Chapter Text
“Ah!” shouted Jamie, startling awake in the dark.
“Fuck,” groaned Roy, shifting around in the bed beside him.
Beside him, in bed, because they were home now.
Roy’s home.
Roy’s bed.
“Sorry,” gasped Jamie, doing his best to pull out of the dream. “Sorry! Roy, I’m-”
“Shh, Jamie,” grunted Roy, his voice rough with sleep, sitting up and reaching for the light. “You’re fine, as I’ve said.”
“Don’t mean to-” apologized Jamie, heart still racing. “Sorry, I-”
“Jamie,” said Roy, as the light snapped on, bathing the room in the warm glow. “Come here, you fucking muppet. You’re not in charge of your body when it’s fighting in your sleep.”
“Just- you know-” said Jamie, aware he was still trembling, every limb ready to strike out- strike back, baleka running in a loop on his head.
Baleka. Meant run.
His body were aching to do it.
“Jamie,” sighed Roy, “come here.”
Jamie cringed, and then crept his way over to Roy, resting his chin dismally on the man’s furry chest. “I’m sorry,” he told Roy, well aware he’d woken the man up from a deep slumber by kicking him in the calf. “Could’ve fucked your knee, mate!”
“Yeah, well, decade too late for that to fucking make the news,” sighed Roy, pulling him tight and settling his cheek on the top of Jamie’s head, holding him. “Bad one, though, yeah?”
“Bad,” agreed Jamie, willing his body to go limp, to rest, to relax on Roy.
It helped that Roy let his own body slump and stay loose, no matter how tightly Jamie was wound when he woke them. He’d told Roy that and Roy had rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, shocking they’d’ve covered that in my coursework, Tartt. Real shocking they’d’ve covered best responses to nightmares for someone in my fucking position.”
“Need to journal it?” Roy asked quietly.
Jamie shook his head. “It’s slipping away already,” he sighed, rubbing his cheek against the man’s bare chest. “Sorry, I- just- I was young, and- trying to get free.”
“Glad you kicked,” Roy said firmly. “Wish you’d done more getting free, back then.”
“Me too,” said Jamie, a lump forming in his throat immediately. He sighed. “Wish I’d- done more never fucking getting caught in the first place.”
“Mm,” agreed Roy.
Roy held him, as they both waited, Jamie’s body relaxing breath by breath, to find out if Jamie’d fall back to sleep, or-
“Let’s get up,” suggested Roy, after several long minutes. “You can go write a bit, I’ll make tea, we can read, head back up in an hour or so.”
Jamie wanted to protest, but he’d learned Roy didn’t have a single fucking qualm about spanking him in the middle of the night. “Sounds good,” he said, instead, the deep warm feeling of allowing Roy to care for him flooding his head.
Roy reached for his phone and grunted. “Eyy,” he said, sounding surprised. “Made it most of the night, Jamie.”
“Did I?” asked Jamie, shocked.
“Yeah, almost three a.m.,” reported Roy.
“Huh,” said Jamie. “Well, that’s… progress.”
And the deeply sad part were, that it were progress. First night home from hospital, he’d slept near twelve full hours, dead to the world and happy to be back in Roy’s bed. The next night, he’d woken them up with nightmares every two.
He’d had too many feelings about all of it, but Roy had remained steady: This were fine. They’d make it liveable, find the tricks and tools, but this were to be expected.
To be expected, after an experience like he’d had.
An experience, like the one he’d survived.
He’d had his fill of surviving, actually, thanks.
Dr. Fieldstone said to think of it like a new normal. She approved of what Roy were doing, giving them a strict bedtime and enforcing that they got up from the bed, moved around a bit, before they went back, so the bed didn’t become a toss-and-turn miserable place.
“Hate me brace,” Jamie muttered, following Roy down the stairs. “Want it off. Think it’s- me brain’s like, get it off- get it off, and it’s contributing to the bad dreams.”
Roy grunted and tapped the calendar on the wall to the kitchen- the one Keeley’d printed for him, with all of Jamie’s recovery times drawn on so Jamie could see it all laid out in one place.
He scowled at the week marked, First chance @ matches.
Still too far in the future.
But he couldn’t disagree that he’d lost conditioning, following the doctor’s orders for total rest and recovery. Lost it in a way he’d never lost it, growing up and taking what had been dished out to him and never letting himself slow.
The green line of the brace traveled at least two more weeks before turning a paler shade.
So far he’d hit every color change and been allowed to race forward, focused on the next thing he needed to heal up to be good as new, as Gail put it.
But it were impossible, waiting for each restriction to fall off.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled at Roy, rubbing at the wrist brace. “Fucking know, don’t I?”
