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When his first attempt to solve the Jamie-Nate issue backfired spectacularly, Roy decided to call in the big guns. Keeley's advice had definitely been… something. Short and to the point, sure, but a little fucking mental to be honest.
Well, not exactly mental, but surely Keeley didn't know Roy like that. Shouldn't know that he'd be on his knees for someone, gender out the fucking window, just for a bit of fun. Or maybe she did. That woman certainly had her sources. It's a good thing Rebecca gave her a job then, kept her on Richmond's side and save her ratting out every detail of their daily lives to the press.
But anyway, it wasn't the blowjob that turned him off. It was Jamie fucking Tartt. Prick who thinks he's God's gift to football, least of all to Richmond. Prick who calls him old, calls him grandad, makes him want to strangle the twat. Prick who's shitty gelled hair and vanity muscles make him look like a sodding Ken doll, except Roy's seen far too much in this fucking locker room to think that the prick looks like a Ken doll down there . Even if he is waxed within an inch of his life, the tosser.
Point is, Jamie's a prick, but the peace and quiet he might win in the locker room might be worth a little personal sacrifice from Roy. For the greater good and all that. A captain's duty.
While Roy's lost in his own mind, mulling over his options, the rest of the team begin to file out of the club for the night. Soon enough, it's just him and Jamie left. It's the perfect opportunity if he can just get his shit together.
The sound of running water fills the locker room; Jamie's taking a post-training shower, hot, wet, naked and alone.
"Fuck," Roy says to the empty room, heading for the showers before she can change his mind.
He'd never admit it out loud, but it's true that Jamie is mad fit. It's not an uncommon thought, especially since it's not an uncommon sight, Jamie shirtless or naked in the rooms, but Roy's usually much more focused on how much of a twat Jamie is to keep himself from picturing much more.
But now, as he steps into the shower room, he lets himself drink in the sight, the sharp V of Jamie's torso, hair-free, muscles rippling as he washes away the day's dirt and sweat; the narrow waist that Roy can't help but imagine wrapping his hands around; the round globes of his arse that Roy wouldn't hesitate to bury his prick in, given half a chance.
"A fucking picture would last longer," Jamie sings out without turning around. "Or maybe you're due for some new glasses, old man."
"Maybe you're right," Roy concedes, "I should get my eyes checked, 'cause from where I'm standing you look like a right twat."
Jamie twists around at that, venom in his eyes, and oh yeah, Roy's going to have fun with this.
With Jamie's eyes on him, he slips the towel from around his waist and tosses it onto the bench. Jamie's eyes linger a moment too long before the prick spins back around, eyes averted. Game on, then, Roy thinks to himself. He sidles up to the shower head next to Jamie.
"All the showers are free, and you still decide to take the one right next to me?" Jamie sneers. "Someone might say you're having a look, poof."
Roy turns off the spray and grits his teeth. "What's it gonna take for you to quit fucking bullying Nate and half the fucking team, you twat?"
Jamie rolls his eyes. "Fucking blow me," he dismisses, turning away to face the wall.
Well alright then. Roy drops to his knees and tries to bite back a grimace. Fuck he's getting old, but he doesn't need fucking Jamie Tartt to see that.
Settling on his knees beside Jamie, he reaches out a tentative hand to the man's thigh.
Jaime flinches, glancing down at Roy with suspicion. "The fuck do you think you're doing?"
"The fuck do you think? Been a while since you've had someone on their knees for you, eh?" He smirks up at Jaime, if only to stop himself from staring at the man's cock that's right in front of his fucking face.
"So what, you think a blowjob from a toothless old man like yourself is gonna make me a better person or something?"
Roy snorts. "Deal's a deal." According to Keeley, sexual bribery is the number one way to get Jamie fucking Tartt behave, and Roy isn't above using cheap tricks to get what he, no, what the team wants. Which is cohesion, not necessarily Roy blowing Jamie in their fucking locker room, but what they don't know won't hurt them. Roy's just taking one for the team.
To his credit, which isn't much, Jamie only looks conflicted for half a second before he half nods, half shrugs at Roy. "Alright then, give us a good one and I'll speak to the lads, proper-like this time."
"Good," Roy grunts, and that's all the warning he gives before he leans in.
It's a little ego boost for Roy that Jamie's cock is on its way to half hard when he first gets his mouth on it. He knew the prick had to find some part of this appealing beyond the promise of an orgasm. In fairness though, his own cock is starting to harden in his lap. Fair's fair after all.
So he throws himself into it, coaxing Jamie to full hardness in a matter of moments, swallowing around the decently sized cock like he knows is good. It's been a while in all honesty, but it comes back to him.
It's not like Jamie's complaining. "Fuck yeah, suck my prick, take it all."
So he does.
Jamie's hairless down his front, even his cock is missing a thatch of hair at its base. Roy can't say he really minds, least of all when he feels the way Jamie shivers when Roy takes him all the way to the base, his beard scratching at the sensitive skin.
