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"Tartt! What part of 4 fucking AM did you not fucking understand?"
"What are you telling for? I'm here aren't I?"
Roy stood toe to toe with him and pointed at his new watch. "What does that say?"
"4:02."
"Is that four sharp?"
"No."
"Right. Go home."
"What? Coach, I was two minutes late. Not even! You've spent a full minute yelling at me. And besides, my phone said four sharp when I got here."
Roy narrowed his eyes and for a moment Jamie thought he was really going to send him home. He held the older man's gaze, resisting the powerful urge to look away until Roy's nostrils flared. "Fine. Run."
"Run?"
"Yes, run around the pitch."
"Like, take a lap?"
"What about this do you not understand? Get your ass out there, and start running. Now. And don't fucking stop until I tell you to fucking stop."
Jamie opened his mouth, thought better of what he was going to say, and started to jog.
"Oi! I told you to fucking RUN!"
It was the edge in his voice more than the actual words that prodded Jamie into a sprint. Roy stood with his arms folded over his chest, his attention locked on Jamie as he passed through the light and shadows of the pitch. Every time Jamie snuck a glance, Roy was standing in the exact same spot. Staring at him. Just fucking staring at him. Not shouting at him. Just fucking staring. It did more to heat his body in the pre-dawn chill than the exercise.
Jamie lost track of how many laps around the training pitch he ran. At one point, his heart was thudding in his ears and throat and he thought he might throw up--a feeling that he hadn't experienced since he was an actual child--and still he was running. Was this it? Was Roy just going to run him to death? Was this all a big fucking joke to him?
Maybe it was a big fucking joke? Anger gave him his third--or maybe fourth--wind and carried him maybe another lap or two before he was totally fucking gassed. Somehow, he kept his legs moving. When he looked for Roy, his vision blurred.
"Oi! Get over here."
Jamie automatically turned toward his voice, his speed slowing but only because he was about to fall down on the pitch. A strong hand gripped him by the shoulder and held him upright, and then he was almost yanked off his feet, pulled closed against Roy's body. Jamie automatically closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the familiar by strange smell of Roy's skin--his soap and the lingering smell of leather and heat--fill his head. He wasn't exactly sure what this half embrace had to do with his training, but he wasn't going to question it and he absolutely was not going to be the first person to pull away.
"Good boy." The words were very close to Jamie's ear, and very low, and they vibrated down his spine and reverberated in his cock. He tried to swallow, tried to brace himself for Roy throwing him to the ground because there was absolutely zero room for doubt--literally, his cock was stiff against Roy's hip. But he didn't react at all to that, just said in the same low voice against Jamie's ear, "Now go hit the shower."
Roy released him and Jamie stumbled, but quickly caught himself, feeling like he was drunk. He was definitely confused, but he didn't ask any questions. He couldn't. His throat was too tight, his tongue completely dry and swollen, and his head still spinning. By the time he made back to the locker room, he could stand up right, but he was still painfully aware of how it felt to be so close to Roy, teetering on the edge of humiliation. Was that part of the training plan? Maybe there was no training plan? Maybe this was all just a plan to torture him for shits and giggles?
Jamie peeled his drenched gear off and grabbed a towel, not noticing Roy's arrival just behind him. He did, however, notice when Roy followed him directly into the shower.
"You know how long you were running out there?"
"No, coach."
"A full hour. At full speed for most of that time. Course, Zava could have easily lapped you."
A million retorts sprung to mind, including "Fuck Zava," and "Fuck you" and "Zava can go fuck himself" and "I don't fucking need this bullshit" but Jamie bit his tongue until he tasted blood. Of course, Roy was watching him, could see every single word in his eyes, and he almost--almost--actually smiled. Like he was pleased. Which made Jamie feel all hot and flushed again.
"But you did what you were fucking told." Roy pulled his shirt off. This was absolutely not the first time they'd been in the shower room together, naked or mostly naked, and it was absolutely not the first time Jamie couldn't take his eyes off of Roy, but it was the first time Roy was looking at him square in the face while Jamie stared. He still looked like he was almost smiling, and that was more confusing than anything else. "So now, you get your reward."
"Reward?" Jamie rasped. He forgot to grab his water bottle and now he was thinking he might die of thirst--of the literal and the metaphorical variety.
"Open your mouth."
Jamie did, without hesitation.
Roy produced a water bottle and wet Jamie's tongue and throat. Jamie whimpered from the relief of it and tried to take the bottle, but Roy slapped his hand away.
"Get on your knees."
Jamie's chest jerked, his heart suddenly racing faster--so much faster--than when he was out running on the pitch. This had to be a trick. It HAD to be. There was absolutely no fucking way this wasn't a trick. He sank to his knees, tense, already wincing from the expected blow, but when Roy touched him, it was almost gentle. He cupped the back of Jamie's head in his large palm and pulled his cock free of his shorts with his other hand. Jamie didn't need guidance to know where to go.
The first taste of Roy on his lips and tongue was unreal. Jamie closed his eyes, feeling shy and eager and hungry and confused, so fucking turned on that his cock was already wet. Roy's cock was thick and heavy on his tongue, and he took as much of the length of him as he could until the tip reach his throat and he swallowed around it. The hand on the back of his head just held him, didn't guide him or force a tempo or make any demands.
Jamie was good with his mouth. His mouth got him into a lot of trouble, but most of the time, it got him right back out of trouble, too. He gripped Roy by the hips, and decided not to worry about why it was happening, or what it meant, or if it was just an hallucination brought on by lack of oxygen. Didn't matter. He knew what to do, and he did it with gusto. Roy was silent for what seemed like forever, and then he made a little noise, barely even a moan, and it almost sent Jamie completely over the fucking edge. He took Roy all the way down his throat, buried his nose in the thick hair at the base of his cock, and his own cock absolutely throbbed.
"Fuck," Roy gasped, and that was the only warning Jamie had before his throat was flooded. His own cock jerked hard, covering his thighs with liquid without even a second of contact. Roy pushed him away--not unkindly. "Get..." His voice cracked and he swallowed hard. "Get yourself cleaned up."
