Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bored and alone in bed, Roy opens Jamie’s private Instagram.

There’s only one picture from the beginning of the night so far, the one Roy took before the taxi took off with laughter and shouting, arms waving out the window, the group of them already half drunk. The four of them look good together, comfortable and happy: Jamie with his arms slung around Hammy and Tim, Beth crouched before them pulling a face. There’s a smile on his face as he taps the heart beneath the picture— the three musketeers together again!!!! ⚔️🩵🥳

His eyes linger on Jamie’s face, how open and happy he looks. It’s an expression he’s been getting used to where the footballer fades away and the twenty-six-year-old lad is revealed. The idiot who will eat four deep fried Mars Bars on a dare and then puke them up in the kitchen bin, the prat who will see a trolley at the supermarket and try to clamber into it because it’s fucking fun, mate! , and the lazy fuck who has to be reminded that wet towels don’t belong on the floor.

Roy likes him just as much as the Jamie he’s always known.

He scrolls a little further back in Jamie’s grid where too-close selfies, blurry pictures of dogs, and a lot of nights out with the lads take up most of the space. It’s not his professional account, of course. That one has 8.9m followers and is carefully curated by his PR person who tells him what to post, when, and with what caption. This one is all Jamie, his personality spread slapdash across it.

Conscious that he might just be stalking his boyfriend’s Insta, and not wanting to deal with the teasing that will come if he accidentally likes an old picture, Roy clicks out of his account.

No longer used to mornings alone, he’s at a loose end for what to do. Sunday mornings are time they normally spend together sprawled in bed while Jamie struggles beautifully with The Guardian crossword and Roy reads a chapter of his book: it’s relaxing, cosy, and perfect. Roy misses it today though he knows he’s being needy. It’s not often Jamie gets to see his friends from home, all four of them living wildly different lives, and Roy’s doing his best to manage the fact that he hasn’t seen much of Jamie this week.

He could always get up and go for a run but his morning runs aren’t half as enjoyable when Jamie’s not jogging next to him, chattering away about whatever thought catches in his mind.

Roy groans and picks up his phone again, clicking through to his saved videos. He may as well make the most of his time alone, rare as it is these days.

Clicking through to his saved videos, his thumb hovers over his favourite. The thumbnail is Jamie’s grinning face, and his cock twitches against his thigh. His favourite video, one he should probably delete or burn onto a DVD or something to lower the risk of it being leaked, he normally watches it with Jamie. An exhibitionist at heart, Jamie loves watching himself in video, loves it more when he gets to press up against Roy and spill filth in his ear until his hand’s drenched with Roy’s come.

But Jamie’s not here.

Excitement fizzes in his stomach as he reaches for lube, dropping it by his thigh. He taps open the video and watches the absolute filth that is Jamie wanking for him. He’s got such a pretty cock, thick and weighty. It stretches Roy so fucking beautiful when it’s pressing inside him, firm hands gripping his hips. Roy keeps his eyes on the phone as he wriggles out of his thin sleep trousers, kicking them to one side and pushing the duvet down so he has more room.

Jamie’s cock lies half hard against his thigh, his hand shiny with pre-come in the video as he moves it over in a lazy stroke, moaning for Roy’s benefit, explicitly performative. It’s ridiculous but it works, and Roy misses it, misses him. Wants him home sooner rather than later so he can have him in his mouth and then curl up with him on the sofa while Jamie suffers a hangover that’ll turn him into a whiny mess of a man Roy’ll pretend he hates doting on.

Video Jamie breathes out, soft and shaky. “ Roy, fuck.”

Roy lightly traces his fingers over his cock, a feather-light tease. The low rumble of Jamie’s voice spews filth about how he wants Roy’s cock to stretch him open, fuck him until he can’t walk. It burns through him like fear, searing well-trod paths to send a shiver rolling through him. He wets his thumb and rubs it just under the head of his cock, pressure against the thick vein: sparks dance their way down to his toes.

“Shit, babe.” His skin is flushed, hair damp from his shower. Roy had been fucking downstairs when this video was filmed, dinner about to be served. “Want your cock in me. Want your fucking mouth. Want everything.”

Roy shivers and cups his cock, holding it. One quick, dry stroke has his eyelashes fluttering a smudge against his cheeks. He lets the video play out, watching as Jamie comes over his stomach. White strands paint his skin, sliding between the lines of his muscles, hand working over himself as he drags his pleasure out with a moan. Roy fixes his eyes on his face, on the way his eyes are squeezed tightly shut, mouth open and panting, cheeks red.

He gives his cock another stroke, firm and sure. The pleasant swelling of it growing full and hard in his hand makes him breathe deeply. He slides into the next video, one he took of Jamie blowing him. He likes it for the sound more than anything, the obscene wet slickness of his cock sliding in and out of Jamie’s throat, the moans from both of them. He turns the volume up and sets the phone down, settling in as he wets his hand with lube for a languid wank.

He sticks the video on repeat, happy to listen to the two of them, mind drifting as he wanks slowly, working himself up.

It’s nice, he’s lazy. The tug of an orgasm pulls at him a few times, easy enough to ignore by removing his hand and going through his messages for a few minutes. He doesn’t know how long he’s been at it, only that his body is nicely knotted with tension. A hot urge to come filling him. He hasn’t had the chance to really luxuriate in this for a while, to drag it out and enjoy the heat in his groin.

All that comes to an end when Jamie staggers into the bedroom reeking of cheap alcohol, missing a shoe, and sparkling with glitter.

“Morning,” Roy says, amused.

Jamie squints at him and smirks. “Nice.”

He climbs onto the bed, a wet dog looking for attention. Except this wet dog has bathed in glitter by the looks of him so when Jamie shakes himself, it goes everywhere. He falls face first towards Roy’s cock, mouth open in his eagerness, an absolutely rancid smell of alcohol oozing from him.

His nostrils twitch. He catches him mid fall, palm wrapping around his face. Jamie licks at his fingers and struggles to get closer, whining his protests.

“I can fucking smell you from here,” Roy complains. “Have a shower before you get near my cock.”

Jamie nuzzles at his palm. “You teasing yourself?”

A punch of heat lands low in his gut. Jamie knowing this about him, it still takes some getting used to. Keeley loved it, loved drawing out his pleasure and making him twitch and whine, but he and Jamie haven’t played with this before, so many other things to try that’ve demanded their attention. Jamie’s a horny twenty-something in peak physical condition and Roy’s been having fun revisiting things he hasn’t had a chance to explore in a while.

“Yeah,” Roy says, throatier than he wants. “Want to join me?”

Jamie hums, pulling his face back and resting his weight on his hands. Planking despite how drunk he must still be, showering glitter over Roy’s thigh and into his pubes without a care, the twat.

“‘M going to shower,” Jamie says instead. “If you wait until I’m done, I’ll ride you.”

He tries to breathe properly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jamie doesn’t wait for his agreement—he either will or he won’t—and rolls off the bed to head into the bathroom where he leaves the door wide open. Roy eases his grip on his cock, breathing out. Yeah, okay.

Roy listens to the chaotic sounds of Jamie showering. For all that he claims he hates showering alone, it doesn’t make him rush. He sings, surprisingly lovely voice carrying through to Roy who strokes his hand up his cock, the other playing with his balls. He closes his eyes and listens. Having Jamie in his space, making noise and being himself—he loves it. Finger wet with lube, he slips it down to play with his hole. Not pressing in, just teasing. He loses himself in the lazy sensation of it.

“Oh, that’s a cracking sight.” He peels open his eyes. Jamie’s in the doorway, gloriously, wonderfully, perfectly naked. His eyes drink Roy in, taking in the sight of him sprawled on the bed. Colour sprawls down his pale chest as Roy presses one, then two fingers into his body. Jamie reaches down and squeezes himself. “God, want to take a fucking picture.”

Roy swallows, mouth hot and throat full. “Go on then.”

Surprise shows on Jamie’s face. He doesn’t bother asking if Roy’s sure though and grabs his phone from where he plugged it in to charge, taking large steps back to the bathroom. Roy tries not to feel self-conscious, focusing on the burning look of want on Jamie’s face. He drags his fingers out and then pushes them back in, crooking so he taps at his prostate so when Jamie takes the picture his eyes are closed and mouth is parted. Later, he’ll think he looks well fit, but for now, he wants to come.

“Gonna make this my lock screen,” Jamie tells him, like a fucking liar. “Wank off to it between training.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Leave it up on the table when having lunch so the lads can see.” It shouldn’t send a shiver through Roy. He’s not the one with the exhibitionist streak. But…he strokes himself a little harder. “Close?”

He nods, hoping for a touch, even a kiss, but Jamie just hums and turns away. His arse— fuck , his arse is lovely. Roy wants the weight of it pressing down on his thighs, the heat of Jamie’s body gripping him. He releases his cock and pulls his fingers from his body, breathing out. He rubs the side of his hand over his forehead, swallowing as Jamie starts singing again.

“Did you have a good time?” Roy raises his voice just a little to be heard. The humming stops, its absence hollowing a space in his chest. “Do anything messy?”

“I was well behaved,” Jamie calls back, laughter in his voice. “Beth got sloppy though. Had to peel her off some bloke who swore he was Prince Harry.”

“Was he?”

“Fuck no,” he laughs. “Was black for starters, and Scottish.”

Roy snorts. “Where’s she now?”

“Sleeping it off at her sister’s,” Jamie tells him. Roy shifts on the bed so he can watch him brush the conditioner through his hair—leave in, smells like pomegranates, stupidly expensive, Roy’s bought him an entire pallet. “Don’t think Poppy’s going to be happy about it. They haven’t spoken in months but she didn’t want to come back here. Said she’d try and climb you like a tree if she did, so I took her there first before coming back.”

“She wants to do what to me?”

“Fuck you.” Jamie’s head pops out of the door, a wicked grin on his face. “She’s had to listen to me go on about you since we were six. She’s got, like, attraction by proxy or something. Stockholm Syndrome but for sexy feelings.”

“Jesus fuck.” Roy’s hand slides back to his cock. “Are you almost done?”

“No,” he says, because he’s a prick. “You should’ve come with us. Was a lot of fun.”

“They’re your friends,” Roy tells him, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock to draw the warm, electric sensation of his pleasure out again. It comes stronger and easier each time he denies himself, muscles fluttering with the promise of bliss. “Should have time alone with them.”

“This is just because you don’t want to introduce me to your mates.”

“You know my mates,” he reminds him. “You’ve fucking played with my mates.”

“Yeah, as a team mate, but I want Kun Agüero to look me in the eyes and hold a fucking conversation with me,” Jamie replies. “Stop him treating me like I’m annoying him.”

“You were annoying him,” Roy says. “He’s told me all about you stalking him.”

“Wasn’t fucking stalking him,” is the expected complaint. “Just wanted to see how he played. Fucker. He was all about giving back to the youth but when I asked him questions, he was all—you again, Tartt?”

When he let his group chat of British footballing twats know he was dating Jamie but they weren’t going public public with it, Kun sent a long essay about his concerns around Jamie’s mental health because that lad has obsessive tendencies, Roy as if Roy wasn’t fully away and turned on by those exact things that had freaked Kun the fuck out. Milner had sent him a voicenote of him just laughing so hard it sounded like he actually strained something, and Joe—the absolute fucker—sent a request for £1000, payment for a stupid, drunken bet when Roy was complaining about Jamie way back and Joe said they needed to fuck it out.

So no, he doesn’t want Jamie to meet his friends. Not because he’s ashamed of Jamie, but because he doesn’t want to spend the night being thoroughly and completely embarrassed by fuckers who know far too much about him.

“What if I give you a blowjob every morning for a month?” Jamie appears in the doorway, rubbing cream into his face, neck, and chest. The slight shine to his skin makes Roy’s cock leap, a memory of rubbing his own come into his face as Jamie writhed and moaned under him hitting him. “Introduce me then?”

“You give me a blowjob every morning anyway,” he points out, grip tightening. “Are you done yet?”

Jamie’s mouth twitches. “Impatient.”

He’s not going to whine. He’s not going to do it. He’s Roy Kent. He doesn’t whine.

“Jamie — ” it comes out as a whine. “Your skin’s fucking perfect. Get over here.”

Jamie rubs his fingers down his nose and turns back into the bathroom. Roy releases his cock with a shudder. Fuck . He presses his heels into the mattress and tries not to sob.