“It’s so late, might need a fucking snack to help settle for another quick kip,” said Roy, peering in the fridge. “Fruit and shit, something light.”
Jamie rolled his eyes and rested his back against the counter, shivering a bit at the cool of the marble.
“Grab your fucking notebook, go get under the duvet before you fucking freeze,” Roy said shortly, digging around in the fridge. “I’ll put the kettle on, and I don’t need help.”
“Fine, you cranky old bastard,” muttered Jamie, quitting the room whilst rubbing at his chest.
“Heard that,” called Roy.
“You were meant to!” Jamie shouted back, wandering into the sleek little office with its ultramodern decor and collecting his dream journal from the desktop, pen still on top of it.
The duvet he collected from the chair where it’d been tossed the night before, and burrowed into it.
It was a ridiculous thing for Roy to have- probably taken from a spare bedroom upstairs. Huge and puffy, and it enveloped him in warmth as he sank onto the couch with it.
He bit his lip before he opened his journal.
Dr. Fieldstone said write whatever comes to mind.
He’d asked her if that really meant anything, and she’d raised her eyebrows and held up her hands, spreading them a little.
I fucking hate this, he wrote, in careful letters, letting himself really hate the pen in his fingers and the paper beneath his hand. I hate waking him up, I hate BEING woken up, I hate how it hangs over me and how I’m scared of nothing.
She’d said it didn’t have to be truthful. He didn’t have to edit himself.
I hate everything about this, I hate the brace, I want to take it off but Roy spanked me about it and I’m not mental, I know if I try to take it off at bedtime before the doctor says I can I’ll be over his knee and crying before I even get the damn thing off.
I hate having to write it down, he wrote next.
He stared at the words, re-read them. Bit his lip, listening to the near-silent tick-tick-tick of the little clock above the mantle, the small hands tracking the seconds passing.
Because that makes it real, he added.
And then he breathed- four in, hold four, four out, and wrote, Like it makes the dream real- can’t explain why I think that but I do. Hate that writing it down is like making it real and trapping it here but it’s still more real now it’s been set down. Hate that.
But tonight’s dream was more of the same. I was smaller than them, and there were more of them, besides, and I was shouting at Sam to go, go, go, but I couldn’t see if he’d gone, and then I knew they’d be after my eyes next, but I didn’t want to-
Roy appeared in the doorway, and Jamie looked up, heart racing.
Roy assessed, the way he did now, taking a long look at Jamie, noting every detail about the way he sat and hunched and wrote crabbed little letters all over the page.
“Tea,” Roy announced, and then he settled beside Jamie on the couch, and passed him a mug.
Camomile and mint.
Same as always.
Jamie breathed in the steam, pen lying on the last of his words in his lap.
Roy’s shoulder rested against his, and the urge to throw himself on the man were strong and powerful enough he had to do some breathing again.
“I feel well-rested,” sighed Roy, taking a sip of his own.
It should have scalded the man, as hot as Jamie knew it were, but Roy liked his teas hot enough to boil flesh, and regularly drank them that way.
“Mm,” agreed Jamie.
They’d gone to bed at half-eight, and he’d fallen asleep the way he always did, at Roy’s house- seamlessly, the quiet of subspace extending out in all directions until he gave in, usually with Roy’s hand running through his hair or resting on his back.
Roy slowly slid his arm around Jamie’s shoulders and just as slowly drew him in. He kissed the side of Jamie’s head and sighed. “Not bad, this.”
“What, me kicking you awake, causing soft tissue damage, at three a.m.?” scoffed Jamie, staring down at the words I knew they’d be after my eyes next and trying not to feel the echo of all that anxiety build in his chest.
That were an old fear, that one, and nothing to do with what’d happened weeks ago. The Russian had wanted his eyes open for everything he’d done.
Wasn’t fair when the traumas skipped across and shook hands, in his sleep.
Roy snorted. “I take harder kicks from Phoebe when she’s not even trying, Jamie.”
Jamie conceded the point, and settled his weight so he were very definitely being held by Roy again.
He’d survived a lot, so that could happen.
He’d do it all again, if he were told that being held by Roy were his prize, at the end.
He didn’t write more, which were fine, because the whole point of writing were to loosen the thing in his chest, the clawing thing that hurt and made him frantic.
And sipping tea with Roy didn’t always work, so they had other tricks. But tonight, feeling honestly fairly well-rested, it did work.
They went up to bed, he knelt, and then they settled again, and he didn’t wake until Roy’s phone went off at seven, and the next day began.
~~~
“Oi, are you having me on?” demanded Jamie, shocked. “You pulling one over?”