"Yes, coach."
Roy left without another word. Jamie spent a long time in the shower. A long time. Wondering if Roy was going to come back. Wondering if they'd ever speak of this again. Wondering just what the fuck happened and could it happen a second time? By the time he emerged, Roy was gone, but his phone sounded an alert. The text was terse. 'Don't be fucking late.'
###
"TARTT!"
Jamie jumped. "Yes, coach."
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"You said to do push ups."
"Yeah, I did."
"So I did them."
"I told you to do one hundred fucking push ups. Do you know how to count?"
"Yes."
"Really? Because that wasn't one hundred. Do them again."
"Are you fucking joking?"
"What did you just say?"
Jamie's heart sank--the question wasn't angry. Anger from Roy was fine. Normal. Expected. No, the question was curious, and almost said softly, and Jamie knew he fucked up. Big time.
"Nothing, you're right. I must have miscounted."
"You don't trust me to keep count?" Roy closed the space between them and it really wasn't fucking fair. Because Jamie couldn't think when he was that close, and Roy fucking knew it, and the training was already going sideways. His beard rubbed against Jamie's cheek, reminding him of the hair on his thighs and at the base of his prick, and Jamie's body began to react. At this point, he felt like Roy was really just training him on how to be turned on like, all the fucking time. "You've got to trust me. I can't help you if you don't trust me. Understand?"
"Yes, coach."
"Good. Now go home."
"Coach?"
"Go home, Jamie." Roy was already moving away from him. "We're done for the day."
Jamie knew that arguing was only going to make it worse. He collected his bag and turned to the locker room but was stopped in his tracks by Roy's shout. "Tartt! I said go home. That's what I fucking meant. Don't go in there."
"But I'm all sweaty."
"Then you better shower when you get home."
Jamie did shower when he got home. He took his slick cock in his hand, desperate to relieve himself from the low, insistent throb in the pit of his stomach. He ran dozens of scenarios through his head, some of which had already happened and some of which were pure fantasy. Licking the strings of cum from Roy's cock until the skin was completely clean--something that happened the morning before--and then Roy hauling him to his feet and claiming his mouth, tasting himself all over Jamie's lips and tongue--something that had not happened ever. That was the image that sent the necessary jolt down his spine and Jamie's moan was almost a wounded sound. Yeah, he got off, but there was absolutely no satisfaction to it, and now he thought about Roy actually kissing him, he wasn't going to be able to stop thinking about it.
Worse, he didn't even know if all of this running and push ups and sit ups and more running was doing anything to improve his game. But Roy said Jamie had to trust him and god help him, he did. So he was there the next morning at 3:55, resolved once again to do what he was told to do.
###
Roy's reward system began to bleed into actual team training. There were no blow jobs in the showers of course, but Roy suddenly had dozens of reasons for incidental physical contact throughout the day. The more Jamie pleased him during their private training, the more Roy slapped his back, put a hand on his shoulder, brushed against his chest when giving directions. Little things that nobody else would take note of, but that left Jamie's head spinning. He was starving for physical contact constantly, a hunger he tried to fill with girlfriends and boyfriends and one night stands and disaster after disaster, and it never worked. Well, not never. It worked for a little while with Keeley--something he didn't realize until after she was gone and the ice-cold reality settled over him.
Jamie didn't want to be sent home alone. He wanted to follow Roy into the showers and sink to his knees in the steam, so he focused, and he worked harder than he ever worked in his life. Roy built a routine for him, adding to it day by day, forcing Jamie to push himself a little bit farther, work harder until he was past the pain of exhaustion. The day that Jamie completed the full routine--a workout that had developed to three full hours--without speaking, without instruction, was the day that the one thing he fantasized about became reality.
It took his by surprise, how good he felt when Roy sent him to the showers. How his body felt alive, muscle thrumming, blood running hot. Not like he had just completed an exhausting session, but like he was finally ready to get out on the pitch and fucking *dominate*. His energy was high, and he couldn't keep the smile from his face. He felt as good as when he was fifteen and had energy to spare and nothing by perfect possibilities in front of him.
He didn't wait for Roy to pull him closer, instead he invaded Roy's space, backing him to the wall. He buried his face in Roy's neck and breathed deep, his tongue darting out to taste the skin along the edge of his beard, his hands roaming over the solid wall of Roy's chest and down to his hips. Roy no longer seemed strange to his senses. Nothing about him was unfamiliar to Jamie's tongue or his nose or his questing hands. He took his time working down Roy's body, and by the time he hit his knees, Roy was at full staff.
That part was new--usually he would only get that hard once he was already in Jamie's mouth, and Jamie couldn't resist teasing him a bit, prolonging the moment as much as he could stand. He mouthed along the rigid line of muscle in Roy's thighs and down the crease of his legs, and over his balls, and felt Roy's warm pre-cum slick his cheek. Roy growled, the sound both impatient and pleading and that did Jamie in. He couldn't keep teasing, couldn't keep himself away from what they both wanted.
Maybe Jamie had worked Roy up too much, or maybe it was the unbridled energy he used to suck Roy's cock, but it seemed like it took him no time at all to explode into the back of Jamie's throat. Jamie sucked him until Roy's cock stopped jerking and couldn't help but moan his disappointment--he was still so fucking hard. He almost always got off just by getting Roy off, and now he was going to have to try to rub one out and that was always disappointing.
But Roy grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet, spinning them around and pinning Jamie to the wall. Jamie's lips parted with a half-formed question and then Roy's mouth was pressed against his, hot and hard and demanding. Jamie didn't resist at all, eagerly opening his mouth to the kiss. Roy's hand wrapped around his hard shaft with an almost painful strength, the pressure both too much and not enough. Jamie might have hit his knees again, but Roy kept him pinned against the wall, his tongue plunging into Jamie's mouth while he fisted him in firm, long strokes. He screamed with his release, but the sound was completely muffled and the world faded, went black for just a moment.
