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There’s a new spring in Jamie’s steps as they walk down his childhood streets, the three of them all joined up. They are so close that flyaway strands of Keeley’s curls tickle Roy’s nose as he slowly reconsiders all of the things he knows about Jamie Tartt—and they’re way too fucking many—in light of everything they just saw. It makes a twisted kind of sense.
“Oi, Jamie, feeling better?” Keeley asks.
“Yes, sound. Just needed to get my head on straight.”
Like all he needed all along was a bit of a cuddle. Roy doesn’t know what the fuck to make of this. “Tell us next time, right? Before you break down crying in the boots room. If you’re feeling like that, or if you need to… talk to someone, just—”
“What, and you’d listen?”
“Fuck off. I’m a great listener.”
“He really is,” Keeley says, and then she goes and fucking ruins it. “He’s just terrible at talking about himself when he has any problems.”
“So, your, uh—Simon,” Roy asks, only partly to change the topic. “Has he been with your mum long? Seems you’ve known him a while.”
“They’ve been married a few years. We weren’t really close, ‘cos you know, I thought—” He makes a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “But he’s good for her. He’s good people.”
“Lovely man. Great baker,” Keeley chimes in, enthusiastic. “Roy really liked his cast iron pans, didn’t you Roy?”
“Yeah.” Roy nods. “He showed us around.”
“Mmm. Saw the poster, didn’t you?”
Roy whips his head around. He isn’t sure he can read the expression on Jamie’s face, but Keeley’s is clear enough. “Nice hair, there.”
“Shut it.” Roy can own his shitty early-twenties styling choices, but Jamie is sensitive around the topic of hair today, seems like. He can’t shake the memory of Jaime curled up on that sofa in a cosy room with soft warm lights, a dozen frames filled with Jamie’s smiling face.
“Your mum’s lovely, too,” he says, absent-mindedly.
“Yes. I should come up here more often but…” His voice goes from soft to something else—bolder, a bit cheeky. “So, are we getting back to the hotel? Or are you really going to buy me a drink?”
“I’d love to.” And he means it. Drinks with Jamie and Keeley sounds like the ideal way to cap off this strange evening after a weird fucking week—now that Jamie seems more grounded, more himself, and Roy found the courage to say half a word to Keeley and she listened. He feels unburdened right now, mellowed out with gentle affection. He’d let Jamie drag him around town all night and pay for those sticky-sweet drinks he likes, guzzle it down and see where the night goes—any other night of the week. “But…”
They’re in Manchester, to play City, and Jamie’s wearing his Richmond gear and isn’t exactly well-liked these days. It’d take half a second for a picture to be everywhere.
“But,” Jamie says. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take you out tomorrow alright? All the drinks you want. Keeley, you too.”
“Yeah, you will,” she says. “But I’ve got a minibar in my room, you know. Or we can grab something at the hotel bar.”
“Hotel bar sounds great.” It doesn’t, really, but it’s the company that counts—that, and Roy fucking hates minibars on sheer principle. “Drinks on me. Jamie?”
“Dunno. Can I stay up past curfew, coach?”
“Oh, fuck off.” He reaches out across Keeley’s side with his free hand to poke Jamie in the ribs. “We can take them up to Keeley’s room.”
#
They get a car back to the hotel—on Keeley’s account—and get drinks at the bar, one each of some aperitif cocktail that’s mostly juice and fizzy wine. Not that Roy has to watch himself; he isn’t the one who’ll play City tomorrow after a week of shit sleep and a manic breakdown in the boot room—but it doesn’t feel fair, somehow, to indulge when Jamie can’t.
It doesn’t stop him from ordering another one, though, and Jamie looks pleased that Roy it pick enough for seconds. Keeley gets a mojito with a straw and a green paper umbrella, and they carry the drinks up to Keeley’s room, because Jamie really shouldn’t be down at the hotel bar after ten but it feels too early to say goodnight.
He sips from his drink as he watches Keeley kick off her shoes, then sit down on the bed. It’s pretty good, really. Peachy. He swishes it about, staring down into the glass.
“Thanks, Jamie for—you know. Letting us in.” He doesn’t just mean inside the house.
