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It starts when Roy is on his way out to an evening yoga class.
“Babe…” Keeley says, leaning on the doorframe to their bedroom with a look on her face that means she’s about to say something she’s not sure if he’ll like. “Are you going out?”
“Yoga class,” Roy replies by way of explanation.
“Oh, well…” she pauses. “It’s just, Jamie might come round later. He’ll probably be here when you get back. Is that okay?”
Roy stops.
It's clear from Keeley’s tone that Jamie isn’t just coming round for a cup of tea and a chat. It’s been a few weeks since the last time Jamie was here, well, since turned up on the doorstep in the rain, drunk and soaked to the skin. A few weeks since they… well.
An image of Jamie springs into his head, Jamie naked and on his hands and knees on the bed upstairs, red imprints of Roy’s hand blooming on the skin of his ass. The noise Jamie had made as Keeley pushed two slick fingers inside him.
“Fine.” Roy says, blinking the thoughts away, swinging his gym bag onto his shoulder and heading out the door.
“Cool, see you later!” Keeley goes up on her tip toes to press a kiss goodbye to his cheek. “Love you!”
Roy drives to his yoga class in silence.
Alone in his car, Roy can admit to himself that he has been a bit…. Confused lately. He hasn’t talked about it with Keeley. To be honest, he's avoided even thinking about it as much as possible. Talking about it to Keeley would have meant acknowledging it out loud, making it real. And thinking about it just gives him a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. No: much safer to silently hope it will go away if he ignores it, the way he deals with most of his problems off pitch.
It’s not that Roy is jealous of Jamie being with Keeley. Actually, a part of it is that he’s aware that he probably should be jealous, and he isn’t. Seeing the two of them together should have made him angry. Watching his girlfriend fuck herself on her ex’s cock should not have turned him on.
Fuck, he probably shouldn’t have been turned on by Jamie full stop. That part wasn’t a new realisation, more something that Roy sort of already knew about himself but has never... addressed. Before that night he’d never needed to. How had Keeley known? Or had it just been a lucky guess? Roy wouldn’t put it past her to have worked it out somehow, that baffling way that she does, like when she knows exactly how to deflect a journalist’s most awkward questions, or wordlessly passes him her moisturiser at bed time when his elbows are getting dry.
Roy has seen Jamie since… since that night. Roy’s a coach now, he’s seen him almost every day. Barked orders at him, watched him strut round the club, not that much different from normal. Jamie is Jamie, regular, infuriating Jamie.
Maybe Roy is making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe Jamie has threesomes all the time. Maybe he fucks men all the time — or finds men to fuck him. Maybe that was just a regular Tuesday for him.
Roy sighs. He knows that isn’t true. What was it that Keeley had explained to him — in hushed tones while Jamie sat in their kitchen? That this was something Jamie needed that he couldn’t get anywhere else. That it was something she’d been thinking about. How it could be fun. Both her boys together.
And the morning after, over breakfast, Jamie had looked at Keeley with an expression on his face that Roy had never seen before, like they’d somehow cracked him open and exposed the raw flesh inside.
Roy’s done enough fucking to know that it can be just that. Fucking. But even if Keeley hadn’t explained all that to him before, Roy would have known from that look that… this was something different. More. And it’s that fucking look on Jamie's face that had freaked Roy the fuck out way more than the actual fucking.
When he’d looked at Keeley, though, she’d been smiling. Looking at both of them and smiling, and while Roy trusts Jamie about as far as he can kick him, he thinks at least Keeley knows what she’s doing. Keeley isn’t going to fuck this up.
Roy’s watch beeps and he realises he’s been sat in his car in the gym car park glaring into space for ten minutes and he’s dangerously close to being late to his yoga class. “Fuck,” he growls quietly to himself, and steps out into the evening air.
The yoga class is fine. Roy likes the teacher who runs it on Wednesdays, she doesn’t go in for too much of the spiritual woo-woo bullshit like some of the other teachers, and there’s always a decent breathing exercise at the start followed by a flow that stretches Roy's whole body.
Tonight though, he's having trouble focusing. Whenever there's more than a few breaths in the same pose Roy’s mind wanders, no matter how many times he tries to yank it back, tries to focus on his breathing or the stretch of his muscles.
His mind wanders to Keeley, the way she looked on top of Jamie, the way Jamie shuddered when Roy rolled one of his nipples between his fingers. "Play with his tits," Keeley had told him. Jamie had come then, just like that. Roy’s mind wanders to the way Jamie felt when Roy pushed his cock inside him, hot and tight, and the way all fight had drained out of him.
"Left leg forward,” the teacher repeats and jolts Roy back to the present where he is still in downward facing dog and the rest of the class is already in runner's lunge. Fuck.