His legs were completely useless. The raw energy coursing through him just moments before was gone, spent. Jamie knew he had to pull himself together--and fast--because the team would be in for morning training in less than an hour, and all Jamie wanted to do was curl up in Roy's lap. An act that Jamie was pretty sure would not be possible, even with this new level of physicality.
As usual, Roy left him to shower and clean up without a word. Maybe he lingered there for an extra minute. Maybe it looked like he almost had something he wanted to say. Or maybe that was Jamie's imagination. There was less incidental contact through the regular training--maybe that was just his imagination, too, but he went home that night feeling hollowed out and exhausted.
###
Most of the team was in the gym, but Jamie didn't join them. Roy wanted him to study play design and strategies, so he sat on the floor of Roy's office, his back against the desk, legs stretched out in front of him. Roy sat in his chair, no part of him touching Jamie, pretending to read scouting reports. Trent Crimm wandered into the office, studied the two men for a moment with a quizzical expression on his face, and ducked into Ted's office, the question plain in his eyes.
Ted had been watching the two of them from his chair--well, mostly watching Roy, since Jamie was obscured from his vision. He'd noticed that Jamie was Roy's shadow the past few weeks, but this was new. Jamie not joining the team for strength training, and instead choosing to settle at Roy's feet? He wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He shook his head at Trent, as if to say don't ask because I've got nothing to tell.
Even more confounding was the way Roy would reach down every once in a while to absently touch Jamie's head or stroke his hair. It always looked like an absent minded gesture, one that Ted wasn't even sure Roy was aware of. Strangest of all, he hardly ever yelled at Jamie lately. Or called him a fragile little bitch. Or seemed exasperated or annoyed or even angry.
"Leave it alone, Coach," Beard said as he came into the office and took his chair.
"I don't even know what it is."
"You probably don't want to know."
Ted and Trent exchanged another look, but what could Ted do but take Beard's advise and shift his attention to the notes for the upcoming game against Man City. Not that there were too many of those, and it all came down to “Give the ball to Zava.” A winning strategy so far, and watching Zava was thrilling, to be certain, but Ted had to admit he was getting a little bored. And if there was one word he would never use to describe his time in with Richmond, it was boring. Still, Zava gave the fans what they wanted. And what Rebecca wanted. And it was her rodeo, after all.
“It just feels like Jamie’s been Roy’s shadow these past few weeks, doesn’t it? And while I’ve always loved superhero pair ups, this is not a pair I saw coming.”
“They’re training,” Beard said, eyes still on his book.
“Yeah. Okay.”
Ted couldn’t put his finger on why that was not a satisfying explanation for this sudden shift. What did that mean, exactly? Roy mentioned to him that he would be opening the practice facility early, but hadn’t added anything and Ted pretty much had a “Let Roy Do What He Wants” policy anyway. But Jamie looked a bit different out on the pitch last match, didn’t he? Well, whatever Roy was doing, it seemed to be working, and if Ted knew one thing, it was that you don’t mess with success.
###
Jamie never saw the hit coming. They were deadlocked with Man City well into the second half, and though Richmond committed to the “Give Zava the Ball” strategy, it was not paying off. There was a little something called defense, and some gaffers could figure out how to neutralize him. But that opened up other possibilities, and when Jamie stole the ball late in the match, he had an open lane. The sound of the crowd faded from his mind, and for a moment, it was just him and Roy on the pitch, and nobody could catch him.
Until somebody did.
The tackle came from behind, a powerful leg sweeping his out from under him. He hit the ground at full momentum, his head slamming against the packed dirt. There was pain in his leg and more in the back of his skull, but that disappeared when the world went black. An unknown amount of time passed before he could see again, and when he did there were a circle of faces above him.
“You okay, bruv?”
“We need a medic.”
“Don’t try to move him.”
“Oi, get back. Give him some air.”
“Coach?” Jamie tried to say more, but that croak of air was all he could muster. He struggled to take a breath. What the fuck happened?
Darkness again, and Jamie didn’t resist it. Being awake was too confusing. He wasn’t completely out. He felt himself being moved onto the board, felt the medics lift him up and carry him from the pitch. Heard the crowd noise resume and the temperature change as they moved into the treatment. Then he was consumed by the darkness entirely.
“Tartt. Jamie. Come on. Don’t be a fragile little bitch. Open your eyes.”
The low, familiar growl pulled him back, and he forced himself to his obey because it didn’t occur to him he could simply refuse the command. The light hurt for a moment, but then the world focused again, and there was only Roy’s face this time.
“What the fuck?”
“Medics say you’ll be okay. You need to rest a few days.”
That didn’t answer Jamie’s question, so he tried again. “What the fuck? What happened?”
“You were wide open and about to make a fucking brilliant goal. Blind side tackle.”
“Open. Who got me?”
“I’m going to drive you home.”
“Not going back on the bus?”
“No.”
“Did I fuck up, coach?”
“Absolutely fucking not. You looked fucking brilliant. Here, the medic said you could have a few sips of water.”
Jamie didn’t realize how fucking thirsty he was until Roy held the paper cup up to his lips. He wanted to gulp down the whole thing, but Roy only allowed a few actual sips, which was not close to enough.
“You can have more in a bit.”
“Who got me?” Jamie asked again, louder this time.
Roy’s face twisted up, like he wanted to shout, or hit something. “It was that prick, Zava.”
“Zava? My own fucking team mate hit me hard enough to give me a concussion?”
“Yeah.”
Jamie had a lot of questions, but he was too tired to sort through all of them and find the important ones to ask. He was saved from the effort by a soft knock on the door and then a familiar voice saying, “Hi, Roy. Is he awake?”
Jamie lifted his head. “Hi, Keeley.”
She hurried to his side and took his hand. “Oh my god, I was so worried. I hurried down here as quick as I could when Roy called. Are you okay?”
It felt good to feel her soft skin once again, but Jamie didn’t let himself think about that too much. For one thing, she hurried down because Roy called her, and for another thing, Jamie didn’t want to fuck things up for himself by being too familiar with her.
“Uh, I think so. I don’t actually know.”
