and alone while his lover wandered around the halls of forty convicts. All of whom were probably fast asleep and not in any need of the guards on duty.

Jordan rolled over, giving a tentative rub to his bottom. Still slightly tender, but he was well aware he'd got off easily. Which meant Jake wasn't cross exactly…. And Jake not cross was a Jake open to persuasion. Padding to the window, Jordan pushed the blinds apart. Across the quad, the lights of the block corridors were clearly visible.

************************************************

The block was peaceful at this time of night. Jake made one more walk through the halls just before midnight , glancing through each room's perspex window in turn. Each room was quiet, most were dark. A few inmates were reading, one at the end of the hall was engaged in his nightly series of sit-ups which Jake knew from experience could go on for hours. The rest were peacefully asleep since the day's routine was active enough to wear out most of the young men in their care. The guard at the night duty station looked up as Jake passed and gave him a wave. His camera screen and the speaker in front of him were scanning in ten second bites from room to room to room and would do all night. Not so essential on this block which took the emotional and behavioural disturbance cases, but a precaution taken anyway throughout the base. On Orange block which took referred suicide risk prisoners from prisons country wide, they ran as fully-staffed at night as they did during the day. The two other guards on duty were in the big foyer off the residential corridors, playing snookers at one of the tables. Sullivan nodded to them and stopped to pick up a coffee from the machine, taking it with him into his office. He shut the door behind him and elbowed the light switch, carrying the coffee with him towards the desk. And froze as he saw what-

-         who

was on top of it.

Jordan had clearly come direct from bed- usually fastidious as a cat; his sleek hair was tousled in a way that Sullivan found all the more appealing. He was wearing one of Sullivan's shirts and nothing else, which was far too big for him and draped over his much more graceful frame, buttoned from about the mid-chest down, and he was lying full length, his chin propped on his hands, his ankles crossed in the air behind him like a little boy watching TV.

Except there was no mistaking Jordan in any way in this position or this outfit, as being a little boy.

Several curves were distinctly visible beneath the hem of the fabric: bare, flawless curves that made Sullivan's throat tighten. And the expression onJordan's face was anything but innocent. Perfectly well aware of the effect he was having, Jordan rolled over, propping his head on his hand, and smiled.

"I thought you might be ready for a break."

Sullivan swallowed, curbing his baser instincts and following them up with a deep rush of tenderness for his lover sprawled out in front of him, without any awareness at all of the inappropriacy of time and place. His sheer clarity was enchanting. There were no shades of grey in Jordan, no artfulness, no social conventions; he just went directly to where his impulses led him. And it made him ever vulnerable.

"That was a nice thought," Sullivan said gently, putting down his coffee and going to the desk. Jordan reached for him and Sullivan pulled him to the edge of the desk, kissing him deeply and very firmly, taking his time. And then lifted him down to the floor with a regretful pat to the slender curves draped in the stolen shirt.

"I'm on duty, honey. And you shouldn't be here at this time of night."

"I missed you," Jordan purred, wrapping both arms around him. Sullivan returned the hug for a moment, then as his brat's hands wandered, gently captured them and peeled him off.

"Hey. I want you to go back to my room, get back into the position you were in on my desk and don't move a muscle until I come off duty. I'll be there the second this shift finishes. And don't worry if you fall asleep, I'll wake you."




"Nothing wrong with now," Jordan slid his hands through Sullivan's, trying to pull his head down. "It's quiet. It's dark. No one's going to disturb us….."

Damn he was beautiful. For one moment- just one- Sullivan was tempted. And then pushed the thought away with an effort. Jordan did not cope without absolute, clear boundaries: he needed yes or no. Not maybe, not sometimes. Another man would see this as a one-off- his brat would regard it as a precedent and have to explore every possibility, every limit to which it could be pushed- he wouldn't be able to help himself. Within a few weeks this would become a major issue and it wasn't fair. It wasn't even kind.

Regretfully, Sullivan picked Jordan off his feet for a moment, hugging him tightly and snatching one last kiss, then put him down and collected the scattered clothes on the small couch in the corner.

"Come on, honey. I'll see you across the quad."




"No!" Jordan held onto him, ignoring the held out boxers. "Come on, no one'll know- lock your door if you're worried!"




"Jordan, it's not going to happen." Sullivan sat him down and sighed as Jordan promptly curled into a tight, undressable ball. "You want to walk across the quad like that?"

Jordan gave him one brief, suspicious look. He'd been on the base only two weeks when Sullivan had made him attend breakfast in the canteen wearing pyjamas, following a refusal to dress. Sullivan gently pulled the sweater over his head.

"I'll be there in- less than six hours. And we can take our time, no rush, a lot more comfort, and do things properly."




"We can do things properly here! Jake no one's going to see……."




"I'm on duty." Jake pulled Jordan to his feet to get his jeans on. Jordan swiped them out of his hands. 

"You mean you don't want to!"




"Stop right there," Sullivan said sternly. "I'm saying not when I'm on duty and that's final. Back to bed with you, get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

"You'll be lucky!" Jordan spat, grabbing his shoes. Sullivan gripped his elbow, turned him back and held him by the shoulders, bouncing, spitting and writhing, ducking his head to cover a furiously pouting mouth with his own.