“No,” said the doctor, smiling proudly. “I’ll send Gail to tell the coaches.”
“I can- you’re letting me-” repeated Jamie. “I can have some running and do drills?”
“Specific drills, as cleared by Gail,” said the doctor.
“And me brace?” asked Jamie, holding his arm up hopefully.
“That… will have to wait,” sighed the doctor, shaking his head regretfully. “As will scrimmage- you understand you’re not to do anything that might involve falls or body contact?”
“Accidents may happen, so we’ll stick to the exercises that limit risk,” Gail put in helpfully, but she was grinning from ear to ear.
“Fuck yeah,” breathed Jamie, an automatic response, his heart thumping in his chest excitedly.
“Your healing process is, as others have noted, accelerated," said the doctor. “I have been consulting with your small team of specialists in submissive rehabilitation efforts and, well, brats, to be specific, and even for your subclass, you have- remarkable- system response to trauma.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jamie bitterly. “Served me well, over the years.”
Gail touched his shoulder and ducked her head to peer into his face. “You’ll feel better with a ball on your toes, c’mon, Jamie. Let’s get you to your pitch.”
“The lads have been missing you,” the doctor put in, and that did feel good to hear, even if he already knew that.
~~~
“Yeah! Boyo!” shouted Colin, as the ball arched beautifully, hitting the net like Jamie were teaching a course on gorgeous kicking.
The clap on his back from Isaac felt fantastic, as well, Isaac being careful to slap his good shoulder.
Smart idea of Moe’s, to put the bright tape on his bad one, so they’d all be reminded.
“Gorgeous,” declared Isaac. “Fuck, mate, missed watching you fucking sink ‘em.”
“All right, all right!” called Ted. “Next up, half-court kick, who’s in line?”
Silly fucking thing to practice, but it still put a wag in Jamie’s tongue, showing off that he still had it.
“C’mere you,” said Roy gruffly, and then he was pulled in for a quick squeeze. “Bloody fucking gorgeous, Jame. How’s it feel?”
Jamie breathed out, and then nodded, ducking his head a bit, aware of all the eyes that must be on them, now that they were an item and not just a- a registered pairing, like. “Good,” he told Roy honestly. “Hammies are killing me, after all that running, though.”
“Good,” said Roy with satisfaction, slapping his cheek a bit before shoving him off to go with the other lads as had taken their turn. “You needed a good fucking run, Jamie. Haven’t stropped at all, today!”
He hadn’t. He’d been reaching for his reserve energy, just keeping up.
But the skill were still there, all of it.
He’d lost none of his feel for the ball, his ability to picture where it needed to go and get it there.
Just his stamina were the only thing missing.
“Yeah, Jamie,” teased Jeff, as he joined the man. “Haven’t stropped at all today, being such a good boy!”
“Fucking knackered, mate,” complained Jamie, shaking out his legs. “Gonna take weeks, building me conditioning back to where it were!”
“Talk to Paul,” said Shannon firmly, catching Jamie’s eye. “He’ll be out months, if he ever gets put back in.”
“Ay, lad,” laughed Colin, bumping into Jamie’s good side. “Quit your bitchin’, like! Could be out months, Jamie! Instead it’s weeks and you’ll be back terrorizing the league. Every club in our line-up’s proper fucking terrified for your return, you know that, yeah? Have all me old mates pressing me for information this week.”
Murmurs of agreement from the other lads.
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Tell ‘em to talk to the doctor,” he muttered.
“Yeah, well, Richie from Arsenal, we came up together in Academy,” offered Arlo, “he says they did talk to their physio team about your potential recovery times, and their physios had a whole rant about you being allowed back at practice this early.”
Jamie scoffed, glaring at Arlo a bit. “Fuck they know about any of it?”
Arlo shrugged, turning his focus on Declan, wincing as the man kicked well wide and began swearing. “Don’t know that they do know anything, Tartt. Just- they’re tracking it, proper worried that we play them in four weeks and you might be back on the pitch.”
“You’re holding your own,” Jamie pointed out uncomfortably. The lads had been playing their hearts out, trying out new plays without him, keeping opposing teams at bay. AFC Richmond might not be headed for the top of the league without him, but they’d shown well, in his absence.
“No fucking hat tricks, not even out of this one,” teased Jeff, wrapping an easy arm around Colin’s neck and giving his hair a ruffle.
“Although, will you kneel for me, on Sunday, Jamie?” asked Colin hopefully, as he squirmed out of the man’s grip. “Think I could probably get one, if you’d kneel.”
“Course?” said Jamie scornfully. “Course I will?”
Sunday’s match would be his first back on the sidelines again. Roy’d skipped the one when he’d been in hospital, and the lads had done well despite him, holding steady at a 1-1, but he’d been back on the pitch for the game on Saturday.