Keeley looked over to Roy, who was standing on the other side of the table. Jamie’s eyes gazed shifted between the two of them, trying to read their faces and the situation. But that was an impossible task at the best of times, and his head was fucking killing him.
“What did the medic say?”
“He has a concussion. He’ll need to rest a few days, and he’ll need somebody to keep an eye on him. He should be back up on his feet soon.”
“I can put up in my spare room?”
“No, I’m going to take him back to my place.”
“Oh.” Keeley sounded shock, and Jamie felt the same level of surprise. He hadn’t expected that. At all.
“Thanks for agreeing to drive us back, Keeley. Didn’t mean to put you out, but wasn’t going to put him on that fucking bus.”
“I’m happy to help, Roy. Did the medic say he could walk? I’m parked just outside the door.”
Roy studied him for a moment, his face set in a thoughtful frown, and Jamie had the wild notion that Roy would pick him up and carry him bridal-style out the door. A notion that seemed to be borne out when Roy slid his arm under Jamie’s shoulders, but he only lifted him from the board into a sitting position.
“How does that feel?” Roy asked. “Are you dizzy?”
“No, ‘m fine.”
“Well, see if you can get your feet under you.”
Jamie moved slowly, putting one foot then the other to the floor. Keeley put her arm around his waist to steady him as he stood. His legs felt a little watery and he felt a bit like he might be sick, but other than that, he thought he would be okay. He didn’t move away from Keeley, though, happy to be close to her for a moment. Roy was directly behind him, his hand occasionally resting on Jamie’s back as he made his way to the door.
Keeley’s backseat wasn’t exactly roomy, but Jamie managed to find a comfortable position. Roy naturally sat in the passenger seat, and Jamie swallowed the sudden flare of resentment. He didn’t want to sit alone, didn’t want to watch the two of them, sitting up there like they were together again, while he had nothing. Maybe literally nothing. It sounded like he might be able to play again, but he knew he wouldn’t be playing for Richmond. That thought hurt far more than the dull throb in his head and stomach.
“Rebecca is really, really pissed.”
“Pissed enough to transfer that fucking prick off the team?”
“Pissed enough to do something.”
“She fucking better. Or else Ted will have a couple spots to fill.”
“Maybe it was an accident?”
“You think he accidentally tackled his own teammate from behind, stole the ball from him, and scored? You think he just didn’t notice Jamie there on the ground, not fucking moving?”
“No,” Keeley said softly.
“I never saw anything like that in my life. I almost tore his fucking head off.”
“I know. I saw Beard stopping you from running out on the pitch.”
“I’m going to fucking murder him the next time I see him,” Roy said, the words low and raw. Jamie didn’t doubt it. Neither did Keeley, judging from the worried look she shot his direction. “Medic cleared him to take the bus home but I couldn’t risk it. Thanks again.”
“Any time, Roy.” Keeley took Roy’s hand and he didn’t pull away. Neither one of them let go. Jamie closed his eyes. Of course, he was used to seeing the two of them together, and even though they weren’t really together anymore, it still felt like they were connected. After Jamie apologized for telling Keeley he still loved her, he really really worked on getting over her. Which actually wasn’t too difficult, considering most of his attention and desires just switched right over to Roy himself. But it still hurt, knowing that given the choice, neither one of them would pick him.
After a few minutes of pretending to sleep, he actually fell asleep. The next thing he knew, Roy was shaking him awake and helping him out of the car. He kept a firm arm around Jamie and helped him up the stairs. Jamie couldn’t believe that Roy actually brought him back to his own flat. The interior was as dark as Jamie expected, and cool, and he was completely surrounded by the smell of tea and Roy’s soap. He liked it.
“Get settled on the couch for now. I’ll get you some tea. Keeley?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got to go. I’m glad you’re okay, Jamie. Let me know if you guys need anything, okay?”
“Thanks, Keeley.” Jamie dropped his head back against the thick cushions and closed his eyes, trying to remember the match. He wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t remember the collision--attack?--but pretty much the entire match before was gone, too. That probably wasn’t a good thing. But Roy seemed to think he was playing well? So, that wasn’t bad.
“Here. Drink this.” Jamie opened his eyes to a mug of tea just beneath his nose. “Careful. It’s hot.”
“Thanks.” He took the mug, carefully as directed, and tried a sip. Then another. Roy was right, it did make him feel better. Roy sat next him, closer than Jamie expected, with his own cup.
“Are you really going to murder him?” Jamie asked.
“I’m going to rip his fucking head off and shit down his throat. Giant fucking prick. King prick of all pricks.”
“Did he score the winning goal, though?”
“Who gives a fuck? I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this, but I would rather lose every single match with you than spend another fucking second on a team with him.”
Jamie couldn’t stop his smile. He brought the tea back to his mouth to obscure it, but Roy noticed anyway.
“What are you fucking grinning about?”
“Nothing, coach. Just kind of sounds like you like me, is all.”
“Well…I don’t fucking hate you.”
“I’ll take it.”
“How are you feeling? Dizzy or nauseous?”
“No, I don’t think so. Felt a bit like that in the car, but my stomach has settled now.”
“The doctor said you could sleep, but I’ll need to wake you up every few hours to check your symptoms.”
“Am I sleeping here on the sofa, then?”
“No, I’ll bring you up to bed.”
Jamie’s stomach did a slow turn that had nothing to do with the concussion. He looked down at his tea, hoping his face didn’t look as flushed as it felt. He knew Roy meant absolutely nothing by it, but Jamie was easily triggered by just about anything the older man did, and the thought of Roy taking him to bed--well, he’d get concussed any time for that outcome.
He sipped at his tea, slowly, and when he finished it, Roy took the mug from him. And then--wonder of wonders--Roy did pick him up, exactly as Jamie had imagined before, and carried him up the stairs. He assumed there was a guest room, but Roy took him right into the large bedroom that clearly belonged to him and Jamie’s stomach did that slow roll again. Roy set him on the edge of the king-sized bed and deftly removed his clothes, stripping him down to his shorts.
“Lay down, get comfortable,” Roy instructed as he walked to the door.
“Coach?” He didn’t want to admit that he didn’t want to be left alone, but also, he very much did not want to be left alone.