"Fu-uck," Jamie groans, "fuck do it again."
So he does, this time scraping a fingernail across the sensitive skin beneath Jamie's cock, to his balls, to his taint, to his arse.
As soon as he touches him there, Roy finds himself shoved backwards, sitting on his heels, mouth hanging open and empty once more.
Jamie's back collides with the wall with a thud . "Wh-what the fuck was that? You fucking, you fucking said-" Distrustful eyes dart from Roy to the doors to the floor of the shower. "You said a blowjob." It sounds like an accusation.
"Look, alright, I'm sorry," Roy finds himself saying, holding his hands up in surrender. "Some blokes like it when-"
"Well I'm not some bloke, am I? I'm Jamie fucking Tartt. I'm not gay, I don't like it up the arse, you poof, so keep your filthy hands off."
Right then. "Me either. Glad that's settled. I'll leave your pretty little virgin arse alone, I pinky fucking swear. Can we get back to the job at hand?"
Jamie frowns in a bout of confusion, before he smirks once again. "Don't you mean the job at mouth?"
"Prick." Funny though. Roy walks on his knees until he's got Jamie backed against the wall good and proper. One hand firmly planted low on Jaime's hip to keep him fucking still, he takes the tip of his cock between his lips.
Jamie's hands move to Roy's shoulders, warm and hard against him. Not exactly pushing or pulling this time, but holding him, keeping him right where they both want him to be.
Roy flicks the tip of his tongue along Jamie's slit, barely grazes the underside of his cock with his teeth, pulls out all the tricks to make this worth both their whiles. And Nate's, but truthfully he really doesn't want to be thinking about Nate right now. Nate's too good a bloke to have in his head while he's blowing Jamie fucking Tartt.
He tunes out his own rambling thoughts and listens in on Jamie's rambling.
"For someone who's not gay, you suck cock like you are. Like you were made for it. Maybe that's a retirement plan for you, old man? Go do some porn and be someone's favourite cocksucker."
Fuck, the mouth on him. Roy pulls off, but keeps stroking away at the base of Jamie's cock. "Not gay. Bisexual. Much prefer birds, the occasional lad, and last on the fucking list of those I'd voluntarily fuck is yourself." It's a lie, for sure, but he's got to bite back now before Jamie cottons on to the fact that kind of talk is going to have him coming untouched like a fucking kid.
Jamie smirks though, little prick. "So you're a cocksucker for fun, but this is out of the goodness of your own little heart?"
Something like that. Not that he's going to let Jamie know either way. The brat can't do with another ego boost tonight. "Warn me before you shoot off like a teenager, it's basic fucking etiquette," he says before returning to Jamie's cock.
"Fuck you, I'm a fucking pro. It's just not every fucking day you get Roy Kent on his knees blowing your brains out through your cock, y'know?" His hips stutter behind the force of Roy's hand. "Fuck yeah, just like that."
God, it feels good to wanted like this. Roy moans around Jamie's cock, ignoring the ache in his knees and jaw. He's drooling, making a right mess, but by the way Jamie's stomach is quaking beneath Roy's hands, the lad must be close.
"Fuck Roy, should have you do this all the fucking time. Suck better than most the girls I've had." His hands scrabble and attach at Roy's shoulders. "Fuck I'm close, pull off so you-"
Fuck no. It's not the best part of it, but he's not a fucking quitter. With two hands he keeps Jamie's hips firmly in place, hoping he gets the fucking idea that this is finishing up just like it started: on Roy's terms.
He's certain Jamie will have a few choice words for it, but the prick just pants above him, eyes wide. "Oh yeah, you're full of fucking surprises, aren't you?"
Sure fucking is.
A soft, "Oh fuck, Roy," from Jamie is the only warning he gets before Jamie's spilling down his throat, gasping and moaning. Fuck, doesn't he sound pretty like that, Roy thinks as he works Jamie through his orgasm. His own cock twitches in his lap, hard and red and neglected.
He pulls off Jamie's cock as it starts to soften and sits back on his haunches.
"Fucking filthy," Jamie tells him as Roy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Roy just grins up at him, victorious, watching Jamie slumped against the wall, almost but not quite legless.
"You want a hand with that?" Jamie pants out, genturing to Roy's crotch. It's almost polite.
God yes. He's fucking aching for it right now. But no, he shakes his head. "Deal's a deal," he tells him, working his way to his feet. This is not supposed to be some reciprocal thing.
He steps under the next showerhead, turning on the now-powerful spray. Wrapping a hand around his own length, Roy sighs in relief. Fisting himself under the spray, like he's wanted to the whole fucking time Jamie Tartt's been at his fucking club, it's fucking brilliant.
There's a sigh to his left as well. Roy snaps his head to look, and Jamie fucking Tartt is watching with a look in his eye that Roy can't exactly object to.
"The fuck you looking at?"
Jamie's eyes are bright. "Just watching the show, Roy. Give us a show, won't you?"
"I'm not your personal fucking porno," Roy grunts, but Jamie's eyes on him makes him feel heavy with an emotion he can't place.
