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Jamie carefully lifts the paper and gently taps the edge to shake off the loose glitter. The specks fly away, and though he tries his very best to keep his hands clean, the glitter still clings to his fingers.
Pouting at his hands, now twinkling with tiny purple and pink flakes, he sets down his drawing for Daddy and wanders off to the kitchen to wash them.
Down the hall, he can smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. He hurries over to see what Daddy has made. To his surprise, they're chocolate chip cookies! Daddy only makes them when the nice ladies visit, and he’d let Jamie have one if he asked.
But Daddy isn't here for Jamie to ask.
Maybe he wouldn't mind this time around if he took just one cookie without permission.
Going over to the counter, his eyes go wide when there's a note beside the cooling racks with his name. He takes a moment to read each word carefully, sounding it out.
“DO NOT TOUCH THEM, JAMIE.”
Jamie glares at the note with a little growl. How would Daddy know if he took just one? There were a dozen on each cooling rack and that's more than enough for everyone! It also isn't fair to leave them out in the open and tempt him like that!
Looking around the kitchen, he reaches over and takes the smallest cookie. He stuffs it in his mouth and chews quickly, eyes glued to the kitchen doorway. When the flavour hits his taste buds, he bounces and stims in place, almost moaning; it’s so good! Daddy’s cookies are always soft and moist, with crisp edges and gooey chocolate that melts in his mouth.
Without realising it, he's stuffing himself with more cookies. They’re addictive, and he couldn't just have one! Like a little vacuum, he works his way through tray after tray until they’re empty, only stopping when he’s holding the last cookie.
Uh-oh! Jamie thinks. He’s in big trouble for what he just did. He’s certain he would get a swat on his bottom for one cookie missing. But three trays of cookies meant for others? He was going to get something much worse.
Placing the single cookie back on a tray, Jamie runs off to hide and hopes Daddy won’t notice the dozens of missing cookies or the twinkling crumbs he leaves behind from his unwashed glittery hands.
Roy sighs as he leans back in his office chair, head up and eyes closed. He finally finished the stupid report, leaving him just enough time to get everything organised. It was his turn to host with the yoga group, and he was happy to do so.
But he had a little troublemaker that was surely up to no good.
He can hear his lively little brat running around, his heavy feet stomping, and things being bumped and falling. Before, he was singing happy little songs while crafting something in the living room.
Taking a moment to collect himself under the warm sun coming from the office window, Roy notices that something is off.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
Jamie can be quiet if he is told to be, but this silence is off. The running around had ended abruptly, and there isn’t a single noise that would indicate there was another living soul in the house. Roy did leave the back door open to air out the kitchen and made sure the screen door was locked—right?
Worried that Jamie had gone outside without asking, Roy gets up to check on him. Someone shouldn’t be worried about a grown man going outside to muddle in their own backyard, but Jamie was in a vulnerable, small state of mind.
Walking through the halls and around the corners, he heads to the living room in case Jamie had gone back to his arts and crafts. His little brat had been adamant about making Roy a drawing, and it was a great activity to keep him occupied. But in the living room Jamie’s no where in sight. Instead, he just sees the cluttered coffee table of crayons, papers, and a copious amount of glitter.
God.
There was so much fucking glitter. Maybe he’s exaggerating, but fuck, the yoga mums were coming, and now he had to clean this up. Lord knows Jamie wasn't going to clean it unless that bottom was properly swatted.
Why did Roy leave him with glitter again?
Rubbing his temples, Jamie had asked for it because it was crucial for a drawing. Roy wasn’t allowed to ask what it he was making because it was a surprise, and being the nice fucking caretaker he is, said yes to those puppy-dog eyes—who could say no when your little one was making you something?
Well, lesson fucking learned.
Never leave the little brat alone with a bottle of sparkly shit.
Moving to the table, Roy groans at the white carpet twinkling with glitter. It would be easier to buy a new one than to clean it up.
Shifting a few things aside on the coffee table, the drawing Jamie made for him peeks out from under everything. He swore to Jamie he wouldn’t peek at it, and he kept his promise, unlike someone in this fucking house.