There’s no clock in the yoga studio, and it seems to Roy that the class drags on far longer than usual. Surely it’s nearly over now, he thinks to himself about five separate times before they finally settle into corpse pose.
Lying on the mat in the dark, Roy makes another futile attempt to clear his mind before giving it up as a lost cause. He’s moved on to imagining scenarios now — what might be happening between Keeley and Jamie back home? Are they fucking? Did Keeley put that plug inside Jamie again? Is she spanking him? Keeley has a pair of those fluffy handcuffs, for some reason Roy’s brain gets stuck on the image of her putting them on Jamie, fastening his hands to the bed frame, spreading him out and fingering him open.
Roy jumps up almost as soon as the teacher allows, not stopping to talk to Julie or the rest of the regular crowd, heading straight to the changing rooms to take the quickest shower known to man.
He drives straight back home, trying to ignore how sweaty his palms feel on the steering wheel and the fact that his cock has been half-hard in his shorts since the final meditation.
The house is quiet when he gets in. Roy shuts the door behind him, drops his keys on the side and lets his bag fall from his shoulder. False alarm, maybe. Keeley hadn’t sounded certain when he left, maybe Jamie didn’t come round after all and Roy’s got himself all twisted up over nothing. Or maybe Jamie really has just come for a cup of tea and a catch up. There’s a pang of something in his stomach — but whether it’s relief or disappointment or some mutant mix of the two, Roy isn’t sure.
Then Keeley calls out from the living room. “Roy? Babe, we’re in here.”
After only a second of hesitation, Roy goes.
In the living room, Keeley is sitting on the sofa, a large glass of white wine in her hand. Jamie is on the floor at her feet. At first glance Roy think’s he’s naked, but then he blinks and realises Jamie is wearing only a jockstrap, which is somehow even worse.
Jamie is kneeling between Keeley’s legs, head resting on one of her thighs as she pets his hair with the hand that isn’t holding the wine. He doesn’t look up as Roy comes in. Keeley’s cheeks are flushed. She’s wearing a skirt and from this angle Roy can’t see whether she still has her underwear on underneath it. There’s a prickle of arousal, and Roy’s cock, which had flagged on the drive home, starts to thicken in his pants.
Keeley smiles at Roy and pats the sofa cushion next to her. “Come and sit down, babe. How was yoga?” Her tone is light, like there isn’t a mostly naked Jamie on the floor by her feet.
Roy blinks. The moment stretches out for a beat longer than comfortable. That’s when Jamie looks up at him, and scoffs, rolling his eyes. There’s a familiar challenge in his expression that Roy has always had trouble not rising to. Roy sits down. “It was yoga.” He says.
Keeley nods, encouraging. “Cool. Want some wine? It’s the white from the—”
“No.” Roy cuts her off. He doesn’t want to drink wine. He doesn’t want to sit here and babble about wine either. He looks pointedly at Jamie. Jamie smirks back. Only he could kneel mostly naked on someone else’s living room floor and look that cocky about it. Roy notices that he hasn’t said a word yet, which is bizarre enough to make Roy even more nervous.
“Oh yeah, Jamie came round,” Keeley says, unnecessarily. And then, “He’s got something to show you.”
“Has he now?” Roy prepares for… what? All his imagination, that until now has been so active, so ready to supply him with images of Jamie and Keeley together, has deserted him. He’s looking at the way Jamie’s bare ass looks framed by the elastic of the jockstrap, the fuzz of hair on his thighs. The way Keeley’s long, elaborately-manicured nails look in his hair, the way they must feel scratching against his scalp.
“Yeah,” Keeley says, “he’s been practicing.”
Practicing what? Roy is about to say, but the words die in his throat as Keeley shifts closer to the edge of the sofa, adjusts her skirt and pulls Jamie towards her with a grip on his hair. Under her skirt she’s wearing a harness — it takes Roy a dizzying second to realise — a harness and one of her cocks from the box under the bed upstairs. It's the purple, silicone one. Long but not too thick, the approximation of a rounded tip at the end is its only nod to anatomical reality. Roy has seen it before, drying in the shower, watched Keeley fuck herself with it once when she was trying to wind him up.
It doesn’t click until Keeley keeps pulling Jamie forward and Jamie goes, getting closer and closer until his lips bump against Keeley’s cock and his eyes close and his mouth opens for it. Jamie takes the cock into his mouth, lips wrapped carefully around his teeth, he lets Keeley pull him down, until his mouth is stretched wide around it, until Roy is sure that the tip of it must be hitting the back of his throat. Keeley guides him back, and then pulls him down again even further, so there’s just a few inches of purple silicone visible.