Jamie shrugs. “I mean, couldn’t let you wander round the estate like that. Those scamps would’ve eaten you alive.”
Keeley barks out a laugh. “They were fucking bloodthirsty, weren’t they?”
“Little shits. I mean, I used to be like that.”
Roy’s still fiddling with his glass, ice clinching. “You had dinner, right?”
Jamie’s head whips around. “What?”
“Yesterday, you said you haven’t been eating. But you’ve had dinner tonight, right? You need proper carbs, not cocktail carbs. Fucking… rice carbs, or something.”
“Yes, coach, I had carbs. I ate dinner, and then some ‘cos Simon was very keen to make me try his meat pies while you hid out in my room.”
“We weren’t hiding, he told us to wait there.” Roy had felt awkward about it, a little, feeling an itch like maybe he should do something, offer to help out in the kitchen or… whatever—but he figured that Jamie deserved to speak to his family in peace.
Keeley slurps from her cocktail through the straw. “It was cosy, Jamie. I liked the duvet.”
“Mum bought that for me when I got scouted.” Then he grins. “Got my first blowjob on that duvet, actually.”
Keeley bursts out laughing. Roy tries very hard not to. “Fuck off.”
“What? Being home brings back memories.”
“Mmm. Oi, why’d your mum never come down to watch you play?”
“You’re dead obsessed with my mum, aren’t you?” Jamie says, and Keeley snorts into her drink. Roy ignores both of them.
“I think you are, mate. So it’s fucking weird you never brought her down to London before.”
“Yeah, fair. I mean, last year, I really weren't sure about things at Richmond for months, and then there was Wembley, so. Then this year we had fucking Zava, then we were playing like shit, and then.” He shrugs. “Dunno. She came down for the England matches, but that was it. I like going back home when I can, you know? I like London just fine but—”
“Yeah.”
Roy leaves it at that. He takes another sip and only finds ice, and he’s surprised to feel disappointed. Maybe he should get it again—he wonders what exactly is in it. Sparkling wine, maybe. Jamie would know.
Keeley is looking at Jamie all pensive, her lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. Then she pats the mattress at her side. “Come on, both of you. Let’s get in bed.”
Some spit goes down the wrong way. Roy coughs.
“Keels?” Jamie says, carefully.
“I’ll ring room service and get us an extra bathrobe, alright? I’ve only got one. Don’t think my pyjamas would fit you two. And you can stay here tonight, and Roy and I will make sure you get some real sleep.”
She looks properly self-satisfied, as she should be. “You’re really fucking smart,” Roy says, “Tartt, you in?”
“Uh.” He blinks. “I’m sharing with Arlo.”
“What, and you think he’ll mind it if you don’t show up? Just text him.”
“Say you got another room in the hotel,” Keeley says. “You know, keep it vague. What?” she adds. “You boys gossip.”
“Yeah, we do,” Jamie agrees easily. “So do I just—”
“I’ll get room service,” Keeley says. “There’s towels in the bathroom already, if you want to freshen up. You can use my things.”
“Are you serious?” Roy says. “You never let me use your things—you made me buy my own fucking toothpaste when I was staying at yours, said yours was special and I couldn’t touch it.”
“Because you don’t appreciate it, babe. You get shower gel from Tesco.” That’s a filthy fucking lie; he just doesn’t have a seven-steps skincare routine. “You can use the hotel soap,” she says, and that’s that.
#
They take turns in the bathroom, and at some point someone comes up with another white hotel-branded robe and extra toothbrushes, and Roy wonders what the hell room service think they’re up to in this room. Then he wonders what they are up to, because he’s got no idea either—except that he saw Jamie earlier, thriving under a loving touch, and he wants more of that, and he told Keeley he doesn’t want to be just friends and she’d looked scared but sort of leaned in. And before that, they’d both run halfway across town after Jamie, and then—
“Are we even gonna talk about the fucking posters?”
Jamie shrugs; Roy feels the movement against his shoulder. It’s a big fucking bed, but they’re all pressed up close, tangled up in each other. Jamie is lying on his side, facing Roy, and Keeley’s sitting up against the headboard, staring down at them.