"Show me how you'd fuck me," Jamie says, no, fucking requests, like he's some kind of DJ at a club, all casual like they're fuckbuddies and not, well, whatever the fuck this is.
Roy freezes. "You said-"
"I know what I said. I'm not sodding asking you to, I'm asking how you would. Show me."
Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Roy slows his pace, thinks about just how he wants this scenario to play out. "I'd do it here, after hours. Like fuck I'd take you back to mine, prick. No, we'd do it here, where you'd be scared off your tits that someone would find you hanging off Roy Kent's cock, moaning like a whore."
"Yeah?"
"You'd bend over one of the benches, the tables, fuck, maybe the laundry trolley, you fucking minx."
"Would you make me?"
Never. But that's not a sexy fantasy for them to both get off on. Roy's shrugs as best as he can with one hand around his cock. "Maybe at first. You're such a fucking brat, sometimes you need to be reminded of what you need. Might take a few times for you to learn it, to learn to beg for it."
Jamie scoffs. "I'm not going to fucking beg."
Roy chances a glance to Jamie and catches him fisting his cock too, close enough to be in rhythm with Roy's own strokes.
"Keep telling yourself that. You'll figure it out soon enough." He adjusts his grip on his cock, bracing himself against the shower wall. Jamie asked for a show, Roy may as well give it to him. He puts his hips into it, thrusting into his hand like it was Ja- like another person.
"I should take my time with you, but that arse deserves every ounce of pounding and pain it gets. But fuck you'd be tight. A pretty little virgin arse like that needs to be stretched so it doesn't snap my fucking dick off. So I'll take my time fucking you open with my fingers, like a bird. Get you all wet and ready for me."
Coach must have done something fantastic with the showers, because there's still hot water pouring down on Roy as he keeps fucking his hand.
"And then what?"
"Maybe I'll leave you there, open and wet and aching for me, leave you there until you learn how to ask for what you want."
Jamie groans out, frustrated. "Not. Fucking. Fair."
Roy has to laugh at that. "Says the prick with an arse that won't quit, afraid of a finger anywhere near it."
"C'mon Roy, keep going, please."
"Better. Once you're good and ready and gagging for it, I'll fuck into, hard and fast and filthy." He fucks into his hand just how he describes it, feels Jamie's eyes burning into him. "And you'd be loud. Too loud. I'd take those tiny fucking jocks you love to parade around in and shove them in your mouth just to muffle the noise."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Such a horny prick," Roy tells him, "once ain't enough for you, is it? You'd need me to fuck you good and hard until you could hardly walk, let alone train, without everyone knowing just what I'd done to you."
"Fuck, Roy, please," Jamie gasps, getting closer and closer to his second orgasm for the night.
Roy's close too, one arm supporting his weight against the tiles as he frantically fists his cock. The sound of Jamie begging in spite of himself is dragging him closer and closer to the edge with every stroke.
"They'd know just how much of a prissy brat you are, needing a cock to put you in your place. My cock. Fucking take it ," he groans out, unable to hold back any longer. His toes curl as he fists himself through it, coating his hand and the tiles of the shower wall with his release.
A little choked-off cry to his left lets him know Jaime's reached the same conclusion as himself. Fucking marvellous.
Roy cleans up as best he can, letting the evidence swirl down the drain, before shutting off the water. He glanced across to Jamie, doing the same.
"Enjoy the show then, lad?" Roy doesn't wait for a reply. He grabs his towel from where he dropped it on the bench and slings it over his shoulder. Without a backwards glance, he strolls out of the showers and back to the rooms.
When Roy rolls into the locker room the next day, Nate's doling out towels without anyone disturbing him. Poor lad looks like he's expecting some guerrilla tactics, but he gives Roy a wary smile as he makes his way around the room.
The boys greet him with the usual banter, salutes and calls of "Captain" that still manage to warm his spirits. He catches sight of Jamie's bare back, which twists as the lad turns to half face him. Roy raises an eyebrow, questioning. Jamie nods. Deal's a deal.
"Morning Grandad," the little shit practically sings, "glad to see you're still with us, haven't gone off and died of a heart attack in your sleep or anything."
"Still kicking," Roy says, adjusting his kit bag on his shoulder. "You can bet your arse on that." He winks at Jamie then, just to watch the heat rise on the lad's cheeks, before he turns to his cubby and starts unpacking his kit.
In the far corner of the cubby, he spots something that he fucking knows isn't his. He'd complain to Nate, but he looks over the item once more, recognition now registering. The shiny black fabric is unmistakably a pair of those tiny, tight jocks that Jaime is so awfully fond of. A wicked smile slips across Roy's lips for barely a second before he remembers to school his expression back into his typical frown. Fucking brat, he thinks to himself, slipping out of his street clothes at an unusually leisurely pace. He can feel Jamie's eyes on him as he steps into his shorts and fucking relishes it. Whatever this is, it's going to be fun.
FIN