The match Jamie had been told he couldn’t attend, on account of his face still being a mess and the way he were walking at the time.
He’d wanted to go, support the lads, give Colin his little kneel he thought were lucky, but Roy’d said absolutely not, and Keeley’d agreed, and Ted had said no as well.
Physios had said he could go and sit, if he wanted, but no one cared, and Roy made it clear to Jamie’s arse, anyway, that Roy’s decision was the only one of note.
He’d miss this week’s match, and at least three more, before Roy would even consider letting him back on the pitch, the man said.
He were a hard fucking man, Roy Kent.
Worst thing in the world, to be in love with him, have to put up with his overbearing nonsense.
Jamie’d played almost as damaged, in the past.
But Roy said no more, all done with that, and so they were all done with that and he were benched until further notice.
“Saw you had Garron yesterday,” commented Arlo, carefully casual in his tone. “He was the last one, right? Now you’ve had everyone?”
Jamie nodded, shrugging. “Think so, yeah,” he said, doing a quick scan of faces. “Not, like, Tommy, but, yeah, think I got to every dom.”
“Tommy’s been making up for lost time, too,” put in Shannon. “We all got used to you kneeling, Jamie, before matches and at the half and afterwards. Dani’s never in the right headspace at matches, he says, but Moe’s been willing. And Nate, although, don’t mind saying those that want him can have him.”
Colin bit out a laugh as Sasha’s kick sailed beautifully, falling short by several feet much to the man’s disappointment. “Yeah, turns out I don’t like wrestling my partner down into subspace, do I? I’ll wait on Jamie’s return.”
“You’re just lazy,” teased Jeff. “Lazy fucking bastards, all you sados. I don’t mind Nate at all. Just needs a bit of coaxing to feel safe dropping, poor mite. Reminds me of a kittygirl I had once, always so damn shy and nervy.”
“The hell we talking about, when we could be doing passes?” demanded Isaac, glaring around at the little group of them after jogging over.
“How nice it is Jamie’s back, and able to kneel for us on Sunday,” said Colin, grinning up at the other man.
“Oh,” said Isaac, the wind clearly taken out of his anger sails. “Yeah. Good to have you back, Jamie.”
Jamie grinned back at him. “Doc cleared me to do all the passes I want, provided I go slow, pay attention to me ribs and wrist, yeah?”
“How about your fucking knees?” Isaac said, jutting his chin at Jamie while staring at them.
“Superficial,” declared Jamie confidently. “Mostly healed up although- I know they still look a mess. Doc said they’d be fine by the weekend, all scarred up and the scabs gone.”
Isaac grunted, tilting his head. “And your fucking nose?” he demanded.
“I don’t pass the ball with me fucking nose, mate,” snapped Jamie, rolling his eyes and spreading his arms. “I’m offering to go do passes, do you want me, or do I cozy up to Jeff about it, McAdoo?”
“Can cozy up to me,” offered Declan, wandering over, eyes twinkling.
Isaac kicked a ball at Jamie. “Dibs,” he said simply.
“Yeah, Cockburn,” teased Jamie, standing up quickly and kicking it over to the side. “Man’s got dibs. Can’t argue that one.”
“Fucking can, but I won’t,” laughed Declan. “Go have your fun!”
“Jamie?!” shouted Gail.
“Just passes!” Jamie shouted back at her, getting behind the ball and kicking it back to Isaac. “While we wait for the rest?”
Daft fucking exercise, making everyone kick from the centerline, but then the Americans had no idea what were needed, did they? Making it up as they went along.
“Sounds good, mind your ribs,” Gail shouted happily. “You’re doing well!”
And he were.
Fucking exhausted, but that were to be expected.
A day of walking and stretching were nothing, against being allowed some kicking and chasing and finally being allowed to pour speed on top of it.
“You gonna be up for weights, this week, you think?” called Isaac.
“Dunno,” Jamie returned, using the side of his toe to give the ball a wicked angle on its return to Isaac.
Isaac dove for it, smiling savagely. “Glad you have you fucking back, Tartt.”
Jamie laughed at the ball Isaac lobbed at him, straight for his fucking face, and deftly avoided it by skipping backwards, taking the ball on his hip, where the fingerprint bruises had been among the first to fade. “Nice try, you raging cunt,” he shouted at the man cheerfully.
Isaac threw back his head and laughed in the split second before Jamie sent the fucking ball sailing right back at him, making the man dodge it.
Fuck but he’d really missed footie- real footie, with players who didn’t know how to not challenge you.