"I think that most mornings. This was a nice idea, but I'm on duty and this isn't the place. Come on, I'll walk you back."




"Don't bother!"

Jordan twisted out of his arms, arms full of clothes, and stormed out, and Sullivan grabbed the door just in time to stop it slamming. And sighed. He followed Jordan at a discreet distance, watching his brat storm through the main doors with his arms full of clothes, and a minute later stalk across the darkness of the quad.

Most likely Jordan would take refuge in his own room for a thorough sulk until he fell asleep. More than sympathetic for hurt feelings, Sullivan glanced at his watch, marking the time. At ten past six, whichever bed his brat was in, he fully intended to be there too and to make sure that by eleven minutes past six Jordan had no idea what he'd been upset about. 

**********************************************************

It stayed a quiet night. The sit-ups finally ended shortly before 1 AM , all the lights went out and when Jake walked down the line of windows at ten past one, all forty of his charges seemed to be soundly asleep. He'd reached the foyer where the two guards had finally stopped their snooker game for coffee and a chat, when the silent alarm light went on above the door. With the quiet footfall of long practice, Jake jogged back down the hall to the night duty station. The guard there was on his feet, hands on the windowsill, looking out over the quad. He nodded at the window as Jake reached him, indicating a dull red glow towards the residential block.

"Something's on fire."




"The residential block?" Jake grabbed the phone up, dialling the internal number for the front desk. The guard shook his head.

"It's on the quad itself."

The front desk, when phoned, reported that the base security team were investigating the fire. Five minutes later two of the team buzzed at the secure entry doors to Red block. Between them they held a smoke-stained and triumphant Jordan Dayne.

***************************************************

Jordan, still triumphant, stalked around the holding cell like a peacock in full display, still dressed in very little and attracting many appreciative glances from the security team as they left. Jake, too breathless at this moment in time to speak to him, simply set the lock on the door and shut it behind him, leaving Jordan securely inside. He was aware of several seconds of deathly hush behind him, then a shriek of outrage that could have shattered glass. At this moment in time he didn't care. He pulled the soundproof fire doors shut behind them, closing off the holding area- which worked essentially as a time out area for any inmate who'd currently lost the plot and was in mid-flip - from the main residential area. And looked again at the security team.

"He lugged it ALL the way down into the quad-"




"To where you could see it, he was quite frank about that," one of the security guards agreed.

"And used what?"

"A can of petrol from the garage enclosure and a box of matches."

The little…… beggar….. had stolen his keys. Jake gave both guards a grim nod.

"Thankyou for intervening. I'll hold onto him here for the rest of the night, there's no need to wake the Governor."

The security guards nodded and headed back to their duty posts, relaxed and chatting. Few nights on duty offered such opportunities for entertainment. Smouldering, Jake folded both hands behind his back and walked the corridors again, once more checking on each inmate in turn. They worked on keeping their lot tired enough to sleep well: getting them into a routine and good sleep pattern often had an immediate effect on the behaviour of young men whose lifestyle was out of control more than they were. If he was hoping for someone to offer distraction, he was disappointed. At the end of the second corridor another guard on duty was walking beside a young man who looked white and somewhat upset, padding barefoot on the white tiles. He avoided Jake's eye and Jake raised an eyebrow at the guard, a mute inquiry which was met with a nod, and the guard followed the younger man into the quiet of the games room, shutting the door behind them.

Someone clearly in need of some space, some time and a chat. The lad in question was fairly new to them but a repeat offender given to extreme outbursts of rage and aggression. A lot of which, Jake suspected, related directly to claustrophobia and panic attacks. He rarely lost it now, they'd seen perhaps four or five outbursts in the time he'd been with them, three of which had needed serious intervention, but as soon as he began to trust them that they'd listen if he needed space and quiet, and he knew he would have quick access to it, he began to calm down and to talk instead of snarl at the guards on duty.

And Jake wasn't needed. Which left him with nothing to do but take a deep breath and retrace his steps towards the holding cell.

The noise hit in a wave as soon as he opened the soundproof wing doors. And Jordan would be well aware they had been opened. Hearing the shouts and demands, Jake simply shut them again and leaned against the wall, waiting. He had no intention of rewarding Jordan's more virulent exhibitions of temper. And Jordan had gradually learned over time that he tended to lose these battles of will. Jake smiled faintly, thinking back a few months to the first time his lover had shown his true colours at the base.

Jordan Dayne had very quickly come to the attention of the base in general within 24 hours of his somewhat mysterious arrival at the Governor's house. Hanging around the gates and fences, needling the inmates who responded quickly and emphatically to the jibes and insults; taking a motorbike from the motor pool and jumping it over speed bumps and ramps, cutting up the staff vehicles; climbing the wire and walls, trespassing all over the base, treating guards like house staff, being thoroughly rude to everyone he met, throwing stones at the line of windows accessible from the quad, letting down tyres on vehicles, goose-stepping behind guards and leaving open every door he came across- all in all it was like having a particularly horrible twelve-year-old loose around the base.

"You're the expert on behaviour management, Jake," Mischa, who was the captain guard of Orange block said sourly in the weekly staff meeting. "For God's sake manage him."

