Chapter Text
Roy wasn’t a fucking stranger to ice baths. He didn’t see the other lads taking them too often, but it wasn’t much of a surprise to see Tartt in the bin Roy typically used. Irritating, because that had been Roy’s plan, but not actually worth fighting the lad over.
But when he came back to check fifteen minutes later, Tartt was still in the bin. “The fuck are you doing?” he demanded as he entered the room, then paused when he got a good look at his shivering teammate. Tartt hadn’t even looked up at his entrance, his eyes vacant and his mouth moving like he was talking to himself, but Roy couldn’t make out a word until he got closer.
“Too fucking soft… such a pussy… missed a fucking sitter, Jamie…”
If the words themselves weren’t alarming enough, Tartt actually addressing himself by name was enough to rouse Roy out of his stupor. Nothing about this made any fucking sense, because there were only two subs on their team and Tartt wasn’t one of them, but Roy was abruptly certain he was dealing with a sub in fucking drop (and dropping in a fucking ice bath, for fuck’s sake). There’d be time to figure things out later, right now he had to get the lad out of the freezing water and back into his head.
“Jamie,” he said, voice firm as he approached the bin. Tartt didn’t so much as glance at him, eyes fixed on the water even as his teeth chattered hard enough his words weren’t fucking words anymore.
“Tartt!” Roy barked, hoping to snap the lad out of it, but Tartt only looked up a little without focusing on Roy at all. “C’mon, lad, you’ve been in there long enough.”
“Can’t… been… punished…”
Fuck.
“Alright, lad,” Roy said, getting one hand on the bin and another on Jamie’s upper arm. “Think you can climb out for me?”
Tartt’s eyes dragged up, focusing briefly on Roy before looking past him. Right then. No help from him.
Roy sighed, silently apologizing to the cleaning staff, before he carefully tipped the bin forward, hand firm on Jamie’s arm as the icy water spilled out.
It couldn’t stay that easy, of course- once the bin hit the right angle and Tartt’s weight was pushing it downward, the whole fucking thing went. Water flowed outward, soaking Roy’s feet, and Tartt all but flopped onto the floor while Roy did his fucking best to keep him from bashing his face in.
“Come on, lad,” he said, once it was clear Tartt had no plans of getting up by himself. “Come with me, yeah.”
Tartt just shivered, and Roy sighed. Barking at a sub in drop wasn’t exactly something he wanted to do, but he didn’t have a lot of fucking options if he wanted to get the lad warmed up.
“Jamie Tartt,” he said, crouching down and letting his voice go stern. Tartt turned vaguely toward him, eyes spacey but searching. “That’s enough of this faffing about, young man. Now you’re going to get up and you’re going to come with me, or I’m going to punish you, you understand?”
The lad whined vaguely, clearly trying to form words, but Roy reached for his chin and gripped it firmly.
“Stand up, Tartt. It’s time to do as you’re told. I’m in charge now, and I’m telling you to get up.”
Tartt nodded and struggled to stand. He didn’t quite make it, but once he started putting the effort in, it was easy enough for Roy to help him upright.
“Good lad,” he said, keeping his tone firm despite the praise. “Keep going.” Tartt whined again, but allowed Roy to herd him to the showers and get him under some warm water. The water pressure was still shit, but it would be a sight better than just wrapping a towel around the lad and hoping for the best.
Once Roy was sure Tartt wouldn’t try to get out of the shower, he pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. He always made a point of having one or two connections among the staff, in case he needed something particular for one of the lads. He’d made more use of it in Chelsea, but the instinct to make those contacts had still been there when he got to Richmond, and he was glad of them now.
Once he’d ensured Scotty would have a hot cuppa waiting once he got Jamie out of the shower, he turned his attention back to the sopping wet muppet.
“Alright, lad. Just focus on getting warmed up for me, yeah? You feeling any better?”
Jamie blinked at him, mouth shut with his lips still wobbling a little from the shivering, but he got his arms wrapped around himself and started rubbing at them to stimulate the warmth.