He could feel the eyes of the coaches on him, and Gail’s, and Roy’s, as they played out their little waiting kickabout, him and Isaac.
It was a stupid fucking drill, kicking at the goal from the centerline of the pitch, but he couldn’t help thinking Ted had insisted on it, so Jamie could show off a bit, his first day properly back, properly training again.
Which meant he’d been studying Jamie’s tapes quite a bit more than Jamie’d expected.
Jamie loved kicking one in from the centerline. It was showy and glorious, sinking one in, and he’d been famous for it on the England U-17 team, scoring them the goal that’d won the cup in 2013.
Rest of the team were mostly shit at it, even without a goalie, but that were footie- couldn’t expect luck to save the day, could you?
That’s why Jamie’d always stayed late, when he were a lad, practicing for it.
~~~
Jamie hissed as he slid down from the G-wagon, and that were a fatal mistake.
Roy froze midstep, and turned to him, eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Just a little stiff,” Jamie tried, giving what he knew were only a poor imitation of his usual cocky grin.
“Stiff,” repeated Roy in a growl.
Jamie tried to roll his eyes, but then he stepped and it came out a bit of a limp.
When Roy took a concerned step forward, he flinched.
He couldn’t help himself.
He were knackered.
“Bath,” said Roy firmly. “And you’re going to tell me everywhere it fucking hurts, Jamie.”
“Everywhere,” muttered Jamie. “Fucking hurts everywhere, mate.”
“Mm,” hummed Roy, in that ominous way he had, before gesturing for Jamie to proceed him into the house and slapping at the garage door button, to make it lower.
“You’re fucking limping,” Roy announced on the stairs.
“Yeah,” agreed Jamie, resentful because he’d tried not to show it, but the man had such sharp eyes for every detail, didn’t he? “First day back, right? Overdid it, didn’t I?”
“I knew it,” said Roy, sounding enraged. “I fucking knew you were pushing too hard, where the fuck was Gail?”
“Roy, I’m only- it’s only normal recovery though, innit?” asked Jamie, rolling his eyes as he stepped out onto the landing and turned to the bedroom.
“No, you’re having a full bath tonight,” said Roy firmly, putting a hand on Jamie’s good shoulder and pressing him to walk down the hall to the guest bath with the huge tub. “Going to soak all the stiff out of you.”
“Roy, I don’t- I’m knackered, mate,” complained Jamie. “I just- can I just shower and go sleep it off, yeah?”
“Bath,” said Roy.
“Eh, no,” countered Jamie, pressing back into Roy’s hand just a bit, feeling the way the need to push flooded through him. “No, Roy, don’t think I-”
“Not too tired to kick up a fuss?” muttered Roy, his grip tightening uncomfortably. “Fine with me, love.”
“I’m not fussing, you cranky bastard!” spat Jamie, attempting to turn their course away before Roy dragged him through the door to the guest bedroom. “I’m not- it’s recovery, I’m tired because I en’t trained in three weeks! I’m limping because-”
“Broken ribs-” began Roy in his low, dangerous voice.
“Hairline fractures, they said!” yelped Jamie.
“-anorectal tears-”
“Those’ve mostly healed, Roy, don’t hardly feel anything- oi!”
“Fucked up knees,” continued Roy, ignoring the hurt look Jamie threw at him over his shoulder at that dirty little trick of a hip-check, forcing him into the guest room. “Dislocated fucking shoulder, Jamie!”
“It were only a- the little one, the sub-luxury one!” Jamie protested. “Not a full- I mean, they said, best kind to have, yeah?”
“Best kind of shoulder dislocation to have isn’t an award we’re interested in winning,” said Roy tightly. “And we’re not going to treat these very real injuries like they’re fucking nothing, Jamie!”
“I’m not getting in a bath about it!” shouted Jamie, surprised at how much emotion came out in the words.
Did he really care that much?
Why did he care that much?
“You are,” growled Roy, shoving him again until he was pressed up against the enormous tub’s sidewall.
Roy leaned over and started the tap, while Jamie spluttered wordlessly beside him, crossing his arms.
“I won’t,” Jamie settled on, finally, rubbing the ache in his chest and glaring daggers at Roy.
“You won’t,” repeated Roy, turning to glare at him as he rolled up one sleeve and tested the water temperature. The bastard must have found it adequate, for he stood up and stared at Jamie.
Slowly, he raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t make me, Roy,” said Jamie, putting his hands on his hips.
“Just a quick fucking check-in,” said Roy pleasantly enough, reaching for a towel to wipe his hand as the bath filled, “but are we fucking playing pretend anymore, Jamie Tartt?”