Grumbling to himself, Roy makes his way to the kitchen to see if he was hanging around there. Turning the corner and into the kitchen, he stops dead in his tracks when he passes the counter where he supposedly left the trays of chocolate cookies to cool down.
What he sees is a single cookie sitting on one of the cooling racks.
“Of fucking course he would,” Roy whispers to himself with a slap to his face. The stomping and running around he'd heard earlier was probably Jamie hiding because he knew he was in big fucking trouble when his Daddy saw what he did.
That little man wasn't just in trouble for the sparkly mess, but in trouble for consuming the cookies and an absurd amount of sugar all at once. The yoga mums are coming at seven, and it's already four. Baking another batch of cookies, cleaning up, and dealing with Jamie will take more time than Roy has these days. Ever since Jamie started going small at home, time had always seemed to slip away, good or bad.
Remembering why he was in the kitchen in the first place, Roy checks the screen door, sighing in relief. It thankfully was untouched and still locked, furthering his theory that Jamie’s hiding somewhere in the house.
Really, he only had himself to blame. He should have checked on Jamie from time to time and told him to his face about leaving the cookies alone, but the little brat was too much into the drawing and always saying how much of a big boy he is… Roy trusted him wholeheartedly.
Well, that “big boy” is about to find just how much trouble he’s in.
Clearing his throat, he lets out a shout that booms through the house, shaking the walls and making the kitchen chandelier sway.
“Jamie Tartt! Get your fucking arse here! Now!”
The only response is the drip of the sink and the chirping birds outside.
His brow twitches. Seriously, what was he expecting? A hello from the hiding spot?
Growling, he looks around the kitchen for clues and notices something along the kitchen entryway’s frame. He walks up to it for a closer look, squinting.
Glitter!
Out in the hall, Roy sees that anything Jamie had touched left a trace of his sparkling hands and some on the floor. The little brat tended to touch the corners when he turned, a quirk of his. Smirking, Roy follows the twinkling crumbs left behind by a little thief, keeping his footsteps light as he chuckles to himself.
Jamie rocks back and forth, curled in a tight ball. He's in their walk-in closet, at the very back and under the clothes on the racks, trying not to make a sound.
He hears Daddy’s loud, mean voice and suspects he’s found out about the cookies. His bottom is clenching at the thought of the spanking he’ll get, his little mind conjuring up the scariest scenarios: Daddy’s hands made with spikes, and his belts made of prickly cactus. Sorry and promises are not going to get him out of this one!
Peeking out from between Daddy’s hanging suits, Jamie takes in his surroundings, listening intently. After Daddy had yelled out for him to come out, he got quiet right after... This frightens him because he knows Daddy is looking for him by being super sneaky!
It’s hard to hear anything when his hearts pounds in his ears, and no matter how hard he tries to hold his breath, he can only manage it for a minute. If he stays here until the nice ladies come and drink the fuzzy juice that makes everyone silly, then he can sneak away to bed!
Debating on changing spots because the dark is getting a bit scary and the smell of Daddy's cologne is giving him a headache, it’s too late when a quiet click of a door opens nearby. He quickly ducks back into his hiding spot and claps a hand over his mouth and nose. The thuds are coming closer, and he thinks if he keeps quiet, Daddy won’t—
The walk-in closet door swings open with a loud creak, making his teeth chatter under his sweaty palm. The lights come on right after, and he can hear Daddy’s hard breathing at the door. Jamie swallows the thick lump in his throat and shuts his eyes tight.
If he can’t see Daddy, then Daddy can’t see him!
“Jamie. I know you’re in here. You have five fucking seconds to come out.” Roy’s voice breaks the fuzzy silence, making him flinch. The clothes he hides under shift, giving him away; as if his toes poking out from under the hanging pant legs weren’t a dead giveaway already. He can feel those dark-set eyes snap to him and glare.
“If your arse isn’t out when I’m done counting, and I have to fucking fetch you out from there, you’ll be sleeping on that stomach for months, little boy. One.”