And partly because of that- and his own encounters with young Mr. Dayne, Jake ended up raising the subject with the Governor at his Friday afternoon meeting with him.

"I needed to speak to you about your Godson, sir. He's been causing a lot of disruption around the base and the guards are starting to feel undermined- there're no sanctions they can use against him, no authority, and the inmates see that. I think we need to know, sir, with all due respect, is Jordan staying here long? And in what capacity?"

The Governor sat back in his chair and gestured to the chair opposite.

"Sit down, Jake. I'll be honest with you, Jordan isn't here just as a family guest."




Jake took a seat. The Governor looked at his pen for a long time, turning it in his fingers.

"Jordan is the son of my dearest friend. Sadly that friend died some time ago and Jordan's remaining family- well. Let's say they don't exercise much control over him. I was asked to take Jordan as a means of providing containment when his behaviour began to pose a serious risk of criminal charges."

"What kind of charges?" Jake asked. The Governor sighed.

"Nothing serious. Public nuisance. Petty theft. Petty damages. Vehicle offences."




Nuisance making. Very similar to what Jake saw around the base. He cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, sir- are you engaged in any behaviour management programmes with Jordan?"

The Governor shook his head. "He's come to me as family. Jordan has problems not entirely his fault, Jake; a lot of his problems come from a background he's had no control over-"



Which the Governor fully understood in all their behavioural cases, he had high standards and was a strict and very fair disciplinarian. Apparently, however, his skills didn't extend to family. There was a moment's silence, then the Governor looked at his captain guard.

"You're our behavioural specialist, Jake. What do you perceive in Jordan?"

"A lot of time and energy without anything useful to spend it on, with a lot of bad habits," Jake said shortly. "It would be very difficult for any youngster on the base to stay out of trouble with nothing to do and nowhere to be. Does he have any responsibilities?"

The Governor looked faintly embarrassed. "I didn't really feel able to discuss that with him."

"Sir, his behaviour is out of control and he's breaching limits daily that we don't permit with the inmates, in clear SIGHT of the inmates. That can't be allowed to go on, never mind how good it is for him."




Silence again. Jake shook his head when the Governor didn't answer, wondering if he'd live to regret this offer, but he saw in Jordan what he saw in many of the kids who arrived at his block on the base with a history of trouble. A kid screaming for attention, for notice to be taken of him, for something to regulate what he didn't know how to start managing and teach him what to do with it. A kid dropped in the middle of adulthood without any of the skills or knowledge to survive there.

"Sir, I'm willing to take responsibility for Jordan."




"In what capacity?" the Governor said wryly. Jake tapped his pen on his writing pad.

"Exactly the same as any other Red block inmate, save that he can go home when the others go to lockup. He comes to the block at seven when the others get up, he has a schedule like the others, he eats and works with them. We'll get him into a school schedule too; at his age he can't be long out of education if he SHOULD be out at all."

"You're not wrong," the Governor said ruefully. Jake nodded, holding his gaze.

"That's our tried and tested means of helping the Red block inmate types, and Jordan fits that bill. Which means he needs to be subject to the same consequences and expectations as the inmates, no exceptions, no appeals to you."  

It took him nearly half an hour of fast talking to pin that point down and get the Governor's agreement to it, and his own staff were as doubtful when they heard, despite the dark mutterings they'd been doing for a week about how THEY knew how to handle brats like Jordan Dayne.

"He's a KID," Paul protested. "Nothing like our lot; they'd have him for breakfast."




"He's not so very different at all," Jake disagreed. "We've got the immature and the irresponsible ones in amongst the anger management lot-"




"He's a baby; I'm not even sure he should be around our guys. I'm not that sure he's safe!"


"He's perfectly safe and he's in exactly the right place. Clear rules, clear boundaries and none of our guys are going to look twice at his tantrums; they can all throw far more impressive ones themselves. And they're his age. What he principally needs is keeping very busy; once he's got somewhere to be from seven to ten PM he'll have no time or energy for being difficult. 

"What about the behaviour management?" Paul asked wryly. Jake shook his head.

"Compared to our lot he'll be a walk in the park; he's not used to anyone standing up to him!"

It had taken Jordan less than four hours to prove him wrong on that.

Usually new inmates- particularly ones with a long prison or young offenders’ institution history of being troublemakers- had great confidence in their own strategies, being very used to being 'unmanageable', of seeing staff angry and without means of handling them. It usually took them one or two attempts on the base staff to realise they were in a very different ballgame and here they were wasting their time. The guards fully expected the clashes and the general belief was the quicker they happened, the quicker the inmate settled down. Jordan had arrived resentful, sarcastic and furiously angry when he realised the doors were locked and none of the guards intended to open them for him. It took merely a few moments of discussion on that point before Jordan released his well-honed temper onto the room at large.

Used to outbursts, and much worse ones, neither guards nor inmates took any notice. When Jordan resorted to kicking the door, Jake gave him one warning glance, voice calm.

"If you make me have to hold you, matey boy, you'll be outside, rain or not, until bedtime."

That comment produced an explosion of rage that reminded Sullivan of a wet cat. The noises alone were ear-splitting. At the first shove at the nearest gameroom table, Sullivan grabbed him in a fast and professional hold that prevented him doing much of anything.

