Title: IMPORTED DISCIPLINE
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Rating: MAO (for violence and language)
Pairings: J/B, pre-slash

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 08-26-99
Archive: YES
Archive author: Candy Apple 
Archive email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Series/Sequel: NOPE.

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel.  No money being
made. Trust me on this one. 

Notes: This story is not intended as a flame directed at any particular
author or story.  It is merely the artistic expression of my feelings on
the subject of the "discipline" of adults.  PLEASE READ THE
WARNING BELOW.

Summary:   Blair returns from an undercover assignment, but all is not
well.

WARNING: If you are a fan of Domestic Discipline stories, or a firm
believer/practitioner of that lifestyle, please be forewarned that this
story was written as an expression of my own very negative feelings
toward the genre.  Discipline is discussed, but it is not viewed in a
positive light, but is dealt with in a manner that reflects my opinions on
the subject.  If this will offend you, my best advice would be to please
skip over this one.  Feedback is welcome--but given the warning,
flames will be deleted without response.

As for the title?  Well, since Jim isn't the one doing the disciplining
here, it's not exactly domestic, so...  



IMPORTED DISCIPLINE

by 

Candy Apple


     Jim eyed his partner with concern.  Blair had been unnaturally
silent since his rescue, despite the fact that he said he was fine, that he
wasn't injured in any way, and swore that he had escaped any kind of
sexual assault.  Wondering if he had been missing several significant
sections of brain matter when he'd agreed to let Blair be the bait to nail
a local pornographer whose backroom prostitution ring had been the
bane of Cascade PD Vice for years, Jim finally looked over at Blair
again, when they were stopped at a traffic light.

     "You sure everything's okay?"

     "Dammit, Jim, how many times do I have to say I'm all right?!" 
Blair snapped back angrily.  

     "Keep trying.  I might believe it eventually."  He pulled away
from the intersection as the light changed, abruptly diverting them
down the street toward home instead of the station.

     "We have to file the reports."

     "Yeah, we do.  But I'm not filing jack squat until you tell me
what really happened in there, and what's eating you.  And I wish you'd
quit lying to me because I know the difference and all it's doing now is
pissing me off."

     "Oh, yeah, I'm real scared.  What're you gonna do, spank me?"

     "Where the hell did that come from?"

     "Just forget it."

     "I don't understand, Chief.  You've been sullen and quiet--and
when I talk to you, you're hostile as hell.  But you tell me nothing's
wrong.  I'm sorry you had to be undercover for a week instead of a day
or two.  But you told me you were all right.  Every one of your e-mails
indicated everything was fine.  So unless I somehow managed to piss
you off in the four hours between your last e-mail and when we pulled
you out of there, *something* else happened while you were under." 
Jim pulled up in front of their apartment building and stopped the
truck.  "Come on.  Upstairs."

     "I don't take orders from you, man.  I'm not your kid."

     "No, you're not.  You're just acting like one.  Now move."

     "Or what?"

     "What is it with you?  You *want* me to hit you, is that it? 
When have I ever hit you?  When have I ever followed up on a spoken
request for you to do something with some sort of physical force, huh?"

     "I don't like you talking to me like I'm a naughty child, Jim.  I'm
30 years old."

     "Thanks for that news bulletin, Chief."  Jim got out of the truck
and left his brooding partner sitting there.  There was no good way to
end this discussion, so he could only hope Blair would eventually get
over his snit and come inside.  Fifteen minutes later, he did.

     "I'm sorry about my behavior in the truck," Blair said quietly,
closing the door behind him.

     "Thanks, but I don't want an apology.  I want to know why."

     "This is...hard..."

     "If Ferguson did something to you, Chief, I want you to tell
me."  Jim hesitated, barely able to bring himself to make the next
promise.  "If it's not something you want to go back to the department, I
won't pursue it that way, I promise.  It'll stay between us.  But please
tell me what's wrong."

     "I feel stupid."

     "Come on, sit down with me and tell me what's going on.  Don't
feel stupid.  You did a great job.  The names you provided us, the stuff
we got from that wire when you could wear it...you did a great job,
Blair."  Jim turned sideways on the couch as Blair sat at the opposite
end of it.