Jamie whimpers at the countdown. Last time he ignored it, he got swats on his sitting spots that stung for days. Running on the dog track with a sore bottom was difficult, and sitting down was impossible! Daddy also made sure he sat on the hard chairs and on seat warmers during those times.
“Two.”
His heart pounds hard against his chest. He knows he has to face the music, but his survival instincts are telling him to stay put.
“Three. I am not fucking around.”
Slowly, he sticks his head out and can see Daddy at the door, with his arms crossed and his face angry.
“Come here now.” Roy points his chin at him and to the floor in front of him. “Four.”
Admitting defeat, Jamie crawls out of his hiding spot and stands up in front of his fuming caretaker. He nervously tugs at the hem of his green jumper, his head dipped and shoulders hunched to make himself as small as possible.
Roy leans into him, face close. Jamie can’t look up, too frightened to face the consequences.
“Now that you’re out, want to tell me where the cookies I made went, little boy?” The last two words drop out, rough and heavy, weighing him down.
“I…I…” Jamie knows lying about it when it was obvious it was him would make things worse. Daddy would probably give him one swat for every cookie he'd eaten and extra for fibbing. He responds with the truth but keeps his head down. “I ate them, Dadd’eh.”
“You ate them,” Roy repeats the words back to him slowly, with a tone firm and angry. “Did you not see my fucking note?”
“Yes, I did...” Jamie admits miserably, his throat going tight and sore. He's trying his best to hold back tears that build up, making his vision blurry and his nose stuffy.
Roy huffs out, uncrossing his arms and cupping Jamie’s flushing cheeks to bring his head up. “And what did it fucking say?”
”Um… saids not fer me to touch em.” Jamie shrinks in his spot, unable to look away. Daddy’s eyes are burning with disappointment, going right through him.
“Not to fucking touch them. Now tell me about the fucking mess you left in the living room that's all over this fucking house now.”
“W-whut?”
“The fucking glitter, Jamie. Tell me why the fuck you spread it around the fucking house! We have people coming over, and now I have to clean up what you fucking did.”
Confusion flickers across his face. He admits he went overboard with the glitter for the drawing he made for him. It was important, too! And he was going to clean everything up after he was done, but the cookies distracted him. He's confused about what Daddy meant about the rest of the house. The glitter bottle never left the living room, nor did he sprinkle it around.
Roy gently squeezes his cheeks to remind him to answer and patiently waits for one.
Jamie swallows, unsure how to answer something he doesn’t know. “I dun't know, Dadd'eh,” he says quietly, tearing up and his lips wobbling. “Swear down I dun’t know! Just wanted to make you a pretty picture...”
And Roy believes him when his eyes go soft, his anger easing a bit. Rough thumbs gently wipe away the tears, and a set of chapped lips presses against his forehead, calming him down. Afterwards, he's led over to the standing mirror.
“Silly boy got glitter all over himself and didn't even know?” Roy gently shoves him in front so he can get a good look at himself.
Jamie takes himself in and is shocked to see his green jumper and matching shorts twinkling brightly under the dim closet light. Even his bare legs are covered, and so is his hair! He was so focused on keeping his hands free of glitter that he failed to keep the rest of himself clean.
If he looks this bad, then he can’t imagine the living room… Breaking his gaze from the mirror, he sees he's covered his Daddy's nice suits in glitter and probably everything he's touched along the way.
“Uh-oh!” Jamie squeaks.
“Uh-oh's right. Come now, let's get you and that mouth cleaned up.”
“Okay Da—what?” Jamie lets Roy lead him out of the closet and into the bathroom by his elbow. Did he hear right?! He’s sure he heard his mouth is going to be washed, but maybe his ears were fuzzy from the adrenaline.
Well, he was going to find out real soon!
Roy pulls Jamie into the bathroom and starts undressing him. It doesn't matter if he's careful; the glitter’s going to get on him and everything in the bathroom. After this day, glitter was fucking banned.