When Keeley pulls him off he keeps his eyes shut and leans his head against her thigh, catching his breath. There’s a flush rising on his cheeks. Roy wonders how long they’ve been ‘practicing’ like this.
“What do you think?” Keeley asks, and it takes Roy a moment to realise she’s talking to him.
“Oh,” Roy manages. He wants to play along with their game but he’s not sure how. Is he supposed to be in coach mode here? Give Jamie some constructive feedback? Shout at him to be more of a team player? Instead he goes with, “yeah. Very, er, impressive.”
Keeley beams at him. She reaches across and squeezes Roy’s thigh, a look on her face that’s just for Roy, encouraging and eager. “Yes. I thought so too. It’s just…” she drinks some wine, other hand back to petting Jamie’s hair absent-mindedly. “Well, he’s already practiced on my cocks. And this is the biggest one I have…” She pouts.
“Oh,” Roy says, beginning to see where this is going.
“And I was thinking, if he wants to get really good, he should probably try something bigger.”
“Yeah.” Roy clears his throat. “Good idea.”
Jamie shuffles over to Roy on his knees. This is happening. Roy realises it’s his turn to do something, and he hastily pushes his gym shorts down and to get his cock out. It doesn’t take much to get himself to full hardness. Just walking in and seeing them like this — Jamie on the floor, bare ass framed by the elastic of his jock strap, Keeley above him — had almost been enough.
Roy shifts to the edge of the sofa and spreads his thighs. It feels bizarre, sitting here with his cock out, like he’s been the victim of some prank. There’s a moment where Roy is half expecting Jamie to pull back, shake his head and laugh in Roy’s face, brush it all off. Roy can hear his laughter in his head — “You really thought?”
But instead Jamie licks his lips and glances up, meeting Roy’s gaze for a second before tearing his eyes away. In that second Roy sees a very un-Jamie-like expression, his usual confidence faltering. He’s very naked, Roy realises, looking down at Jamie in a daze. There are freckles on the tops of his shoulders. If Roy feels strange sitting here, dick in hand, how must it be for Jamie, kneeling on the carpet in front of two people who are still basically fully clothed?
Roy doesn’t get the chance to think anything more about it, though, because the next moment Jamie is leaning forward and opening his mouth.
His mouth on Roy’s cock is hot and wet. He takes just the tip at first, hesitant, but the next second he pulls back a little, adjusts, and when he rocks forward he takes it deeper. Jamie holds him there for a second, little rocks back and forth. He’s got both hands on Roy’s thighs, and the span of them holding Roy’s legs open feels — well, different. The stubble on his cheeks prickles the inside of Roy’s thighs when he leans in close. Roy notices this, notices that he… doesn’t hate it.
Roy has thought about like this before. Nothing as elaborate as this whole scene — the horny part of his brain tends to be just as straightforward as the rest of him — but he’s pictured Jamie on his knees, Roy’s cock in his mouth. He tried not to make a habit of it, he always thought they weren’t really captain-ly thoughts to have. But every so often Jame would do or say something especially brattish and Roy couldn’t help it. It’s certainly an effective way to shut him up.
Real life Jamie sucking his cock is nothing like the Jamie Roy had guiltily imagined, though. Real life Jamie’s cheeks are red with effort and his eyes are closed and his chin is wet, messy with his own saliva.
It’s not the best head Roy has ever recieved, but that doesn’t matter. No lack of technique is ever going to outweigh the sight of Jamie Tartt enthusiastically chocking himself on Roy’s cock.
Keeley puts a hand on Roy’s thigh over one of Jamie’s. She squeezes. “He’s good at that, isn’t he, Roy?” She says, looking only at Roy. “When he does that thing with his tongue?”
At this, Jamie bobs up, flicks his eyes open and circles his tongue slowly around the tip of Roy’s cock. While he does that he takes a hand from Roy’s thigh and circles his thumb and forefinger around the rest of it, slowly moving his hand up and down the slick length, jerking Roy off into his own mouth. He circles his tongue again, harder this time. Roy’s head fall back against the sofa cushion, “Fuck,” he says, hips twitching, breathing heavily, arousal burning its way through his whole body.
Jamie smirks up at him. Roy isn’t sure how that’s possible with his mouth so occupied, but somehow he manages it. He looks filthy. Roy likes it.
Keeley takes one of Roy’s hand and moves it to Jamie’s head. “You can pull his hair. Fuck his face a bit. He likes it.”