“What’s there to say? I told you about it. I had one of Keeley, too.”
“Oh, I saw it.” He’s very proud of how even his voice sounds, but Keeley kicks his thigh all the same.
“That was such—I mean, the footballs! I’ve done much better shots, Jamie, you know this.”
“Look, I was sixteen. Not exactly refined taste, alright?”
They banter like it’s nothing; Roy lies there feeling odd and not really knowing why. He’s been famous a long time—it’s just a thing; half the people he’s dated over the years were casual fans, and plenty of up-and-coming lads in the League grew up watching him play, in the years since Roy stopped being an up-and-comer himself. But…
“You said you used to have a poster of me, you didn’t say it was still there. From fucking… two thousand and four.” He sounds half-accusing, half bewildered. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s trying to say.
“I think you’re more fit now,” Jamie says. “I mean, if I had to choose.”
“How old even were you?”
“Dunno. Seven or eight.”
“Jesus Christ.”
He feels crushed by responsibility, suddenly, like he’s holding something precious in his hand that he could smash right up. He’s felt like this about Keeley lately, after he wised up to how badly he’d fucked up. He turns his head to get a better look at Jamie’s face.
“Did you just call me fit?”
Something in his voice makes Keeley laugh. “What?” Jamie says, guilelessly. “I’ve got eyes, mate. Don’t fish for compliments.”
He’s got his head thrown back, pressed against Keeley’s hip; Roy can’t remember seeing them so physically close in… ever, really. Since they’d been dating, probably, but Roy hadn’t paid them as much attention back then, had only been vaguely aware that they looked good together.
They still do, honest. Keeley looks gorgeous; Roy thinks of her hand over his own, back in Jamie’s room, her weight shifting on the mattress, the distance between them. Somehow that distance is gone now, even though there’s a whole pretty idiot sandwiched between them. He wants to say something about it, if only he could find the words. It feels like they’re on the edge of something.
“I think…” Keeley says, then pauses. Jamie cuts in.
“Can’t believe you’re having a crisis over my bedroom décor. You should be flattered, man.”
“I am.” For some reason, the words choke up in his throat.
“Oh, I am,” Keeley says, in a very different voice, and Jamie grabs it—he runs with it. Roy can see the hollow of his throat as he swallows, the minute twitch of his eyelashes. The slow, lazy smile.
“Bet you are, kid.”
He’s never seen Keeley and Jamie like this, lazily flirting back and forth. Roy used to roll his eyes at the two of them together, until he started noticing Keeley and then he got furious thinking about it. Now he just shifts around on the bed, rolling on his side so he can see better because they’re fucking lovely together.
He sets his eyes on Jamie’s exposed throat, his lips, the way his hair flops around his head against the bright pink of Keeley’s robe. No hotel-branded loungewear for Keeley; she’s brought her favourite, the one he last saw when he showed up at her door to say sorry and she dragged him inside. His mouth is dry.
“Are you gonna kiss?”
“What?” Jamie’s eyes widen slightly, but not like he’s shocked, or nervous. Bit surprised, maybe. Excited.
“You and Keeley. That’s what we’re doing here, right?”
“Yes,” says Keeley, straightaway. “Told you both to get into bed, didn’t I?”
“And I said you’re fucking smart.”
“Brilliant,” Jamie breathes. “Yeah, I’m… I’d like that.” He gets up on his elbows to get his face by Keeley’s lips, waiting.
Roy doesn’t think he ever really saw them kiss. There had been a whole lot of groping in front of the lads, and cute pecks and lingering hands, but he’s never seen this—Keeley’s hand cupping Jamie’s jaw, their mouths moving together. It’s sexy—he’s got eyes—but more than that, he feels fond. Warm, like.
Keeley pulls back with a smile. “Good, yeah?”
“Yes,” Roy says, and only realises that maybe she was talking to Jamie when the prick laughs in his fucking face, looking a bit smug and a lot happy.
“Shut it.” He doesn’t even mean it. He looks at Jamie’s lips. Jamie’s kissed Keeley before; Roy has kissed Keeley before. This, though, is new. It feels monumental. “Can I—”
He hasn’t even finished before Jamie says, “Fucking hell, yes, Roy, come here,” and they’re kissing, easy as that.