“Can I have a bubble bath with Mr Quacky?” Jamie asks politely with the large rubber duck in hand, and Roy considers it to only shake his head. He isn’t doing it to be mean because of what Jamie did. With the time they had left, a bath would take too long, and Jamie always made a splash zone out of their tub… Roy already has too on his plate to clean up another mess of Jamie’s.
“We don't have much time. Mr Quacky can shower with you.”
“Yay!” Jamie hops in the shower with Mr Quacky and sits down, letting Roy take over. Luckily for Roy, he’s obedient through the scrubbing and only whines when his hair is tugged to loosen the knots. Mr Quacky gets scrubbed too, and Roy makes sure both are rinsed off properly.
When most of the glitter is gone, leaving just sparse specks across Jamie's skin, he turns off the water and holds up the towel. Jamie shivers from the cold, quickly getting out of the tub with chattering teeth and into Roy's arms. He leaves Mr Quacky in the tub because that’s his home, and the last time Jamie brought him out, he lost him and cried for days until they found him under the TV stand.
“Cold!” Jamie whines and wiggles when Roy takes his time to properly dry him off. “S'cold!”
“Shush you,” Roy mumbles under his breath while wiping him down firmly. “The more you move, the longer I'll take!”
Jamie playfully growls, shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair. The droplets of water hit Roy, who chuckles at the silliness. Finishing the little brat off with a light swat to his bare bottom, Roy takes him into the bedroom and picks out a simple outfit of a blue jumper and shorts.
“Can I dress me’self?” Jamie asks innocently, already grabbing the clothes off the bed.
Roy narrows his eyes at him when the jumper's on halfway. He takes a moment to consider every disaster, but the worst thing that this little can do is put the jumper on backwards.
“All right. I'll be downstairs. Meet me in the kitchen when you're done. No hiding.” Roy warns at the beaming face poking through the jumper collar and heads off to prepare something for the troublemaker.
Jamie watches Roy walk off through the collar hole of the blue jumper. He pulls the rest of it down and slips his arms through the sleeves. He double-checks the collar for the tag, and it’s facing the right way. Even when he was big, he tended to make that mistake often. He puts on the rest of his clothes and quickly does his hair. Debating on brushing his teeth, he chooses not to so he can savour the lingering taste of the chocolate chip cookies he ate earlier.
All finished, he slowly makes his way to the kitchen.
Down the hall, he can see the things he touched with his glittery hands and understands why Daddy was angry about the glitter. He hasn’t been punished yet… Maybe he's got away with it—but he knows deep down his Daddy never forgets.
Especially if he misbehaves.
By the kitchen, he hears the sink running and things being shuffled around. Walking in cautiously, he sees Daddy at the sink, waiting for him. What he holds makes Jamie go pale, and he steps backwards into the hall.
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Roy growls out, gesturing with his finger at the young man. “Come here now. We're going to wash that mouth.”
“No!” Jamie stomps both his feet hard on the tiled kitchen floor, with his cheeks puffing up. “Dun't wants the soap!” He hates when his mouth is washed with the pretty soaps! It would stay on his tongue and always made him gag. Anything he'd eat after would taste like nasty flowers.
“You’re fucking hilarious to think you have a choice in this.”
“Nooo! Dudn't do anything!”
“Where the fuck are the cookies then?”
“In meh tumm'eh!” Jamie pats his belly as if he did nothing wrong—to him, he concluded that Daddy wasn't watching him, and that meant he was innocent. What little would ignore delicious cookies out on display?!
Not Jamie Tartt when he was small!
“And I left you a cookie, Dadd'eh!”
“A single cookie for seven grown fucking adults. How fucking generous of you.” Roy puts the blue, translucent soap down and takes one step towards Jamie, who takes one back with a small whine.
“Don’t even.”
“Dun't even whut?” Jamie sasses backs with that little smirk curving up on his lips and one eyebrow raising.
“James Tartt fucking Jr” Roy snaps, his anger barely restrained, his hands balling into tight fists. The lad knows Daddy’s being fucking serious when he pulls the legal name card out. “You did something very bad! You're lucky it's the fucking soap and not the spoon on that fucking arse of yours! Come here, now!”