“Good lad,” Roy said, aiming for the encouraging tone he used with Phoebe when she needed some extra support. “Get the edge off, then once you’ve stopped shivering, we’ll get you into some warm clothes with a nice cuppa. Sound good?”
Eyes a bit more focused now, Jamie gave a little nod and then all his muscles went taut, like it was the shivering and not the fact he’d almost given himself fucking hypothermia that Roy was upset about. And his face was still blank, but there was enough life in his eyes to tell he was very fucking concerned that Roy was upset with him.
Which made a fucking change from every time they’d interacted until now, but that wasn’t the fucking point.
“No, Jamie,” Roy chided gently. “Relax for me, lad. Shiver if you fucking need to. It’ll help you warm up, and that’s what we want.”
The resulting shivers were a bit violent as Jamie released the tension holding them back, but after a few more minutes under the sad outpour of water, he was breathing a little deeper, shifting impatiently instead of looking in danger of losing a foot to fucking frostbite.
Unwilling to see what the lad might do if left to follow his own impulses, Roy reached over to shut off the shower, then towed a dripping Jamie over to the spare towels. Poor planning not to have grabbed any yet, but Roy was winging this, wasn’t he? Hadn’t expected to get smacked in the face with a dropping sub with no self-preservation skills to speak of.
He wrapped one towel around Jamie’s waist, paying no attention to the quiet noise of protest, draped another around his shoulders, and then took one more and started drying off the lad’s hair. The ridiculous faux-hawk looked almost normal plastered over his forehead that way, like it was purely a choice to look like a little twat every fucking day.
Which, obviously Tartt would make that choice. Fucking muppet.
He was still quiet, though, and that more than anything had Roy frowning as he toweled the lad off.
“You back with me yet?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.
Jamie lifted one shoulder in a shrug, and when Roy focused back on his face, he saw the lad watching him with big, liquid eyes, like one of Phoebe’s fucking cartoon princesses.
“That’s alright. Let’s get you dressed.” He led Jamie back into the dressing room and sat him on the bench next to his bag. When the lad made no move to open it, Roy unzipped it and dug through until he found a tracksuit that looked warm enough. The thing was hideous, all bright colors and blinding patterns, but it’d keep the little muppet from freezing right back up, and that was the important bit now.
Jamie was still watching him silently, like he couldn’t quite process what was happening, but when Roy grabbed a pair of pants from the bag, he let out a little noise and reached for them. Roy handed them over but kept a close eye. He wasn’t about to let the lad bash his head in because he’d fumbled getting into his fucking pants.
It didn’t look like there was any danger of that, but once Jamie’d gotten the pants most of the way up his thighs, he sort of whimpered like he didn’t know what to do next. Roy didn’t think, just gripped his elbow and hauled him upright until he could slide the pants into place. The towel around his waist dropped to the floor.
“Good lad,” Roy said, keeping his grip on Jamie’s elbow. “Now the joggers.”
The breath Jamie let out might’ve been a sigh, but he reached for the joggers and carefully worked them up his legs.
“Good. Now sit.”
Jamie all but collapsed onto the bench at the instruction. Roy considered him for half a second before removing the towel around his shoulders and handing him a shirt. While the lad started sliding his arms into it, Roy dropped into a crouch and pulled Jamie’s socks on.
“Roy,” Jamie said, his voice soft and bewildered.
“There you are, lad. Gimme a hand, yeah?” He fitted Jamie’s toes into his trainers and nodded as the lad pushed his heel fully in. “Good lad. Next one.”
By the time he had the trainers laced up, Jamie had pulled his track jacket on and was back to staring at him. His eyes were still impossibly large and looked far too wet, but his forehead was wrinkled in obvious confusion.
Well, Roy had questions, too, but they could wait until he got some tea into the muppet. And right on time, his phone buzzed with a text from Scotty.