When Jamie re-emerges a few moments later, relief floods Roy. He shifts on the bed, eager and alive with arousal. Jamie trails soft fingers over the top of his foot and climbs onto the bed, knee walking his way over Roy’s body, knees on either side of him. He keeps going over Roy’s cock, barely stopping, arse coming to rest on his stomach.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

Roy exhales, hands on his thighs. “Hi.”

“I missed you.” He says these things sometimes, things that fucking gut Roy and leave him gasping. “Wanted you there.”

“Maybe next time,” Roy hears himself promise. “Just the two of us.”

Jamie lights up, body bending in half so his mouth presses against Roy’s, who groans and arches up to kiss him back.

Kissing Jamie is so fucking lovely. It’s easy to let the world fall away like this, to focus only on the minty taste of Jamie’s toothpaste—some fancy shit he refuses to let Roy use—and the light sweep of lip balm. Roy pulls back, tongue passing over his lips, delving in for more but Jamie pulls back, fingers light on his chest to keep him in place.

“You want me to ride you?” Jamie asks, fingers pushing through his chest hair. “Or d’you want to suck me off first?”

Roy tightens his grip on the thick thighs under his palms and pulls him closer to his mouth, Jamie falling up his chest easily. The smile on his face, it should annoy him but instead it makes him warmer, fuller. It takes barely a moment before Jamie’s straddling his chest, knees pressing into the pillows he’s propped up on. The head of Jamie’s cock, already hard because Jamie’s twenty -fucking- six and constantly horny, nudges against his lips.

Roy moans, low and soft, and opens his mouth. Jamie pushes inside, hands gripping the headboard as Roy’s lips stretch around him, fingers digging harder from their new place on his arse.

The freshly washed taste of him bursts across the flat of his tongue, a hint of salt from the pre-come already oozing from the tip of him. He wastes no time, swallowing him down deeper, wanting to feel it in the back of his throat. Jamie breathes out, short and fast, before his weight shifts and he’s leaning forward into it.

Panic grips Roy like it always does. There’s a split moment every time he does this where his body fights back. A lifetime spent wrestling it under control, he’s never been able to get rid of this moment of wrong, no, stop that now carries a sharp edge of heat. It passes, it always does, and Jamie’s filling his mouth, threatening to fill his throat.

Jamie touches his hair, stroking his fingers through it, fingertips pressing against his scalp before his grip tightens and pulls his head back, deceptively gentle. “Fuck, look at you.”

He presses all the way forward until Roy’s nose is buried in the soft bed of tamed pubes above Jamie’s cock, forehead against his abdomen. His eyes flutter shut, grip tightening on Jamie. His throat feels so fucking full like this, head swimming with Jamie, Jamie, Jamie . His throat spasms, dragging a groan from Jamie, and Roy feels the absence when Jamie he out, saliva wetting his cock, connecting them in sticky strings. Then he’s full again, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Coming means nothing now, not when he has Jamie like this, when completeness slips through every fibre of his body.

Jamie fucks his throat, slow like there’s all the time in the world. Deep rolls of his hips that force pricks of tears into Roy’s eyes as his cock settles itself deep in his throat. But it’s worth it for the way Jamie cups his hands around Roy’s head, cradling him like he’s something precious. For the rough, wounded noises he makes every time the head of his cock dips into the hot clutch of Roy’s throat.

Mind fuzzy and warm, he wets his fingers on his cock again, this time pressing them against Jamie’s hole and pressing into him. Tight because of the angle, Jamie’s body welcomes him inside with a happy sigh, hips shifting in a wriggle to get more of him. He fingers him open, sloppy because he’s not entirely focused. Not that Jamie minds. Sloppy, confused, overwhelmed—Jamie loves when he makes Roy like this, relishes the ego boost it gives him.

“I’m going to come,” Jamie moans, minutes later when drool has slid down Roy’s chin, slicking his beard. “Where d’you want it?”

Options, too many fucking options. He doesn’t know how Jamie expects him to fucking think when his throat’s spasming from fullness and he’s blinded by tears.

Jamie chooses for him by pulling his cock out and pressing the flat of his palm to his forehead, the other gripping the base of his cock. Roy swallows around nothing, his eyes fixed on his face as Jamie’s eyes close and his hand strips his cock before hot, wet come spills onto him.

Eyebrows and the slope of his nose, his beard taking the worst of it. He shudders, a whine spooling out of him like loose thread. Jamie pants as he strokes himself through his orgasm, dripping fat beads of come onto his face and neck.

His tongue slips out to taste what he can, a lovely hit of Jamie exploding across his tongue. Jamie’s flushed red above him, eyes wide, mouth parted. He leans down and presses his mouth hard to Roy’s, fingers holding his chin in place. Roy takes it, he has no other option.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, getting all messy for me,” Jamie says, low and  velvet-soft. Roy shudders, eyelashes growing heavy as come slides down his brow. Jamie thumbs it away, wiping at his eyes before pushing his thumb into Roy’s mouth. “Suck.”

He sucks, eyes fixed on Jamie because why the fuck would he look anywhere else when Jamie’s right in front of him. Fingers touch his face softly, smearing the come across his skin and through his beard. It’s perverse, his stomach squirming with heat at it. Jamie does things to him, filthy things that he’s done to others in the past but never had done to himself. Except, with Jamie, he wants all the filth, wants the perversion, wants being on the receiving end because it makes Jamie look like he’s staring into the face of God.

“Good lad.” The first touch of Jamie’s hand on his cock is a stunning, biting reminder of how hard he is, how much he wants to come. There’s a clicking sound, Jamie’s tongue against the roof of his mouth.  “Fucking desperate. Bet you’ll come the second I get on you.”

He groans and twists, arching up into his touch. Jamie rubs the slick of his come over his cock, down his shaft, thumb pulling from his mouth. Roy grits his teeth, flushing hot. “Fuck off.”

“Big Man Roy Kent,” Jamie continues, lowering himself slowly. The tip of Roy’s cock presses inside him—his body grips at Roy and refuses to let him go. “Shooting off like a lad because my ass is too fucking good.”

Roy swallows hard, head pressing back into the pillow. He tries to push himself up into Jamie and then pull him down, forgetting about the core strength he’s helped build in him. Jamie won’t let him move until he wants him to move.

Jamie sinks down onto his, slow and steady. By the time he seats himself comfortably, rocking his hips to stretch himself further open, Roy’s panting. Sweat clings to his skin, and he is at serious risk of shooting off like a lad who’s seeing a cunt for the first time. Unbothered by the fact Roy’s fucking dying under him, Jamie stretches his arms over his head and rolls his hip to let it flow down his back, head tipping back like they’re at fucking yoga.

“Jamie,” he groans. “Stop fucking teasing.”

“You like the teasing,” Jamie says, palms dropping to his chest, thumbs plucking at his nipples. “What d’you want, babe? Slow or fast?”

He swallows. “Fast. Hard .”

Jamie’s tongue slips out, that obnoxious look that drives people on the pitch insane and Roy wild. “You got it.”

Roy grips harder at the firm flesh in his hands and braces himself as Jamie rolls his hips, sharp and focused. His thighs flex as he lifts up, hands bracing himself on Roy’s chest. Damp hair falls over his eyes, and Roy briefly loses the ability to see as Jamie slams himself back down and starts to ride him at a fucking gallop.

Fucking hell .

Three months is not enough time for Roy to be used to this, for him to be over how fucking incredible Jamie makes him feel. And the view—Jesus fucking Christ, the view. Jamie’s gorgeous. Breathtaking. Like some sort of sculpture crafted from marble with muscles that, when he uses his body like this, makes Roy lose all sense of self.

He groans at the friction of Jamie’s body around his cock. They haven’t used condoms at all, which is fucking stupid really, but Jamie loves feeling Roy’s come sliding out of him and Roy loves making Jamie happy. So the friction, the heat, none of it’s obstructed. It drives him insane, the edge of his orgasm rushing up to him again, delayed for so long it's clawing at him to get out. His grips Jamie so hard there will definitely be bruises, faint fingermarks that Roy’s going to want to trace when they’re at the club.

It fills his throat how much he wants Jamie all the fucking time. It’s never enough. He needs more kisses, more touches, more sweet little sounds of pleasure huffed in his ear as Roy jams a thigh between Jamie’s legs and gets him to ride him until he’s coming in his shorts with a pained, half-embarrassed shudder.

He knows it’s not just him, knows that Jamie’s as equally affected. It’s just…Roy’s never felt like this before, so unmoored from who he normally is. The person he becomes when he’s with Jamie isn’t someone he recognises—a smiley, happy man who folds himself around his boyfriend’s bulk and lets himself be vulnerable.

He likes this Roy.

“Fuck,” Jamie pants. His nails scratch against Roy’s chest, edge of his thumbnail catching on his nipple. Pleasure shoots straight to his cock. “Perfect fucking way to end a night out.”

Roy’s mouth moves, words stuck in his throat. All that comes out is a ragged moan. Somehow he finds the strength to let go of Jamie’s arms, one hand pushing up the hot expanse of his back, the other dancing light fingers over his thigh. There’s a spot on Jamie, the crease where thigh meets pelvis, Roy’s discovered that if he rubs his thumb ever-so-lightly over it, it forces Jamie to make the most gorgeous sound. He does it now and isn’t disappointed.

“Fuck me,” Jamie breathes, rolling his hips into a languid wave. Roy traces the edge of his fingernail along the line where the soft skin is warm, tempting. “God, I thought about you last night. Wanted you there. Had to sneak off to have a wank in the bathroom.”

“Wanted you to fuck me on the dance floor,” he continues, swallowing and pinching at his own nipple. Roy watches him, mouth parted as he lies there, nothing to do except let Jamie use him for his pleasure and hope he gets something in return. “Wanted you to grind up against me and inch my shorts down. Take your cock and fuck me with it.”

He shudders at the image, at the hurt of it all. Jamie loves it when Roy makes him hurt so sweetly, a fine edge between pleasure and pain that he’s learning how to walk better for Jamie.

A sharply delivered slap on behind his balls does more for Jamie than a lazy blowjob ever could. Roy knows this, files it away in the part of his mind that’s growing larger and larger with Jamie, and he relishes each new thing he learns. This is new, this threat of taking something not freely given. A pulse runs through his cock, so strong it’s impossible for Jamie not to feel it.

“Yeah, thought you’d like that,” he says, breathless. He’s grinning, his hair falling over his eyes, flushed from root to tip. “Think it’d make me yours, yeah? Don’t realise it’d make you mine.”

Roy whines, heels pressing into the bed. He tries to thrust up but he can’t, Jamie has him trapped between his thighs, the only place he ever wants to be. “Jamie, fuck . Please, fucking move—I want to come.”

“Want?” Jamie turns the word over in his mouth, squeezing his muscles down hard on Roy so that a cut-off sob wrenches from his throat. “Only want?”

“Fuck— need, I need to come.”

It’s too late though, he knows that. Jamie hums, idly thrumming his nipples, cock half hard again. “Wonder what people would think to know you’re gagging for my ass. The great Roy Kent, can’t even speak you’re so gone for me.”

Roy’s mouth opens again. This time, Jamie shoves two fingers inside.

It doesn’t take much, not really.

Jamie’s right, he is fucking gone for him.

All it takes is Jamie’s fingers pressing back into his throat, making him choke just a little, and a mean twist of Jamie’s hips—he comes with a long, drawn-out groan. His orgasm rips through him, exploding and shattering him into a thousand different pieces, his vision turning black. He rides his pleasure with grinding, desperate movements up into Jamie’s body that takes it like it’s made for it, for him.

When he comes down, minutes, hours, a lifetime later—Jamie’s gently shushing him, curling around his body like a sated cat ready for a nap. He has wet wipes, the moisturising kind they keep in the bedside table. Tears have spilt down his cheeks, passing through the come smeared there, and he blinks. Jamie smiles at him, soft and sunny.

“Welcome back,” he says. “Good trip?”

Roy touches him with shaking fingers that firm when they meet his skin, the tips tracing over the shell of his ear and then down to the skin of his neck. He pulls him closer, light but demanding. Jamie shifts forward and kisses him: soft and sweet, just like him.

He closes his eyes and breathes, the sex-warm smell of Jamie is more comforting than it has any right to be. He wants to bury himself deep in it, safe in the knowledge that Jamie will let him.

