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The setting is far more posh than anything Jamie is used to, which is saying something considering the fact that Roy Kent’s manor is starting to feel like a second home for him. Well. Second home implies the existence of a first home, but that’s beside the point. Anyone can tell by his own apparel that he’s showing up to the opera house as a servant rather than Roy’s equal. He’ll be expected to hover behind Roy as he sits in his box alone.
It’s surprising that Roy is still attending this production at all now that his niece has fallen ill. They’d stopped by to see her first this afternoon, and she had been absolutely adamant that despite the fact that she’d caught a cold and shouldn’t be out in the December chill, her uncle Roy must still attend the production and tell her all about it. Roy, ever the dutiful uncle, had kissed the top of her head and promised he would.
Jamie feigns a neutral expression as he takes in the scene, but there’s no denying that the architecture is gorgeous. There are some stairs one simply walks up, but this is the type of staircase they ascend. He’d like to stop by every painting and detail of design they pass by, but one glance over at Roy tells him that he would rather get to his seat sooner than later in order to avoid being entrapped into a polite conversation that he has no interest in having.
Jamie, ever the dutiful employee, has come up with a myriad of white lies to help his employer get out of such situations. It depends on how much of a prick Roy is being that day how long he waits to intervene with an excuse that keeps them moving. It comes as a bit of a shock, then, when Roy is the one to initiate a conversation with an overzealous American who prattles on about how important it is to expose his little one to all kinds of culture. Jamie steps as far out of Roy’s orbit as polite society allows to really take in the place.
He’s about to rescue Roy from a situation of his own making when he indicates that he wants to make sure he finds his seat before the production begins. An easy enough excuse, and Jamie follows him once more as they continue the journey to his private box.
When they arrive, Roy sits, and Jamie stands dutifully behind him. The hum of chatter from below dies down when the first lone instrument rings out a single note, and the rest of the orchestra joins in at a matched pitch. Jamie hums the note quietly without giving much thought to it. When Roy turns to look at him, he is belatedly conscious of what he’s done. His cheeks tinge pink, and he’s about to mouth an apology because he does know how to behave in polite society, god damn it. However, Roy’s expression does not betray a hint of annoyance. Instead, Roy jerks his chin in the direction of the open seat next to him for Jamie to join him. Jamie cocks his head to the side, not sure he’s understanding correctly. Roy motions again, more insistent this time. Jamie moves forward and gingerly sits down next to him.
It’s sweet when he does things like this. Jamie’s not delusional. He knows he’ll never be Roy’s little wife. But he’s not entirely convinced Roy will ever marry, either. If anything, someday when Phoebe gets married, he’ll want to pass the title off to her husband because she can’t inherit it herself. Jamie’s not entirely sure if that is how it works or if the title will just die off with Roy, but Roy Kent is a determined man. There were once rumors that he killed his sister’s husband, but Jamie’s certain that Roy would only kill someone who really deserved it. And by the way that Phoebe sometimes woke up in the middle of the night screaming, and then Roy got him up to tell her a story because he did the best voices? Well. Jamie doesn’t lose sleep over the rumor.
Jamie doesn’t speak Italian, but he doesn’t have to in order to get the point. No matter how star-crossed Alfredo and Violetta are, there’s still a way for them. They’re not two men. It makes him prickle with envy because even though it is unlikely their love will work out, it’s not impossible. Not like it is for him and Roy to be together in any real way. In any public way.
That never stops them, though, does it? Doesn’t stop Roy from stealing him away in any little moment he can get away with it. Doesn’t stop Jamie from undressing him as is his job to do and then sinking to his knees on the days he can tell Roy needs a little extra. They’ll never put a name to it, but he still hopes Roy knows what it is. That there is at least one someone who doesn’t share his blood that loves him beyond reason, without doubt.
Jamie is violently thrown from the fantasy by the sudden feeling of Roy’s hand on his knee. It’s a bit cold, but Jamie’s used to it. He throws a small, pleased grin Roy’s way. So he’s trying to be cute, is he? It’s working. This is as close to courting as they’ll ever be able to get, and Jamie is eating it up. They can hold hands, maybe even kiss, and up in this box, no one will be the wiser.
However, then Roy’s hand slides up his thigh. His touch is quickly changing course from sweet to filthy, and Jamie can’t help but roll his eyes. Leave it to Roy to just want to tease him. Jamie averts his gaze from Roy and stares determinedly back at the performance. He doesn’t even dare swallow because then Roy will know he’s getting to him.
Roy’s hand moves up and up, undeterred, an uncompromising bastard who knows exactly what he wants. Let him play his little game. Jamie is made of stronger stuff than this. He shall remain unaffected…. Even as his pulse quickens, he won’t spread his legs apart even a single inch to accommodate Roy.
The first sign that he’s fucked is when Roy’s breath ghosts across his earlobe. “You’ll have to be very quiet. Can you manage it?” Roy’s every word still sounds like a call to arms. A question like that could have been posed as a sign of genuine concern, but Jamie knows better. The only thing he’d have to be concerned about in this situation is his reputation. In truth, what’s behind them is condescension. Roy Kent believes he’s just so easy that the second his hand strays to his nether regions, Jamie will melt underneath his touch.
Jamie is stronger than this. He’s going to push his hand away, give him a sharp look letting him know that there is a time and place for such encounters, and it is most certainly not here and now. Any moment now, he is going to open his mouth and tell Roy exactly what he can do with his stupid fucking hand. But when Roy’s hand palms his cock through the fabric, there’s naught to be done. Roy can clearly feel that he’s half hard already. It’s hardly his fault, though! He’d been enjoying the bloody production. It’s not fair that Roy’s hands are so deft, so big, so practiced in their ability to make him fall apart…
He can still try to tell him to stop, but what comes out is a breathy “Please, sir— not here.”