“This isn’t about that!” snapped Jamie, making a sharp gesture with his hand for emphasis. “This’s about, like…” his voice trailed off as he realized he didn’t actually know what this were about. It were important, though- he just wanted to go to bed, yeah? He were knackered!
“No, go on,” pressed Roy, taking a step closer in a way that felt very menacing.
Jamie pressed himself against the wall, for maximum bum safety, just in case Roy got any ideas. He glared at the man. “Obviously, it’s not about what- the garbage me dad put in me head, Roy! I’m not pretending, yeah? Going to bed is very sensible, Roy!”
“Not about the garbage in your fucking head?” repeated Roy incredulously.
“No! Roy!” shouted Jamie, exasperated. “It’s about going to fucking bed when I’m knackered!”
“Really,” drawled Roy.
“Really!” spat Jamie, opening his arms wide. “Really, Roy! It’s about going to fucking bed, instead of having- what, a bath, and you’ll, what, pamper me? Bring me little chocolate covered strawberries? I’m recovering, I’m a little tired, I don’t need any-”
“-anything,” interrupted Roy, with a viciously mocking voice. “I don’t need anything.”
Jamie froze, suddenly and abruptly aware of the danger he were in, at the moment.
“You do fucking hear yourself, yeah?” demanded Roy.
“It’s not- I don’t- look, those were rules for hospital,” said Jamie weakly.
“Those were rules about injury recovery,” corrected Roy bluntly. “And what did I say, in hospital, when you needed support and wouldn’t fucking accept it?”
Jamie swallowed and stared at Roy.
That were a trap kind of question for the man to ask him, and he weren’t about to step into it.
“Did I say, la-de-fucking-diddle-da, no worries, Jamie, you’re my sub but you’re allowed to fucking struggle along, allowing no care to be taken because taking care is such a soft fucking thing for you to receive?” asked Roy, glaring at Jamie.
“It’s not like that,” Jamie told him in a faltering voice, beginning to suspect for himself that, yeah, a little bit it might be like that. “I’m not- I’m not saying no just to- because I don’t like soft, because-”
“It’s a bath. You’re having one, because your muscles hurt and the warmth will help soothe them,” said Roy sternly. “I’m not risking you having DOMS because we weren’t keeping close enough eye on you today.”
“I don’t- I won’t?” attempted Jamie.
He might. His muscles had that ache to them, sort of shivery.
But he weren’t telling the lunatic that!
“You might, and a bath might fucking prevent it, so you’re fucking having one, with or without the fucking fit, Jamie,” Roy informed him. “And yeah, I’m going to bring you up a glass of fancy fucking water- might even spritz a lemon over it- and some food to eat, or maybe I’ll demand that you come downstairs and laze on the couch afterward and I’ll feed you that chicken rice thing you love, on your knees, Jamie. And maybe force a slice of that blueberry tart on you, since you fucking loved it, too, and fuck knows you need the calories right now. And you’re going to let me do that, let me take care of you- why, again?”
Jamie stared at Roy, feeling the angry raging thing inside him build up steam, while tears sprang to his eyes. “It’s not the same!” he cried. “It’s not the same thing! I don’t- you’re being-”
“Yeah, I’m a fucking monster,” said Roy, rolling his eyes. “Forcing you to take some fucking care, that’s the fucking worst thing, and you fucking hate it, Jamie, but who wins these little spats about softness, every time?”
“It’s not the same!” Jamie spat out.
“Jamie Tartt!” shouted Roy, reaching for Jamie’s arm and pulling him forward roughly. “Who decides when you need a bit of care?!”
“Not fucking you!” yelled Jamie, aware it made no sense, aware he were yelling because the thing in his chest said it had to be done, or he’d burst into tears over a bath and a blueberry fucking tart. Yelling nonsense were better than fucking crying any day.
Roy snorted, and then rolled up his other sleeve. “Let’s change that fucking answer,” he growled.
Jamie gasped as he spun Jamie by the one arm and pressed Jamie’s chest to the wall with a steady hand on his back, between his shoulders. “Let me know when you’re ready to give the right fucking one, yeah?” he growled, while Jamie’s mind reeled.
“Roy!” yelped Jamie, shocked.
“If you’re fit enough for some fucking running and drills, you’re fit enough for a fucking reminder that you do take fucking softness, it is allowed, and we’re not fucking following your father’s bullshit rules anymore,” announced Roy grimly.
“Me shoulder!” hissed Jamie, trying to push away from the wall. “Me ribs!”
“Hold still, and neither of them will be in danger,” promised Roy.
And then he made holding still take all of Jamie’s focus, as he cracked his hand hard against Jamie’s arse, three times in quick succession.