It’d be a lie to say Roy has never thought about this before, but he was always hazy on the details. He isn’t prepared for the hitch of Jamie’s breath against his lips as he presses their foreheads together—not the first time they’ve done that, at least, Roy thinks, and he finds that he’s laughing into their kiss and then Jamie Tartt’s tongue is in his mouth and, okay, he knows what to do with it. It’s a fucking great kiss; it sets off fucking fireworks in his belly. He wonders—if he said so, if Jamie would get all cocky, or if he’d flush and go shy.
“Yeah, that’s really hot, boys,” Keeley says, and Jamie’s mouth slips away long enough to say, “I know right?” and then he’s kissing down Roy’s jaw.
Roy wasn’t expecting that—the wet suction on his neck, the warm pressure of soft lips, the eager simplicity of Jamie Tartt taking what he wants—and what he wants right now is to roll Roy half on top of him. Jamie’s body is solid, all muscle, and there’s something way too fucking hot about the idea of pinning him to the mattress.
“You’re really fuzzy, mate.” Jamie seems to enjoy dragging the back of his fingers over Roy’s chin, across his cheek. “Soft, like. Thought it’d be scratchier.”
Roy snorts a laugh and turns his face to find Keeley right there, kneeling up on the mattress, all bright-eyed and smiling.
“Thought about it a lot, Jamie?”
Her voice is teasing. Jamie doesn’t even blink. “Course. You saw my fucking posters, we’ve already talked about it—I kept that up for a reason even after I said goodbye to Thierry—what?”
Jamie’s face is very close. His eyes, slightly reddened with all the sleep he hasn’t been getting, darting between the two of them. There’s a small frown on his forehead as he takes in Roy’s face. “What is it?”
“Don’t you… I mean, it’s just fucking weird, innit?”
“You’re weird,” Jamie says, right away. He blinks. “What, that I wanked over you when I was fifteen?”
Fucking hell. That goes straight to his dick. Splayed on top of Jamie, hips pressing into Jamie’s thigh, there’s no way he can miss it.
Jamie laughs. “See? Gets you hot. Don’t worry mate, you’re into me, but I’m not fifteen now.”
He presses his thigh up against Roy’s cock, all thick and muscled. Roy buries his face in the crook of Jamie’s neck, the soft hotel robe that smells like fresh laundry, trying to make peace with whatever’s gone off in his brain because, alright, he’s really fucking turned on.
“Yeah, he’s into it,” Keeley says. “Roy, babe, of course you’re getting off on it. You’re you.”
Historically, when Keeley said that last sentence, she sounded more smitten and much less judgemental. Roy sits up and half-turns around to narrow his eyes at her.
“The fuck does that mean?”
“You like your ego stroked.”
“She’s got you there,” Jamie says, properly fucking entertained, and Roy shrugs. Fair enough.
“It is a bit…” Keeley says. “Not like, bad weird. Intense? Like, there’s someone you already want to shag and who tells you, you were my formative sexual fantasy—that’s hot as hell.”
The look she throws Jamie makes it clear that she’s talking from experience.
“So fucking hot, Keeley,” he says, fervently—and holy shit, whatever Jamie’s remembering that is making his face look like that, Roy wants to see for himself. His throat is parched.
“Yeah?” he asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” Jamie says. “Like, for example, you and Keeley should snog a bit where I can watch. To start with. Then someone should get me off.” He licks his lips. “And I want—I mean we shouldn’t stay up late, City tomorrow and that, but you know, next time? I’ve got a whole list.”
There’s something amusing about the way he lays it out—such a brat—but mostly it’s hot as fuck. “Fucking demanding, aren’t you?”
“He talks like that, but he’s really easy to please,” Keeley says as she reaches for him, and then her lips are on his.
Her mouth is soft and eager and familiar, and she tastes faintly like rum and mint. She pushes him back until he’s got his back to the headboard and perches on top of him, straddling his thighs, and Roy kisses her throat and Jamie’s right there, watching it all.