“There we go.” Jamie rubs a fresh wipe through his beard, pressing and giving it a bit of elbow grease where bits have started to dry. “Fucking sexy as shit, you are. Can’t believe you let me do this to you. My cock’s going to fall off how much I’m wanking to this stuff.”

Roy hums, loose and relaxed. “Horny git. We have sex every day.”

“Sometimes more than once,” he says, happy. He pauses to take another kiss, Roy smiling into it. “Can’t help it, can I? Sometimes you’re all the way on the other side of the room. Got to take care of things myself, don’t I?”

“You’re so impatient,” Roy says. “Should wait for it a bit.”

“Not like you, don’t want to wait for things.” The wet wipes are tossed to one side for Roy to get annoyed at later when Jamie’s snoring face first into his pillow, afternoon light spilling over his naked arse. “Don’t get why you like it so much.”

“Feels good,” he says, turning his face into Jamie’s cheek, holding him in place. Jamie settles between his spread legs even though he must want another wash, Roy’s come leaking out of him. “It’s like…it feels stronger, better, when I wait for it. It’s good all the time but when I take my time, I don’t know—just makes me feel good.”

Jamie nuzzles into Roy’s beard, gentle kisses layered over his stubble that has him moving his head for better access.

“We should play a game,” Jamie murmurs into his jaw before pulling back, looking at him. There’s excitement in his eyes as he searches Roy’s face. “Make you wait for it, yeah? We could make a weekend out of it or something. If you want.”

Breath catches in Roy’s chest. When he speaks, it’s rough, heavy. The want drips from him and makes Jamie’s eyes darken, a silver storm gathering. “Yeah, that sounds— yeah . Let’s do that.”

*

Jamie’s upside down on the sofa when he brings it up again. Roy’s flicking through Netflix to find something to watch, an unexpectedly difficult task. Outside of football and Bake Off, their tastes don’t overlap—Roy refuses to watch horror films because he doesn’t like nightmares, thank you, and Jamie won’t touch anything with a sad ending because he hates them. Anything too long always ends in distraction because Jamie hates sitting still for long stretches at a time and TV series are out because Roy’s incapable of not spoiling them for himself.

He’s trying to decide if they can get away with watching a documentary about big cats without Phoebe or if that’s going to create more problems when she finds out when Jamie says—

“How long’re you thinking?”

His head twitches towards him. “What?”

“For the orgasm denial, babe.” His grin looks ridiculous upside down but it doesn’t stop heat from spreading through him. “Like twenty-four hours or something?”

Roy grunts, ears burning. “Do we have to fucking talk about this now?”

Jamie rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the sofa, legs flailing for a moment before he’s tucking them in and rolling neatly to his rump, cheeks flushed from scrolling through his socials with his head dangling off the sofa. He looks ruffled and warm. Roy wants to pull him closer and forget about Netflix, get straight to the groping that always happens when they share the same space for long enough.

“Come on,” Jamie wheedles, shuffling closer to rest his chin on Roy’s knee, a particularly floppy-haired puppy smiling up at him. “You’ve definitely thought about it. How long do you want to wait?”

He breathes out. “I don’t know. Like a week or something, I guess.”

“A week?” Jamie’s eyebrows go up. “I don’t know, babe. You’re a right grumpy twat if you don’t nut at least once every other day. Remember when you gave yourself that concussion—”

“Isaac fucking gave me that,” Roy interrupts, the ringing still faint in his ears. “You know how dangerous his free kicks are.”

Jamie nods, solemn and only a tiny bit teasing. “It was a bit rough. Thought for sure he’d knocked your head clean off.”

Roy doesn’t remember much about taking a ball to the side of his face. One minute he was shouting instructions from the side of the pitch, trying to get Sasha to tighten up his marking during a game against Luton, the next he’s waking up to his sister leaning over him in the hospital. He’s seen the videos, he knows he was conscious and saying something, staggering each time he managed to get onto his feet before immediately pitching over again, but he doesn’t remember anything until hours later.

“You were growling at everyone because you couldn’t have a wank,” Jamie reminds him.

“Yeah, sure, nothing to do with the fact my head was fucking swollen, was it?” Jamie’s grin turns wicked, the double meaning landing. “Oh, fuck off.”

“That was five days that was,” he carries on. “You became a lot easier to handle after I sucked you off. Practically putty in my hands after that.”

Roy grumbles. He’s not wrong but it’s a bit rude to actually say it.

“What about three days instead?” Jamie strokes Roy’s calf and trailing light fingers over the knob of his ankle bone. “I was thinking, this weekend might be a good time, yeah?”

Roy tries to remember what’s happening this weekend. They have a match at home against Liverpool, fairly important but he’s confident the lads have it since they’ve been playing like champs recently. Afterwards, they have dinner reservations with his parents, which he’s very much not looking forward to but it’s a process he has to go through every time he gets a new partner. Keeley handled it well, smiling breezily through his father’s comments on her breasts that he’s absolutely seen in her modelling work and his mother’s brief breakdown because her chicken wasn’t hot enough, tears spilling over her cheeks.

They never spoke about it afterwards, him and Keeley that is, and he suspects Jamie’s using this as an opportunity to distract Roy from the dinner.

“You want to edge me at dinner with my parents?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be doing it right there,” Jamie says, pushing himself to his knees and smoothing his hands up his thighs. “But, yeah, kind of. We’re super busy next week though so that’s no good. And then the week after that, Mummy and Simon are coming down, and I can’t have sex with you while they’re in the house.”

“Wait—what?” Roy stares at him. “We won’t be having sex?”

“They’ll know, babe.”

“Jamie, you fucking FaceTimed them from bed right after we had sex the first time,” he reminds him. “Simon sent us congrats on the sex brownies.”

“That’s not the point,” Jamie says—of course he does. “Point is, this weekend’s perfect for it. What do you think?”

It’s hard to think when Jamie’s lightly tugging the weight of his sweats down, his hips rising to help, and blowing cool air over his cock. Three days is probably for the best. The longest he’s done it to himself has been about a day and a half but he thinks he can make it three days when Jamie’s the one helping him with it, making him want to reach the end. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, rewarded by the press of Jamie’s lips against the shaft of his cock. He sighs and slides his fingers into the back of Jamie’s hair, breathing hard as pleasure spools out from his groin. “Three days. Sounds good.”

“God,” Jamie groans, startling Roy with how hot he sounds for the idea. “Can’t wait to take you apart at the end. You’re going to look so fucking good begging for it.”

Roy shudders, arousal lodging in his throat. “Fuck, you can’t fucking say shit like that.”

“No?” Jamie pulls his hips closer, hands dipping to his arse, holding him in place so Roy’s half slouched on the sofa. “Can’t tell you how fit you look when you’re all flushed and squirming for it?”

He tries to swallow the sounds he wants to make, but it’s hard when Jamie’s placing his mouth on his hip, sucking at the skin there. “Stop—I’m going— fuck —I’m going to —Jamie.”

Jamie lets go of his skin and grins, before shifting his head and sliding his mouth over the head of Roy’s cock, swallowing him down. Roy groans and tips his head back as Jamie slowly starts to pull him apart.

*

The ball leaves Richard’s foot and spins off in the wrong direction. White mist forms in front of Roy’s mouth as he sighs, frowning at the group he’s got in front of him. This was supposed to be easy training, warm ups more than anything to keep the muscles moving and to make sure nothing was fucked for the match tomorrow. But everyone’s attention is all over the place. Ever since their win at Everton three years ago, they haven’t lost a match there since. The pressure’s on, the lads determined to keep the streak going, and it’s making them clumsy.

“Oi, fucking focus,” Roy says, hands pressed deep in his pockets. It’s fucking cold and he’s half tempted to send the lads in shorts inside to change because he’s cold just looking at them. “Get out of your head and focus on the ball.”

Richard rubs his red nose, miserable expression making him look like a sad, kicked puppy. “Yes, coach. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just fucking do it better,” he tells him. “Again.”

He steps back from the group and watches Colin roll the ball under his foot, tapping it with his instep to Prash, to Jeff, to Ugo, and then to Richard who sends it exactly where it’s supposed to go this time. Hands out of his pockets, he claps them together and nods, good. The misery slides from Richard’s face, his shoulders lifting just a little, like getting Roy’s approval means everything. Which it does. The team work hard for him, wanting to make him proud, and he’s fucking terrified of fucking them up and betraying that devotion.

“Danny!” He jerks his chin to bring the conditioning coach jogging over. “Keep them focused on this, yeah? Drill it into them.”

“Sure thing,” Danny says, stepping into the midst of the lads. “Alright, kids, let’s pick it up and do it timed.”

Roy steps away, casting his eyes over the rest of the team. Twenty-three lads out on the pitch, white mist in front of their mouths, ice cracking on the grass as they move across it. Nate’s gesturing wildly with his arms, trying to explain something to a stone-faced Isaac who’s nodding though Roy doubts he understands a single thing Nate’s saying. Beard’s off to the side, checking the sprints in a smaller group, and there’s a flash of thigh that Roy recognises, pulling his attention around like he’s been magnetised.

Jamie’s running the ball down the pitch, focused on what he’s doing, the muscles in his thighs straining as he glances up and darts around Paul before he cuts the ball in a sharp left cross to Martin and falls back, grinning.

He looks gorgeous, which isn’t exactly news. But there’s something special about a Jamie that’s wind blown with pink cheeks while racing up and down a pitch that makes him irresistible to Roy. He shifts as his cock thickens in his trackies, doing his best to force it down. Normally he’s had an orgasm or two to start the day off, Jamie generous with his attention, needy for Roy’s own, but this morning was an aborted handjob in bed before Jamie popped into the shower with a wicked, teasing grin.

The three days have started, and Roy’s only mildly regretting it.

As though his picking up on his thoughts like a horny homing beacon, Jamie turns and catches his eye. His grin slips into that sweet, soft smile Roy’s spent hours tracing with his fingers and longer still with his mouth.

He smiles back, unable to help himself.

And then Jan ruins it. “OI! Jan Mass, what the fuck kind of footwork is that?”

“It is Dutch, coach,” Jan says, picking himself up from where he tripped over his own feet like a fucking idiot, Richard brushing him down and spending far too long lingering on his arse. “It works well.”

“It sent you arse over tit,” he argues, striding towards them. “Richard, stop fucking having a grope and get back to it. Jan, fucking focus on footwork you actually know how to do.”

Jan blinks, slow and lazy, reminding Roy of a petulant lizard. “You are very tense today. Have you and Jamie had an argument?”

Richard mutters something exasperated and incredibly French, hooking his arm around Jan and pulling him away before Roy does something entirely sensible and kills the Dutch twat.

“No argument,” Jamie says in Roy’s ear, making him jump. “Just got you a little on edge, eh?”

“Fuck off,” he grunts.

Jamie pokes his left arse cheek and scampers off with a cackle, leaving Roy half-turned on and fully annoyed. It’s fine, he’s used to dealing with these conflicting emotions when it comes to Jamie. He’s spent most of the last few years since the prick rocked up on his loan season trying to figure out if he wants to choke him to death or wrap him up in his arms. His sister called it cute aggression at the time—to his actual face like that’s something people say to him—and he didn’t speak to her for three days after it.

Thanks to Dr Fieldstone and Jamie himself, he understands what the fuck she was talking about now. The urge to squeeze Jamie between his hands stems from a place of affection rather than rage but there are thoughts about how easily it could’ve gone the other way. If Jamie had been less Jamie, it might have.

But it’s different today. There’s a tension thrumming through him that’s not normally present; a simmering heat under his skin that hasn’t quite died since he woke up with Jamie’s hand on his cock and his mouth kissing the corner of his.

He wants to reach down and press the heel of his hand to his cock, ease some of the pressure there. Instead, he ignores Jamie who, behaving exactly like he always does, moves about the pitch like an absolute whore: shorts cut high, thick thighs on display, skill dominating training—it doesn’t fucking help his situation.

“I think Will’s about to freeze to death,” Nate notes when he comes to stand next to Roy. “We should really get him some hand warmers for his—you know.”

“Won’t work, they’ll burn his balls,” Roy replies, casting a glance at Will who does look like he’s minutes away from hypothermia despite the layers. “Don’t want to break our kitman.”

Nate looks up at him. “Personal experience?”