     "Ferguson has this...*thing*.  He was really good to his 'stable',
you know?  I mean, we had nice places to live, plenty of food, spending
money...even though I was new and I wasn't on the streets yet, he was
giving me spending money."

     "He didn't put you with a client, did he?"

     "No.  He had me working in the club--I was a waiter.  Ferguson
said he had special plans for me--that he was *saving* me.  I guess
some big shot entertainer is coming to town next week, and he wanted
a fresh one for him.  Anyway, one night when I was waiting table, this
ugly fat guy decided to grope my ass, and I sort of went postal--I threw
a tray of drinks on him."

     "Good for you," Jim responded, laughing.

     "Well, it wasn't.  Good for me, I mean.  Everything went along
okay--Ferguson's manager even put the guy out for causing the
disturbance.  Then, after we closed, Ferguson called me into the
office."

     "Did he hurt you?"

     "If you mean did he injure me, no."  Blair swallowed.  "God,
this is so humiliating."

     "Did he touch you?"

     "Not exactly."  Blair ran a hand over his face, back over his
hair, which now hung loose on his shoulders.  "He spkd me," Blair
mumbled.

     "He *spanked* you?"  Jim repeated, incredulous that a low life
slimeball like Ferguson would do something so...*harmless* as
retribution.

     "I feel so damn *stupid* and...and...*humiliated*.  I'm not
somebody's child, man.  And here I am, over some guy's lap, bare-assed, 
getting paddled until I start bawling like a baby, begging him to
stop and yelling ridiculous shit like 'I'll behave'...I never felt
so...*demeaned* in my life.  I wanted to die right there." 

     Blair's eyes filled a little, and any little bit of humor the image
conjured disappeared from Jim's mind.  Frankly, he'd been relieved that
Blair got out of the whole operation--even angering Ferguson--with
nothing more than a warmed backside.  Now it was obvious that the
impact on Blair's ass was nothing compared with the impact on his self
respect.

     "You're sure he didn't hurt you?  I mean, done wrong, a beating
like that could shake up your kidneys or your...well, it could damage
something.  If you have pain, I want you to tell me."

     "It just happened last night.  Believe me, I still have pain." 
Blair turned the same color as the red henley he was wearing.  "But it's
nothing more than just...you know...what I'm s'posed to have."  Blair
got up and started pacing.  "It was just a spanking, right?  No big deal. 
I wasn't seriously hurt."  Blair's voice was shaky.  "Why do I feel so
*sick* inside?"

     "First off, it wasn't *just* a spanking.  You're an adult.  It was
assault.  Frankly, with the nudity element involved, it could be
considered a sexual assault.  And if the bastard hit you long enough,
hard enough to have you crying for mercy, it was pretty fucking brutal.
That's not minor, Chief."  Jim stood up and walked over to where Blair
stood by the window, resting his hands on the smaller man's shoulders. 
"What is it, some kinky father-son thing he has going on?"

     "Not exactly--he never touched me.  I don't know if he was even
aroused at all."  Blair snorted an ugly laugh.  "I know I wasn't."  Blair
let out a shaky sigh.  "He said that it's his way of keeping his boys in
line, teaching them to behave.  He told me I was free to walk out the
door and he wouldn't lay a hand on me, but if I did, I knew he'd let me
go--fire me.  Or at the very least, I wouldn't be on the inside anymore. 
It was this big thing to him to make me consent, and...and come to him
myself.  Then he was trying to hug me and comfort me when he was
done, telling me it was for my own good so I'd learn to get by in this
business...  I swear to God, Jim, it was all I could do not to kill the
bastard."

     "I know.  It's all I can do not to go kill him now."  Jim left his
hands on Blair's shoulders, rubbing gently.   "So that's why none of his
boys turn him in, huh?  He sells them this loving disciplinarian bullshit
and they buy into it."

     "Please don't tell anybody at the PD.  They'd never let me live it
down."  Blair shook his head.  "I can hear it now--'Gee, that's just what
Sandburg needed,' " he said in an exaggerated, somewhat Simon-like
tone of voice.

     "If anyone said that, it would be the last thing they said with all
their teeth intact."

     "Even Simon?"