“No! Not a bab'eh!” He sticks his tongue out, his brows coming down together. “Yer fault fer not watching meh! Were distracted with stoopid homework! Bad Dadd'eh! I am innocent and plead the fifth!”
Roy lets out a long, deflated sigh, taking a moment to collect himself. The little brat was right; he should have supervised him more closely and limited the glitter. Any little that said they were big enough were the biggest liars.
Jamie going small meant Roy was dealing with five Jamies under a fucking coat.
And right now, if one took a step forward, the other would take one back. The little brat was a flight risk, and this Daddy had to think fast.
“Okay. You're right. You're not a fucking baby. You're a big boy,” he says with an exaggeratedly mocking voice, but his eyes go hard. Jamie shuts up completely, his saucers widening.
“No soap because you're not a baby? Fine. Okay. Sure,” continues Roy as he gestures his hands around with a shrug of his shoulders. “No more Mr Quacky or bubble baths, no bedtime stories, and I'm not peeling your fucking oranges anymore. You're a big boy now, aren't you? I'll treat you like one whenever you’re small. Starting now.”
“You wouldn't dare!” Jamie takes a step forward, his hands pulling at his jumper's string. “Not Mr Quacky!”
Roy's lips go up in a smirk; he’s got him. “Mr-fucking-Quacky's going on vacation indefinitely if your mouth stays unwashed, big boy. Think I'm playing around? Go get the belt since big boys get a proper thrashing. Soaps for babies, apparently.”
They lock eyes, and the stare-down starts, one face smug and the other pouting. Roy crosses his arms, knowing exactly that he'll win this round. No matter how stubborn Jamie can be, threatening the rubber ducky he ‘saved’ (stole) from the corner store always got him to behave. Right now, Jamie was squinting his eyes at Roy with his lips puckered out, calculating his next move. He knows if he runs to get Mr Quacky, it would be the strap with the soap at the same time.
The silent stare-down lasts for a few seconds more and breaks when Jamie lets out a frustrated cry that’s all crocodile tears. With flailing limbs, he submits under Roy's unwavering gaze and accepts his fate with a dramatic whine. He angrily shuffles over, whining and fussing and nudging things along the way to show how unhappy he is. Roy rolls his eyes at the childish antics of someone claiming to be a big boy and steps aside for him to plant himself in front of the sink.
Roy takes the blue soap bar and starts to wet it, making it slippery and foamy.
Jamie glares at it, then at Roy. He can’t hold back his anger coming up about this situation and lashes out with a fist coming down on the marble and a kick at the counter cabinet.
“I dun't like you! Dun't want the stoopid soap! You eat it!” he says childishly without meaning it and blows a raspberry.
Roy growls. Without warning, he drops the soap and pulls down Jamie’s shorts and briefs swiftly, having had enough of his attitude and being patient. He leans him over the sink counter and starts giving his round bottom hard swats with his soapy hand, his arm swinging down with gusto.
Jamie tenses up and doesn’t fight against it. He takes the first few swings like a champ, with sharp inhales through his nose. The hand doesn't stop coming down, each hit unpredictable and every other smack layering on the last one. It's worse with the wet hand and the soap, making everything sting more.
As Roy keeps going, the heat builds to an unbearable burn. Jamie’s vision goes blurry and his chest gets tight from holding in his cries. This little one wants to be strong, to show that he can be a tough boy if he can't be big.
It's the smack landing on his left undercurve—sharp and hard, ringing in his hot-red ears—that makes him crumble. He slumps over the sink, struggling under his Daddy’s mean swats. He's not trying to get away purposefully, but his body can't help but fight against the pain. The hold on him tightens, and his hamstrings are starting to strain from clenching them.
“Sorr’eh, Dadd’eh!” he finally breaks with a cry, wiggling his body vigorously, with his legs kicking back and toes curling. He's not surprised when Daddy doesn’t stop, the hand coming down faster and his own cries growing louder and heavier from it.
Tonight he was definitely going to sleep on his stomach.