He grunts, and Nate’s grinning as he slips the whistle between his lips and blows, sharply. “Everyone inside! Come on, get inside and warm up before Will drops dead of the cold!”

Will’s the first one inside, a wise choice considering how the team descend on him with offers to warm him up, jostling and laughing—he escapes with a yelp, Moe and Isaac on his heels. Jamie lopes along behind them, eyes burning as they sweep over Roy with a slow grin that doesn’t help his cock at all.

He turns and finds Beard staring at him. “Putting it off?”

“We’re not talking about this,” Roy tells him.

Beard nods. “Don’t wait too long. I got epididymal hypertension that lasted for seven hours because I didn’t—”

“Please stop,” he interrupts. “And blue balls, really?”

Beard shrugs and makes his way inside. Roy breathes out and shakes his head. These people know far too much about his life, let alone his sex life, for comfort. Which means when Jamie slides into the office in his socks and tiny fucking boxers that stretch over his cock and distract Roy from his turn on Words with Friends. Maureen always fucks him over with her go, and he’s trying to figure out how to make a word out of SHOAT, which Google assures him is a fucking word.

“Hi.”

“Go away,” he grunts, not looking up.

Jamie brings his foot up and places it on the chair between Roy’s thighs. He forgets how to breathe, staring at the smooth skin of his shin, tempted to press his mouth there.

“You busy? Cause I’ve got a question.” Roy eyes him, suspicious. Jamie smiles at him, perfectly innocent, which is always a red flag. He flicks his gaze towards the door and Jamie's smile widens. “They’re busy.”

“What the fuck're you doing?”

“Asking a question,” he says, inching his foot closer so the brush of his toes is so close to his cock that if Roy breathes, he will feel them.

To his annoyance, his cock throbs. “Jamie—”

“Roy,” he mocks, foot sliding onto his cock and pressing. Roy's eyes shutter, mouth thinning as he tries not to groan. “Are you busy?”

“Always, you twat,” Roy says, quick and sharp. His hand wraps around Jamie's ankle but doesn't move his foot away. “For fuck's sake.”

“God, you're getting hard quick,” Jamie says, cheeks a little pink. “Going to turn me on if you're not careful.”

“You're always turned on,” Roy grunts, hips twitching up into the arch of Jamie's foot. It feels good, the pressure and the loosening of pleasure that comes back to him from where he'd been left on the edge that morning tightens in his chest, heat spreading through him. “Fuck, this feels good.”

“I bet it does.” Jamie’s tongue slips out, wets his bottom lip, and Roy tracks the movement, wanting to suck it into his mouth and hear him groan. “Bet your balls are hurting a bit, yeah?”

He presses his knuckles into his mouth, eyes flashing at Jamie who's definitely red now. “Can't fucking do this here. Everyone's around.”

“Just a quick one,” Jamie pleads, like a fucking brat. “C'mon, lemme see you.”

Roy swallows and glances out into the dressing room where Isaac is holding forth about something; whatever it is it has Gareth and Ugo interested, their heads bobbing with a nod, Richard saying something from the bench where he’s letting his moisturiser air dry. Their backs are to the office, Jamie having shut the door behind him on the way in, and Nate...he's not likely to come in given how he was going on about Sasha's lacklustre performance. And if Beard walks in—well, Roy doesn't care that much. Beard's seen weirder shit than this.

But still, the blinds are up and while Jamie’s body is blocking him from view…the blinds are up.

Jamie’s toes flex on his cock, his eyes rolling shut. He lifts his hips, grinding into the arch of his foot before hooking his thumbs into the elastic of his trackies and boxers, inching them down just far enough to free his cock, not giving himself a moment to talk himself out of it. Cool air touches his cock, and Jamie breathes out, satisfied, tucking his foot under Roy’s thigh.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, rough. “Just a little.”

Roy holds out his palm and Jamie spits in it, warm saliva that smooths over the hot skin of his cock. It feels fucking perfect. Not as good as Jamie's mouth or cock, but good enough. He can definitely get off like this, particularly when Jamie casts a furtive look around and shoves his hand into his boxers, groaning loudly, like he wants to be caught.

“Fuck, this is fucking stupid,” Roy mutters, eyes fixed on him as he jerks himself in quick rapid movements.

Nothing could stop him though, not as he hurtles straight back to the edge Jamie left him teetering on that morning. His breath turns ragged, heat climbing up his throat as the sounds of his hand on himself fills the room.

Tension runs through his shoulders, hyper aware of every sound that slips under the door—Jeff closing his locker, Babatunde dropping a Lynx can, Tom’s weird fucking laugh that sets the rest of them off. He jerks himself harder, thumb circling his head, eyes fixed on Jamie who rubs himself slowly, colour struck high on his cheeks.

“Stop.”

He doesn’t.

“ Stop.” Jamie’s voice hits the right tone, the one they discovered weeks ago when it sent Roy crashing to his knees, head fuzzy from it. His hand freezes around his cock, burning ache surging through him, demanding more. “Let go.”

He shakes his head, hand trembling.

“Roy,” Jamie says, slowly. “Let. Go.”

He does as he's told, peeling his hand from his cock and trying not to make a sound. Jamie breathes out and nods, mouth forming quiet praise that Roy drinks up. Another quick glance around, Jamie stands and pulls his cock free.

“Shit, this ain't going to take long,” he mutters, stroking himself. “Fuck, Roy, d'you have any idea how fucking hot you are?”

Roy leans back and watches Jamie. Skin sprinkled with heat, arm moving swiftly—he's diligent about this, not fucking about and making it last. He sinks his fingers into the arms of his desk chair, anything to help him stop touching himself or reaching out to take over.

“Swallow,” Jamie tells him, word hitching on a faint moan. “Babe, I want you to swallow.”

Come slides from the tip of his cock, throbbing at what Jamie wants. If Jamie asked to be fucked in front of the entire team right now, Roy would give it to him—he’d give him fucking everything if he could. Heels pressing against the floor, he rolls the chair closer as Jamie’s Jamie's breath starts to change, catching like a sob. He leans in, eyes flicking up to his face, and wraps his mouth around the head of his cock, thick fluid bursts across his tongue and fills his mouth a beat later.

Jamie’s hand curls into a fist against his back, grunting as he tries to keep his noises low and unnoticeable, half bent over Roy’s head.  His chest heaves and he sighs Roy’s name into the top of his hair, gripping him as Roy’s tongue moves over him, cleaning him up.

“Jamie—” his voice shakes as Jamie quickly tucks himself away, looking relaxed and gorgeous. “It fucking hurts.”

Jamie rubs his thumb over Roy's lips and then down to his cock, which doesn't help the situation. It's the press of Jamie's nails against the side of his oversensitive flesh that helps, digging in at just the right spots so the edge of pleasure disappears. Jamie lets him go and leans forward, kissing his forehead in a move so tender Roy wants to cry.

“C'mon, babe, put yourself away,” he teases. “This is a place of work.”

Roy snorts. “You're such a prick.”

“Love you too,” he smiles, leaning in to kiss his mouth. “You good?”

“Yeah…I—it’s a lot, but yeah,” Roy says, honestly.

“Okay.” Another kiss and then Jamie’s stuffing his feet back into his slides. “Don’t touch yourself, yeah? Not even finished with day one yet, you horny bugger.”

Roy picks up Nate’s comedy pen—a gift from his niece, apparently—and throws it half-heartedly at Jamie who dips out of the office, smiling.

*

Roy’s drifting when he feels it. It’s about as subtle as Jamie’s capable of being, which isn’t a lot despite what he thinks, and the pillow’s half stuck under his hip so it requires Jamie to place his hand on Roy’s hip to hold him steady as he yanks it free. If that hadn’t woken him, Jamie’s small sound of triumph would have.

He almost smiles.

He’s spent the last ten years helping to raise Phoebe. He knows all the tricks and sleights of hands that kids use to try and slip under, over, and through the perfectly legitimate rules he’s set down. And Jamie’s nothing if not an overgrown child at times. However, he’s no Phoebe. He doesn’t have her experience in finding ways to bend his rules, to make him soften his dictates, and has chosen brute force to get his way.

Roy might find it charming if he wasn’t tired and beginning to get cold from the fact Jamie’s removing the warmth of the pillows settled around him. Another is tugged free and set to the side, Jamie’s body sliding across the mattress as he inches closer. Roy doesn’t need to open his eyes to know what he looks like—tongue pressed between his teeth, frown on his forehead, breath held in his chest. A complete fucking muppet who makes him ache how much he loves him.

When Jamie starts in on the third pillow, Roy decides to put a stop to it. He does actually want to sleep at some point tonight and Jamie won’t stop until he’s got what he wanted, so he says—

“Jamie.”

A strangled sound of surprise cuts through the stillness of the room, rapid breathing the only sign that Roy actually startled him.

“Are you awake or just moaning my name?” Jamie asks in a loud whisper. “Go back to your dirty dreams.”

His mouth twitches, and he opens one eye to stare at him. “Did that sound like a moan to you?”

“I mean…” Jamie trails off, shoulders falling and chin dipping. “ No.”

Roy stretches an arm over his head, grunting as something pops in his shoulder blades, turning onto his side and taking the pillow from Jamie’s hands. He places it back between them and yawns.

“Go to sleep,” he orders through it, pointing. “On your side of the bed.”

“Roy,” comes the expected whine. “I can’t sleep. I’ve tried!”

“Try harder.” Not that he’s sleeping much either. He’s used to falling asleep with the heat of Jamie pressing against him and hot puffs of air against his ear as he makes small snuffling sounds while he drops off. “And don’t make a fucking joke.”

Jamie’s mouth snaps shut, fresh disappointment sweeping him. “It was right there.”

“Jamie,” he says again, sighing. “I’m not having you up against me all night just so you can tease me.”

“As if I—alright, I would.” The lie doesn’t last long, disappearing at the raised eyebrows he tilts in his direction. “But I can’t sleep without you, can I? Where am I supposed to put my head? On a pillow?” The sound he makes is offended, dismissive, like a stupider idea has never been uttered. “Your chest is right there and you’re keeping it from me. How’s that fair and just and—?”

“Stop listening to those politics podcasts, for fuck’s sake,” he complains. “You sound like you’re in Law and Order.”

“Sound show,” Jamie nods. “C’mon, babe. Just let me cuddle. I’ll keep it PG, I promise.”

Roy rolls his eyes. “You’re not capable of that.”

“Fucking am,” he argues, brightening. “Let me show you.”

Roy’s frown keeps him from tipping forward. “I’m not sleeping with your hand on my cock. Going to be bad enough having dinner with my parents after a good night of sleep, let alone a shit one.”

“You could handcuff me?” The idea’s not unpleasant to Roy. If they didn’t have a match in a day, he might have done that. “C’mon, it’s not like you’re sleeping now. Just let me cuddle and then, I don’t know, tip me to the side or something.”

“Tip you out of bed,” he threatens.

“Roy.” His name curves into a fresh whine that sends heat flooding to his cock. If less about Jamie turned him on, he wouldn’t be having this problem; he’d be able to sleep with his boyfriend’s arms around him and get a solid night of kip in. “Please? I just want to hold you.”

Roy draws in a deep breath and tries to ignore the Disney eyes beaming out of the dark at him. Jamie amplifies them, mouthing please? at him again.

There’s no saying no to that and Jamie knows it, the prick. With a heavy, resigned sigh, he lifts an arm and within moments he has an armful of stupid snuggling into him, pressing his face into the curve of Roy’s neck and breathing in deeply. Tension leaks from Jamie’s body, contentment rising from him and seeping into Roy, relaxing him.

“Better,” Jamie murmurs, nose brushing over his jaw, rewarding him with a kiss to the soft spot just under his ear. “You’re the one into denying yourself, babe, I didn't sign up for this.”

Roy grunts and strokes his fingers through his hair. They’ll move eventually. Jamie likes something to hold onto during the night and Roy prefers not to suffocate under the heavy muscle that is a sleeping Jamie. He’ll wake to Jamie pressed along the length of his back or curled around his chest, mouth open and drooling onto his skin. Roy knows he’ll have to will down the erection that’s going to torture him but, he thinks as he presses a kiss to the top of Jamie’s head, it’ll be worth it.