Keeley’s hair smells like jasmine and her smile is beautiful and wicked. “Like this, yeah?” she tells Jamie, all teasing. Roy kisses her neck up to her lips; she grinds down against his cock until he’s panting.
He likes that Jamie is there, looking. His eyes are dark and intent as Roy flips them around, manoeuvring Keeley’s tiny body so that she’s against the headboard and he’s above her. He shrugs off the hotel bathrobe and throws it somewhere off to the side—he’s still got his pants underneath, but when he pushes Keeley’s pink robe off her shoulders he finds that she’s wearing nothing at all, showing a head for strategy that Roy respects immensely. He bends his head down to kiss her tits and she arches up into it, breath hitching.
“Jamie, here,” she calls and, fuck, that’s a fucking brilliant idea. Roy sucks Keeley’s nipple into his mouth and glances up as he does, catching Jamie’s eyes on him—it looks like awe, almost; feels like liquid heat. It puffs Roy right up, makes his head spin, and his dick goes from half-hard to aching within a heartbeat. Maybe Keeley had a point about ego, he thinks, hazily.
He climbs back up to kiss her lips, quick and dirty, then Jamie, so he can whisper into his mouth, “That what you wanted to see?”
“Get back down.” Keeley’s laugh, her push on the back of his neck that makes very clear what she wants from him—apparently, for Roy to eat her out while she snogs Jamie breathless.
He can do that. He licks into her, relentless, tracing the seam of her cunt with his tongue whilst he fucks her with his fingers, chasing the flutters of her swollen-up flesh, the brackish taste of her. Drawing out hushed little moans that come out smothered by Jamie’s mouth, and then Jamie’s groaning too, like there’s a direct line from Roy’s mouth to Jamie’s harsh breaths.
Hot, he thinks, just as Keeley shudders all around him, chokes out, “Babe,” and it sounds all strangled. Roy looks up to see her pink cheeks and wet mouth, and Jamie’s thumb flicking her nipple—he got naked at some point, too, and the view up there is all bare skin and muscle. Roy grinds down against the bed, hips rutting into the bed, chasing friction.
“You’re so fucking lovely,” he marvels, and Jamie laughs.
“I know, right?” he says, the cheeky shit, and Roy has to climb up on his elbow and reach for Jamie’s jaw so he can nip at his lip and shut him the fuck up, and then it’s Keeley who breathes, “Really hot,” and then, “Oi, Kent get back to it.”
“Fucking bossy,” Roy says, but he goes eagerly anyway, stroking his tongue around his fingers, up to her clit. Then there’s a hand over his nape, keeping him there, too large and rough to be Keeley’s, fingers stroking up the back of his neck.
“Hey Keeley, who’s better at that, me or him?”
Jamie’s words startle a laugh out of him. Jamie’s fingers tighten in his hair and give an experimental tug, not hard enough to sting, but Roy likes the feeling of a hand there, grounding. “Bet it’s me. Got more hair to tug on.”
“What the fuck that’s got to do with anything?” Roy asks, except he’s chin-deep in slick-wet cunt and it comes out muffled, obscenely filthy. He thrills in how Keeley’s hips buck up into his mouth, her full-body shiver at the vibration.
“Better grip, innit?”
That makes no sense. But… “You can do that, if you want,” Roy says. “Pull a bit. Push my head down.”
Keeley hums. “Yeah babe, he really likes it.”
“Yeah?” Jamie gives an experimental tug and yeah, it feels good.
Roy presses a kiss into the tensed-up flesh of Keeley’s inner thigh. “Want me to get you off like this?” He drags the stubble of his cheek along her skin, sucks a small red mark right there. “Then Jamie can have a go some other time. You can tell us who’s better.”
He can picture Keeley’s face right now, the fond roll of her eyes, but he can’t miss the way she clamps around his fingers at the suggestion, thighs tensing around his head. He licks down her labia to the noise of rough breathing, a whispered fuck, love, and a slick fleshy sound he’s intimately familiar with—she’s wanking Jamie off, fuck, he’s almost glad he can’t see it. Just the thought is—a lot.