“Soooorrr'eh! Be good! Hurts, Dadd'eh!” he keeps crying to ears that aren't going to take his late apologies, not when he had too many chances.
After what feels like a million swats, he knows it’s the end when the last few smacks go hard on his sitting spots. When it’s finally over, he shakily stands up straight when the weight is off his back. He wipes his eyes rigorously with his jumper sleeve, blowing his nose too. He can’t stop his keening sniffles and hiccups from how badly his bottom stung.
“Are you going to behave? Because I will make that red arse stand in the living room fucking corner with the mums there, little boy,” Roy warns, his tone fatherly yet stern.
Jamie shakes his head quickly with a sniffle, hopping from foot to foot to balance out the pain with a few pitiful whines at the thought. If the nice ladies were to see his red bottom, then they'd know he got a proper spanking for being bad. He would run away with Mr Quacky if that were to happen!
At best, he could probably make it a few blocks and live at the park, sustaining himself with all the snacks and juice boxes from the corner store. Daddy wouldn't be invited unless he brought a house-warming present.
“Good. I'll give you a few minutes to get comfortable before I wash that mouth,” Roy says as he pulls up the briefs and shorts pooled around Jamie’s ankles.
Jamie pales. He just got a spanking! Was that not enough?!
“Nooo! Got a spanking already!”
Roy shakes his head, pointing to the empty cookie trays to remind him why they're doing this. If Jamie had behaved, it would have been just a quick swish of the mouth. But no, stubbornness always took over, and the little brat always paid a higher price for it.
“A spanking doesn't take the taste of chocolate chip cookies out of your mouth, does it?”
“It does!” Jamie lies, sticking his tongue out to show him. “Sees? No cook'eh crumbs!”
The look on Jamie's face and the attempt to get out of this makes Roy chuckle. Such a goofy young (little) man he can be, and Roy wouldn't have it any other way. But the little brat needs a good soaping to think thrice before touching things that aren't his and to be mindful of his surroundings.
“Nice try. I can see the chocolate stains on your teeth, little boy.”
Jamie pouts, stomping his foot for the hundredth time. Roy tuts, his way of saying "There's no way out of this,” and waits for him to settle down, his fingers drumming on the counter. When Jamie stops his little fussy tantrum, now squirming in his spot, Roy takes the soap again and runs it under the running water.
With hunched shoulders and deep, shaky breaths, Jamie watches miserably as Roy lathers his hand under the sink, the blue soap foaming generously.
The water turns off, and the soapy hand comes up to his face, the blue bar nudging at his quivering lips.
“Open your mouth, little boy.”
And to no one's surprise, Jamie keeps it shut, tight and stretched back. It's difficult to take the worst thing for a naughty mouth. The fragrance stank of mint and a hint of something floral, stinging his already teary eyes. Regardless of the spanking and the threat of corner time stapled to his forehead, he would not take the soap willingly.
“Say aaaa,” Roy rubs the soap along the plush lips until he opens his mouth by an inch. He tenses up at a tiny amount of soap slipping in, scrunching his face at the taste.
“Be a good boy for Daddy and open that mouth wider,” Roy encourages smoothly, fingers lightly pinching the nape of the neck. Jamie reluctantly does so, having no choice. The soap is pushed in, and the moment it touches his tongue, Jamie gags violently. Panic rises in his chest from the bitter mint, and it overwhelms his senses and burns the back of his throat. The menthol opens up his airways, making his nose runnier than his eyes, and his mouth feel oddly cool and crisp.
The blue soap was the worst! He tries to stay put, but he can’t when his mouth is getting tingly, and his bottom is still stinging. The hold on his neck makes him stay in place, unable to move his head away.
“Hold still,” Roy tells him nicely, rubbing the soap around his mouth gently. It slides along his teeth and gums first, then along his cheeks, and lastly right on his tongue. He accidentally flicks his tongue back and splutters when the foam hits his throat. Luckily, it doesn’t burn as badly, and he’s able to stay put without tensing his jaw. He wants to be tough!
