Rigging Jamie up is complicated. Jordie went to actual rope bondage seminars to learn how to do it right; part of taking care of Jamie no matter what is doing research like that, so he can give him what he needs without accidentally dislocating his shoulder or something.
That's not a conversation Jordie ever wants to have with the team or, god help him, with Jim and Lindy. No. He'll take the vague awkwardness of a kink class any day over that.
The point is: he knows how to do this right, how to do it safely. But doing it right is complicated. It takes a while. And that means Jamie gets restless and bratty.
“Jordie, come on.”
“Be quiet.” Jordie ties off another hitch checks the tension. Perfect. They all have to be that perfect.
“You're taking forever.”
“Cause I don't want to cut off your circulation.”
“My circulation is fine. It's always fine.”
Jordie snorts and wraps a length of rope carefully across Jamie's chest. Give Jamie his own way and he would’ve lost a hand by now. “Yeah, because I'm careful.”
That shuts him up for a few minutes, enough for Jordie to finish the main body harness and start on the extras that Jamie needs because he is a giant baby who has to fight himself to exhaustion before he can act like a normal person.
“Jordie, for fuck’s sake.”
Jordie pauses and looks at him. “I'm about to do the tie around your balls. You sure you want to bitch at me right now?”
Jamie glares at him but subsides, standing still except for wiggling his fingers and flexing his hands. Jordie always lets that slide because it's good to know Jamie's hands are okay, the ropes aren't too tight, he's not going to be fucked up for hockey.
Or at least, not fucked up from bad circulation in his hands. There are still lots of other ways this could go wrong, every time.
He pushes the thought away and concentrates on tying off the knots by Jamie's junk. There's no tension on the ropes yet, nothing to worry about, but telling their mom why she wasn't getting any grandchildren from her favorite would be even less fun than explaining injuries to the team. Better to get it right.
He steps back after it's done and looks Jamie over, nodding in satisfaction. “Everything feels okay?”
“Fine. Good.” Jamie flexes his hands again and nods. “Do the rest of it, please?”
“Since you said please…” The best part of this is that Jamie can't flip him off. Jordie moves around him to get the rest of the rig ready. It had been easy to explain why they needed load-bearing ring bolts in the ceiling of the home gym; for heavy punching bags, obviously. And they needed a bunch of them in case they ever wanted to move the bags, that's all. The pulleys, too, definitely just for punching bags. No big deal.
They weren't using the pulleys today; that was a whole different set of rigging and problems and things to worry about, that in the end put Jamie in a totally different state of mind. That was for when Jamie needed to float and turn his brain off for a while.
This was for when he needed to fight.
Jordie gets the ropes set up and runs them properly through the rings he tied into Jamie's rope harness. The rope between his legs clips to it separately, just in case. The more times they do this, the more at ease Jordie feels about it, and the more powerful. He feels like he's doing magic, or making art, or something. He can do this perfectly, and turn rope and metal rings into an escape pod that takes Jamie away.
“Ready?” he asks, when everything is clipped and tied.
Jamie nods fast, his eyes bright with anticipation, his breath already coming fast.
Jordie draws the rope back, pulling steadily down so the tension runs up to the ring in the ceiling and back down to Jamie, bringing him up onto his toes. Jordie pauses and studies the scene, then draws it a few inches more before tying off. Perfect.
The ropes are connected so that as long as Jamie stays on his toes, there's no pressure anywhere else. When he gets tired and tries to shift his weight, though, his bound wrists will be drawn up, putting pressure on his shoulders and between his legs. The ropes are tied off enough that he can't dislocate his arms or crush his balls, but it can feel like he's right on the edge of doing both. The whole rig can hurt like hell.
Jordie sits down in an old armchair they put down here for this exact purpose. They've never bothered explaining to anyone why there's a comfy chair in the home gym. There just is.
They keep a couple of magazines by the chair. Jordie flips through a two-month-old Sports Illustrated Jamie stole from a Jiffy Lube, and waits.
Jamie's strong, and has a hell of a lot of endurance. Jordie's halfway through the issue before he hears the first grunt of pain.
He looks up and admires the view for a moment. Jamie's flushed deep red all over, sweat shining on his face and chest. He's flat-footed right now, the ropes stressing his arms and balls, his teeth digging hard into his lower lip. He’s quiet, though, broken through to the space in his head where he falls quiet except for his breathing.
The only thing he's fighting is his own body mass. There's plenty of fighting to do, Jordie knows, but it's not more than Jamie can handle. He won't break himself, just exhaust himself, and eventually drive himself to surrender.
Eventually. It takes for fuckin' ever for him to admit defeat. Jamie hates giving up almost as much as Jordie does. Jordie will probably finish this magazine and start another one before Jamie taps out.
That's okay, though. Whatever Jamie needs. Jordie promised that a long time ago, and he keeps his promises, no matter what.