"Going to calm down?" Sullivan inquired, not letting him move an inch. For a few seconds Jordan didn't answer and Sullivan thought he'd made his point. Then Jordan kicked him sharply in the knee, thrashing and pummelling, his screeches now of indignation, and Sullivan abandoned any hope of a quick finish. With a quick yank that pulled Jordan off balance, he grabbed him and spun him around, hooking both arms through Jordan's from behind in a way that meant, despite Jordan promptly throwing his full weight backwards, he was able to simply walk, carrying Jordan when he dragged his feet, and restricting his movements to squirming and spitting as he transported him towards the doors. Used to such scenes one of the other guards already had the door open and practisedly stood out of the way of Jordan's kicking feet.

"Want a hand?" he indicated rather than asked, not competing with Jordan's threats and cursing. Sullivan shook his head and took Jordan, still thrashing, through the corridor and into the quad. There he simply waited until the secure doors shut behind them, took his brat out of reach of anything breakable, and let go, moving swiftly out of range. Then he dug his hands in his pockets and walked away. The quad was surrounded on two sides by building walls- and windowless walls- and on the other two-by-twelve foot highwire fencing. Sullivan, confident that Jordan had nothing left to do but shriek himself hoarse, kept his back to the performance being conducted and made a swift pace, taking himself far enough away for Jordan to doubt whether he was in earshot or sight of the chief officer. The rattle of the wire behind him made him cast a quick, sideways glance back. In five years no inmate had ever found it climbable- the mesh was too small to offer handholds- but Jordan was furious and very determined. The few stumbles were followed by louder curses and rattles as the fence was kicked. Then running footsteps. Sullivan waited, turning at the last moment with a look and a voice that would have stopped stampeding cattle. 




"DON'T YOU DARE."

Jordan froze involuntarily. Sullivan fixed him with a long and extremely hard look. Then Jordan spun on his heel with a face like thunder, and stalked away. He spent the next twenty minutes stamping around the track area, an activity accompanied by muttering, snarling and periodically shouted curses and comments. Sullivan, who'd reached the benches in the shelter of the building wall, took a seat and admired the view of the hills beyond the base, losing himself in the green and mist.

He was aware of Jordan gradually getting closer, although avoided showing he had noticed. Finally Jordan huffed and took a seat on the end of the bench.




"It’s cold out here."

"Yes," Sullivan agreed without looking at him. Jordan hesitated, not expecting that response. 




"I want to go in now."

"No," Sullivan said matter-of-factly. Jordan's stare was again startled before it became annoyed.

"I'm COLD!"

"So am I."

"So let's go in!" Jordan said furiously. 




"Classes don't finish for another half-hour." Sullivan folded his arms, getting comfortable on the bench. "You opted out of the activities on offer; you didn't want to be there."

The brat's look of disbelief was priceless. Jordan's voice had risen a good half-octave.




"I don't want to be out here either!"

"You don't get the choice," Sullivan pointed out. "Either you follow the timetabled activities or you stay out here until they're over. You don't get to disrupt things for other people and you certainly don't deserve to choose a more enjoyable option. Do you?"

Jordan's glower was incendiary. Sullivan looked back at the hills, indicating clearly to his livid brat that he hadn't even seen it.  

"If I hear another word in that tone or using those expressions," he said a moment later, interrupting Jordan's flow of rhetoric, "You'll be out here until dinnertime. Just ONE, Jordan."




His brat's response was two words, both succinct and to the point. Getting up, Sullivan made his way across the quad and pressed the call bell beside the door. Jordan followed, hands dug in his pockets, prepared now to deal with the compromise option he confidently expected. Sullivan didn't look at him.

"Paul? Could I have my coat and a jacket for Jordan? And my phone and laptop please. It looks like I'm going to be working out here for the rest of the shift."

A guard brought the items down some minutes later. Jordan's mouth was literally open with indignation when Sullivan handed him an old and battered duffle coat.  

"NO!" he exploded finally as Sullivan made his way back to the bench. "This is ridiculous; you can't treat me like this! I'm not an inmate!"




"You're a resident on this base, and I'm responsible for you." Sullivan took a seat and opened the laptop. And fixed Jordan with a stare at the first sign of movement. "If this gets broken, matey boy, you will be spending every solitary second of your free time in the office, copying every single programme word by word from the main computer onto my new laptop until it's done. And that will be in addition to turning you across my knee and tanning your backside purple."

Jordan involuntarily flushed, scowling.

"DON'T talk to me like I'm a child!"




"Then don't act like one," Sullivan suggested briefly, settling to work. He was aware of Jordan kicking both the door, and the jacket.

Within ten minutes he'd given way enough to pick up the jacket and put it on.

Over the next three hours, Jordan tried a steady succession of strategies from coaxing to pleading to sweet talking to sulking to fury once more. Not one moved Sullivan from his seat or got his eyes up from his laptop. The only thing that had effect was the bleep from his watch as five PM struck, by which time Jordan had been sitting at the other end of the bench for some time in silent depression. Sullivan turned off his watch, shut down the laptop and got up.  

"Come with me."




