The Department of Needs vs. Wants

“Who are you again?”

“I'm Agent Victor Nagel with the Department of Needs vs. Wants,” said the man sitting on Robert's couch. His short brown hair framed a face that could have been no more than twenty-five and his tan trench coat made him look more suspicious than professional.

“And you're here because of an imbalance in … what exactly?”

“You lifestyle has become too lavish, so I have been sent to restore balance.”

“Sent by who?”

“The Department of—”

“Needs vs. Wants, of course.” Robert shook his head. “But I didn't request this service.”

“No one does. Those truly in need of our services never want them. They need them. Understand?”

Robert understood perfectly. The man was a lunatic.

“Sure, I guess,” Robert said as he moved to stand next to the front door. “Look, why don't you come back later, then we can go over my excesses in detail. I'll make a list.” He held the door open and waited for his visitor to leave.

Agent Nagel, however, didn't move at all. “There's no reason to lie to me Robert, it won't make the process any more pleasant.”

“All right, I've tried to be polite, but now I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I'll be happy to leave Robert, just as soon as we complete our business.”

“Get out. Now.” Robert strode over to Nagel, fully prepared to throw him out if he didn't move.

“If you'll calm down then—”

“Ow!” Robert jerked his hand back in pain from where he'd attempted to grab the agent's arm. He looked at his fingers, but there was no visible sign of damage. “What the hell was that?”

“Once you invited me into your home you consented for me to do my job. I am under protection until my work is complete.”

“So you electrocuted me?”

Nagel shrugged, “It was what you needed.”

“This is insane. I'm calling the police.”

“You shouldn't try that.”

Robert ignored him, but no sooner had he grabbed the receiver off the wall than he dropped it again.

“Ow! What the hell—”

“I warned you.” There was the slightest hint of smugness beneath Nagel's serious demeanor.

There was something very wrong here. It was possible Nagel had some kind of Taser like device concealed on his person, but that didn't explain how simply touching his phone had created the same effect.

“Now let's get to work. I prefer to start in the kitchen.” Nagel got up and strode purposefully out of the room while a baffled and wary Robert trailed behind him.

“First we'll get rid of all disposables…” Nagel began to open and close cabinets. “Such as paper towels, paper plates, plastic cups, utensils and … um, where do you keep them?”

“I don't have any of those things.”

“I don't understand.” Nagel frowned.

“I like to keep things simple, it's more economical and better for the environment and all that.”

“Well, that's certainly unusual. I've never visited a home in need that didn't have disposables.”

Robert crossed his arms over his chest. “Ever thought you might have the wrong home?”

“No, of course not. You're on my list.”

“Can I see the list?”

“No.” Nagel shook himself off as if to cast away any doubts that might have begun to collect on his person. “No matter, you must have a tremendous amount of excess elsewhere to make up for it.”

Robert sighed, but followed Nagel as he continued the inspection of his house.

* * *

“Are you seriously counting my towels?”

“For a single person you need no more than one, and you have four.”

“They came as a matched set, besides this way I have enough for guests and a spare for laundry day is always useful. That hardly qualifies as the grand amount of excess you keep referring to.”

“A matched set? So you have extra wash cloths and hand towels to go with these? Where are they—oh, here in this cabinet. Yes, certainly too many of these.”

Robert groaned. He watched as Nagel piled the towels into the bathtub, and then he set his brief case down on the counter before popping it open. Robert was startled when he saw him remove a bottle of lighter fluid.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Now, after these burn, you'll need to clean out the tub.” Nagel began to squirt the fluid onto the towels. “Otherwise it will clog your pipes. There is also the possibility of scorch marks—”

“You can't just light fires inside my house it isn't safe.”

Nagel ignored him, turning to fetch a box of matches from his briefcase.

While his back was turned, Robert turned on the shower. The water immediately saturated the towels and began to rinse away the accelerant.

Nagel spun around. “How could you do that!” His expression seemed devastated out of proportion to Robert's actions, but Robert didn't feel particularly bad about that. “Now it won't burn!”

“Donating the towels to charity would be less wasteful than burning them.”

“Well it looks like I have no choice now.” Nagel fixed Robert with a glare. “I'm going to have to keep a closer watch on you, you're clearly a very stubborn case.”