*

Mum and Dad are in usual form. Unfortunately. For all that he’s prepped Jamie for this dinner, he forgot to ready himself and sits knotted through with tension. Communicating with his parents is an exercise in diplomacy that he doesn’t possess, and it’s one thing to sit silently and listen to them talk about anything and everything knowing that it’ll be over soon enough, it’s another to do it when Jamie’s right there judging them, judging him.

Not that he thinks Jamie would. Course he wouldn’t. But it’s as though a layer of protection’s been stripped from Roy, allowing Jamie to peer in and see what makes him work. It’s not like his parents are like Georgie and Simon who are some of the warmest, most genuine people he’s ever met; and they’re certainly not like James either, the fucker. They’re in an awkward middle ground where they’re not awful but they’re not great either.

Brief moments exist where he feels genuine affection and love for them, happiness at being in their company, only to be jarred out of that when they say something offensive enough it makes his eye twitch.

From the new family down the road—Muslim engineers who are perfectly fucking pleasant but Dad’s convinced is a sign of the coming Jihad or whatever—to the fact that his sister’s still divorced after six long years since she threw away a good marriage—ignoring the fact her husband was a fucking waste of space with loose fists—they’re covering a lot of ground.

At his side, their knees pressed together under the table of the decent Italian restaurant Roy always brings them too since anything more exotic than carbonara makes Dad break out in hives, Jamie listens politely. The only slip of his perfect boyfriend expression comes when Mum comments on how Phoebe’s looking chubbier than she should. Roy catches sight of Jamie’s knuckles turning white around his fork, gripping hard, before he relaxes and lets the comment pass without argument.

Roy hates that he’s keeping himself under tight control for his benefit but he also fucking loves that he’s doing it at the same time. It’s easier to let them speak, to get through the meal without causing an argument that will draw eyes to them and create tension. He knows it’s not ideal but it’s the way it’s been since he came back from Sunderland that first time and there’s no reason to change it now.

“—when you were announced,” Mum is saying as she makes her way through her third glass of red wine, a purple stain on the inside of her bottom lip. “Thought you’d end up winning.”

“Ah well, it’s all a fix,” Jamie explains. “They know who they want to see in the final in order to keep the ratings up. I suppose I wasn’t enough drama.”

Roy tries not to smile, rubbing his knee against Jamie’s to let him know he’s a lying little shit. A warm hand drops beneath the table to squeeze his thigh, firm and comforting, and Roy covers it with his own hand, grateful for the contact.

“You were the most interesting of the lot,” Mum says, lighting another cigarette between her painted lips. It’s too cold to be sitting outside but she’s not able to make it through a meal without at least two cigarettes and she’d complain if she had to leave so they’re positioned under the outdoor heater and Jamie’s doing his best not to shiver. “Until Amy. Such a shame how you treated her.”

A hint of colour creeps into Jamie’s cheeks. “Amy’s a good laugh and a decent mate. She got married last month actually. Her wife’s a marketing exec in New York so she’s living there now and having a great time.”

There’s the smallest hint of defiance in his voice, like he’s tired of having to pretend that he and Amy weren’t playing the game together. Roy brushes his thumb over his knuckles and opens his mouth to change the subject only for Dad to slip in first.

“She’s a dyke?” Dad’s nostrils flare, jowls shaking as he speaks. “Fucking Christ, the gays are everywhere these days.”

Jamie’s smile turns sharp. “We do get around.”

“How’s the club?” Roy’s heart skips in his chest, stomach clenching as Mum draws in a deeper drag of her cigarette, ash dusting her untouched food. “Lads alright?”

Dad grunts. “Better if you weren’t dating a bloke.”

Jamie’s hand slides up off his thigh and rests on his cock, giving him a squeeze to pull the focus of his attention away from the anger burning in his chest. He forgets how to speak, mouth opening and closing.

“Mrs Kent, where did you get that coat? It’s lovely.” Jamie nods at the thick fur coat wrapped around his mother’s tiny frame. It dwarfs her and is furiously ugly, a remnant of another time. “Chanel, right?”

She ashes her cigarette over the side of the table. “Roy bought it for me when he made the first team up in Sunderland.”

Dad grunts again, mopping up his cheese sauce with a piece of bread. “Four years out of date. Couldn’t spring for an in-season one, could you, son?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to remind him that he’d just committed to an expensive mortgage for a house he wasn’t even going to live in—his sister needed somewhere better than their old flat to grow up in and buying a house for his parents was expected for him—but Jamie’s hand flexes on his cock. His body reacts instinctively, blood thickening in his boxers. He slides his hand around Jamie’s wrist and squeezes even if he doesn’t remove it.

“It’s what she wanted,” Roy says instead. “Another round of drinks?”

Dinner staggers to an end after another forty-seven minutes of excruciating conversation and bone-deep chill. Jamie’s skin has turned pink despite the fact he’s layered up as per Roy’s suggestion; he’s doing his best not to let it show but when Roy curls his hand around Jamie’s, the ice of his fingers startles him.

He’s swift to hand his card over, not that Mum or Dad bother reaching for their money, and make moves to get everyone standing. Jamie’s on his feet and hopping around the table to pull Mum’s chair out for her, offering his arm with a sweet smile to help her up. Another cigarette hangs from her fingers as she curls her red-nailed hand around Jamie’s forearm and totters in her heels.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Kent,” Jamie says, politely.

Mum pats his arm. “And you.”

Dad’s less impressed with his politeness and simply ignores Jamie’s extended hand. It dims his smile but he glances at Roy, tucking his hand into his sleeve. “I’ll pop to the car and let you three say goodbye.”

Roy tosses him the keys and Jamie’s already turning before he’s plucked them from the air, disappearing into the dark of the car park. He breathes in and faces his parents, waiting for the usual load of bullshit to come his way.

Dad doesn’t disappoint.

“Couldn’t get your dick wet in some bird?” He fucking hates talking with Dad about this shit, soured by hazy afternoons of beer-soaked breath and the jostle of older men lapping up stories of him fucking models, wanting the details and spoiling the memories. “Fucking embarrassing having to explain to the lads that my son’s a faggot now.”

Roy’s eye twitches again, hands balled in his jacket. He’s so close to not having to see them for another six months that he bites his tongue, turning to Mum when she leans in and offers her powdery cheek. He pecks it perfunctorily.

“It was lovely meeting your friend, dear,” she says, blithely steamrolling over Dad’s homophobia with her own more subtle brand. “When you come around next, I’ll have to introduce you to Sally. She’s just your type.”

He’s pretty sure she means Sasha, the divorcée who lives two doors down from them, and who Roy’s already fucked. She’s a good laugh for a quick fuck but an unpleasant handful given that she comes with five children who are about as spoilt as she is.

“Good seeing you again,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I’ll give Molly your love, yeah?”

Dad pulls the same face he does whenever Molly’s name is mentioned, her divorce a black spot on the happy Kent family tree filled with domestic abuse, forced abortions, and one horrific case of conversion therapy gone wrong. Molly’s divorce was apparently worse than all of that because she dared to break the cycle of abuse that their family fucking perpetuated.

Hands in his jacket, he watches them walk away. It’s only when they’ve disappeared from sight, passing through the orange-yellow glow of the street lamps, that he releases the breath he’s been holding since they arrived.

“Fucking hell.”

Roy sees the outline of Jamie through his tinted windows, a reminder he needs to get them updated, and his feet pull him quicker to the car. When he opens the door, Jamie tucks his phone away and watches him slide into the driver’s seat. Roy’s already reaching for him, searching for his hand, even as he sits there and rests his head against the back of his seat.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Jamie lies.

Roy groans and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to speak. All he wants to do is pretend this never happened and go back to how things were before—happily pretending his parents don’t exist until he gets a message from Dad asking for more money and more signed merchandise that shows up on eBay a day or two later. Jamie rubs his thumb over his knuckles, humming softly in the silence and not speaking, waiting for him.

He fucking appreciates it.

Because he doesn’t know why he keeps doing this. There’s no reason to drag the people he loves through three excruciating hours with his parents when he could just not, instead. It’s not like Mum and Dad actually give a shit about who he’s dating. He’s long past the age they thought he should get married and give them grandchildren, and it’s not like they’ve actually liked anyone he introduced to them. Even Keeley who’s catnip to parents hit the wrong note, not that he was able to figure out why. They just took an instant dislike to her and there was no recovery after that.

His parents aren’t like Georgie and Simon, all warm, loving, and infinitely welcoming. They’re two people who had children because that’s what they thought they were supposed to do, but they were also kids who didn’t know how to be parents let alone good parents. Dr Fieldstone would say that there’s space for understanding why parents made the decisions they did and are the people they are, but Roy’s tired of giving them space when he’s their fucking son.

He wants them to make the effort for a change.

Jamie pulls his knuckles to his mouth, kissing them so sweetly that it tugs a sigh from him. He rolls his head to the side and looks at him. Even in the shit light of the car, he looks perfect.

“Want me to drive?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say no. Jamie hates driving Roy’s car—too big, too annoying—but he hasn’t had anything to drink and Roy’s nursed one glass of wine all night, it’s the perfect excuse. He just nods, and Jamie kisses his knuckles again before they switch seats. He lifts himself over the gear stick and slumps into the warmth Jamie’s body has left behind, watching silently as Jamie readjusts the seat and the mirror before he’s pulling out of the parking lot and taking them home.

They’re halfway there when he says—

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jamie says. “You warned me.”

“Shouldn’t have agreed to it. I know what they’re like.” Roy frowns out of the windscreen at the twat in the BMW who keeps hitting their brake lights ahead of them. “Didn’t think they’d be that bad though. They weren’t that rude when they met Keeley.”

“Yeah, well, Keeley’s fucking mint, int she?” Jamie reaches over and turns his hand up on Roy’s thigh, wiggling his fingers, waiting for Roy to take it and press their palms together. “And she doesn’t have a cock. Well, not one she doesn’t keep under her bed, I mean.”

Roy snorts, squeezing his hand. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“It’s okay,” Jamie tells him again. “Fuck, man, you’ve met my dad. You think I’m going to judge because your folks are a bit homophobic? So’s half their fucking generation. I’m used to it.”

That doesn’t make him feel better. “I don’t want you to be used to it. It’s not right.”

“Yeah?” Jamie glances over as they pause at a traffic light. “You going to change the world for me? Make it so homophobes don’t exist?”

Roy’s fucking tempted.

As though reading his mind, Jamie laughs and squeezes his hand again. “I’ve met them, it’s over and done with. From how Phoebe was talking, it’s not like you see them much anyway, is it?”

Phoebe, the little shit.

Sometimes she’s so quiet it’s easy to forget she’s in the car with them when they’re talking. He’d been in the middle of explaining about his parents absence from his life, the way they exist like a shadow on the periphery, when Phoebe piped in and called her grandparents cunts . They were but Roy had to pull the car over to explain to his ten-year-old niece why that particular word, of all the words she’s heard him say, is definitely not one she’s allowed to use and no, it’s not because it’s slang for a vagina; yes it is sexist that cock doesn’t have the same impact; and, I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Jamie shaking with laughter in the seat next to him hadn’t helped.

“No,” Roy says, firmly. “They don’t—we won’t.”

“Then it’s okay,” Jamie promises him. “I’ll tell Mummy and she can start the process for adopting you or something.”

He barks a surprised laugh. “Fuck off.”

“No, I’m serious, she’ll do it,” Jamie grins, freeing his hand to use the gear stick and sliding it back as soon as he’s done. “Molly and Phoebe too. She’s like Ash, she’s got to catch ‘em all.”

“Who the fuck is Ash?”

“Pokémon, you relic from another time,” he sighs, like he’s offended he doesn’t know that. “Ash is a Pokémon trainer and—”

“I’m begging you to stop,” Roy interrupts. Jamie flashes a bright, wide grin at him, and he knows he’s going to be made to watch Pokémon at some point in the future. “You’re such a prick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” His eyes are so bright when he smiles, Roy wishes he was good with words so he could write fucking shit poetry about them. “Keep it up and I might let you feel me up.”

Roy snorts but he brings Jamie’s hand to his mouth to kiss it just because he can. He’s feeling significantly better by the time they get home and Jamie messes up parking so badly Roy has to get out and do it for him.

“You need a smaller car,” is the familiar complaint as they walk up the stone steps to Roy’s front door. “It’s like you forget we live in London.”