"Can I go home now?" Jordan pleaded. Sullivan shook his head.

"You'll stay with me until lockup time. And since I need to make up the work I missed dealing with you this afternoon, you can stay in my office where I can keep an eye on you."

He was aware of a thoroughly subdued Jordan trailing at his heels as he checked on the dining room and guardroom, then moved on to his office. And indicated Jordan to the chair by the door.  

"Sit there."




"I'm hungry," Jordan said plaintively, "Can't I go to dinner? Please? I'll be quiet? I've learned my lesson or whatever else you want to make me to say?"

"I don't want to make you say anything, Jordan," Sullivan said without looking up, taking a seat at the desk.

"Then what do you want me to do?!"

"Stay out of the way of people who are blamelessly eating their dinner," Sullivan said simply.  

Jordan flung himself back in the chair, folding his arms.

"You really hate me, don't you?"

"I don't like the way you're acting very much." Sullivan opened the duty log and picked up a pen. "We don't leave until my paperwork is done,Jordan, so I advise you, if you want to get out of here any time soon, to be quiet and let me work."

Jordan sat where he was, red-faced, tears pricking. No one spoke to him in this blunt, unkind way. No one was nearly so horrible to him. No one else was quite so mean or pig obstinate.

If it took the rest of the year, Jordan Dayne intended on getting even with captain guard Sullivan.

*************** 

And he was still working on it. 

Sullivan opened the soundproof doors again to listen. This time, there was silence. Jordan knew him well. He was sitting on the bed in the holding cell, arms folded, glowering at the door. Sullivan unlocked the door and took a seat on the bolted down table, surveying him.

"You burned my MATTRESS?"

Jordan looked back at him, lips compressed. Sullivan shook his head.

"I'll have my keys back please. And I'll be extremely careful about where I leave them in future."

Jordan didn't move. Sullivan clicked his fingers and held them out.

"Do I have to search you?"

There was a moment, then Jordan tossed the keys across to him. Sullivan caught and pocketed them.

"Why my bed, Jordan? What possessed you to try burning my bed? What gesture was that?"

"That I wouldn't sleep with you again if I was three parts pissed!" Jordan spat back. Sullivan shrugged and got up.

"Ok, your decision. If you want to talk as opposed to snarl, I'll look in later-"




"JAKE!"

Jake paused, a hand on the door. Jordan glowered at him.

"It's YOUR fault!"

"How is it my fault that you burned my mattress?"

Jordan glared at him. Sullivan sat down once more on the table, fixing him with a long, steady look.

"I refused to have sex with you in my office, young man, because it's not an appropriate time, nor place, nor situation, and you know that as well as I do. And an act of thoughtless, reckless destruction like that in response is born of chagrin and bad temper worthy of a five-year-old. I'm ashamed of you. That's not to mention the sheer danger involved in petrol fires. Nor how I feel about you taking and using my keys for some petty act of revenge because you haven't got your own way, Cary Jordan."

It took a moment but he saw Jordan's eye contact waver and then break away. Jordan glared at the floor instead.

"You'll stay here tonight," Sullivan said shortly. "And I'll walk you home in the morning."  

"JAKE!" Jordan said in horror. Sullivan shook his head, face grim.

"NOT a chance. You can't go back to my place, you've seen to it there's nowhere to sleep, and you're not waking everyone up in the Governor's place. Get some sleep."  

"JACOB SULLIVAN, DON ’T YOU DARE LOCK ME IN HERE!" Jordan exploded, hurling himself at the door. He was too late.

Sullivan stood outside the door for a moment, listening to Jordan kicking it and cursing. The rooms were designed to withstand full-blooded rage from much stronger and more determined men than Jordan Dayne; everything of any weight was bolted to the floor and in that cell designed for time out, there WAS nothing liftable or breakable.

"Jake?" one of the guards said from the doorway. Jake glanced around and went to him, shutting the soundproof doors once more. The guard gave an expressive look towards the room but didn't comment- screaming, shouting and kicking were not all that uncommon here, the guards were well used to outbursts, and the standard means of handling them was to cultivate an air of vague disinterest. Certainly never to comment where an inmate was listening.

"The Spanish boy in Orange has slipped a cog again, Paul rang down- can you go over and talk to him, see if you can settle him down?"

Jake nodded, already heading for the security door. "On my way."




"I'll keep an eye on him," the guard nodded towards Jordan's room. Jake picked up a jog as he reached the connecting corridor between the two blocks, covering the corridor rapidly. Jordan was tired, angry and bereft of an audience; he wouldn't keep his outrage up for long. Unlike many of the other youngsters here who were more than capable of steaming all night, Sullivan gave his brat about ten minutes before he was curled up with the blanket and sulking himself to sleep. However annoyed he was about being locked in, like all the other inmates of red block, he associated it as a place of safety. 

The lights were on in Orange block since many of their inmates didn't sleep well, and one guard was crouched in the open doorway of a cell, both blocking the entrance and providing moral support for the occupant. Paul, bearing one fast reddening scratch mark across one cheek, was kneeling on the floor several feet away from a man in his late twenties who was curled up on the tiles, face hidden, visibly shaking. Paul caught Jake's eye, swapping messages with the speed and ease of long practice. He was okay, they were all at the point of needing a break, this was moving out of their field. There were always inmates who sat on the borderline between orange and red block and where necessary they shared expertise and staff. Paul stayed where he was, not moving, not distracting as Jake moved forward, voice quiet, body language easy.  