“I’ll be right back.”
It wasn’t hard to get comfortable on Roy’s bed. The mattress was amazing, neither too firm or too soft, and the sheets were a high-thread count. Maybe even silk? It seemed far too decadent for Roy Kent. Jamie had always imagined he slept on a concrete slab, or maybe just curled up with a pillow and his leather coat on the floor. Maybe the sheets were Keeley’s doing? Either way, it felt absolutely amazing sliding over his skin.
Roy returned, as promised, in a clean pair of black sweats and a black t-shirt, his hair damp. He walked over to the overstuffed chair in the corner, like he was just going to sit there and watch Jamie sleep. Which seemed absolutely ridiculous.
“Coach…could you…you know…sit over with me?”
“You’re like a spoiled child,” Roy grumbled, but he went over to the other side of the bed. Given an inch, Jamie was known to take a mile, and he immediately rested his head on Roy’s chest, much preferring that over the plush mountain of pillows. Roy sighed, but he put his arm around him and Jamie couldn’t help but smile again, though his face was safely hidden from sight.
‘Maybe Coach does like me.’ The pleasant thought led to rather pleasant dreams.
###
Jamie opened his eyes when Roy prodded him awake, answered his questions, let Roy check his pupils, and then fell back asleep three times in all. The fourth time he woke, it wasn’t because Roy was saying his name and gently shaking his shoulder--it was to the sound of Roy shouting an impressive string of curses. Jamie couldn’t tell if he was just outside the door or all the way downstairs, but he could make out nearly every word. Even without context, it was clear that the conversation was about how much Roy planned on killing Zava. Jamie had to admit, he was not upset about this sudden turn in his life.
“What was that about?” Jamie asked when Roy returned to the room, carrying a tray of food. Jamie realized it was meant for him.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You think you can eat this?”
Jamie had a lot of follow up questions, but it didn’t look like Roy was interested in giving him any answers.
“Yeah,” Jamie said, sitting up, “ I’m fucking famished.”
“Alright, there’s more if you want it. Here. Look at me.” Jamie tilted his head back and let Roy check his pupils. “I think you’ll live.”
Jamie practically inhaled the soup, though a sharp pain in his stomach forced him to slow down before he asked for a second helping. With the food in his system, he felt a thousand times better. From the satisfied nod Roy gave him after his inspection, he could only assume he looked better, too. Did that mean Roy would be sending him off to his own flat? Maybe he should fake a relapse so he could stay?
“You feeling better? Good. Let’s get you in the shower. You fucking reek.”
Jamie expected Roy to help him out of the bed and into the bathroom. He didn’t expect him to start the shower running and strip the shorts off Jamie’s legs. He was surprised when Roy shucked his own clothes and joined him in the roomy shower. He was truly shocked when Roy lathered up the soap and began to scrub his skin. He was gruff, clinical, but the almost impersonal touch certainly didn’t keep Jamie’s body from responding.
Roy lifted one arm, then the other, cleaned the back of his neck and behind his ears, scrubbed his chest and his back, and then pushed a hand between his thighs, prompting him to widen his stance. Jamie had to put his hands on Roy’s shoulders to brace himself because with that one exception, Roy never, ever touched him below the waist. And now he was rubbing his slick hands over his most sensitive skin, dipping his fingers between the crease of his cheeks, and then sliding back over his inner-thighs. Jamie tried to keep from making any noise, but when Roy finally slid the heel of his hand over the top of his stiff cock, he couldn’t stop his moan.
“I can feel you shaking,” Roy said, almost conversationally. He straightened, his chest pressed against Jamie’s. “At first I thought you were behaving yourself because of the concussion, but now I think it’s something else.” Water ran into Jamie’s eyes and he couldn’t see Roy move, wasn’t prepared for the soft pressure of his mouth. Jamie immediately parted his lips, trying to deepen the kiss, but the contact was brief and fleeting.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Help me wash up.” He caught Jamie’s wrist. “Just wash up.”
Jamie nodded and took the soap. He carefully worked up a lather and spread the soap over Roy’s skin. He was moving much slower than Roy did, wondering if he was having a concussion dream. Maybe he was still unconscious out on the pitch? That would make so much more sense than anything else that had happened in the past 24 hours--or 48 hours? 72? How the fuck long has he been hanging out with Roy--or in this fantasy? Where was his phone? He pushed all of that out of his mind, because it really didn’t matter. He’d have to return to the real world sooner or later, and the real world was full of even more difficult questions that he did not want to grapple with. So best to just focus on the shower, and Roy.
After they were both soaped up and rinsed off, Roy shut off the water and wrapped him in a towel. The towel was nice, but Jamie couldn’t help but feel disappointed. What was the protocol for sex and concussions? Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be fooling around while he was concussed. His cock didn’t care about that at all, his flesh still full and throbbing while he dried off, though Roy hadn’t given him any further attention in that area.
“I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to let it go to your head.”
“Yes, coach.”
The corner of Roy’s mouth slanted. “I have never seen anybody, not even fucking Zava, do what you did out there. You had the ball and were a hundred feet down the pitch before anybody even realized what happened. And it…made me…excited.” He took Jamie’s hand and brought it to his cock, which seemed to be pulsing just at the memory. Jamie had never heard Roy talk like this, the softer tone, the words precise without being sharp. “So, tonight, you get to choose your reward.”
“Anything I want?”
Roy nodded.
“Is there like..a time limit here?”
Roy snorted. “Considering the circumstances, no.”
Jamie’s head spun with the possibilities. He didn’t even know where to start or how to start. Roy might have seen that he overwhelmed the younger man, because he gently pushed him back to the edge of the bed and sat him down. He stepped between Jamie’s legs, pushing his knees wide before dropping to his own. Jamie sucked his breath in sharply as Roy’s beard grazed over the head of his cock. His tongue dart out, licked up the thick fluid already gathering at the tip before swirling around the entire head and pulled Jamie’s heated flesh between his lips.
“Oh…oh god…oh god…Coach.”
