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Jamie pulls him against his body, giggling like a schoolgirl when he walks backwards into the dresser. Bottles and jewelry clatter against one another as their hips meet, and Roy kisses him like he’s trying to eat him alive.
“Careful there, coach. Need me in pristine condition for the game tomorrow, eh?”
Roy grins—Jamie can feel it, one of the special ones reserved for him. He grabs Jamie’s hips tighter as if to make a point, and Jamie feels his fingertips as much as he feels Roy’s cock pressing against him.
“You've played after worse.” He dips, then, bends slightly at the knees to hook his hands up against broad, warm thighs. He lifts Jamie up and off the ground, (Jamie very graciously doesn't comment on any struggle he may or may not have,) and dumps him on the bed rather unceremoniously. Jamie bounces, giggling the whole time, and pulls his hand up his front, dragging his shirt up with it, playfully making himself as enticing as possible.
“You're fucking insufferable.”
Jamie nods, reaching for Roy and pulling him as close as he can once he’s within reach. “The worst, yeah. You're the one who just married me, though—dunno what that says about you.”
Roy groans, out of exasperation or because he grinds their hips together, Jamie can't say. He also doesn't think it matters, not when he’s so giddy and wanting that he’s practically fucking shaking in the cage of Roy’s arms.
“Yeah. I fucking did.” Roy grins as he says it, and kisses Jamie again before he’s pulling at Jamie’s pants, his trousers long abandoned at the door. “Off, off—off.” He demands, tugging at the fabric and looking entirely too pleased with himself when they're gone. “They're gonna be calling you ‘Tartt,’ not knowing you're a Kent.”
It sends a thrill up Jamie’s spine and he shudders with it, skin tingling down to his fingertips. They’ll have a real wedding later—no one needs to know they did it here, in the middle of fucking Liverpool. It's a secret to keep, just the two of them. His engagement ring feels heavy on his finger; warm and secure. “Say it?”
“What?” Roy’s grin goes almost wolfish as he hikes Jamie’s thigh up against his hip before he reaches to rummage through the open bag on the empty half of the bed for what Jamie knows must be the lube. “Your name?”
Jamie whines, impatient despite the bubbling glee that lights up every nerve ending. Roy’s teasing him, like he always is, and Jamie nods insistently as he tangles his fingers in Roy’s close-cropped hair.
Roy’s mouth hovers just above his; Jamie can feel the way their noses bump together, the ghosting of his beard against the skin of his chin. Their lips almost brush when he speaks, and Jamie wants to kiss him so badly he almost doesn't let Roy speak the words.
“Jamie Kent. All mine.”
Jamie kisses him, because if he doesn't, he’ll crumble to pieces and blow away. He’s more sure of that than he's ever been of anything.
He pants harshly against Roy’s smile, tinged with whine as Roy easily slides two fingers inside. Still mostly dressed above him, Roy is gentle with his movements, pulling whatever sounds he can get out of Jamie. He’s being sweet, like he doesn't know Jamie might explode for the want and anticipation pulsing beneath the cage of his ribs.
“Roy,” Jamie pleads into his mouth, moving one of his hands between them to tuck against the tent in Roy’s boxers. He hums above him, but he can't hide the way his hips buck against Jamie’s hand, the air of coolness falling off of him. “Hurry up.”
Roy seems to want to challenge him a moment; wants to remind him who gives the orders between the two of them and that Jamie’s only good for taking them. But he relents (or maybe retaliates,) and slips a third finger inside and drinks in the sound that Jamie makes, pretty and just for him.
Roy peels away from him a few beats later to tear what’s left of his clothes off, and when he comes back, he hikes Jamie impossibly closer by the hips.
“I fucking love you. You're a fucking idiot.”
Jamie grins, hooking both arms around Roy in turn.
“You're a dick. And I fucking love you, too.”
Roy holds him steady with one hand still on his hip as he presses inside, and Jamie’s mouth falls open as he presses their foreheads together, noses slotted against one another. He wants to sink into Roy, live in the pulse of his heart and the rhythm of his breath for the rest of his life.
“Who do you belong to?”
Jamie’s cry hitches and stutters as Roy starts to move in the same moment; he doesn't give Jamie a chance to answer before he’s fucking into him with clear intent. He knows exactly how to get what he wants from Jamie after all these years, and gives him a prodding, encouraging hum when Jamie’s answer comes garbled and whining.
“You.” He tries again, and Roy seems satisfied this time. “You, Roy—’m yours, fuck—please!”
It isn't different, not really, fucking like this, but the underlying current of the knowledge that Roy’s stuck with him (forever, if they can swing it,) makes his skin crackle with electricity. Roy fucks him within an inch of his life because he loves him, and he doesn't try to hide it anymore. Not from Jamie and not from anyone else; his ring shines pretty on his finger, and it's warm on his skin when Roy cradles him at the neck, thumb against his jaw.
When Jamie comes it's too quickly, against his chest with his cock in his own fist and Roy telling him how pretty he is; how no one else could wear his name like Jamie. It doesn't take long for Roy to trail right after, panting into Jamie’s open mouth. He doesn't stay for long enough, rolling off of him to lay back beside him, catching his breath as the world settles again.
“Hey, Roy?”
“Yeah?”
Jamie turns to face him, sitting up to rest his weight on his elbow and grin, sparkling. “For my wedding present, I don't want to do bicycles at five in the morning anymore.”
Roy hums. He seems to consider this a moment. “Fine, we’ll do ‘em at eight.”
Jamie laughs, and Roy isn't even reluctant about how he smiles when Jamie leans close to kiss him again.