Chapter3

#Chapter3

Beneath him, the Tetrad armchair felt wonderfully solid. So unsteady, so out of touch with reality, it had been a comfort that had held in equivalent to a strong hug when he had collapsed in it. It was ridiculous, but seated in the thing, he felt as though the world had slowed down and he was granted a sense of fleeting security; he was sat, and that left no room for him to stumble or fall.

Closing his eyes, Sylvester urged himself to breathe properly. When that failed, he turned to past techniques: three seconds in, hold for three, release. Then repeat.

/"You're doing great, Sylvester./"

Eyes popping open, his head whipped to where Jackson had re-entered the room. He closed the distance between them, moving from the gaping archway that stood in the stead of a doorway, and across to where the furniture, all made of the same, velvety, navy blue material, formed a square, like a prison for the Cara coffee table that sat central to it all.

/"I—/" Sly couldn't find words. Instead, he felt his cheeks heat once more, feeling stupid for allowing the other man to see such a large crack in his composure.

/"You're doing great,/" Jackson repeated, coming to a stop behind the back of the couch opposite the armchair in which he sat. /"And if it gets a little bit too much and you need a breather, then take as long as you need./"

His words should have made him feel weak; if they had come from anybody else, he was sure that they would have sounded patronising, or even mocking, but from the other man, sincerity rang through every syllable, and his eyes were pits of authenticity. They actually came as a comfort.

But comforting or not, the show had to go on, and Sly couldn't say he was all that surprised to see what was clutched in Jackson's hand. He mistook it at first, but at second glance, the shape seemed to bounce into focus, making itself painfully apparent.

A baby bottle.

And surprise, surprise, when Jackson made his way around the couch, it was handed to him.

Warm to the touch, a frown creased Sly's brow as he studied the liquid inside the clear plastic. It looked like milk, but it bore a yellowish tint that he couldn't tell if it was his eyes playing tricks, or actually there.

/"It's banana,/" Jackson said softly, as though sensing his unspoken question. /"My last baby hated plain milk and would fuss if I tried to give it to him. I can change it for regular, if you like./"

Taking a sip, shuddering at the feel of the latex tip and the fast flow stream that punctured into his mouth as soon as he tipped it back, he swallowed and shook his head. /"It's fine./"

It was similar to banana milkshake, but the warmth altered the taste, and it managed to be both bitter and sweet at the same time. It wouldn't have been his first choice in drinks, but it was manageable. His thoughts did a backtrack to the 'last baby' comment, but he ended up brushing it off. His head was too crowded to invite more questions.

Jackson smiled, the kind that reached his eyes, before he lowered himself into the couch opposite. Sly could just imagine what the man was seeing. He had caught sight of his reflection on the way into the sitting room, and it had stunned him.

He had looked the same as he always had. His brown hair, longer than he usually let it grow due to cutting back on barber costs once he became jobless, and the same bland blue eyes he had always had. But there had been something about the expression on the boy's face, something he couldn't quite place, that had thrown him.

Maybe it had been how wide his eyes had been, stealing the focus away from the rest of his face, or maybe it was how pale his cheeks were. It was hard to say, but the vulnerability that he had witnessed, the childish glimmer that still had shopping clerks IDing him every chance they got, it had been almost conspiring against him, working with Jackson to make him seem like the baby that he wanted to treat him like.

/"I created a booklet for you,/" Jackson said, pointing at the black covered book that sat on top of the table between them. It was, beside coasters, the only thing on there. /"Inside, you'll find a copy of your rules, as well as some guidelines and suggestions. The guidelines and suggestions are not mandatory to follow; they're just there to help you out if you find yourself unsure./"

Expecting him to hand him the book, the way that Jackson instead beckoned him over, motioning to the place beside him caught him off guard, but obliging. In close proximity, his presence was even more overwhelming. It was charged and powerful, and Sly couldn't recall ever meeting anybody who had that effect on him before.

/"We're going to go over these rules together, and I want you to be able to read them as I go over them,/" Jackson explained, flipping the cover of the book, a neat, handwritten sheet appearing, glistening beneath the laminate coat it wore. /"If you disagree with any of these rules, you must let me know. I want this to be a pleasant experience for both of us./"

He had a say? That had him relaxing slightly. He had been worried about the rules. He knew failure to comply would mean that the contract would be terminated. Corey had said that if the month went well, was also the prospect of future employment; if the rules were terrible and this first month went badly, Sly wasn't so sure that even the large sum of money would have been enough to make him reapply.

/"You'll find copies of your rules around the house. There is a set in the kitchen, and one on your bedroom door. You also get to keep this copy, and can store it where you find it to be most convenient. I understand that there will be an adjustment period; you may forget one or two rules during the first few days. I will be there to remind you to begin with, but as time goes on, it will become your responsibility./"

/"I will try to remember,/" Sly whispered, shifting his weight as he tried to adopt a comfortable position. It wasn't so much that he was in a state of discomfort: he was just left painstakingly aware of the padding that crinkled every time he moved. /"I forget my keys a lot, and always lock myself out, so I like that you'll remind me./"

/"See, perfect communication there. I really have the feeling that you and I are going to get along splendidly. I will warn you that if you were to deliberately break a rule then you would be punished, but at no point will you ever be in any danger, and in no way harmful to your physical or emotional welfare./"

Which was another burden off. When he had the premise explained by Corey, he had been reassured that he wouldn't be hurt in any way, but hearing Jackson say it made it seem more believable.

/"What will they be?/" he asked. He had settled on a position, his knees angled towards Jackson's, and his back curving towards the arm of the sofa. His fingers poked at the bottle, tapping against the plastic and pinching against the tip, rather than drink it, but if Jackson minded, he didn't say anything. /"The punishments?/"

/"They're on the rule sheet,/" Jackson explained. /"I will go over them in a minute so I don't have to repeat myself. But as well as punishments, there are rewards. The better behaved you are, the more you'll earn. Those rewards will vary, but I do adore it when my babies are good boys, so there will be plenty of chances to be spoiled./"

Babies. Plural? There it was again. The hint that he wasn't the first to be in the situation that he now found himself. He wanted to ask how many had done this job before him, but he didn't. Teeth sinking into his tongue, he overrode the urge.