Roy keeps rubbing the soap on Jamie’s tongue and the roof of his mouth, coating the entire area. The suds form quickly, making the mouth a spouting, foaming fountain. Jamie tries to concentrate and keep calm by squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the firey stings on his bottom. He isn’t sure which is worse: spanking or his mouth being washed. Both seem to go hand in hand.
The soap bar swishes around in his mouth, and he keeps praying it'll end soon. But Daddy always makes sure every part of his mouth is washed, like he made sure every part of his bottom was evenly red. The taste of tasty cookies that lingered on his tongue is no more; now a florally minty tang that'll make him feel like he's blowing bubbles.
He should have taken that last cookie and hid it in his secret hiding spot that Daddy didn't know about to refresh his mouth; Roy 100% knew about it and pretended he didn't.
Curling his fingers around the counter, he lets out another cry, his tears streaming down his cheeks. Unlike the spanking, he doesn’t know when this will end. He so desperately wants to spit out what's pooling in the back of his throat and would chug Daddy’s nasty smoothies to get rid of this terrible taste.
In his little mind, this could be forever!
And just when he thought that, Roy slides the soap out to his relief.
“Spit,” Roy commands, and Jamie does without question, excited even. He hacks out as much saliva as he can into the sink, afraid to swallow any suds still in his mouth, all while crying. There's a comforting pat on his back that stops his sniffles and helps ease his anxious mind.
“Good boy. Took that well. I knew you could do it,” Roy coos with a softness that’s out of his character, yet brought the warmth out of his dark eyes.
The words make Jamie squirmy and weird. He wants to be praised and often sought out for it, but this time the guilt was gnawing at him. As much as he wants to blame Daddy for not watching him, he did something bad. He weren’t good and he weren’t a big boy.
“Sorr'eh, Dadd'eh,” Jamie cries, leaving his tears to run freely and his hiccups coming up like bubbles. He can't stop them, no matter how much he tries to. “Ruined yer party. Always ruin everything.”
"Nonsense. You're my little troublemaker that I should have been watching." Roy's quick to shut him down. He knows the lad meant well, and there isn’t a need to keep hassling him after he took his lesson and felt guilty.
“But I ate all the cookies!” cries Jamie, eyes on the empty tray. “The yoga mummies will hate me!”
“They could never. The cookies will be for next time. Don't worry. I’ll just vacuum and get ready. They’re coming in an hour and a half from now.”
Jamie jumps at the word 'vacuum' and raises his hand. “I can vacuum!” he offers with his saucers going wide. He's vacuumed before and enjoyed it. He made the mess, and that meant he should be the one to clean it up, not Daddy. This would also give him enough time to make cookies and prepare for the nice ladies coming.
“I won't be sill'eh, promise.” He bats his eyelashes at Roy cutely, the two knowing exactly what he’s going to do: press the vacuum's round nozzle on his hand and let the suction tug at his skin.
Roy considers it, his gaze searching for a twitch or spasm on the lad's face. Jamie was pretty good with the vacuum, and Roy could use a helper who created this mess in the first place. The yoga mums, especially Doreen and Clara, were expecting the cookies, too.
“Fine. Start in the living room and put away your arts and crafts.” Roy gives him a nod and cracks a smile when the young lad does a hippity hoppity and skips off to get the vacuum, whistling a happy tune with a mouth lingering with the nasty mint.
Jamie starts up the vacuum after putting away his arts and crafts. This time, he’s extra, EXTRA careful with the glitter and checks himself properly this time. Only a dust of it got on his hands.
He puts the picture he made for Daddy in a safe place and will show him after he finishes vacuuming. Starting it up, he immediately places the vacuum nozzle up to his hand, sucking up his skin. He giggles, putting it on different parts of his body. It’s when he’s looking down at the nozzle, bottom lip puckered out, that his intrusive thoughts whisper for him to put it up to his lips to suck away the nasty soap taste.
Like some mind reader, his Daddy’s voice yells out from the kitchen in warning, making him jump.
“Don’t even fucking think about it!”