Roy finds himself mindlessly flexing his hips into the bedfm—he slips the hand that had been gripping Keeley’s thigh down his body for some relief, squeezing his dick through his pants, bucking into his own hand. He feels it leaking through the cloth.
Jamie’s hand is still on his head, gripping his hair, not pulling or directing but just there, a solid hold, and Roy likes that he can’t forget it’s the three of them doing this together.
He flicks his tongue against Keeley’s clit with a renewed urge, twisting his fingers inside of her, rubbing his face against her fluttering cunt. He wants to make her come right now; he wants to watch Jamie come. He crooks his fingers through those tiny little shudders, closes his lips around her clit and sucks, and feels her body tremble around him as she comes.
It’s quiet, but her breaths get short and shallow, and she’s gushing against his mouth and chin. Keeley’s fingers stroke up his neck, and Jamie’s hand is there too, still—she and Jamie, touching hands—then she whispers, “That’s it, babe,” and pulls him up for a kiss.
“My turn,” Jamie says cheerfully after Keeley lets him go, but instead of kissing Roy’s mouth he kisses the corner of his lips and then all around it, tiny wet pecks like he’s lapping up the taste of Keeley’s cunt on his face. They’re all sort of snuggled together like this, and Roy feels the hard wet press of Jamie’s cock against his side.
Roy ends up in the middle, which isn’t a bad place to be. Keeley is half-splayed on top of him, her tongue tracing tiny little circles over his chest, her hands wrapped around his wrist in a barely-there hold while she has her fun teasing him, grinding her hips down against his aching cock. He’s still wearing his pants, and the pressure is a pleasant ache.
He turns his head to look at Jamie, who’s lazily stroking up and down his dick, radiating fucking smugness.
“Reality living up to the wet dreams?”
“You can take the piss all you want, it won’t work,” says Jamie, who has no fucking shame. He sounds so immensely proud of himself that Roy doesn’t know if he wants to suck his dick or smother him with a pillow.
He watches Jamie’s throat move as he swallows. “Pretty good. Yeah. But…”
“You okay, love?” Keeley asks.
“Oh, I’m sound. Fucking great. It’s just—uh. We are going to do this again, right? It’s not a tonight-only thing?”
They haven’t talked about it—there’s been no time to talk about it—and Roy doesn’t know what Keeley’s thinking, but.
“I…” He looks at Keeley. “If it’s alright with you?”
“Yes,” she says with none of the hesitancy she had earlier, in Jamie’s room. “I mean, we should talk about it but… yeah. On the table.”
“Good.” Jamie nods. “‘Cos… I wanted to do everything. But probably not the right time for it, yeah?”
“Right, so just pick one thing,” Roy says. Keeley lets go of his wrist to punch his collarbone lightly.
“What?”
“Be nicer,” she hisses. Then she turns to Jamie, eyes all soft. “Jamie, is there something you really want to do right now, or do you want us to pick for you?”
So that’s how it fucking is. Roy should’ve known, really; he can guess what Jamie’s going to say even before he actually does.
“You can pick.” He meets Roy’s eyes. “She was right earlier, you know? I’m really fucking easy.”
“You are,” Keeley agrees, sounding dead fucking delighted. Roy sympathises. “So—Roy. Would you like Jamie to suck you off while I ride him?”
He doesn’t have to answer, really. She can feel how his dick jumps at her words, and she laughs and grinds down into it, angling her face for a kiss.
“That alright with you, Jamie?”
“Absolutely,” Jamie says, with feeling, and it’s like Keeley hit a button and he’s back to the usual Jamie Tartt of it all. “Gonna blow your mind. I’m great at multitasking.”
He shifts, all naked skin on display, and Roy’s eyes are drawn to his flushed cock, heavy and leaking against his thigh. He’s taken by the sudden urge to bite the skin there, to feel those fucking solid quads with his mouth.
Jamie hums. “Can you thrust if you’re kneeling, or is that gonna be an issue? With your old man joints and everything. Or we can do it, like, with my head dangling off the bed and you can stand up and fuck my throat.”
Jesus Christ. The more Jamie talks the more he needs to fuck him, right the fuck now. Keeley shoots him a knowing look, laughing with her whole face.