“Of course.” Robert tried not to roll his eyes, but he only partially succeeded. “Now are you done with your inspection?”

“Hardly.”

Their conversation was interrupted when a dog outside began to bark.

“Do you have a dog?” Nagel asked, suddenly brightening. Robert wondered if it was because he liked dogs or because he wanted to incinerate it.

“No, it belongs next door. It always barks when the mail arrives.”

“Oh.” Nagel seemed to need a moment to take in that information. “Well, I'll have to inspect that.”

“The neighbor's dog?”

“No, Robert, the mail.” Nagel pronounced the name Robert as if it was a synonym for idiot.

Nagel closed his briefcase and turned to go back down the stairs.

Robert turned the water off before following him. As ridiculous as the situation was, pretending to cooperate seemed to be the fastest way to get Nagel—or Victor, since if he was going to be referred to by his first name, then he would be sure to return the courtesy—out of his house.

Victor arrived at his front door and stopped. He appeared puzzled.

“Your door doesn't have a mail slot.”

“No, I have a mailbox outside … how many homes have you visited before?”

“Plenty.” Victor looked away from the door just long enough to give Robert look. “Yours, Robert, is obviously highly unusual.”

“That's not the only thing here that's highly unusual, Vic.”

“My name is Agent Victor Nagel and … how do you open this?”

“The door?” Robert's irritation was fading into amusement.

“Of course not, this type of lock.” Victor twisted the lock and turned the doorknob, but failed to open the door. “You don't have to be sarcastic about it. I could report you to my superiors for your lack of cooperation.”

“I'm sure they'd love to hear that you were unable to do your job because you were incapable of opening a door.” At Victor's look Robert relented. “Here.” He slid back the deadbolt and then undid the smaller lock by the knob. “You were doing it in the wrong order.”

“Thank you.” Victor opened the door. “It was a mistake anyone could have made.”

Victor's attempt at a face-saving comment forced Robert to bite back a smile.

“Sure, Vic.”

Victor retrieved the mail and held it up triumphantly for Robert to see.

“Everything here is unnecessary, a waste of paper, they have to go.”

“I agree with the credit card offer, but the newsletter on backpacking is something I actually read, although if it makes you feel better you can get rid of it. That last one though, is a card from my aunt and I do want that one.”

“Your wants are exactly the problem.” Victor clutched the envelopes close as if Robert had some means of taking them away from him.

Robert tried to think of a course of action that seemed unlikely to rile Victor up more, but his options appeared nonexistent.

“But I guess it wouldn't hurt to open it first,” Victor said, separating the card from the rest of the mail.

“Thank you.” Robert had always believed that patience was key in most situations. This was just an extraordinary test of the concept.

Victor took the matches out of his pocket. “Let's deal with the first two and then we'll open the card.”

“I have a recycle bin, you know.” Robert resisted the urge to pluck the matchbox from his fingers, reminding himself he was only likely to get shocked for his efforts.

Victor paused, looking indecisive. Then he nodded and slipped the matches back into his pocket.

“All right, where is it?”

Robert led him to the bin and watched as Victor tore the mail into small strips. He was remarkably thorough.

Robert reached for his card where Victor had set it on the table, but Victor snatched it back up to open it himself. Robert couldn't fathom what Victor thought the mail could possibly contain that would warrant such behavior, but he kept his opinion to himself.

The envelope was blue and had a sticker of a candle pressed onto the back like a seal. It caused Victor to frown in disapproval.

“It says 'happy birthday.'” Victor gave Robert a scrutinizing look. “Is it your birthday?”

“No, not for a week.” Robert wondered if lying would have gotten him any leniency.

“There's a check for a hundred dollars inside.” The tone of Victor's voice would have been more appropriate for a customs agent upon the discovery of illegal drugs.

“It's a birthday gift. I only get it once a year, so that's not really excessive.”

“Well, I could see that if it was your birthday, but since it isn't, it's quite excessive.”

“But it is for my birthday.” Robert watched as Victor shook his head and again retrieved the matches from his pocket. Robert was going to cast those damn things into the ocean if it was the last thing he ever did.

“Oh come on,” Robert said, when Victor showed no sign of relenting. “This is ridiculous. I won't cash it until my birthday, ok? Will that make you happy?”