     "Simon wouldn't say that, Chief."

     "No, but he'd think it.  And everyone else would think I was
whining over something that was unimportant.  I feel like enough of a
joke around the PD sometimes anyway.  I can't take adding this on to it. 
I know I should be able to handle it, but I don't want to."

     "Okay, okay," Jim soothed quietly, rubbing Blair's shoulders. 
"It stays between us."

     "I tried so hard not to cry.  I mean, it was *just a fucking
spanking*.  Do you have any idea how...*degrading* it is to end up in
tears with somebody doing that to you when you're an adult, for God's
sake?  I don't even agree with it for kids--for that and loads of other
reasons.  If I had a child, I couldn't hit him to save my life.  But when
you're an adult, it's like...it just reduces you to being a child again...to
not being an adult.  I can't...explain this right.  It just feels...*bad*."

     "That's why you were getting so irritable with me about
everything?"  Jim asked gently.

     "I'm sorry," Blair responded, sniffling a little, but working hard
to hold back his emotions.
     
     "Blair, there's no...indignity in crying if you're upset or you're
hurting."

     "He just kept...*hitting* me until I 'let go'--like it was some sort
of big meaningful thing for me to be in so much pain that I had to cry
over it.   He was turning my ass purple and he wouldn't stop until he
had the satisfaction of *breaking* me!  God, I just feel so...I don't
know...like I don't have any damn self respect left."

     "You were undercover, Chief.  People sometimes have to do
some really unpleasant things undercover.  You stuck with it and didn't
blow your cover.  You didn't ask to be pulled out this morning--you
toughed it out, and you would have continued to tough it out even after
what happened.  You have *nothing* to feel ashamed about.  You were
playing a role with this asshole, and you played it like a pro."

     "I guess it was like I had to...to...*re-establish* my...
*adulthood* as soon as I got out of there.  I had to prove something to
myself.  And when you'd tell me to do something, I just felt like I had
to not do it.  Because if I did, I'd be obeying you."  Blair shook his
head.  "God, this sounds neurotic."

     "No, buddy, it doesn't sound neurotic.  It sounds pretty logical
to me."  Jim ventured to wrap his arms around Blair from behind. 
"Listen to me.  I respect you more than anyone else I've ever known.  If
I bark something at you that sounds like an order, that's not what it is. 
It's what I think you should do for your safety, or what I want you to do
because I think it's best, or it's what I want.  But I don't now, nor have I
ever, deluded myself that you had follow my 'orders'.  And when the
day comes that I think I have some right to lay a hand on you because
you don't behave in a manner I approve of, you file charges against me
and then make sure someone gets me into therapy.  Well, that is, if you
haven't turned the tables on me and blistered *my* ass instead," Jim
quipped, and Blair actually did chuckle a little bit.  

     "I could never hit you.  I love you," he said simply.  "Love and
hitting...it shouldn't go together."

     "I love you too, Chief.  And I will never, ever, hit you.  Not for
any reason.  Not only because I love you, but because I respect you, and
I would never want to take the chance that something I did would
change who you are.  The day you start 'behaving yourself' around me
is the day I lose *you*--and get some sort of...of...obedient, bland
automoton like one of  'The Stepford Wives' in your place.  I don't want
that."

     "Thanks, Jim.  That's really...really good to hear."  Blair smiled
a bit.

     "I can stall Simon and fill out the preliminary reports.  You
want to take a bath and maybe relax a little?  Soaking in the tub
might...help things," Jim concluded awkwardly.  His father hadn't been
a spanker--he hadn't believed in it.  He was a strict disciplinarian, but
his methods hadn't been corporal in nature.  Jim really didn't have any
experience in making spanking pain dissipate.

     "I feel like...it's like everybody'll look at me and just *know*."

     "You were assaulted.  It's a crime--that makes you a crime
victim.  All these feelings...they're natural.  Look, you're tired, you need
some down time.  I'll get the preliminary stuff done, and then we'll get
a bite to eat later, okay?"  Blair nodded, and Jim squeezed his shoulder
quickly and headed for the door, grabbing his jacket.

********

     "I thought you said Sandburg wasn't hurt," Simon said as Jim
scrawled his name at the bottom of some of the final forms on the
Ferguson arrest.