Cool air fanned across Jamie’s skin as Roy lifted his head. “You can use my name.”
“Oh my fucking god.”
“I’ll answer to that,” Roy said, before closing his mouth around him once again. He fisted the base of Jamie’s length with that hard, firm grip that Jamie liked so, so much, and in contrast, his mouth was hot silk enveloping him. Jamie put his hands flat against the mattress to brace himself, wanting to record every second to his memory because he knew he would be returning to the picture of Roy on his knees in front of him again and again, but Roy put a hand flat on his chest and gently pushed him back until he was laying down. The new position gave Roy a better angle, and his throat closed around Jamie’s far-too-sensitive head, and stars exploded behind Jamie’s eyes.
He was shouting. He heard himself in a very distant way, like the sound was coming from somebody else. Roy didn’t tell him to stop or try to silence him. The pressure built at the base of his spine and he knew he was not going to be able to last very long. How could anybody withstand the heat and pressure of Roy’s mouth, and the way he moved his tongue, and the little vibrations that meant he was moaning along? Not only could Jamie not withstand it for very long, he knew he would do absolutely fucking anything--anything--to feel it again. If Roy wanted him to fucking grow wings and learn how to fly over the pitch, Jamie would find a way.
“Coach…Roy…I’m so…I’m…” He didn’t know if he was trying to get Roy to stop so he could back up from the edge or keep going. Roy did not stop. Jamie slammed his hips forward, pushing himself as deep as he could go before exploding, and Roy didn’t pull away, held him until Jamie was spent and so fucking sensitive and still completely on fire.
“Please…please fuck me…Coach…Roy…please…please…I need…” Jamie wasn’t quite aware of what he was begging for because of the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, he couldn’t hear anything or think straight at all. He burned everywhere, and his cock was already getting hard again. “Please…I’m sorry…please…I just…I need you.”
“Shh.” Roy’s lips, salty with the taste of Jamie’s own cum skimmed his mouth. “I told you…you get to choose your reward.”
Yes, this had to be a dream. The best dream he ever had. One he hoped he would never forget because nothing in the real world would live up to this. Nothing would be better than watching Roy prepare himself with lube from his nightstand, stroking his own cock until it was full and glistening in the light. Nothing was going to be better than Roy maneuvering Jamie’s body, lifting his legs to wrap around his waist, so he could fit himself snugly at Jamie’s opening.
“Now, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to handle this position because of my knee. We might need to switch soon.”
Jamie nodded frantically. Yeah, okay. Whatever. Tell him what to do, where to move, how to move, when to move, he would do it. Anything. Anything so that Roy wouldn’t stop. There was a little initial resistance, but Jamie bore down, pushing until he felt himself stretch and then Roy was filling him, and it was so much better than anything Jamie had ever imagined. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to watch and see if it was good for Roy, too, but then Roy started moving his hips and that impossible hunger snarled for more. His legs tightened automatically, like he wanted to hold Roy as deep as he could and never let another inch come between them.
As if that wasn’t enough, Jamie’s hands were moving, touching Roy everywhere. He wanted to map every inch of skin, feel the thick thatch of hair on his chest, and the scars from years of body blows and falls, wanted to know the ripple of his muscles, feel how solid he was when he flexed with each stroke.
“Jamie…gonna roll over.”
The world turned around him and suddenly he was a straddle Roy and he pushed back, claiming every inch he could.
“Fuck!” Roy’s fingers dug into his hips and his head dropped back, the long cords of his neck standing out against the skin. Jamie buried his face against his throat, licking at the drops of sweat he found there and biting at the firm muscle while he set a furious pace, moving his hips with as much force and energy as he could muster. Roy’s arms closed around him, caging him, forcing him to stay in full contact, chest against chest.
For the first time in a very long time, Jamie felt completely unleashed. A doctor might have cautioned that was far too much exertion for somebody with his injury, but Jamie didn’t feel it at all. Instead he unreleased the energy that he’d been forced to pent up and everything he couldn’t leave out on the pitch. His mouth left thoughtless marks and bites all over Roy’s throat and chest, and the moans and profanities he pulled from Roy sweetened every moment until he was at that breaking point again.
His cock was trapped between them, sliding between their stomachs with just enough friction to keep him on the edge. He didn’t want to come again just yet. Not until Roy did. But he was close. And each second brought him closer until…
“Coach!”
Jamie didn’t know if it was the word itself that broke Roy, but he made a ragged, wordless sound and then Jamie felt the heat of his orgasm. Jamie’s body shook with the force of his own climax and he shuddered as he slowed, then finally lay still. It took him several attempts to catch his breath and good god, what if Roy never wanted to do that again? It seemed like that thought might be premature when Roy fisted his hair and pulled him into a deep, slow kiss.
“Fuckin’ Jamie Tartt,” Roy muttered.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m all sticky. We’re gonna have to take another shower.”
“Mmm.”
“Get up then.”
“I’m too tired.”
“I’m not carrying you into the bathroom. You fucked up my back.”
“Well, give me a second then. My brain was already a bit scrambled before you fucked ‘em out of my ears.”
Roy huffed a laugh, and the thought returned--the one that was coming up again and again--that maybe Coach did actually like him.
###
Jamie didn’t particularly want to go home alone and he really didn’t want to leave Roy’s, so he just stayed. Roy seemed happy enough to let him loaf around because neither of them was going to the practice facility. Jamie wasn’t quite sure if they were like, actually quitting the team, or just waiting until word came down that Zava was gone, but he didn’t ask. He did not want to see that prick again, ever. He didn’t want to share a locker room with him. He didn’t want to be on the pitch with him. And he sure as fuck didn’t want to play for a team that would choose a dirty player over him.
Roy seemed to think he earned a few days off. They could have been training even if they weren’t actually going into work, but other than showing Jamie where his personal gym was and letting him know that if broke anything Roy would kill him, he didn’t seem to care if Jamie trained or not. Not sure where his new boundaries were, he wore Roy’s robes and ate his food and watched his telly and slept in his bed and waited for Roy to let him know when he crossed a line. Mostly, he followed Roy around like a puppy dog on his heels, looking for attention, or affection, or punishment, or really any scraps Roy wanted to throw his way.