How did Daddy do that?!
Jamie yells back just as loud, “Weren’t doing anything!”
He gets another shout back down the hall with a sound of something hitting the marble counters, “Exactly! I don’t hear you vacuuming that floor!”
“I am!” he lies, only now getting to it. “Aren’t slacking, Dadd’eh!” Moving on to the task at hand, he makes vacuum noises along with the machine's roar as he goes over the glitter. It takes a few rounds for the carpet to look presentable, with a few sparkling dots poking through the threads that refuse to budge. That would need the lint roller, and they unfortunately had none on hand.
Proud of how clean the living room looks, he vacuums the rest of the areas where he'd left his twinkling trail behind and wipes down the walls. Because he was so focused, in a flow state, he finished everything fairly quickly.
Once he sets his mind to something, Jamie Tartt can be unstoppable!
Putting away the vacuum, he takes his drawing and goes back into the kitchen. Daddy's mixing the ingredients still, his focus shifting to him with a raised brow.
“All finished?” Roy asks him, a bit skeptical. “That was quick.”
“Mhm! All clean, swear down,” Jamie says confidently. He walks closer to him and holds up the drawing proudly. “Fer you!”
Roy wipes his hands off before taking the drawing, careful not to wrinkle it under his calloused fingers. He stares intently to take in every detail on the thick paper. On it was a gruff-looking bearded man in a princess dress and a hat made of glitter. Beside it was a knight, well-shaded, making his armour shiny. It was safe to assume the knight was Jamie, and the princess was him when the lad yaps about it, pointing at each character on the page.
Around the drawn characters is a meadow of flowers, puffy clouds in the blue sky, and Mr Quacky the sun. There was a castle in the distance, and to tie the whole drawing together, there was a dog between them; while Roy's explained to the lad a hundred times why they can't because of work, it doesn't stop him from trying to sneak the question in anyway possible.
Regardless of that, Roy melts at what Jamie’s made for him, his eyes softening and his scowl no more. It’s different when Phoebe brought her projects from school and stuck them on the fridge. What he holds is a treasure he’ll forever keep.
Jamie fidgets in his spot, waiting for a response. He's thinking maybe it’s a bit too childish to make his grumpy caretaker a drawing out of crayons and glitter, small or not.
That changes when Roy puts the drawing down and holds out his arm for a hug with the biggest smile on his face. Smiling just as wide, Jamie is quick to go into the arms of his safety net and rubs his nose along Roy’s black cotton shirt speckled with glitter, giggling madly from the giddiness.
“Bloody fantastic. You drew it?” Roy asks the lad clinging to him.
“Yes! Told you glitter was important!” Without it, how would he make the princess shine and pop out? The knight had taken him a while with the shading, and he made sure to gently colour in the sky to avoid leaving streaks. He really put his heart into the drawing for his Daddy to show how much he appreciates and loves him.
And seeing how soft and cuddly his Daddy is because of the drawing, he makes a mental note to create backup drawings whenever he’s in trouble. They’ll be his free out-of-spanking cards!
Roy chuckles, giving him a kiss on his forehead in thanks for the sweet gift. ”Now I see why. Let’s put it on the fridge for the yoga mums to see.”
“Yes, Dadd’eh!” Jamie kisses his cheek in return with a fat smack of his lips, the taste of soap no longer bothering him. He takes his drawing over to the fridge quickly and places it on top of Phoebe’s paper that got an A+ with his favourite magnet: a ducky. Turning to Roy, he yells out, ta-da, with jazz hands gesturing to it.
Roy doesn’t say anything about covering his niece’s paper and gives him a nod. Phoebe would understand when she saw the twinkling masterpiece Jamie had created.
“Now that the kitchen has brightened up a bit, why don’t you help Daddy make cookies?” Roy offers, tapping the bowl he’s mixing everything in.
”Yes, Dadd’eh!” Jamie hops back beside Roy, rolling up his sleeves and whipping his hair out of his face. He’s ready to be Daddy’s little helper!
And hopefully get a cookie at the end of it all!