"Hi, mate. Come on; let's go for a walk, hmm?"

Sometimes that alone worked where everything else had failed: a new voice, someone not already involved in the situation. This time the boy didn't move. Jake crouched, keeping a distance, and repeated the invitation in Spanish. Still no response. Paul slowly and unhurriedly got up and backed off, nodding to the other guard in the doorway. Jake waited until their movement was gone, then settled on the floor, leaning against the wall and relaxing. It took nearly ten minutes before the boy on the tiles was laying still, his breathing quiet, his body unknotting as the tension eased away. Without looking at him, Jake got up and went into the corridor, setting an easy pace down the hall.

"Come on then."




He didn't have to look around to know the boy was following him.

It was nearly breakfast time before he walked back onto red block, the boy still with him. It wasn't unusual for upset members of other blocks to come onto red block when needed, and the guard at the duty desk merely smiled at him, turning the duty log for Jake to see. No other incidents overnight, all inmates peacefully asleep. On this block where the staff were familiar with the difficulties and stresses of ADHD and similar problems, early morning was a very carefully choreographed affair, and already the radio was playing quietly in the hallway, some local music station which carried the local affairs and news. So many of their inmates depended on it morning and night not to feel totally cut off from the outside world. To its quiet renditioning of something by Mariah Carey, one of the guards was making his way down the line of cells, unlocking each in turn and leaving the doors ajar, responding softly to any inmate awake who spoke to him. Given this fifteen minute twilight time where things were happening without any demands being made on them, most of their inmates managed to be woken gently and without the stress that led to trouble. Jake took the Spanish lad into his office with him and kept half an eye on him flicking through the bookcase while he wrote up the two incident reports he'd need to file. People were starting to move around now, the first showers were being taken, some conversations were going on in the hallway; two of the next shift guards had arrived and were joining the nightshift to supervise. Early morning and late afternoon, their two main trouble spots, were always well staffed. By the time Jake emerged from his office, the corridor was empty and the canteen was full of staff and inmates in the middle of breakfast- in the middle of which, damp and wearing the scrub-type spares kept on the block, was a grim looking Jordan Dayne. Jake waited long enough to be sure he was eating, seated as he was between two guards who were taking very little notice of him, then dropped a hand on the Spanish boy's shoulder.

"Suppose we go back to Orange and I'll hand you back to Paul; this lot are too noisy this time in the morning."

*****************************************

"I've got NO sympathy, Adam." Jake paused long enough to fill a mug with the slop that passed for coffee in their canteen. In this block, where it was not at all improbable that things might be knocked over or thrown, no drinks were hot enough to scald. The inmate glaring at him from the doorway looked hot, bothered and extremely fed up.

"It's not FAIR-"




"You throw food around, you get thrown out, it's that simple and you know it." Jake took a long swallow of coffee and looked past Adam at the guard waiting in the doorway.

"If I know Rob you got a warning anyway. Didn't you?"

"Two," Rob said calmly.

"Which is more than you would have had from me," Jake confirmed. "However irritated you are, however irritating other people are to you, you don't throw things at them, end of story. You know that, I don't know why you're appealing to me."




Adam's face didn't lighten. Rob put a hand on his arm, still holding the door open.

"Adam. Let's go please."

"It's NOT fair!"




Jake kept his eyes on his mug, letting Rob's voice gain the authority necessary. 




"Adam."




The door opened, then swung shut and when Jake looked up, Adam was walking ahead of Rob towards the interview room at the end of the corridor, still muttering but moving under his own steam. He knew what to expect when he got there, which was what most of his 'appeal' had been about. Adam, after only three weeks with them, was still shocked when he was challenged like this, after years of effectively scaring people into leaving him alone. Unfortunately for him, hurling small objects, shouting and swearing were hardly big gun tactics here. And spanking, for him, was a very effective and immediate deterrent. It was only one of the many behavioural management strategies used on the base, and it wasn't useful for everyone, but for those for whom it did work, it was one of the most effective methods in their repertoire. Jordan Dayne was another very good subject, little as he appreciated the fact. Sipping coffee, Jake surveyed the heads of his inmates, picking out Jordan's without effort. Jordan's dagger gaze met his across the room.

YOU locked me in. YOU didn't come back and talk to me. YOU are unreasonable, unfair and you don't love me.

Jake glanced at his watch, turned his back on the look and took a seat at a table, joining the conversation there.

Breakfast led straight into the first classes of the day: the exodus to the education block was already beginning by the time Jake got up, only to find Jordan at his elbow, close to spitting.  

"I WANT my clothes."




"You're dressed," Jake pointed out. Jordan nearly fizzed with rage.

"MY clothes!"




"You have a class now, you're on the base until seven PM ," Jake said calmly. "Just like every day. What you don't have, you do without."




"You are a TOTAL bastard!" Jordan erupted. "It's YOUR fault I'm here without clothes, YOU locked me in last night-"  

Jake took him by the arm and steered him across to the nearest wall, leaving him standing facing it. From bitter experience, Jordan knew better than to turn around. The canteen slowly emptied around them. Finally Jake got up from his chair.  