“No!” gasped Jamie, although that were nonsense, too. Nothing’d stop until he said red, but he didn’t- Roy’s hand weren’t doing damage, and he- the thing in his chest- he didn’t want to say red, he wanted to-
“Want to throw a fit over having a fucking bath, I’ll sort you out fast, before the bath even fucking fills, Jamie,” muttered Roy. “Fucking stings, don’t it?”
“Roy!” pleaded Jamie, aware of Roy’s careful hand pressing gently in the center of his back, guiding him to remain clinging tightly against the wall. “No! Sorry! I-”
“You should be fucking sorry, Jamie!” scolded Roy. “We’re not doing that anymore, we agreed, yeah? You’re allowed all the soft I can manage! You’re allowed care, when you’re injured. We’re not fucking pretending you don’t deserve it, you don’t need it, you should be left to rot in a bed somewhere for- how many days, again? How many days was your worst drop?”
“Five, Roy!” yelped, Jamie, jumping just a little as the hand struck soundly. “Five days, all alone!”
“Five days, all alone, struggling through it,” agreed Roy. “We’re all fucking done with you not accepting care, Jamie. You’re my first fucking priority- your care, your safety, and your comfort, Jamie!”
“Very uncomfortable right now,” Jamie reported in a hiss, nodding quickly. “Please, Roy!”
“Ready to get in the bath?” asked Roy.
“Very ready!” Jamie agreed, leaning his cheek against the cool tile.
“Good, the bath’s fucking ready for you,” said Roy, stepping back and turning off the tap. “Get in.”
“Me bum’s gonna burn,” moaned Jamie, stepping cautiously and carefully away from the wall.
“Yeah, well, you wanted to fucking strop,” said Roy, unmoved by the complaint. He crossed his arms, both of them with sleeves rolled up- the one he’d used to check the temperature of the water, and the one he’d used to change the temperature of Jamie’s arse.
Jamie carefully climbed into the water, which were only a little too hot to be his favorite temperature.
Roy dug through the little cupboard drawers and pulled out a bath bomb. “Epson salts,” he told Jamie, when Jamie opened his mouth to complain about it. “They’ll help, and who gets to make the decision about whether you need them or not?”
“You,” muttered Jamie, watching the little ball arc through the air and land in the tub with resentment.
The little fizzy explosion and sudden scent of sandalwood made him frown and fan a wave of water at the ridiculousness of it all.
His arse fucking ached!
Although his hammies ached worse.
And his shoulder, and his fucking ribs, and-
And everything.
Even his toes fucking ached.
Everything ached and he was so fucking tired.
“And why do I get to make that fucking decision, Jamie?” demanded Roy cruelly.
“You’re… me fucking tamer,” muttered Jamie, fanning another wave of water at the far side of the tub.
“And what the fuck are you?” asked Roy, in that dark, teasing tone Jamie hated so much.
With his arse blazing, and the warmth of the water already starting to do wonders on his stiffness, Jamie could only sigh and mumble resentfully, “Your bitchy, bratty boy, Roy.”
“Fucking right. I’ll be back with your water. Don’t fucking drown,” said Roy shortly.
“Won’t,” agreed Jamie, tilting his head back to rest on the lip of the tub.
A glass of cool water sounded proper mint, really.
Even if he felt guilty about Roy stumping up and down the stairs to bring it to him.
Weren’t going to complain, though.
He’d learned in hospital that any smacks hurt worse on a wet arse, and he were already sore and aching enough, thanks.
~~~
“One more bite, love,” murmured Roy.
Jamie were exhausted, wrung out and barely holding himself upright, but he pulled himself up from his slump against Roy’s knee and opened his mouth wide, accepting the forkful of blueberry tart with a little happy noise.
“Good boy,” Roy praised him, tapping his nose gently with the tip of the fork.
Jamie wrinkled his nose.
Fuck the man for- for-
Nope, the thought were lost, slipping around in the floating space between his ears.
Tart were so good, so sweet and gooey, and the last bite still held some of the warmth, somehow, of Roy reheating it for them.
He slid himself back to be propped up by Roy’s leg, resting himself on the man’s knee.
“Bedtime,” said Roy quietly.
Sure.
Sounded good.
Felt like it were too light outside, but- but Jamie weren’t in charge of things.
Weren’t in charge of anything, at the moment.
Fucking relief, that. He were so fucking tired.
“Up,” commanded Roy, and so Jamie levered himself up to his feet, standing and stretching, the duvet falling to puddle on the floor.
“Gorgeous,” commented Roy, as Jamie forced his eyes wide, so he could walk.
Sure. Could be that, for Roy. Could do- whatever.
Whatever it were Roy wanted.
