6. Silas #3
“Yes, I do,” Jack whispers, voice trembling, eyes swimming with a lifetime of poison he never asked for.
“You of all people know how I was raised, pain was drilled into me from the time I was a kid. It’s all over my bones.
I’m only worthy of the bruising, of the hurt.
If I’m touched as if I matter, it breaks something in me, Finn, because we both know I. Don’t. Fucking. Matter.”
A rage burns though me at my boys words. The fact he thinks he doesn’t matter sits like glass in my stomach. And I’ve had enough.
I step forward and put my hand on Finn’s shoulder. He looks at me, and I motion for him to move. He steps back, and stand quietly beside Deck, watching as I take a small step toward my broken little dove.
* * *
Jack and I don’t have a label, and we aren’t in a relationship, but I know there are times when the crushing weight of Jacks mind becomes too much.
And this is one of those times.
He once described it as if he were drowning, like his thoughts fill his lungs, and as if every breath is a fight he’s already too tired to win.
He’s asked me a few times to step in when it becomes to much. To take control when he’s too exhausted to carry it, so he can breathe again.
So, what we have is an arrangement that is born of survival. His survival, and I’ve spent enough time in dark rooms and private clubs, learning the Dom/Sub dynamic he needs to keep himself from breaking apart.
Even before I met Jack, I visited them frequently, finding subs to play with, training, learning how to read people, how to ground them with just a word, to pull them back from the edge without ever pushing them over it.
Jack taught me what works for him; what steadies him, what calms him, what pulls him out of the spiral when his mind starts to cave in on itself.
So, when I watch my boy fold in on himself in front of me, his shoulders tight, breath shallow, eyes unfocused and burning with that familiar panic, I step up to him.
My body is close, but not touching, yet I know he feels me there. That I’m close enough to know I’m ready to take the weight if he needs me too.
He needs to choose to give me the control, because that is one thing I will never do.
I will never just take it.
And right now, watching him shake, watching him fight his own mind, try to stand upright under the crushing pressure of everything he has just confessed, I know exactly what he needs.
Then he chooses.
His body sways slightly toward me, he’s still staring at his feet, arms wrapped tight around himself. Every line of him screams protection mode; shoulders curved inward, spine bowed, chin tucked, like he’s trying to make himself smaller, trying to disappear into the space between his own ribs.
Well, that stops. Now.
“Jack,” I say, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
Jack snaps a little straighter, eyes still glued to the floor.
“Jack,” my tone now sharp with authority, and Jacks’ body flickers between defiance and submission, and I shift my weight, moving ever so slightly until my chest touches his arms.
“Baby,” I whisper, the name meant for him alone, Deck and Finn instantly forgotten in the quiet. Jacks breath catches, his armour slowly cracking.
“Look at me, Jack.”
Jack finally obeys, his chin lifts and his eyes meet mine.
“Good boy.” My voice soft, but the command is unmistakable. His gaze flicks to Finn, but I snap it back to me.
“Eyes on me, dove.”
His arms drop, and his chest brushes mine in a slow, steady rhythm. I hold his stare, letting him settle under the weight of me.
“You’re safe,” I say quietly.
And Jack breaks, submitting to my voice, to my presence and to the one person that he trusts to hold him together when he’s falling apart.
I lift a hand, placing it gently against his cheek.
“You’re worthy, dove.”
Jacks’ sobs tear out of him, raw and broken. I wrap my hand gently around his throat, holding him there, and I tilt his chin up, forcing him to maintain eye contact.
“You matter. And this fighting…” I shake my head. “Jack, it ends today. I will not have you putting yourself in harm’s way anymore. Do I make myself clear?”
His Adams’ apple bobs beneath my palm, and I rub his neck with my thumb.
“Jack?” I say, my voice dropping into something entirely final.
Jack whispers, “Yes, Sir.”
No. That isn’t enough.
“I didn’t hear you, Jack,.”
His eyes snap open, tears dripping from them, his lashes cling together, and his next words make my heart sing.
“Yes, Sir.” His words firm.
“Good boy,” I murmur, dropping my hand. Jack stumbles forward into my chest, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him tight, whispering words into his ear; words meant only for him.
“You did so good, baby. Such a good boy for me.”
He clings to me, no hesitation, flinch or panic. he just moves against me, wrapping tight around my waist, fists curling into the back of my shirt as if he’s afraid, I’ll disappear.
Finn and Deck stand quietly beside us, the chaos and anger now gone.
“I’ve got you, baby. Always.” I murmur, low enough that only he hears it.
And right now, in the middle of my living room, with Deck and Finn watching in stunned silence, Jack lets himself be held, lets himself be safe.
Let himself be mine to steady.