"All right, Jordan, you'd better go to your class. I'll see you later."




"I WANT my clothes!" Jordan demanded. Jake waited, arms folded. He could see the battle going on in his brat, common sense warring against the desire to speak his mind. Sense and self preservation won. With a poisonous glare, Jordan headed towards the education block.

Jake waited until the last of the inmates from his block were either settled down with tasks that would keep them occupied, or in their various classes, then held the morning handover meeting for the day shift before the night shift went off duty. At nine AM as the night shift staff headed across the main square to their quarters, Paul leaned on the doorpost of Jake's office and gave him a wry look.  

"I heard what happened to your bed last night. Want to bed down in my room and catch up this morning?"

"Thanks, but I'll sleep here." Jake had already flopped down onto the two-seater sofa that occupied the corner of his office. Paul nodded at the phone.

"Have you ordered a new mattress? The housekeeping office just opened."




"That's someone else's job, not mine," Jake said pointedly.  

Paul grinned but shut the door, leaving him to sleep in peace.  

It was nearly eleven before his desk phone rang. It was one of the red block guards, sounding apologetic.

"Jake. I'm sorry to wake you, but we got Jordan brought back from class, he's in tears."

Jordan, past the point of being furious, was now well into self pity. Sitting in the guardroom with one of the day guards, he was red-eyed, hunched in a ball on the corner of the sofa and even the guards, hardened as they were, were starting to look somewhat pointedly at Jake. Jake held out a hand from the doorway, not making his voice any too sympathetic.

"Come on, brat."




Jordan didn't move. Jake went to him, took his hand and pulled him up.

"Come on. It's all right, Alec; I'll keep him with me. "




"I'd rather stay with Alec," Jordan said unsteadily, scuffing down the corridor rather than struggling with Jake's firm grasp on his hand. "He's nicer than you."




Jake didn't answer. Just held open his office door and indicated the sofa.

Jordan came into the office but stood where he was, looking miserable. Jake took no notice. He picked up the sheaf of mail on his desk, kicked out his chair and started to go through it.

"JAKE!" Jordan said piteously. Jake glanced up.

"What?"

"Don't treat me like a bloody inmate. You're NICER than this to inmates!"

"They're people with real problems, they deserve sympathy and understanding," Jake pointed out. Jordan's lip slipped out further.

"So do I!"

"Why?" Jake said calmly. Jordan kicked at the floor.

"You were horrible last night. And this morning."




"How was I horrible?"

"You locked me in!"




"You committed an act of pure vandalism and temper last night; anyone on the base behaving like that would have ended in holding cell. You know that."




This was not going the way that Jordan had anticipated. Frustrated, he stamped, bringing Jake's eyes up from his mail.

"I'm your PARTNER!"

"You're not behaving much like it," Jake said simply. "Sit down please, I've got work to do."


"I WASN'T thrown out of class, I was too upset, Martin TOLD the guard to bring me back!" Jordan said furiously. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Is that a vote for sympathy?" Jake asked dryly. "I'm not interested, Jordan. I've had two hours sleep, there's not a lot of point in me going back to my room and trying for more-"


"That's YOUR fault!" Jordan retorted. "If you hadn't been so MEAN-"




"Sofa," Jake said shortly, interrupting. He returned to his work. He heard the thud of Jordan flinging himself down. A few moments later he heard the first sniffle. And five minutes later he was nearly knocked over by the thud of Jordan crashing into him, both arms winding around his neck.

"I'm sorry, it was horrible, I AM sorry-"

The tears this time were genuine and flooding. Jake pushed back from the desk and pulled Jordan down to him, settling him into a more comfortable position to hold him, not trying to respond. The apology being sobbed into his shoulder was incoherent but sincere.

"All right," Jake said finally when Jordan was quiet enough to hear him. "It's okay, it's all right."

"I didn't MEAN to burn it, I was just mad at you-"

"I think you definitely meant to burn it," Jake pointed out, jumping firmly on that denial. "Didn't you? It hardly got dragged down to the quad by accident. It was an act of pure temper, not to mention destruction."




"I'm sorry!" Jordan protested, clinging more tightly. Jake peeled his hands away and made him sit back to see his face.

"PURELY because you didn't get your own way. What would happen if everyone lashed out like that every time they were annoyed?"




"Everyone's got more self control than me," Jordan said piteously. Jake shook his head, not for a moment deluded.  

"There are people on this base with REAL self control and impulse problems, and they work HARD on managing them, Cary Jordan. You simply don't trouble to control your temper. It takes effort and it takes practice and you ARE going to have to learn that you cannot do everything you want, as it occurs to you, without facing up to the consequences. For a start, YOU will collect a mattress from housekeeping this afternoon and explain to them what happened, and you'll spend two more nights here in the holding cell. I don't want to hear it," he added sharply at Jordan's wail of outrage. "That's exactly what would happen to any inmate here who was HALF as destructive as you were."




"It was about you though, not the base!" Jordan wailed. "That's NOT fair, I'm NOT an inmate, you can't DO that!"