Roy smirks, murmurs close to his ear once more, stroking him steady and firm through his trousers. “And why not here? I paid to enjoy myself, did I not?” Jamie can think of a thousand reasons why. Of what could happen to them if they got caught. At best, rumors would fly. At worst… Jamie shuddered to even think of the worst.
“Just keep quiet, darling. I’ll make it a night you won’t soon forget,” Roy promises. And who can argue with him when he puts it like that? When his hand alone is enough to set Jamie’s whole body alight? Roy’s hands expertly undo his trousers just enough to get a proper grip on him. It’s not long before Roy is using his thumb to smear precum along his cock, making his lazy, fluid strokes even smoother. Jamie does his best not to fidget or moan, but when Roy gives a low growl of warning and withdraws his hand entirely, Jamie knows he must have been too loud.
He half expects that to be the end of it, but he should have known Roy wouldn’t be so easily deterred. His hands are at his own throat, now, removing the cravat from round his neck. Jamie’s eyes narrow, wondering how far Roy is going to really take things with the possibility that they could, in fact, be seen.
Entirely too far, it seems, but Jamie can’t bring himself to complain. Doesn’t have much of a chance to if he wanted to. Roy’s cravat is shoved unceremoniously into his mouth, and Jamie is forced to breathe evenly through his nose. As if he wasn’t already feeling lightheaded. He inhales deeply, feeling the pleasure pulsing through his cock. His head lolls, eyes heavy lidded as the minuscule soprano sings her little heart out, asking is he the one I dream about? He’s flush with pleasure, and it’s not very long before Jamie is lightly shoving at Roy’s wrist. He needs to stop, or they will have an unexplainable mess on their hands.
“You can take it,” Roy whispers in his ear, and Jamie is going to combust. He clenches the muscles in his thighs, face screwed up all in an effort to hold himself back from the brink. Roy doesn’t take it easy on him because he knows what Jamie is capable of. So Jamie claws the edge of his orgasm but doesn’t dare sink his teeth in.
Before he’s aware of what’s happening, Roy is sliding from the red velvet seat to his knees in front of Jamie. He has to reassure himself that no one below can see them. His moan is muffled by the improvised gag when Roy takes him in with practiced ease. He wonders if Roy somehow knew this opera, knew that the orchestra would swell just now in time to easily drown out the noises that inevitably come with sucking cock.
It takes no time at all to come down Roy’s throat. Roy takes it with a seemingly effortlessly wielded talent. He ought to be paid a great sum of money for his skills, Jamie thinks, a bit giddy. His fingers tug Roy’s hair in what must amount to a vivid shock of pain for Roy before he goes boneless in the seat, blearily settling those beautiful curls back in their place. The show goes on. Jamie staggers to his feet just before intermission, continuing to play the role of the servant. The valet and the lover. They were always a difficult balance to strike.
When intermission ends, Jamie remains standing despite the fact that he could have taken a seat again. Roy must have been in good enough spirits to humor him as not once did he even glance behind him throughout the rest of the opera.
“You’re fucking mad, Roy,” Jamie manages later that evening when it’s just the two of them traveling home in Roy’s carriage. “What exactly would you have done if we had been seen, hm? You’d throw your whole life away for a… An opera house tryst?” he asks dubiously.
“I’d run away with you, stupid. I wouldn’t ever let anyone hurt you. I’d fucking die before I let that happen.” His brown eyes betray no hint of uncertainty. He really fucking means this. What a loon.
“Just another way to mark me as yours, eh?” Jamie asks with a grin. “Although, I can’t help but notice I don’t actually have a mark anywhere on me. Perhaps that can be remedied between now and home?”
He barely got the last word out before Roy moves across the minimal space between them in the carriage, ridding Jamie of the layers that were in the way of the soft skin of his neck. Eyes closed, Jamie tilts his head to the opposite side from where Roy’s lips find purchase. He sucks on the skin there, some heady mixture of harshness and tenderness. He’d never wear a wedding band. If anyone saw the mark, he’d make some allusion to protecting a lady’s virtue by refusing to kiss and tell. But he would know, and Roy would know. His master, his lover. Roy’s passion was more than polite society could comprehend, and it was all Jamie’s.
Roy pulls away and presses his thumb to the quickly forming bruise at Jamie’s neck. Jamie wants to rip off every last stitch he has on, but for now he’ll settle for just enough to give Roy a matching mark. Roy gives him a quizzical look. “We haven’t much time—“ he starts to remind as Jamie loosens his cravat for the second time this evening.
“I won’t be long,” Jamie returns easily, mouthing gentle kisses at Roy’s neck before he bites, rougher than Roy had been anticipating. The sharp inhale Jamie draws from him goes straight to his cock. He picks roughly the same spot Roy had chosen for him and only pulls back when he’s satisfied. They have rearranged themselves not a second too soon as the carriage stops in front of the manor he now calls home.
“Shall I prepare you a drink before bed, my lord?” Jamie asks, always keenly aware of when they might be overheard. “Not tonight, Tartt. I think I’ll retire after all the evening’s excitement.” The barest hint of a smirk flickers across Roy’s features.
“Ah, yes, let’s get you dressed for bed, then.” Jamie knows that this is going to be one of those increasingly common occurrences of him getting the job only half done all while leaving Roy fully satisfied.