Head too muzzy for anymore thinking, just- just full up of Roy, and following the man’s wants and needs.
“C’mon, brat,” murmured Roy, taking his hand and tugging him first to the door, and then up the stairs.
Jamie let himself be led, safe and secure in Roy’s hold.
“One last thing I have in mind,” said Roy quietly, drawing down the covers and pressing Jamie into the bed.
“Mm?” hummed Jamie, happy with whatever made Roy happy, at the moment.
Felt so good, everywhere, even though the ache were still around. Even though he were more tired than he’d ever been.
Proper glowing with it all, somehow, how good it fucking felt, even though he were healing up still, and should be numb about everything, should feel numb about everything.
Roy slid into the bed on his side and then pressed himself to Jamie’s side, hand on Jamie’s thigh. “You tell me, if this isn’t what you want,” he said sternly. “But I’ve a mind to spoil you, just a bit, while you’re looking so relaxed and feeling so good. And the second it stops feeling good, you say it, yeah?”
“Y’ssir,” slurred Jamie, sniffing a little at Roy’s shoulder because it smelled so much of the man- so distinctly Roy, his skin always smelled the- “oh!”
“Good?” asked Roy quietly, hand moving gently, half question and half praise.
“Yeah,” breathed Jamie, letting his hips thrust up into Roy’s hand languidly, going slow so he’d only feel the stretch of it, and no more burn. “S’good.”
His head all floaty from kneeling, body buzzing with warmth and rest and care and feeling good, Jamie breathed deep and kissed the t-shirt that clung to Roy’s bicep before tucking his head against the muscle and giving himself up to the sensation of the man’s hand, stroking him soft and slow, his cock hardening at the delicious friction of the motion.
“That’s my good boy,” breathed Roy. “Feels good?”
“Yes,” sighed Jamie, nodding a little. It did feel good. It felt- it felt soft and wonderful, letting Roy stroke him like this, Roy’s body curled on his side and pressed up against Jamie’s, solid and strong and so very, very present.
Feeling held, very much feeling held by Roy, caught up by the man.
With his eyes closed as they were, it felt like Roy were everywhere, wrapped around him and beside him and- “Ah!” gasped Jamie, as Roy’s thumb flicked heavily over the head of his cock.
“Shhh,” soothed Roy, a smile in his voice. “Didn’t want you falling asleep, is all. Felt good?”
“Yes,” hissed Jamie. He wanted- he wanted- “Kiss? Me?”
“Sweet boy,” murmured Roy, and then he sealed his mouth to Jamie’s and Jamie had never in his life been this bonelessly relaxed and made to feel fantastic. The kiss had him moaning and begging with his body in very short order, heels drumming at the mattress for purchase as he thrust up into Roy’s hand while Roy’s tongue snaked between his lips and teased him.
Jamie were aware tears were slipping out from under his lashes, sliding down his temples, but it were all so overwhelmingly good, and soft and gentle, he were melting.
Felt himself slipping away, far away, on the sensations of how good it were, held safe and made safe and wanted- Roy wanted him so much, wanted to do all these things for him, wanted Jamie to feel so good, and Jamie felt good, for the man. Felt so good, for the man. Let the man see it, let him hear it and taste it on Jamie’s lips, the way Jamie arched up, the little begging moans and gasps he gave the man.
Hid nothing from Roy, in those last moments- not the desperation, the need for the man to keep going, begging boldly please, God, Roy, keep going- not any other thing hidden.
“Eyes,” demanded Roy, his voice harsh and gruff.
Jamie whinged low and desperate, but peeled his eyes open to look up at the man.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” declared Roy before growling and attacking Jamie’s lips again, little biting things that made Jamie whimper, made him press himself up against Roy, begging, begging for-
“Come on, my good boy,” ordered Roy, his hand moving so fast and furious, now, stripping Jamie down to only need and want and ache and beg. “Give it all up. Give me everything, Jamie.”
Gasping, Jamie did, body straining up against Roy’s, mouth seeking for Roy’s kiss, again, immediately, before the shudders and shakes had even stopped.
“Good boy,” breathed Roy. “Sweetheart, such a sweet boy for me. Such a good boy, Jamie Tartt, to give me all of that. Shhh, shhhh, rest. Just breathe, my sweet boy.”
Jamie collapsed back against the pillows and sheets, gasping for air like he’d run a marathon, aware of the mess in Roy’s hand and on his stomach, aware he should care about one or the other but… but unable to bring himself up out of the fog of happy contentment to give a fuck about what it were he were supposed to care about.
“Shhh,” soothed Roy. “Shh, sweet boy.”
Roy were mental, calling him that.
But Jamie lay there, and let him do it, and loved that he fucking did.