"You've led me to believe I can't trust you out of full supervision and in a safe environment," Jake said sternly. "That was your choice, Jordan. You have more privileges here than any of the inmates, that means I expect a HIGHER standard of behaviour from you at all times. They are NEVER going to see you get away with anything that they'd expect to be punished for."




"You CAN'T lock me in!" Jordan said, nearing tears again. "I won't let you, I'll talk to my Godfather, HE won't let you-"




"Then you'll sleep in his house under his supervision," Jake said sharply, "You don't play that card with me, little boy; you do not play us off against each other. Which is it to be? Do you want to take this to him?"

Jordan hesitated, flushing. Much as he expected the Governor- if not to let him off as such- to certainly mitigate Jake's severity, something he was incapable of countenancing with his Godson, firm as he was with inmates- this was a discussion they'd had several times and Jake's boundaries were as strong and tall as the fences around the base. If he opted out now, he WOULD be sleeping at the Governor's house for some time to come, and Jake would politely point out to him each evening despite any ploys and arguments he could come up with, that he had made the choice to decline Jake's flat and company.

The worst thing about Jake was that he stuck like GLUE to his word, he countenanced no having things both ways. It was a quality Jordan both loathed and quietly and very unwillingly, somewhat admired.  

A few months ago he would have taken the easiest option immediately, wanting to get himself out of a nasty situation as quickly as he possibly could- now he hesitated, with the nagging knowledge of where that choice would lead him. Used as he was to thinking only for himself - he was beginning to have a vague and uneasy sense of what that kind of threat did to them as a couple, or would do without Jake's protection. And Jake, as demanding as he could be, was infinitely worth the trouble, Jordan was sure of that when he was sure of nothing else. It took courage but he shook his head, once more tightening his arms around Jake's neck. He was reassured by the immediate strength of the arms that closed around him, drawing him close and wrapping him securely.

"I AM sorry," He mumbled into Jake's neck. "I was so mad, it felt like you didn't want me-"



"Is that true?" Jake asked calmly. Jordan shook his head hard.

"It was a bad time to ask."




Whether he truly understood that or he'd just accepted it as another of The Rules, inexplicable but to be respected, Jake wasn't sure, but there was no doubting the sincerity. Holding Jordan tightly he found what he could reach of his hot face and kissed him.

"There's no time I don't want you. You're beautiful, I want you and I love you, you don't need to doubt that for a moment."

"I know."  

Sniffly, but heartfelt. Jake held him for a moment more, feeling him calm the rest of the way down until his breathing was quiet and the tense body in his arms was relaxed. Then he lifted him to his feet, drawing him unhurriedly around to his right side, voice gentle but firm.

"Drop them, sunshine."




That was a request Jordan had never yet managed to comply with and the sound of it made him squirm. This whole awful business was embarrassing enough without having to actively collude in it. Scarlet-faced he looked at the floor, then with all the strength of will he could summon up, put his hands on the waistband of the scrubs he was wearing and somehow slid them down over his hips. Jake put a hand on his arm at that point and drew him down over his lap, wrapping one arm around his waist as he reflexively tried to pull back, nerve slipping.  

"Jake, don't, please-"

"What do you need to do, young man?"

Stand up?

Jordan swallowed hard and tried to think, willing to try despite the rising panic, well aware that this was not going to be just a few brief smacks.

"Not burn things?"

"You need to work on keeping your temper when you don't get your own way," Jake sounded reassuringly calm, despite the strength of the arm around him. "It's actually ok for you not to get your own way. And you do NOT destroy anything on this base, for any reason. There's NO excuse for wanton destructiveness."

"I'm sorry?" Jordan tried again without much hope and yelped, struggling as Jake's hard hand swatted down across his upturned bottom. "Ow! Jake, no, please don't, I won't do it again, I promise!"

"Good, I really hope you won't," Jake, still sounding calm, didn't break his rhythm: that hand swatted soundly, moving from cheek to cheek, leaving a scalding sting on each that made Jordan do his best, frantically, to get up or get out of this position. It made no difference, the swats didn't cease or lighten, the sting built relentlessly and was spread thoroughly until Jordan's ability to cope with it was breached and he hung where he was over Jake's powerful thighs, gulping and swallowing on the rising tears. Jake didn't pause until he was crying, then finally the steady spanking ceased and he rested a hand on Jordan 's hot bottom, patting gently but holding him in position when Jordan promptly struggled to get to his feet.

"You and I are going over to housekeeping straight after lunch. After which we'll go to pick up a change of clothes and you ARE going to your afternoon classes."  

"I will, I promise."

It was instant, sincere and plaintive. Jake helped him to his feet and Jordan promptly grabbed at the scrubs, covering his dignity with all speed before he grabbed with equal urgency for the comfort of Jake's arms. Jake picked him up without effort and carried him across to the sofa, settling with Jordan wound around him, sniffling but considerably calmer.

Fifteen minutes later, Alec tapped on the office door with a message, pushed it open and blinked slightly. His usually staid Captain Guard was sitting on the sofa, head tipped back against the cushions, snoring softly, his arms still folded firmly around a tightly curled, tearstained and sleeping Jordan Dayne.

~ The End ~

Copyright Ranger 2010