Roy sighs and reaches around him, sliding the key into the lock as he brushes the tip of his nose against Jamie’s temple. “I like my car. Backseat is big enough to fuck you in if I remember right.”

“I don’t know.” Jamie reaches and curves his hand over Roy’s hip, pulling him closer as the door slips open. “Was a while ago. Should probably try again just to check.”

He’s smiling as he kisses into Jamie’s mouth, walking him across the threshold and kicking the door shut behind them. Like every other time Roy kisses him, the hard plains of Jamie’s body soften as he sways into his chest and slides his arms around his shoulders, fingers making a home for themselves in his hair. Roy backs him up until the sideboard rattles with the precious junk Phoebe makes for him at school. Jamie pulls back, knocking his head against the mirror as he smiles at him, softer than before, more intimate by far.

“We could end it tonight,” Jamie offers, rubbing his thumb over the corner of Roy’s mouth. “You deserve it after that.”

Roy rocks his hips forward, grinding them lazily against the thick thigh that’s there waiting for him. It’s tempting. The last two days have been more difficult than he thought they would be, unaccustomed to having his cock thicken while talking to Rebecca because he heard Jamie’s laugh through the open door. And he sure as hell hasn't experienced a hard on while going over tactics with Nate because Jamie pressed his face right up against the window and grinned at them, bored as he waited for his turn with the physio.

It’s been distracting, a little painful, but better than he hoped for, so he shakes his head.

“Want to wait,” he says, kissing him again. “You don’t have to though.”

Jamie hums. “Yeah? What you going to do for me?”

“Get upstairs and we’ll find out,” he says, releasing him and stepping back to adjust himself.

Jamie presses his lips together, eyes flicking down to Roy’s cock. “Got a cock ring if you need it. So you don’t—”

He makes a gesture with his hand, eyes wide and dimples in his cheeks from his grin.

“Upstairs,” Roy orders.

He watches Jamie make his way up the stairs, eyes slipping to his ass that’s perfectly framed under the stretch of his trousers. He releases the breath he was holding and makes sure the door is locked. He needs a moment to steady himself, easing his way past the low burn of arousal as he takes his shoes off. Having his hands on Jamie and not coming is going to be difficult but he’s been in control of his body for three decades, it will do what he needs it to do.

“Roy, come on!” Jamie’s voice hollers down from the bedroom. “We’ve got a game tomorrow and I need to sleep!”

Roy rolls his eyes and makes his way up the stairs, shouting back to him, “could just let you sleep if you’d rather.”

“Don’t fucking tease.” Jamie’s sprawled on the bed, already naked, and his face lights up when Roy walks in, tugging his jumper over his head. He releases his cock and tucks his hands beneath his head and smiles up at him. “I'll let you do the work, yeah?”

“When this is over,” he threatens, “I’m going to spank you raw for this.”

“Promises, promises, old man.” Jamie pulls his knee back to his shoulder, toes poking at Roy’s chest. “God, you look proper fit. Those trousers of yours—fucking mint.”

Roy grabs his foot and presses a kiss to the sole before drawing it over his shoulders and dropping his hands to the trousers in question, unbuttoning them. “You bought them for me.”

“Mmm, I’ve got cracking taste,” Jamie agrees.

“Grab the lube,” he instructs, pushing his trousers down his thighs and palming himself, squeezing to take the edge off. When Jamie’s passed the lube into his hand, he shifts on his knees and drags his teeth over the smooth skin of his calf and slicks his fingers. “You were perfect tonight. Thank you.”

Colour, pink and beautiful, blooms in Jamie’s cheeks, his eyes skittering away. Roy’s not used to how shy Jamie gets at times, less used to how it makes him feel, like he wants to curl around him and protect him from the world.

“Were nothing,” he mutters.

“Was everything,” Roy corrects, fingers between the crack of his ass and ghosting over his hole. “Fucking—I’m lucky to have you.”

Jamie’s eyes blow wide. “Oh.”

To save them both, he presses a finger deep into his body, watching Jamie’s eyes flutter with sensation. It never takes long to work Jamie open, his body primed to relax the second Roy touches him no matter what they’re doing and sometimes he thinks about how they were in Jamie’s loan system, whether Jamie’s blood ran hot for a reason other than anger. If every time they were butting heads and shoving each other, all Roy had to do was turn him around and find him ready and eager to welcome him—

It’s too fucking much at times how much they want each other.

He pushes another finger into Jamie’s body and leans over him, bending Jamie’s leg back. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Shit,” Jamie breathes, sliding his palms up Roy’s arms and gripping his shoulders. “Can’t say that when you’re knuckle deep.”

“Pretty boy,” he croons, teasing.

Jamie groans, his muscles clenching tightly around Roy’s fingers. “You fucker.”

Roy kisses him instead of laughing, licking at the roof of his mouth and sucking Jamie’s tongue back into his, grinding his fingers deeper into him until Jamie’s panting against his mouth. He dips his head, kissing down the strain tendons of his neck, licking the warm hollow of his throat, nipping at his jaw before he pulls his fingers free and slicks his cock.

“Wait.” Jamie touches his chest, breathing heavily, and he freezes. “Let me go on top. It’ll—I won’t let you come. Stop you accidentally going off, yeah?”

Roy swallows and nods. “Yeah, okay.”

He shifts, moving onto his back, lifting his legs to help Jamie pull the rest of his clothes off. And then he’s looking up at Jamie who towers over him, a bulk of tailored muscle that he runs his hands over. Thumbs brushing over flat, brown nipples, fingers tracing the lines of his abdomens before gripping the hard edges of his hips as Jamie reaches between them and takes hold of Roy’s cock. He grunts, pleasure flashing through his body, and he digs his heels into the bed, gritting his teeth, as Jamie takes him slowly and easily into his body.

“Fuck.” One moment of exquisite bliss shifts into agony at the heat of Jamie’s body. “God—I can’t—”

“Too much?” Jamie doesn’t sound affected, not like Roy; he sounds faintly amused, curious, only slightly concerned. Roy wants to buck him off and press him facedown, fucking into him until all the tension that’s been building bursts from him. “Need me off?”

He shakes his head, quick and firm. “No, just… fuck.”

The amusement fades from Jamie’s face as he takes Roy’s hands and brings them to his chest, thumbs pressing into the centre of his palms. Like this, Roy can feel the reassuring thump-thump-thump of Jamie’s heart as his hips roll and his eyes flicker at the brush over his prostate.

“Be good, yeah?” Jamie murmurs, thighs flexing. “Let me have my fun.”

Roy nods, unable to do anything else except lie there and let Jamie work himself over his cock with smooth, elegant moves, designed in part to entertain him and in part to scrape his prostate with each move. For all the muscle his body now holds, the sheer breadth of him, Roy thinks he wouldn’t be out of place as a dancer with how he turns liquid and graceful when he wants.

He keeps his eyes fixed on Jamie’s face and the colour that inches its way down his skin to bloom in blotchy patches over his chest as pleasure burns through his cock, settling like lava in his balls. A whine curls in his throat, weight pressing down on his heels to fuck up into Jamie who makes a pleased, startled sound.

“Fucking hell.” Knees press in tighter around Roy’s waist, pinning him in place. “Christ, you can’t stay still, can you? Going to make yourself come and then blame me for being too fucking sexy.”

He laughs, rough and thick with desire. A slow punch of his hips upwards almost unbalances Jamie, stomach muscles tensing as he engages his core and pulls himself upright, tightening painfully around Roy.

“Careful,” Jamie warns, breathless. “You’ll just complain if you come now.”

He’s right, Roy knows he is, but it’s hard not to follow the heat of Jamie’s body and the low, sighing gasps that fall from him whenever he hits the right angle for him. A shudder rushes from him and he nods, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Get on with it then,” Roy tells him.

Jamie rolls his eyes. “So romantic.”

With a deep, content sigh, Jamie shifts so that he’s leaning over Roy, bringing their joined hands to either side of his head, tips of their nose brushing. Roy leans up to kiss him, moaning as Jamie starts moving again, working himself quick, hard, and dirty. To distract himself from the ache in his balls and the pressure building in the hinges of his jaw from the orgasm he’s desperately trying to will away, he opens his mouth and—

“You were so fucking amazing tonight,” he says in a rush, speaking into Jamie’s panting mouth. “Wanted to get under the table and suck you off for how good you were.” A startled sound is punched loose, Jamie’s eyes wide, cheeks streaked high with red. “Drag you into the bathroom and eat you out until you cried, I was so proud of you.”

“Roy—” Jamie’s hips stutter, cock leaking come over Roy’s stomach and chest. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

“Didn’t matter they were acting like cunts, what mattered is you were there and being so fucking gorgeous,” he continues, dizzy from how hard he is, from how much he wants to come. “Can’t believe you’re mine most of the time. Look at you and think, fuck, is this real?”

Ah-ah-ah leaves Jamie’s mouth, shivering on a high note, and Roy flexes his wrists under Jamie’s grip to free one hand that he curls around the back of his neck, squeezing. Jamie’s gaze disappears, turning hazy and lost, his mouth open with a soft wetness that’s impossible not to kiss.

“Mine,” Roy murmurs into his mouth. “So fucking grateful.”

Jamie moans, eyes wide with surprise, and he comes in messy ropes across Roy’s chest, the heat of it wetting his throat. His body turns vice-like around Roy’s cock and desire hits him so hard and fast that he panics, choking with his need to come. He frees his other wrist and takes hold of Jamie’s hips, fucking up into him with a satsified groan, chasing after the pleasure that’s stalked him for days.

He’s close, he’s so fucking close, when Jamie wrenches himself off his cock, collapses in a graceless pile at his side and reaches down to seize Roy’s balls. Gone is the sweetly tender touch he normally lavishes them with, in its place is something vicious, cruel, agonising . He tries to curl away from it, twisting his hips in an attempt to dislodge Jamie who simply holds him steady and harsh, watching him with dark eyes and flushed skin until the immediacy dies and he remembers how to breathe again.

“Fuck,” he pants.

Jamie works his jaw loose. “Look at you.” His fingers reach out and brush the tears he didn’t realise had fallen from his cheeks. “God, you're so—you should let me fuck you tomorrow. See if you can come untouched. Bet you can, you’re so worked up.”

Roy groans and slings an arm over his eyes. “Stop talking, please .”

“Sorry,” Jamie says, not sounding particularly sorry. With a gentle pat, soothing the ache his fingers leave there, he releases his balls and settles in, pulling Roy against his chest and letting him sprawl. “Fuck me, babe. You’re going to kill me with this.”

“You're one to talk,” he groans, shifting until his ear is resting over Jamie’s heart. He keeps his hips tilted at a careful angle, letting the cool air and neglect kill the rest of his erection. “Jesus Christ, tomorrow's going to be a nightmare.”

Soft lips press a softer kiss to the top of his head.

Silence slips between them, the lullaby of Jamie’s heart easing him from the edge and tugging him back into the warm comfort that’s the constant low-level arousal he’s had since he first looked at Jamie one grey morning and thought huh. He lies there, eyes closed, falling into the security that is Jamie’s touch along his shoulders, his fingers walking down his spine, the breath against the top of his head. Only when he breathes out, his whole body relaxing, does Jamie speak.

“Was it too much?”

Roy shakes his head. “Was perfect. Just...harder than I thought.”

There’s a beat and then—

“Harder,” Jamie snickers.

He shakes his head, smiling into the chest beneath him. “Such a fucking child.”

“Blah blah blah,” Jamie responds, flapping his hand and curling his arms tighter around him. “You fucking love it.”

He props his chin on Jamie’s chest and looks up at him. “I do.”

Happiness suffuses his face, fingers brushing through the short strands of his hair before tracing the shell of his left ear. Every now and then—and Roy suspects more often when he’s not looking—Jamie gets this awestruck, slightly dazed expression on his face like he can’t quite believe that they’re here and that they’re doing it. Having seen his childhood bedroom, the Roy Kent poster and the small drawer stuffed full of magazine cuttings and a collage book, Roy fucking hopes he’s not letting Jamie down by being himself.

And, in moments like these, he thinks he’s actually getting it right.

“Roy…” he begins, trailing off as he rests the tip of his finger against Roy’s nose. Mouth pulling into a smile, he lets it fall to pass over his lips. “I’m glad we went out to dinner tonight. Feels like…I don’t know. Feels like this is real, yeah?”