Jamie’s still going. “I’ve never done it like that but I watched porn of it. Reckon I could pull it off. It’d be hot.”
Roy has a very vivid flash of Jamie waking up with a crick in his neck and needing an emergency physio massage. “Don’t even fucking think about it. You have a match tomorrow.”
“He’s got a point there, Jamie.”
“And what, am I going to sprain my throat from sucking cock?”
Roy doesn’t know what exactly his face does at that, but Jamie laughs. “See? Already can’t wait to shut me up.”
“My joints are fine.” That’s a blatant fucking lie, but they’re fine for kneeling on a mattress for five minutes. He doubts he’s going to last any longer. “We can do that some other time, if you want. Your head off the bed.”
“Oh.” Jamie sort of squirms at that. Good, ‘cause that’s a fucking delicious image. “Sure. That’s good. We can… yeah. Do we need condoms?” he asks Keeley. “‘Cos I’ve not fucked anyone in ages, swear down, but if you want…”
He watches Keeley consider it. “That’s alright. Here you go, grab a pillow,” she says and then her eyes go all intent and they’re on.
She gets Jamie to lie on his back with a fluffy white hotel pillow propping his neck so that he’s at the right angle for sucking cock, and just the anticipation of that is nearly enough to make him lose it.
Roy shrugs off his pants and pumps his cock lazily as he watches. Jamie’s palm caressing up Keeley’s thigh, Keeley’s hand guiding his cock inside her. The ripple of Jamie’s abs, his fingers clasping Keeley’s leg, the little moan that escapes his mouth when she sinks into him. It’s one of the hottest things he’s seen in ages.
“Wait, alright?” Jamie gasps. “Just… one minute.”
Roy doesn’t know which one of them he’s talking to. He waits, watching Jamie’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall, until Jamie says, “Yeah, okay,” and tightens his hand on Keeley’s hip to urge her to move while Roy feeds Jamie his dick.
It’s not a smooth blowjob by any means—it’s messy, and the angle’s off, and Jamie’s hand is doing a lot of the work, but he looks fucking lovely like this, and Roy’s always liked it a bit sloppy anyway. He thrusts shallowly into Jamie’s spit-slick fist and his gorgeous mouth, resting most of his weight on his good knee, but he’s still going to feel it later. It’s worth it.
He finds himself reaching out to push Jamie’s hair away from his eyes so he can get a better look at his face, all pink and damp. He brushes the arc of Jamie’s cheekbone with his thumb, traces the outline of his cock through the thin skin of Jamie’s cheek—that makes Jamie moan, eyes falling closed.
“None of that now, Tartt.” The affection in his own voice takes him by surprise. “I want you to look at me.”
For some reason, that is what gets Jamie to flush red, when he’s been so shameless up to now. He squirms down into the mattress, moans low in his throat—the vibration goes right to Roy’s balls as Jamie swallows around the head of his cock, does something wicked with his tongue.
“Fuck, that’s fucking good.” He pushes Jamie’s hair off his forehead again, watches his eyes flicking from Keeley back to him. Roy finds himself patting his head—soft, conditioner or no conditioner. Jamie’s mouth is red and wet, and he whines when Roy nudges at the corner of his stretched-out lips, slips a finger into Jamie’s mouth alongside his dick, and the view is almost as good as the sounds Jamie’s making.
It’s not long at all till Jamie turns his face to the side, shoulders hunching up—then he exhales, squirming, and Roy feels the vibrations of Jamie’s orgasm all over. His spit-slick cock is still half inside Jamie’s mouth, lips pink and swollen.
“That’s lovely, babe,” Keeley hums, stretching out on top of Jamie. She’s still clenched around his softening cock, head level with Jamie’s chest and face turned so that her cheek rests over his heart. Her hand finds Roy’s hip, and she hums, consideringly.
“Heʼs so pretty. You should pull out and come on his face.”
The image those words conjure is so vivid that Roy’s hips stutter and Keeley laughs, turning to lay a kiss on Jamie’s collarbone. “Thought you’d like that.”