“Wait here,” he told Jamie, gathering all three towels and heading for the exit. When he came back a minute later, warm cuppa in hand and a throw blanket tossed over his shoulder (Scotty was a fucking champ), Jamie blinked at him pathetically.
“Roy,” he said again.
“Yeah?”
Roy handed Jamie the tea, watching in satisfaction as the lad instinctively wrapped both hands around the warm drink, then wrapped the blanket around his shoulders.
“Why’re you doin’ this?” Jamie asked, eyes fixed on his tea.
“Didn’t think you’d want me to let your freeze your balls off,” Roy said, sitting next to him and barely resisting the urge to rub the lad’s back.
“But you hate me,” Jamie whispered.
Roy rolled his eyes. How the fuck had this little muppet become his problem again?
“You’ve been acting like a right little twat since you got here. Doesn’t mean I hate you, and doesn't mean I’ll let you fucking freeze to death.” When Jamie didn’t say anything, Roy nudged his arm. “Drink your fucking tea.”
Jamie obeyed easily enough, and while he sipped at the tea, Roy tried to hold back the questions running through his head. He’d seen enough to know he didn’t actually want to know the answers, but he couldn’t fucking ignore this either. Not if they had an unregistered sub on the team, and this was how he fucking managed himself.
“What the fuck were you doing?” he finally asked when the tea was almost gone. Jamie’s shoulders hunched, and Roy reminded himself to take a breath. He didn’t know enough, but he had the basic shape of the thing, and someone had trained Jamie to punish himself for footie mistakes anyone could make. And Roy was willing to bet a lot that the lad had known full well he was headed for a drop when he climbed into that ice bath.
And that was dangerous as fuck, but also clearly learned fucking behavior.
“Jamie,” he said, waiting for the lad to look at him before going on in what he thought was a very reasonable tone of voice. “Do you understand what could’ve happened if I hadn’t found you in that bin?”
“Were fine,” Jamie mumbled. He fiddled with the empty cup and then set it aside. “Just got a bit distracted, like.”
“No, son,” Roy said firmly, angling his body for a better view just in time to see the lad flinch in response. “It wasn’t fucking fine. You couldn’t get out of the fucking bin by yourself, and you were half frozen. Were you trying to end up in hospital, or did you actually fucking think you could sort it out yourself?”
“Were just an ice bath, mate. You take ‘em all the time.”
“Yeah, and I know when the fuck to get out. And,” he said, watching Jamie closely for a reaction, “I don’t start one while going into fucking drop.”
Jamie’s head shot up, eyes wide. “I weren’t fucking dropping! And anyway, Doms drop too, everyone knows that.”
“I didn’t say you were in subdrop.” Roy emphasized the words carefully, watching Jamie’s face fall as he realized what he’d just admitted.
“Good, cause I weren’t,” he tried.
Roy stared at him until Jamie looked away. “Jamie Tartt. Did you lie on your fucking forms and say you’re a Dom?”
“Ain’t a lie.” Jamie wouldn’t look back at him, though.
And that wouldn’t fucking do. “Oi. I’ve had enough of you lying to me, young man. Does this club know that you’re a sub?”
Jamie hunched in on himself, gripping the blanket and pulling it up so his mouth was hidden behind it and his clenched hands.
“Does anyone in London know you’re a sub?” When the lad just shrank further into the blanket, Roy raised his eyebrows. “Does anyone at City know?”
That sent Jamie scrambling out of his little hidey hole. “You can’t tell anyone,” he said, his words as frantic as his wild eyes. “Please, Roy, you can’t. I’ll fucking do anything, man.”
Roy didn’t like the desperation in those words, the way he was sure Jamie meant them. Subs were a minority in the Premier League these days, but every club had a few. He remembered when he was coming up, though, there’d been a few lads in academy with him who’d been dropped once they tested as subs. And a couple more, who’d been so desperate to hide their designations, they’d succumb to any kind of exorbitant or just downright predatory blackmail.
Whatever he thought of Jamie Tartt, (and half his preconceptions had been rewritten with this revelation anyway), he wasn’t about to play any part in using the lad’s designation against him. And he wouldn’t let anyone else do it, either.