     "He needs some rest, a little down time.  He'll come in
tomorrow and give his formal statements."

     "You're sure he's leveling with you?"

     "Positive, sir," Jim answered honestly. //*I'm* lying to *you*,// 
his mind supplied helpfully.

     "You're not gonna believe this one," Simon said, sitting against
the edge of Jim's desk with a chortle.  "You know we've been booking
Ferguson's boys all afternoon."

     "Right."

     "Well, when the guards were handing out their jail uniforms--at
least half of these guys had been *spanked* recently.  I think this has to
be a first.  I mean, we have pimps who disfigure their hookers, kill
them, beat them up, enslave them financially or through drug habits. 
This clown *spanks* them."  Simon chuckled and shook his head. 
"Man, I can't wait for the boys in Vice to start hearing about this one."

     "He's still beating them.  Just in a different location," Jim said
evenly, gathering up the last of his paperwork and placing it in the file.
//Sandburg, you are *so* right about how seriously your situation
would be taken.  Hell, before this afternoon, *I* would have laughed
with Simon at this.  Nobody's ever going to get their laughs at your
expense.  Not about this.//

     "Oh, come on, Jim.  They're spoiled rotten.  He provides them
late model cars, good housing, medical care...I know a lot of guys
who'd trade a tanned ass for those benefits."

     "Really?  I can't say as I know many who would.  If we're all set
here for a while, I think I'm going to call it a day.  I haven't had a
decent night's sleep in a week."

     "Go ahead.  Tell Sandburg 'good job'.  Too bad he didn't come
in a while.  Missed out on his 15 minutes," Simon quipped, heading for
his office.

     As Jim pulled on his coat and headed for the door, he wondered
how many abuse and assault victims out there had to endure their
situations because of the kind of humor-filled attitude the world had
toward their type of assault--how lightly people seemed to take a
beating because it was applied to one particular part of the body instead
of another.  There was nothing remotely funny about Blair's pain, or his
emotional trauma.  Cringing at the thought of the powerful arms
Ferguson had, Jim figured a wooden paddle in that man's hands could
be a lethal weapon.  Knowing how he measured his own strength to
rough-house around with his smaller partner, the thought of someone
with comparable musculature hitting Blair full force on *any* part of
his body made Jim's stomach turn over.

********

     The loft was dark when Jim entered, and a quick scan picked up
Blair's steady heartbeat, and the deep breathing of sleep.  Jim smiled to
himself, setting the take outs he'd brought home on the counter and
moving stealthily toward Blair's room.  The French doors were open,
and Blair was curled up on the bed, a damp towel on the floor, the
sheet pulled up to his shoulder, his back to Jim.  

     //Probably figured on just a short nap after his shower and now
he's down for the count,// Jim thought, smiling fondly and picking up
the towel.  He paused in the doorway, then turned back to move toward
the bed.  Wanting to check out the damage to his partner with his own
eyes, Jim let his fingertips touch the sheet lightly, wondering if he
could take a quick look at his partner's abused posterior without waking
him.  Knowing how embarassed Blair was by all of this, it was unlikely
he'd let anyone see the bruising, and Jim wanted to reassure himself
that it was safe to eschew medical attention.  He also wanted to know
just how much retribution Ferguson had coming.  And he did have
some coming.  Of that Jim was certain.  

     Carefully lifting the edge of the sheet, Jim winced at the deep
bruising on both cheeks and on one side, the splotch of broken blood
vessels visible through the skin.  Jim felt his stomach turn over at
seeing the expanse of smooth, perfect skin marred by the signs of
abuse, the purplish red discoloration contrasting in ugly relief against
the fair tone of Blair's skin.  

     Replacing the sheet, Jim touched Blair's shoulder.

     "It's okay.  I'm awake."  

     Jim yanked his hand back as if scalded, his concentration on
being so careful not to disturb Blair having distracted him from
noticing that the other man was awake.

     "Blair, I--"

     "You wanted to see for yourself."  Blair turned over in bed with
some discomfort as his swollen, bruised bottom slid across the
mattress.  