Roy swallows. He tightens his grip experimentally, pulling Jamie forward and moving his hips. Jamie lets out a kind of muffled groan, Roy can feel the vibration of it from the back of Jamie’s throat through his cock. “Fuck,” Roy says again, as he fucks Jamie Tartt’s face on his cock and watches as Jamie’s eyes flick closed and all the fight drains out of him and he leans into Roy’s touch.
Jamie likes this, Roy realises, with a spike of baffled arousal. Roy enjoys being on the receiving end of blowjobs, but he’s always felt vaguely guilty for his partners at the same time. It has never occurred to him that sucking someone’s cock could be a pleasurable thing in itself.
He’s stuck by the sudden image of himself pulling Jamie off his cock and slapping him. An open-handed slap right across his cheek, hard enough to snap his face to the side and leave him gasping. The image itself is nothing new — he’s fantasised about slapping Jamie plenty of times before — but what’s different is that in this scenario, Roy is certain that Jamie would like it.
Its almost enough to finish him off. “I’m going to— Fuck.” Roy says, pulling Jamie’s hair a little harder in warning. Jamie doesn’t pull away. He’s close to losing control, he can feel it. “Jamie—”
“Come in his mouth,” Keeley says, eagerly.
And that’s all it takes for pleasure to spill over, and Roy comes with a groan onto Jamie’s tongue, holding him down, and Jamie takes it and swallows.
Roy lets him go almost immediately, so the last few drops of Roy’s come land on his lips. Jamie licks them up, a dazed expression on his face. He sags back onto his heels, mouth red, hair a mess, chin wet with saliva, and are those tears at the corner of his eyes? He looks ruined.
“That,” Jamie says, after clearing his throat, “was hot as fuck.” They’re the first words Roy has heard him speak all night.
“How did he do?” Keeley turns to Roy. Her eyes are a little glassy, cheeks pink. But there’s also a touch of pride in her expression.
“Good,” Roy says, brain too scrambled to dredge up any other words. “Very… good.”
Keeley nods, then turns her attention to Jamie, who has sagged forward, sitting with his forehead against Roy’s knee. “Jamie, why don’t you show us how much you enjoyed it?”
Jamie smirks and leans backward, supporting himself on one hand as he reaches down with the other to his own cock. It’s hard, and there’s a wet patch where it’s been leaking against the white fabric of the jockstrap. Roy wonders whether he’s already come earlier in the night, whether Keeley let him, or whether she’s been working him up to this.
Jamie puts on a show as he fists his cock, biting his lip and pumping his hips, sneaking a look at both of them under his eyelashes. He has the kind of physique that Roy has only ever been able to achieve after two days fasting and quick sets of sit ups before whatever photoshoot or press opportunity, but for some reason Roy doesn’t find it so annoying when he’s showing it off like this.
“Look at him,” Roy says to Keeley. “Tartt by name, tart by nature.”
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Fuck you,” he says, voice strangled. His hand speeds up and he comes all over his sharply defined abs.
It takes them a while to figure out a comfortable cuddling position for all three of them on the sofa. In the end the manage it, Roy as the big spoon leaning against an arm rest with Keeley between his legs, her back to his chest. Keeley pulls Jamie up last, and he settles with his head pillowed on her breasts.
Roy relaxes into it for as long as he is able to. But as much as he loves cuddling, it’s like in the yoga class before, his mind just won’t stay where he puts it.
Roy clears his throat. “Should we… talk about. This?” He regrets it as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he feels the cozy warmth between them almost melt away. Keeley lifts her head. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be now. We could talk about it tomorrow. Or any time. Or not at all… If you don’t think… If you two have already…”
“Babe!” Keeley turns her head into his chest and soothes a hand on his arm. She can’t make eye contact with him when they’re lying like this, but her touch feels encouraging. “No, you’re right. I’m so proud of you for bringing it up! Of course we should talk about it. Not now, though.”
Jamie raises his head to scowl at him. “I wanted to talk about it as well.” He says, as though Roy has stolen his answer for a test or something. “I thought you two had it sorted already.”
“I have it sorted,” Keeley says, patting Jamie on the head. “I just didn’t think it would come up for a month or two. No worries.”
“A month or two—? ” Roy splutters. He doesn’t know what alarms him the most, that Keeley is thinking about this one or two months in advance, or that her estimation of their communication skills are so poor.
Keeley shrugs. “What? I thought it was best to wait until one of you brought it up. And in the meantime as long as you both were still enjoying it… I have ideas…” She trails off with a grin and yank of Jamie’s hair. He groans and presses his face between her breasts.
“…Right” Is all Roy can manage. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Keeley always has a plan, and he loves her for it. He leans forward and rubs the stubble of his cheek against her neck in the way he knows she likes. Keeley shivers into him, tilting her chin to give him better access. “Plans, huh?”