In all, it felt like being on holiday.
Until the morning Keeley walked in on them.
Jamie didn’t know she still had keys to Roy’s flat, so it never occurred to him that was a possibility. She’d been so quick to return his keys, seemed like she would have given Roy’s back straight away when he dumped her. But apparently not. Jamie didn’t actually see her come in. He’d teased Roy about being old until he got a proper rise out of him, and then Roy had forced him to his knees--the way Jamie had hoped he would--so Jamie was completely distracted when she came in. He didn’t see her but she certainly got an eyeful of him.
“Oh my god. Roy?”
Roy’s reaction was immediate--he pushed Jamie away hard enough to send him backward to the ground and tucked himself back in his shorts.
“Keeley. Keeley, wait.”
Jamie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, watching as the two of them disappeared down the hall, Roy calling after her the entire time. Fuck. That was it then. His little holiday was over and maybe also his career. He pushed himself to his feet and thought about following them, but why invite both of their anger? He didn’t want to hear Roy reassure her that Jamie meant absolutely nothing, just a little fun, considering how much of his waking, and dreaming, thoughts were now consumed by the other man.
He went the opposite direction, upstairs to the bedroom where his few belongings were. The phone full of messages asking if he was all right, his duffle bag and kit from the match. He thought about calling somebody to pick him up but there was absolutely nobody he wanted to see him in that state. He’d duck out the back garden and flag a cab and go home and get drunk for a few days.
“Oi, what are you doing?”
“Getting my stuff together.”
“Why?”
“Going home, aren’t I.”
“Going home?”
“Yeah. I’m not your prisoner here, am I?”
“No. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”
“Then get out of my way.”
Roy crossed his arms and didn’t move away from the door. “I mean, I’m a little surprised that what you want to do is be a little bitch.”
“What the fuck does that mean? You’re the one who went chasing after Keeley like a lovesick puppy. And I get it, yeah? But I don’t need a front fucking row view of it. Just…let me go home, man.”
“You still love her?”
“What do I need to do? Jump out the fucking window?”
“Just answer the fucking question.”
“No. I moved on a long time ago.”
“Then what’s your fucking problem.”
“You are, you fucking wanker.” He pushed past Roy but he didn’t make it far before Roy grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back. “Oi, what the fuck you doing?”
“I told Keeley to give me back my keys and to go.”
“But you still love her.”
“Yeah, maybe, I don’t fucking know, actually. But she’s not here. You are. And I was hoping you’d stay a bit longer.”
“Why? I’m not even sure you even like me.”
“I like you, Jamie.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, god help me, I do.”
Jamie’s resolve to leave weakened considerably. Especially since Roy’s hand was still on his shoulders, and his fingers flexed, massaging him a little and coaxing him closer. “Even though I’m a fragile little bitch?”
Roy tilted his head, skimmed Jamie’s lips with the lightest pressure. Just enough to make Jamie a little weak in the knees. “Despite that fact.”
“You got me all fucked up in my head,” Jamie muttered.
“I know the feeling.”
“Knock, knock! Roy! You home?” Ted’s voice drifting up from the entryway.
“Jesus christ, does everybody have a set of fucking keys?”
“No, I forgot to lock the door,” Roy muttered. “I’ll get rid of him.”
“I mean, what’s going on? Is he here to sack us?”
“I’ll be right down!” Roy shouted over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Stay here, I’ll go find out.”
“Does he know I’m here with you?”
“Don’t know.”
From where Jamie stood, he could hear everything without being seen. “Hey, Roy. Sorry for just dropping in without calling, but you’re not answering any of my calls.”
“Were you calling to tell me you’ve sent that prick packing?”
“No.”
“Well, it was nice talking to you.”
“Wait, wait, wait, Roy. It’s not that simple.”
“Uh, yes it fucking is.”
“Okay, but it’s not that easy. Rebecca didn’t want to cut him at first.”
“Well, it’s her fucking team, isn’t it? Nice talking to you.”
“Yes, it is, but there’s been a development. The rest of the team walked out of training and have also refused to return, so she’s agreed to let me move Zava to second team.”
“And King Prick has agreed to that?”
“Well, for now.”
“Not good enough.”
“How’s Jamie doing?”
“What makes you think I know?”
“You mean he isn’t here? Keeley told me she dropped the two of you off here after Man City, and I went to Jamie’s house first and it looks like nobody’s been there for a while, so I was hoping I’d find him here.”
“He’s recovering.”
“Roy, I don’t like what happened any more than you do. I’m trying to keep this team together right now and I can’t do it without you.”
“You don’t have a team right now, Coach Lasso. You have a thug in football boots.”
“Coach Lasso? Wow, okay. I can see I didn’t take the situation as seriously as I should have been.”
“I’m as serious as a fucking heart attack. I fucking see that guy again, I will fucking kill him. Do you think I’m exaggerating?”
“No…No, Roy I don’t. Especially since he’s still sporting a black eye. But Jamie’s doing okay?”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to give that asshole another chance to knock his head off.”
“I know. Okay, Roy, well I’ll be in touch.”
Jamie dropped his duffel, no longer thinking about leaving. This wasn’t the first time he heard Roy vow to kill Zava, but it was the first time he realized that it wasn’t an idle threat. And it wasn’t because Roy was defending the integrity of football or sport or some such bullocks like that.
“You punched him?” Jamie asked when Roy returned.
“Punched him? No. I head-butted him. Ran right out there on the pitch and tried to take his head off.”
“On the pitch? Kinda sorry I missed that.”
“It was on the news. A lot. I’m sure somebody could get you a tape.” Roy sank to the bed beside him. “Then I wouldn’t let anybody but the medics near you…at all…since then. And I don’t fucking know why. Not like you’re in danger. You can go home, if you want. Or any fucking where, I guess.”
“I kind of just want to go to bed, Coach,” Jamie said, whipping his shirt off and laying back against the pillows.
Roy smiled and shook his head. “Jamie fuckin’ Tartt.”