“Fuck,” Roy says earnestly, and he doesn’t have any words after that. Jamie’s nodding and his eyes are wide and intense; he looks fucking gorgeous. Keeley rolls off him to curl up on her side in the mess of sheets and discarded robes, and Roy watches her run her hands all over Jamie’s chest, up and down his arm, his side. He fucks into his fist until his thighs begin to tremble.
“Close your eyes,” Roy says when he’s about to come, and Jamie licks his fucking lips as he does—and that’s it, really; he’s done for. He makes a mess of Jamie’s face—his hair, too, Jesus Christ—groaning as he rides out the last of his orgasm.
And then he lets himself fall to his back on the bed, watching Jamie Tartt wipe Roy’s come off his face with a corner of the sheet, looking properly fucked out, and the weirdest fucking thing is how this doesn’t even feel that weird at all.
#
Naturally, Jamie is the one who speaks first.
“Bit of alright, that,” he sighs, absolutely radiating contentment. Roy swats the closest part he can reach—his shoulder, turns out—but not very hard.
“You better fucking sleep now, after that.”
“Yeah, I feel fucking great.” Jamie stretches, which looks a whole lot like showing off. “But not on this. Keels, can you ring room service and gets us clean sheets, or whatever? I have to go wash up. Just look at my fucking hair.”
“Looks the same as always to me,” Roy says and Jamie throws a pillow at him before strutting to the bathroom. The way he walks makes clear he expects to be stared at—which, fair—so Roy turns away just on principle, meeting Keeley’s eyes.
“Was that alright? With you and me and—Jamie.”
“Yeah.” She snuggles in closer to kiss him briefly. “I think we are. And that was really fucking hot.” She sighs. “We should’ve thought about this earlier. I mean, I had, but not, like, for real.”
Honestly, Roy’s less sure that earlier would have been a good idea, but he’s never much cared for what-ifs and he likes how things turned out in the end, anyway. Then he registers what she said.
“What’d you mean, you had?”
“Roy, I’ve got eyes. And a brain, and a pulsating vagina—so yes, I thought about it.”
He thinks he may be frowning, a little. She gives him another kiss.
“Now we should go clean up. We kept your star player up one hour after bedtime already.”
They make do with stripping the duvet and top sheet, finding another blanket to curl under and calling it good enough for the night. Roy sets the alarm ten minutes earlier than he usually would, so they can get back to their rooms in the morning. Beard isn’t going to ask where he was, which is probably for the best.
“Can I get in the middle?” Jamie asks, then doesn’t wait for an answer and just throws himself between Roy and Keeley anyway.
He took the longest in the bathroom, to wash his hair—using Keeley’s conditioner this time, he announced proudly, and Roy is happy with the new development, but also vaguely guilty because Jamieʼs usual hair routine takes fucking forever and it’s getting late. He can’t even say anything about it, since it’s his own damn fault.
“It’s not even midnight!” Jamie protests. “Besides, I wouldn’t have slept anyway if I hadn’t, you know, relaxed a bit. But now…” Even the way he shifts in the bed exudes self-satisfaction. “All good. Us fucking is good for the team, really. Just watch me out there tomorrow, bet I’ll be great.”
Roy almost reminds him that watching Jamie is his fucking job, then lets it be. Truth is, he also enjoys it, on a personal level, and recent developments mean that he’s probably going to get some wires crossed and will have to figure out how to deal with it in a way that’s halfway professional.
He’s distracted by all these too-complex thoughts by Keeley’s laugh. “I love it when you’re happy, Jamie,” she says, with the same warmth Roy feels right now. She’s right; it’s a good look on him.
“Yeah, that. You scared the fuck out of me earlier,” he says. “And you will do great, just go the fuck to sleep.”
The way Jamie goes still makes Roy regret it’s too dark to see his face. “Thanks,” he says, low and sincere. Then, much more cheerfully, “So, drinks tomorrow, right? You both better start thinking of what else I should get if we win. But don’t tell me about it ‘cos that’s shit luck—I know, going to fuck to sleep now.”
And then he’s out in two minutes flat, going to show how much he really needed it. Roy finds himself reaching for Keeley’s hand across Jamie’s body, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. He falls asleep like that, squeezing her fingers tight.