Victor struck a match and touched the tip to the check.

Robert reached out involuntarily but then jerked his hand back at the jolt he received. He watched with frustration as his aunt's gift was turned to ash.

Robert's tolerance for his visitor was gone. Temporarily he may have been swayed by his inexperience and relative good looks, but that was past. He wanted—needed—him out.

The threat of more electric shocks was the only thing that stopped Robert from strangling Victor as he continued his inspection of Robert's home. While Robert's fairly spartan existence left little to find fault with, Victor still did what he could to make Robert's life more difficult. Robert gritted his teeth while Victor carried all his “excess” dishes out back and smashed them with a hammer, leaving the shards for Robert to clean up later. He even attempted to view it as a test of endurance when Victor emptied his pantry and then poured anything in a bottle down the nearest drain.

When Victor was finally ready to leave, he stood by the front door next to bags that contained the majority of Robert's clothing, his wet towels and a variety of other things. All of it of course, was destined for charity.

“Now I just need your signature, Robert, saying that I was here and what I removed from your possession. Then I'll be on my way.”

“Thank god.” Robert took the clipboard from him and scanned it briefly. It seemed to say exactly what he said it would. He located the place to sign his name and then…

Robert frowned. “This says Mr. Robert Martino.”

“That's right. Just sign on the line next to it.”

“But I'm Robert Martillo.”

“Oh um, well that must be a typo.”

“The address on this form says 113 Verkeerd Court, I live at 113 Verkeerd lane.”

Victor looked at him impatiently. “I don't see how that matters—”

“It matters because you have the wrong house.” Robert thrust the clipboard back into Victor's hands. “You want the large blue house on the cul-de-sac toward the end of the street.”

“Oh.” Victor appeared stricken. “Are you sure?”

“I want my things replaced.” Robert folded his arms across his chest.

“Well … your clothes are still here.” Victor gestured toward the bags as if they were an offering and not a huge inconvenience Robert would have to sort through the moment he left.

“I want my dishes and my $100 and all the shampoo and detergents you poured down the drain and everything else replaced. This was your mistake.”

“Look, I'm sure this was beneficial to you in some way.” Victor held up his hands in appeasement. “Consider it a free service.” Victor backed toward the door, but grimaced when Robert began to follow. “Ok, ok, I'm sorry. I made a mistake, but I can't fix it. I need to be leaving. I'm behind schedule now since I, uh, haven't even gotten to the right house.”

“You.” Robert jabbed a finger in his direction as if there was any question of who “you” was. “Are not going anywhere until we make some kind of arrangement to replace my things.”

Victor started to turn toward the door and Robert grabbed his arm to pull him back.

They both stared at Robert's hand in amazement where it held onto Victor. There was no kind of electric repercussion at all.

A slow grin spread across Robert's face while Victor blanched.

“Look, I know you're angry, but there is no way I can do what you want me to. My training only covered needs and this is a want so—”

“So what you're saying is that I'm not getting my stuff back.”

Victor swallowed. He nodded slowly as if he would have rather given any other answer.

“All right, I can accept that.” Any relief Victor may have felt was quickly dispelled by Roberts next words. “So now let's talk about what you need.”

“What I need?” Victor said, in a voice that was suddenly very small.

Robert escorted Victor back into the living room to stand beside the couch where their ordeal had begun.

Robert let go of him and Victor absently rubbed his arm.

“Take off your coat.”

“Why?” Victor looked at him suspiciously.

“Just do it.”

“All right, I admit it was a preventable error, but it wasn't on purpose.” Victor shrugged out of his coat and Robert took it from him, folding it once before draping it over an end of the couch.

“You were careless. Both the wrong name and the wrong address?”

“You have to admit they were very similar…”

“When you discovered how little excess I had, you should have double checked your paperwork.”

“I didn't realize … Robert, um, why are you rolling up your sleeves?”

“You don't want to know.”

Victor hesitated. “I actually haven't been on that many assignments.”

“I gathered that … Another thing you need to learn is not to use unsafe methods. No more trying to burn everything.”

“I was trained to thoroughly destroy everything to remove temptation, but they never told us how.”