“What? You finally got to see how fucked my parents are and now you’re happy?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“I’m glad too.” Roy catches the tip of his finger and kisses it. Skin still throbbing with arousal, he presses his face back into Jamie’s chest and tries to distract himself. “How was the photoshoot earlier? Any problems?”

“Nah, was all good,” Jamie replies, arms around him again. “The director was pissed that we hadn't dehydrated ourselves. Barbara ripped him a new one and said if he wanted to talk about our muscles, he should get some first.”

He grins. “Fucking Barbara.”

“She's brilliant, honestly, I think Richard is in love,” Jamie says. “He kept trying to flirt with her but the way she was looking at him? Like he was dog shit she'd step in.”

“Right up his alley then.”

“Fucking loves it when women are mean to him,” he agrees, all of them still recovering from the fact that Richard’s girlfriend took a shit in his car last week and smeared it all over the inside and Richard still thought she was the best thing to exist. “Isaac looks proper fit in the pics, did you see? Like a sexy, majestic captain. I'd wank to them if it weren't weird.”

“Christ,” Roy says, though he has seen Isaac’s pictures and he does look fucking fit. “You're touched in the head, you are.”

“Yup. Now give us a kiss.” Jamie purses his lips and makes smooching noises. Heaving a sigh, he lifts himself up to kiss him before pulling back. “No, more.”

“Later,” he promises, pushing himself off Jamie and swinging his legs off the bed. Still half hard, he stands. “Do your socials. I’ll pop the kettle on for a cuppa.”

Jamie rolls onto his side and looks up at him, sweetly dishevelled as he reaches out to hook his fingers around Roy’s wrist. “Come back soon?”

“Five minutes,” he promises, unable to stop smiling. “Needy brat.”

“Just for you, coach.”

*

“JA-MIE TARTT—DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO-DO, JAMIE TARTT!”

Roy tilts his head back to watch the Richmond faithful on their feet, arms in the air and Jamie’s stupid chant echoing the stadium. Red and blue scarves are in the air and they’re stamping their feet and cheering to drown out the swell of boos from the Everton side of the stadium. He looks back at the pitch where Jamie’s buried beneath a pile of teammates, brief glimpses of his hair and grass-stained legs before he emerges and searches for Roy on the sidelines. They land on him with unerring accuracy, his mouth stretching into a wider grin as he waits, sock slipping down his calf as the elastic strains under his tense muscle.

Roy can’t deny him this, not when he scored such a stormer of a goal. He doesn’t bother looking around, he knows the cameras are on him—the Kent-Tartt partnership is something that dominates the sports sections of newspapers and takes up at least five minutes of airtime on Match of the Day every week. Lineker and his band of merry twats will be talking about this tomorrow, so he lets the corners of his mouth tip up and his chin dip in a nod without a single fuck to give.

More than his song filling the stadium, Jamie drinks up Roy’s approval. He bounces on the balls of his feet and delivers a hearty slap to Jeff’s back before he jogs back into position, shaking his arms out to keep the game going and their lead unaffected.

“We should sub Isaac out,” Nate says, voice raised over the wind that’s blowing. “He’s favouring his left leg.”

Roy’s noticed and was keeping an eye on it but he nods. Beard gestures for the linesman and has the substitute made. With Sam out because of food poisoning—the daft lad went and had dodgy street food two days earlier in an effort to impress Simi and hasn’t recovered yet—Isaac tugs the captain’s band off and holds it out to Jamie. No matter how many times Roy sees this, which isn’t that often since it goes Isaac, Sam, and then Jamie, he still gets a small thrill from it. He’s too far away to see the pleased expression on Jamie’s face, the way his cheeks are no longer just red from the match; he watches as he tugs it into place and Isaac comes off the pitch to loud applause, the Richmond supporters keeping their captain’s spirits up.

“Good job,” Roy says when Isaac’s close enough, Sasha jogging on to replace him. “Played like hell out there.”

Isaac breathes out, pain etched around his eyes. “Thanks, coach.”

“Take a seat, let the physios look at you,” he orders, mildly concerned. He hopes it’s just a twinge, not sure they can handle him being out longer than a game or two since Richmond’s benches aren’t as deeply stacked with talent like the clubs that’re sniffing around Isaac. “Time?”

“Got another eight minutes, coach,” Beard says.

Nate rocks on his heels, a nervous habit that drives Roy up the wall but he bites the inside of his cheek. “If they can keep the ball down this end, we’ll be okay.”

“Come on, man, don’t jinx it,” Beard complains. The ball soars over their team’s heads and drops at the feet of an opposing player. “Nate!”

Nate holds his hands up, eyes wide. “That’s not my fault!”

The two of them start up the bickering that’s been a hallmark of the post-Ted era, easy without any sharp edge that would make him concerned, and Roy tunes them out. He’s not too bothered about Everton trying to get past their defence despite knowing better than most that the match doesn’t end until the final whistle, but Jamie’s sprinting up the pitch with Colin and Jeff spreading out around him while Sasha comes in from the side—it’s beautiful to watch everyone drop into the positions they’ve had hammered into them.

Colin slides in a neat tackle and sends the ball off to Sasha who catches it, turns it under his foot and sends it flying down the pitch between Onana’s legs to Ash’s feet. From there it’s dribbled in and out, twisted around, and then it’s with Jamie.

They’re not quite toying with Everton but it’s fucking close.

When the final whistle blows, the ball hasn’t been able to make it past the halfway line again, and Richmond finishes with a 2-1 win that feels pretty damn good—Roy loves slaughtering Everton, it gets his blood racing. He claps Nate on the shoulder and bumps fists with Beard and then Will before heading towards Dyche to shake his hand instead of heading out onto the pitch to meet the team and ruffle some sweaty heads.

Dyche is generous in defeat, the two of them briefly posing for the cameras—Dyche smiling, Roy very much not. But he’s not frowning either, so there’s that. And, when he turns and finds Jamie right there,  he doesn’t jump.

“Alright, gaffer?” Jamie smells fucking amazing—rich sweat, fresh air, and pitch. Roy wants to press his face into his neck and drown in him. “Not bad, eh?”

“Was alright,” he says.

Jamie’s eyeroll is fucking fond as he presses his knuckles into Roy’s stomach. It passes as a friendly jab for the cameras that don’t pick up on the heat that burns through Roy in response. “Hard man to please.”

“You do alright.” The way Jamie’s grin stretches, crinkles appearing around his eyes, Roy’s grateful they’re on the pitch in front of cameras and a full stadium otherwise he might do something stupid and kiss the fucker. “Get in the fucking tunnel, you twat.”

Jamie tosses him the silly little salute he picked up from spending most of his time around Roy and jumps onto Dani who doesn’t even buckle under the weight of him. Roy watches them leave, their laughter disappearing under the sound of the crowd, and his mouth twitches— twats, he thinks, fondly.

*

Roy nudges his nose against the back of Jamie’s ear, lips passing over his skin as he seeks that warm spot that he loves to burrow into. It’s the one part of his body that doesn’t hold a strong smell of Lynx, deodorant, shampoo, or any of the other products Jamie upends on himself on a daily basis. Even the soft crease where his groin holds a smell because of the weird fucking pubic oil he carefully brushes through it every night. Like Roy gives a shit about the state of Jamie’s pubes but—and he’s had to accept this—his boyfriend is a vain fuck and damned if he doesn’t find it adorable, much to his disgust.

“Babe,” Jamie sighs, all warm and happy. “I’m not finished.”

“Leave ‘em.” The dishes are almost done. Just a few knives and forks left, nothing that can’t wait until the morning. “Come upstairs.”

A tongue cluck. “Christ, you’re a horny fucker when you haven’t come in ages.”

“Your fault,” he murmurs, one hand spread flat on his hard stomach, the other running up his arm to trace the round curve of his shoulder and brush the backs of his fingers over his neck. Jamie’s head lolls, hands pressed deep in the soapy water. “Gorgeous creature.”

Jamie shudders. “Roy—let me finish.”

He grunts but stops talking, focusing instead on the taste of Jamie’s skin and the way a faint shiver rolls through his body when Roy’s nails scrape at the edge of his hairline. He presses the flat of his tongue to Jamie’s pulse that throbs under his touch and presses his teeth down around it. Jamie’s breathing hitches, the knives and forks landing with a clatter on the draining board as Roy increases the pressure. Jamie’s hips give a faint twitch. Roy bites down harder and harder and harder until—

“Fuck!” Jamie jerks his neck away, breathing hard. Hot red burns across his cheeks, his expression dazed and flushed in the window that looks out onto the garden. “Jesus Christ.”

“Come to bed,” Roy repeats.

This time, Jamie strips off the Marigolds and drapes them over the tap. He turns and pushes into Roy hips first, hard cock pressing into his abdomen as his hands come down on either side of his face. Roy staggers back, groaning as Jamie’s tongue presses inside his mouth, kissing him, sloppy and eager. He reaches down to sink his hands into the hard flesh of his ass, hauling him closer until Jamie’s half climbing him against the kitchen island.

“Fuck, Roy, fuck ,” Jamie pants. His fingers push through Roy’s hair, angling his face to lick at his jaw, biting his cheek, rutting against his stomach. “Christ. Wanted to fuck you since the match. God, should’ve taken you into the boot room and just bent you over.”

Roy whines at the thought, cock leaking in his trousers. He wouldn’t even have had to come. Just the idea of Jamie taking what he wants from him, stretching him open and leaving him wanting more—he’s sick with how turned on it makes him.

“You’ve been so good,” Jamie whispers, fingers tracing Roy’s kiss bruised lips. “Thought you weren’t going to be able to make it for a bit there, but you’ve been so patient.”

His head dips in a nod. “Want to come. Jamie—”

“Ssh.” A kiss, distractingly gentle. Jamie’s hands reach down to pry his off of his ass, sliding their fingers together. “Come on. Think you’ve been waiting long enough. Going to fuck you stupid now. You’ve been so fucking good waiting.”

Roy would snort at that but he knows it’s going to happen. He feels like he’s half a second away from coming and Jamie’s barely touched him. Now that he knows he won’t have to fight off the pleasure, it’s there burning at the edge of him.

Jamie’s all hands and kisses as he strips Roy out of his clothes, leaving red marks up and down his body. Roy pushes him back against the door, jamming his knee between his legs, breathing heavily as Jamie grinds down on his thigh while Roy kisses him, nipping at his lips and sweeping his tongue inside until his lungs are burning and Jamie’s writhing under him. He hasn’t felt this desperate for Jamie since their first time when his familiarity with his body—the body he’s helped shape —helped only a little in brushing away the awkwardness of fucking his best friend.

Because it meant something.

It means something even if he’s still teetering on how huge and perfectly devastating this all is.

“Jamie,” he says, just to wrap his mouth around his name. “God, fucking Christ, Jamie.”

He helps Jamie wiggle out of his sweats, pleased there are no boxers in the way, and just curls his hand around Jamie’s cock. One firm stroke has Jamie arching up off the door.

“Fuck!”

Strong hands plant on his chest and send him flying backwards to the bed, the mattress dipping under him as he bounces. Pre-come smears over his stomach, and he props himself up on his elbows to watch Jamie—he’s never seen anyone or anything as beautiful as Jamie Tartt. Warm skin stretched taut over muscles that ripple with each movement he makes, veins straining on his forearm as he strokes his cock, eyes dark while he looks at Roy.

He’s everything Roy’s ever wanted and more.

“Get yourself ready for me,” Jamie instructs, voice scraping across gravel. “Want to watch you.”

Roy swallows and rolls, stretching for the lube. He’s clumsy, squeezing too much into his hand that he strokes over his cock and then down. Pressing against his perineum, he rubs a crooked knuckle over his hole. The pressure feels good, promising, and it doesn’t take much to slide one finger into himself. Jamie groans his approval, fisting himself harder even as his strokes slow down, mouth open as he watches. One thing that hasn’t been a surprise is Jamie’s for watching Roy, a hangover from the days and weeks he spent glued to the TV watching him play.

Not that he minds. Jamie’s eyes make him feel like he’s the most beautiful person in the world, a feeling he’s growing to love.

He presses another finger inside, rim pulling open around them, and he closes his eyes, breathing out slowly. The stretch of his muscle is grounding even as it adds a new, sharper thrill that bursts through him like electricity. He thinks of Jamie, of how his tongue feels licking into him, of his lips sucking at his hole, of the obscene groan he makes when he hitches Roy’s hips higher and loses himself in the act of eating him out.