     "I had no right...  I don't know what I was thinking.  I guess...I
figured you wouldn't want me to look, and I'm worried that this asshole
hurt you, and we should have taken you to the doctor."

     "What for?  So he can tell me my ass is bruised?  I got that one
figured out on my own."

     "You want to try some ice?  Might numb it a little."

     "It's not a black eye, man.  It's just--"

     "Listen to me, Chief."  Jim sat on the edge of the bed.  "It
doesn't matter if this guy beat your ass, your face, or your gut.  The
point is, it's still a beating, it's still bruised as hell and swollen, and it
still hurts.  It's not any less of an assault because of *where* he hit
you."

     "What am I supposed to do?  I can't sit in ice.  I'd freeze."

     "You wouldn't sit in ice, dummy.  You'd lie here and I'd put a
couple ice bags on it.  When you're feeling a little better, we'll have
some dinner."

     "Okay," Blair agreed quietly.

     Jim brought in the ice bags and carefully placed them on the
bruising, then covered Blair's lower body with the sheet and sat on the
bed again.  Not sure how Blair would receive it, Jim hesitantly began
lightly massaging Blair's back.  

     "Mmm.  Feels good," Blair groaned, settling his head on his
folded arms, his face turned out toward Jim, a little smile curving his
mouth.  "My back hurts kind of."

     "From the looks of those bruises, you probably had a sort of
tuning fork effect going on up your spine."

     "Jim...I...thanks for not laughing at me about this.  For taking
me seriously."

     "I wouldn't laugh at anything that really upset you.  And there's
no way in hell I could laugh at those bruises."

     "You know what's really scary?"

     "What?"  Jim asked, continuing his gentle massage.

     "Well, some of the guys who worked for him--all of us were
young--I was the oldest, and I was playing I was younger.  Some of
these guys have been on the streets, in really bad situations...I just
wonder how many of them are going to end up being talked into the
idea that because this guy is good to them and does things for them and
pays their way that he really is hitting them out of *love*.  And how
many of them will live in an abusive relationship thinking somehow
that when they get hit, love has anything to do with it."

     "People stay in abusive settings for all sorts of reasons, Chief. 
That could be just as good as any other."  Jim sighed.  "At least they
won't be staying with Ferguson.  Thanks to you, he's in lock-up.  I don't
think his new pals in there are going to be too receptive to his little
games."  Jim ceased worrying about massaging and just let his hand rub
soothing circles between Blair's shoulders.  "Feeling better?"

     "A lot."  Blair smiled again.  

     "Good.  Hungry yet?"

     "Getting there, yeah," Blair said, still smiling.

     "Okay.  You just rest here a couple minutes and I'll warm up the
food.  I picked up a couple movies at the video store on the way home."

     "Sounds like heaven."  Blair was silent a few moments, and Jim
was almost to the door of the room before he spoke again.  "Jim?"

     "Yeah, Chief?"

     "I...I really missed you this week."

     "Same here, pal.  Just leave that ice on a few more minutes and
I'll holler when the food's ready."

     "Okay."

********

     Later that night, with Blair stretched out on the couch, head
pillowed in Jim's lap, Jim vowed he'd finally go out on a limb and talk
to Blair about how he really felt.  Being separated the last week, and
now seeing Blair hurt, and realizing how much he wanted to protect his
partner, and feeling the rush of love all over again, Jim knew that
procrastinating and not confessing his feelings to Blair was a collision
course.  Life is fragile, unpredictable...anything can happen.  Best to let
the people you love, know it.  And to share that love--and make that
love--while you can.

     Jim made the awkward effort to lean forward and kiss Blair's
temple.  

     "Soon, sweetheart.  Soon."  

     His words were both a promise of love, and a promise of
vindication.  He wondered how long it would take his friend, a prison
guard supervisor at the state pen where Ferguson would ultimately
land, to spread the word about the man's spanking fetish.  

     //Hurt the most precious thing in my life, you son of a bitch. 
Enjoy yourself.  Think of Blair while some 6'6", 300 pound animal is
blistering your fat ugly ass.  For every bruise you gave Blair, may you
have ten,// Jim silently wished, kissing Blair's hair lightly, then settling
back in to doze, his love close and safe, right where he belonged.

********