He grabbed Jamie by the ankles and tugged him down, flat to his back, and threw a leg over him, straddling his hips, grinding down on his groin. Jamie naturally rose to meet him, their mouths clashing. Roy caught his wrists and held his hands over his head, pinning him in place while lips roved over the line of his jaw and down to the pulse of his neck. He alternated between biting and sucking on the pulsing flesh, pulling on the skin so hard that Jamie cried out before licking, soothing the sting away.
The hand that wasn’t holding his wrists slid between their bodies and closed around Jamie’s shaft. Stretched out and pinned, he could do nothing to resist the assault from Roy’s mouth or the burning friction on his cock. When he bucked his hips, Roy pushed him back down and squeezed his knees against the sides of his thighs. Jamie didn’t want to resist him, didn’t want to get away. He closed his eyes, waves of pleasure rolling down his spine.
Roy’s mouth didn’t linger on his throat. Once he left a purple mark there he moved to the side of his neck, just below his ear, and then to his shoulder, his pec, the inside of his arm. There’d been incidental marks before, bruises here or there in the heat of things, but never anything this intentional. Like Roy was claiming him, leaving no room to doubt just who Jamie Tartt belonged to. He left that trail of hard, red kisses all the way down Jaime’s body, moving his grip from his wrists to his hips, holding him flat to the mattress while he devoured Jamie’s cock.
Jamie bit the back of his hand to try to stifle the shout forming in his throat, eyes wide and locked on the ceiling spinning over his head. The suction from Roy’s mouth was incredible and overwhelming, like he was determined to break Jamie as soon as possible, and he was definitely going to succeed at that. His blood was already thrumming--one, two, three hard sucks on his head and Jamie erupted. Roy lifted his head, but he wasn’t done. Instead of cleaning Jamie up, he spread his cum over his skin, fisting him until he was hard and slick.
“What--” Jamie started, but Roy put a finger against Jamie’s lips, stopping his question. Jamie opened his mouth, licking the come and sweat from the skin before pulling it between his teeth and sucking on the skin. Roy lifted up on his knees and repositioned himself, and it was only when Jamie felt the hot ridge of flesh against his cock that he realized what was happening. Roy sank back, pushing himself down and down until he was fully seated and Jamie’s cock was twitching and jumping against Roy’s tight flesh.
Jamie couldn’t move, didn’t even know if he should be. Roy tilted his head to the side, giving him a quizzical look.
“You know how to fuck, don’t you Tartt? Or do I need to show you how to do that, too.”
“Twat.” He bent his knees, bracing his feet flat against the mattress and shooting his hips up. Roy began to lift himself but Jamie caught him, gripped him by the hips and forced him back down, holding him in place while he rolled his hips. It was a good move--one that worked on the girls and the boys, and it got the desired reaction out of Roy, too. Jamie moved one hand to wrap around Roy’s prick, stroking it in time to his thrusts, smiling as Roy dropped his head back, his breath ragged and panting after only seconds.
Roy looked like some sort of Greek god rising above him, his skin gold and shining, stretched taut over his muscles. And Jamie’s mouth--so good at getting him in and out of trouble, but mostly into it--couldn’t be helped. The sentiment had been building for too long, the words bitten back so many times that they were bound to rebel sooner or later. It all came pouring out in a rush, in a blur, and he was spilling his guts. Most of it was lost under the sound of ragged breathing and flesh hitting flesh, but three words were clear as a bell, still echoing in the air between them long after they broke apart.
"Love you, Coach."
###
The next time they heard from Ted, it was good news. Zava was gone, bored of England, disgusted at the thought of being second team. Roy and Jamie could return without danger of Roy catching a charge for murder, and the rest of the team agreed to return for training. Jamie was excited to get back to playing, excited to get back to his team, excited to show them that they really didn’t need Zava to keep winning.
He slept in his own bed the night before his return to training. Well, tossed and turned in his own bed. He didn’t get very much sleeping done. He’d said too much, done too much, let Roy see too much. It was easier when people thought he was all just surface with no depth--then they didn’t look for anything. He wasn’t even entirely sure that they would be meeting at four in the morning like their previous arrangement, but Jamie intended to be there, even if his stomach was tied into knots. Truth be told, he was more nervous than the night before his very first professional game.
What if Roy thought it over and decided he didn’t want to train Jamie anymore? What if he realized that Jamie was far too emotionally attached to him and decided he needed to put an acceptable distance between them? Jamie would have no choice but to accept it. Wouldn’t let him see how much that hurt. Fortunately, he had plenty of practice disguising his hurts and heartbreaks, but this was different.
Once the clock flashed three am, he could give up any pretense of sleeping, and he jumped out of bed. Showered. Shaved. Dressed. Undressed. Dressed again. It wasn’t like he actually expected Roy to return the sentiment. He never expected Roy to return that sentiment. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t expect to hear it from anybody. Nobody that really mattered, anyway. He could find any number of Instagram models who would be happy to tell him that they loved him after a night together, but that wasn’t what he was looking for.
He just wanted things to be normal. Normal training, normal locker room, normal team, normal match, normal life. He wanted his days in Roy’s house to be his normal life.
He tried to eat some fruit for breakfast. Tried to drink his tea. Nothing was working right. Nothing felt right. He gave up on having breakfast and grabbed his duffel, not sure what he would do with himself if he got there and Roy wasn’t waiting for him. Well, he knew what he would do. He would get back to the routine Roy made for him and show everybody that he was the best.
But when he got to the training pitch, a familiar figure was waiting for him in the pre-dawn darkness.
“Oi! Tartt! Get your ass moving. You think I’m going to take it easy on you just because you had a concussion?”
“No, Coach.”
“Get over here.”
Jamie obediently trotted over. “Yes, coach?”
Roy fisted his shirt, pulling him close and pressing a hard, brief kiss to his mouth. “You feelin’ alright?”
“I’m feeling good.”
“Good. Get your ass in gear. Got a lot of time to make up for.”
Jamie smiled, a weight falling away from his shoulders. This morning when he started running, it felt like his feet weren’t even touching the ground.