Three fingers now and he’s fucking up into the air, cock drooling onto his stomach.

“Enough,” Jamie rasps, cock glistening with lube. “Christ, Roy, you’re a fucking vision.”

He steps forward and slides his hands up Roy’s calves, thumb pressing into the soft flesh under his knee, lifting to rest them on his shoulders. This position doesn’t always work, Roy’s knee isn’t always cooperative enough to last, but he stretches up towards the top of the bed and moans as Jamie bends him in half. Pinned under the unyielding weight of Jamie, he makes a sound as Jamie looks down and positions himself at his entrance and then pushes in, slow and steady.

Roy grunts, eyes rolling to the back of his head. It’s so much like this. Jamie’s not exactly small at the best of times but when he’s folded up under him, he feels so much larger. He can barely breathe by the time Jamie seats himself, hair falling in front of his eyes that stare down at Roy, wild and dark.

“Yeah?”

He swallows and nods, reaching up to pull Jamie in for a kiss as hips roll and his nerves light up.

“Fuck.” Jamie breathes against his mouth, shaky and sweet. “Going to make you cry for it.”

Roy wants to pull a face to mock him, show how unimpressed he is since he’s not the crier of the two of them, but then Jamie tilts his hips just a little and the fucker has his prostate in his sights.

Since there’s not much he can do except hold on when Jamie’s in a mood like this, he curls an arm round Jamie’s shoulders and pulls him down, mouthing at his temple as Jamie’s noises grow thick and heavy in his ear. The drag of his cock through Roy’s beard, the sweaty heat of him, the fact it’s been three fucking days since Roy’s come—

—he digs his heel into the flank of Jamie’s body, tightening as he chases down his orgasm.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jamie pants into his neck. “You’re not coming yet.”

“It’s been three days,” he argues, arching, trying to find anything to tip him over the edge. “Fucking yes I am.”

Jamie shoves his hand between their bodies, fingers brushing over the sensitive shaft of his cock before he circles his thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft and squeezes so tightly Roy thinks his cock’s going to pop right off. The pleasure recedes, strangled from erupting; he moans, pained, annoyed, and fucking disappointed. 

Grinning down at him, so close he’s nothing but a blur, Jamie kisses the tip of his nose as he continues fucking into him, pace not once letting up.

“Nuh-uh,” he teases. “You like waiting for it, babe, just like you wanted. I’m going to make this so good for you.”

“Already fucking good for me,” Roy complains, nails leaving red marks over the skin of his back. “Want to come.”

“Yeah, I know.” Blithe, like he’s not balls deep in Roy, Jamie smiles. “You will. Just trust me, yeah? Been doing some reading.”

That sends a shot of excited heat straight to his groin, the pressure building and spreading to the rest of his limbs since it can’t escape past Jamie’s grip. Any time Jamie does some reading generally means Roy’s in for a fucking ride. He gets these ideas sometimes, little thoughts that pop into his head that he’ll bring up when they’re snuggled together in the evening. And the next thing Roy knows, he’s twisted six different ways and being fucked to within an inch of his life with an orgasm so strong he thinks he might just die from it.

This, he knows, is going to be no different.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jamie gasps, pulling out and carefully removing Roy’s legs before patting his hip. “Hands and knees, babe. Come on.”

Roy pushes himself over, flopping gracelessly and rubbing his cock against the covers. The relief is blissful but brief. Jamie’s hand comes down hard on his right cheek and strong fingers grip his wrist, jerking him up and off it.

“Goddamn it,” Jamie mutters. “Ought to tie you up to get you to do what you’re supposed to.” The moan slips out of Roy before he stops it. Jamie misses nothing, heat blazing through his voice when he speaks again. “Yeah, okay, we’re fucking coming back to that later.”

Between the two of them, they get Roy positioned and Jamie pushes back into him with a groan. It’s better like this, Roy considers as he dips his head and works his mouth around nothing when Jamie gets more strength behind each thrust. He throws his arms out, hands gripping the headboard while Jamie slides his hands down the length of his back, around his torso and through his chest hair, fingers dancing teasing around his cock—close enough to make his breath catch but not close enough to fucking do anything.

A roll of his hips sends a shudder racing down Roy’s spine, a wet mouth pressing to the back of his neck. Jamie drags his index finger through the sweat gathering on Roy’s back and draws it down to where they’re joined, lightly tracing the stretch of his body around Jamie’s cock.

Roy freezes, the world hanging on a silver thread of expectation and thrilling fear.

His cock leaks come onto the sheets below him.

“What d’you think?” Jamie asks, like he hasn’t already made up his mind, like he hasn’t done his research planning for this. “Too much? Or can you take this too?”

Roy doesn’t belong to his body anymore. He’s floating above it and watching Jamie do what he pleases so all he knows is fire and want. “Do it.”

“Good lad,” Jamie breathes, biting his neck before pulling back. “Knew you would.”

Fresh lube shocks his overheated skin, smearing around where they’re joined. Roy rocks back against Jamie, needing something, but he makes a high, startled sound when the tip of Jamie’s finger hooks on his rim and works its way inside. For something so small, Roy feels like he’s being split in two. His body burns and aches, cleaved in half by the first knuckle of Jamie’s finger pressing in alongside his cock.

Jesus, Mary, and cocksucking Joseph .

Roy keens, loud and appallingly revealing. Jamie’s about as polite as Roy would be in his place, his body shaking with a laugh as he twitches his finger inside him.

The problem with Jamie is, he knows Roy’s body just as well as Roy knows his. There’s nowhere to hide when his orgasm rushes towards him. The muscles in his back flutter, his thighs start to tense, his ass gets tighter, and Jamie will recognise all of that and slow down. He’ll drag his cock out until he’s pressing the head against Roy’s fluttering opening, circling it with the finger so that the nerves never get the chance to rest. He waits until Roy’s breathing is more or less back to normal, his disappointment a softer thing, and the toes on his left foot have stopped twitching.

Then he’ll start it all over again.

Roy’s going mad with it. It’s one thing to tease himself, to be in control of when and where and how he comes, but it’s another thing entirely to let Jamie have control. To pass himself over into Jamie’s hands and not know when it’ll end.

He’s slick with sweat, skin bright red, head throbbing with tension that begs to let loose when he finally sobs, wet and desperate. “Jamie, please—”  

“Fuck,” Jamie grunts, hips jerking harder against him. “You sound fucking gorgeous like this. Should make you desperate for my cock more often.”

Roy’s head drops between his extended arms. He feels like the pictures he’s seen in fancy art museums: men suffering, men at worship—stretched thin and desperate for some relief.

“Fuck you,” he groans, gasping on the salty hit of tears that slick his mouth. “Fuck you and your fucking whole fucking family, you fucking prick.”

Jamie laughs, the flat of his hand delivering a sharp slap to his ass cheek. “Oi, you love my family.”

“Fuck off.”

Jamie does something absolutely filthy. A move Roy hasn’t experienced before. His hips grind in and his cock curves upwards.

He shouts. “You fucking—!” Jamie starts laughing behind him. “That’s my fucking move.”

“Yeah, mint, isn’t it?” He does it again. If this is what it’s always felt like, it’s no wonder someone went to the press to rave about it. More people need to know because—fucking hell. “God, you’re so fucking fit like this.”

Roy’s breath hitches, knuckles white. “Jamie, if I don’t fucking come, I’m going to die.”

“Drama queen,” Jamie teases, folding himself over his back and tucking himself against him. He slides his hands up to cover Roy’s on the headboard, pressing a sweet kiss to Roy’s neck. “Say please.”

The sound that leaves his throat is inhuman.

“ Please,"  he rasps.

Jamie rolls his hips again, breath hot against the side of Roy’s face. “You’re going to come just like this, yeah? Not even going to have to touch your cock. You’re so worked up it won’t be a problem.”

Roy opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but Jamie fucks all sense out of him. The only sounds he makes are the uh-uh-uh of being well fucked as his vision narrows and all he’s able to focus on is Jamie moving inside him, the feel of him over his back, and the way his orgasm is crowding him from every corner. Jamie’s right, it’s not a problem to come untouched.

When his orgasm finally lets loose, he blacks out.

Pleasure winds its thin threads through him and yanks tight until he’s a stiff body, clenching and riding out the wave of unending, dizzy delight that freezes his lungs and burns his throat. His cock spasms, come shooting out of him in thick pulses, pooling on the covers. It doesn’t seem to stop, cock leaking as Jamie keeps fucking him, hitting his prostate every time while Roy shakes through it.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t think.

All he knows is the white-hot pressure of release that Jamie fucks out of him.

And then, all at once, he collapses. His grip disappears and his arms slacken, knees turning to liquid; he’s dropping to the bed and lying in his own mess while Jamie goes with him, pushing his knees further open, grunting as he chases his own orgasm. He lies there, lost in the fog of his orgasm, vaguely aware of Jamie moving over him, in him, before he’s grinding deep and coming in small jerks of his hips, moaning Roy’s name as he does so.

His mouth feels thick, throat burning like he’s been sobbing, and Jamie nestles in so close that the sweep of his tongue across the cheekbone he’s able to reach is a soft surprise. Jamie kisses and licks the tears that have fallen away, gently manoeuvring Roy’s head so he can do the other side too. It’s only when Jamie rolls him out of the wet patch and onto his back that he realises he’s still crying, soft sounds sliding from him.

“Here.” A glass of water held to his lips, a large hand cupping the back of his head. Roy gulps it down, head clearing. “There we go. Bet that feels better.”

“Fuck.” He just lies there, staring up at the ceiling, wet on the front and Jamie’s come leaking from him. "Fuck."

“Don’t move,” Jamie says. Not a problem since Roy’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to move again. “I’ll be right back.”

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, time has lost all meaning to Roy as he floats in a haze, drunk on his orgasm and the stretch of Jamie’s cock that lingers in him. When Jamie comes back, it’s with a wet cloth and fresh sheets. Roy just lies there as he’s tended to, blinking hazily whenever Jamie’s close enough to his mouth to steal a kiss. He’s not able to move, his legs no longer cooperating with him, so Jamie just up and picks him up like he weighs nothing and moves him to the armchair in the corner of the room.

Roy sits there, slumped, as Jamie strips the bed and changes the sheets with swift efficiency.

It’s only when he’s under the covers and in Jamie’s arms, head pillowed on his shoulder, fingers playing with his hair, that he comes back to himself.

“Jesus christ,” he mutters.

“Ah, there you are.” Jamie drops a kiss to the top of his head. “Know I said I was going to fuck you stupid but I was properly worried there for a second.”

“That was incredible,” Roy tells him. “I can’t feel my fucking teeth.”

A beat of silence. “Can you normally feel them?”

“I don’t know.” A laugh slips from him, giddiness rising like he’s taken a line of coke and it’s rushing through his system. "Jesus."

“Not too much then?” Jamie asks, concern sliding through as he rubs his hand over Roy’s stomach. “It was all good?”

He nods. “It was perfect. You were perfect. You prick.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all lovey-dovey, it’ll freak me out,” Jamie says, obviously pleased. “You’re a mad lad. Don’t get why you like it so much but fuck me if you aren’t the hottest thing ever when you’re desperate for it.”

Too far gone still to be embarrassed, he turns his head to look at him. “Do it again sometime?”

“Fuck yeah we will,” Jamie agrees. “Not yet though. Like a treat or something. When you deserve it.”

Roy shudders at what that might mean, at how he might earn it. “Kinky fucker.”

“You’re one to talk.” Jamie slides a foot between Roy’s calves and turns into him, pressing a lovely kiss against his forehead. “Fucking mad about you.”

Roy closes his eyes, swallowed whole by Jamie and everything about him. He shifts, remembering how to move his arms to drape them around Jamie, tugging him closer until they’re pressed together. He fumbles for the blanket, pulling it over their heads, cocooning them, the world narrowing to this space where only they exist.

“C’mere,” Roy murmurs, and Jamie presses his face against the curve of his shoulder, breathing in deeply. “Don’t want to move.”

“Then we won’t” Jamie promises into his skin, holding him. “We’ll stay here forever.”

He breathes out, safe and comfortable, and lets the smell and feel of Jamie carry him off to sleep.