“And fire was the first thing that occurred to you?”

“Well…”

“You can do better than that. Use some creativity.”

“I'm sorry.” Victor looked like he meant it, not that it mattered at this point.

“Now that brings us to the last thing you need.”

“What?” Victor averted his eyes, as if he didn't want to see Robert's face when being told about another failing.

“Come here.” Robert took Victor's hand and pulled him close so that their hips nearly touched. Robert ignored the heat of him and focused on undoing his fly. Victor's face had just enough time to register embarrassment before Robert pulled him down onto the couch. Robert forced him over his lap, allowing his weight to be supported by the cushions.

Robert could see the exact moment when Victor realized what was about to happen. The line of his back became suddenly stiff and he attempted to shove himself back off of Robert's thighs. But Robert was ready for him, restraining him with an arm across his back.

“If I'm not getting my stuff back then I'm going to make sure it was for a good reason. I'm going to make sure you never forget what you learned here today.”

“You can't do this. I'm an agent from—”

“The Department of Needs Versus Wants, uh-huh, got it.”

“But I don't want—”

“Want?” Robert loved the way the accusation rolled off his tongue.

Victor was completely silent, at least until Robert began tugging down his pants.

“This is unnecessary, you've explained—”

Robert bought his hand down in a solid smack causing Victor to gasp.

“And I understand so—” Victor flinched as Robert's hand descended again. “—there's no reason for—” Victor said the last words through gritted teeth. “—you to do this.”

The sound of the spanks landing on bare skin resounded off the walls. Victor began to shift and gasp in pain.

“Do you have to hit so hard?”

“It's a punishment, Vic.”

“Robert, it hurts…” Victor cast a hand back to shield his bottom, but Robert swept it up and pinned it behind his back.

Victor kicked and struggled to escape Robert's palm, but no matter how he twisted, the blows continued to reign down on his scorching flesh. He pleaded for Robert to stop, but it wasn't until there were tracks of real tears that he let Victor go.

Victor sat up on his knees pressing his hands behind him. Robert stood and went to the bar to get some brandy and two glasses. Luckily Victor hadn't destroyed them with everything else, since he hadn't seemed to recognize the bar for what it was.

When he returned Victor had gotten to his feet and restored his clothes. Robert waited until he was done wiping away the tears and snot with his sleeve before he offered him a glass.

“Thank you, but I don't drink.”

“Of course you don't.” Robert set the glass down on the end table. He'd drink it himself in a moment. He needed it.

“I should be going,” Victor said.

He seemed subdued. Robert had expected more fight from him.

“All right.” Robert downed his drink in one long swallow. “No more fires, remember?”

“No, no fires.” So far Victor had made no move to leave.

Robert picked up the glass he'd poured for Victor.

“Thank you, Robert.”

Robert paused in surprise; his drink nearly to his mouth. “For what?”

“Caring about my needs.” Victor's expression was now completely unreadable. “I should thank you.”

“You, um … just did.”

“No, not like that.” Victor took the glass from Robert's fingers and sat it back on the table. He leaned in so that their noses nearly touched. “Like this.” Victor pressed his lips lightly to Robert's then pulled back to search Robert's eyes.

Robert knew his cue, he pulled Victor tightly to him, he heard him gasp when his his hand brushed his still tender bottom. Robert ran his tongue along the seam of the other man's lips and Victor opened wide, taking him in. They pressed their bodies together as if it wasn't possible to be close enough.

And there was only one remedy for that.

* * *

Robert wasn't sure how much later it was, when he heard a knock at the door. He slipped on his pants, not bothering with underwear or a shirt, before going to answer it.

Standing outside was quite possibly the most stunning individual he had ever seen. He was just a little taller than Robert, perfectly built, with dark eyes and a mouth that begged to be put to immediate use.

“Hi,” he smiled and Robert's heart fluttered in a way it hadn't since junior high. “I'm from the Department of Wants vs. Needs, I've heard report of an imbalance—”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off when Robert shut the door in his incredibly attractive face. Robert didn't need any more harmony in his life. He was fine with it the way it was.

Although the Department of Wants did have a certain appeal…

Robert shook off the temptation. The only thing he really wanted, for the moment at least, was currently sprawled out asleep on his couch.