Still, that didn’t mean he could ignore this either. Dangerous in so many fucking ways to let it lie.
“You know I’m the club Dom for any players that need it, yeah?”
Jamie’s face went all confused again, like Roy offering the logical solution was so fucking unimaginable he may as well be a hallucination.
“The other lads have Doms, though.”
Roy nodded. “Yeah, but they both signed on to have me tend to any dynamic needs they have at the club or on the road, so we don’t have to call their Doms in. You, though, you need a full-time Dom.”
“I don’t-”
“You do,” Roy said over Jamie’s objection, then stared the lad down when he opened his mouth to argue again. “You may be on loan, but you still signed a fucking contract, Jamie. Subs in the Prem are required to have a Dom registered with their club, and you agreed to that when you signed. So either you find someone else, or you sign with me.”
“Eh.” Jamie looked around, his fingers flexing on the blanket. “I appreciate the help and all, mate, but I don’t think…”
“Jamie.” Roy waited for the lad to meet his gaze again. “You either find a Dom, me or someone I can verify is really working with you, or I’ll go to Pep.” Cartrick was an arsehole, and Mannion was worse, and Roy couldn’t blame Jamie for not wanting either of them to know, but Pep was a proper gaffer and more likely to motivate the lad anyway.
Sure enough, his eyes went wide. “Roy, you can’t.”
“If you follow the rules of your fucking contract, I won’t have to.” The whole thing probably still felt like blackmail to Jamie, but it was about the fucking rules. And just how little Roy wanted to be responsible for letting the fucking muppet drown in an ice bath next time he tried to Dom his own fucking self.
“You don’t wanna have to be my Dom,” Jamie said next, still looking for any way out.
And no, Roy didn’t want to, not really. The kid would obviously be a handful even if he probably had more going on to explain his prick persona.
But fuck, turned out Roy was a sucker for sopping wet muppets with sad eyes, and even the thought of turning Jamie over to another Dom he trusted didn’t sit right.
God, his sister would make fun of him for ages when she found out.
“I don’t wanna see what happens the next time you try to punish yourself,” Roy said instead, and Jamie wilted back into his blanket. “Those are your options, Jamie. You can choose another Dom, but you’ve been lying this whole time so you can bet I’ll fucking verify it. Otherwise it’s me, or we tell Pep.”
“He’ll kill me,” Jamie whispered, and Roy didn’t think he was talking about Pep then.
“Then come home with me. Let me look after you so we don’t have any more fucking repeats of your attempts at frostbite.”
“Big Man Roy Kent,” Jamie muttered, though he only seemed to be half talking to Roy. “Been waiting for this, yeah? Chance to put Tartt in his fucking place?”
That morning, Roy would’ve agreed. Now he just gripped Jamie’s chin again and waited for the lad to meet his eyes.
“I’ll have rules for you, yeah. And I’ll punish you when you break them. But whether you want to believe it or not, this is for your fucking safety.”
“Me own good, yeah?” Jamie scoffed, averting his eyes without making any attempt to escape Roy’s grip. “Heard that one before.”
Roy had to wrestle back the sigh. It made sense the lad wouldn’t trust him. It did. He didn’t have the full picture, but he had enough, and of course trust wasn’t on the table just yet. That was fucking fine. “You can tell whoever the fuck you want, to check in that I’m not too hard on you. But I’m your best choice here, lad. And I think you fucking know that.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Roy would’ve accepted that sullen agreement from Jamie in almost any other situation, but not for this. He tapped the lad’s jaw with a finger instead. “I need the words, Jamie. Are you agreeing to let me be your Dom?”
Jamie rolled his eyes and threw his arms up but still didn’t pull away. “Fucking fine. Yes, okay? Can we fucking go now?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” They’d talked enough for now. Once he got the lad home and fed, they could start working through the rest. Roy had the sneaking suspicion that this had been the fucking easy part.