Chapter Text
Sweating and aching, Jamie limped into the shower, turned it on full blast and stood under it with his eyes closed. The tile was cool under his hands and after a minute or so, he rested his forehead against it too. In the off season, he used to train in only the lightest of senses. Sure he went to the gym and ran drills, but nothing like he bothered with in the run up to the season.
Since Roy had invested in him, there was no more off season. The ruthless intensity was at least consistent and predictable. It was good, really. Jamie liked how powerful his body felt these days. He'd always had a good physique, but Roy knew about making muscle as practical as possible, not wasting a second on the vanity of a pumped bicep or rippling six pack.
It was good.
Even when it felt like sand poured into Jamie's joints. He stayed under the hot water until he could feel his skin drying out, then quickly went through his usual shower routine, turning himself out into the fogged up bathroom. Lotion slid over his skin and even as his legs shook, he was proud of how they'd held up. The ankle was a problem, still prone to turning out on him. One day it would probably end his career, the same way Roy's knee had taken him out, but that was years in the future.
He went through his serums and lotions, smoothed moisturizer into his hands and smoothed balm over his lips. The mirror was steamed over and he didn't bother rubbing it away. He wasn't going anywhere that called for pictures today.
Pulling freshly washed sweatpants over naked skin, he called it good on clothing and went downstairs to piece together a mid-morning meal for the hunger that was starting to wake up post-work out nausea.
Roy was in his kitchen.
"What?" Jamie asked.
"Do you actually eat this stuff?" Roy was holding a canister of protein powder with two hands. It was a bulk one. "It smells like fucking shit."
"I put it in smoothies," Jamie said defensively. "Pea protein. It's better for you."
"It's rank," Roy said and put it down, unscrewing the lid.
"Are you robbing me?"
"No." Roy's back was to him, but Jamie knew he was rolling his eyes. "Sit."
Jamie did not sit. This was his house goddammit and he'd already done his good boy hours before dawn.
Something was sizzling.
"Are you…making breakfast?" Jamie ventured.
"Yes," Roy said. "Sit."
Jamie sat at his kitchen table and watched in stunned silence as Roy flipped over an omelette. Five minutes later, Jamie had a very good looking omelette, two golden pieces of whole wheat toast and a green smoothie in front of him. Sitting down across from him, Roy had the same set up.
"What?" Roy glanced up at him with annoyance. "Eat or it'll get cold."
"Yeah, all right," Jamie said. He did make sure Roy ate the first bite, but after that he tucked in. "Thanks. Did I have scallions?"
"How do you not know?"
"Dunno. Haven't done the shopping myself in years," Jamie said with a shrug. "Caro puts in the order for me from the list you gave me. She likes to throw me off sometimes. Give me a challenge with my cooking."
"Who's Caro?" Roy asked, his jaw ticking in a way Jamie didn't think he'd earned.
"My housekeeper? She's here most afternoons, guess you keep missing her, on account of wanting me up at the asscrack of dawn."
That earned him a glare, so Jamie nonchalantly loaded a few forkfuls of egg onto his toast and ate it so he didn't have to explain more about his semi-adversarial relationship with Caro. She had very kindly cleaned up after all manner of his disasters over the year without complaint, even in the early years when he'd underpaid her. If she wanted to bully him a little now, he figured he'd earned it.
"You cook?" Roy asked.
"Sometimes," Jamie said, reaching for the smoothie. "More right now with no matches on."
That seemed to satisfy Roy, who turned his attention back to his plate.
There was no explanation of the sudden home cooked meal. Roy left as soon as the plates were cleared, leaving Jamie to slot the dishes into the dishwasher in bafflement.
The rest of his day was a loose amalgamation of non-activity. His dating life had dropped off to nothing recently and even looking at the apps gave him a weird stomach cramp. The other guys invited him out these days, and he tried to say yes more often than no, so after a morning of laying on the couch watching whatever kiddie crap came across his screen, he rolled himself into actual clothes and met up with Isaac and Colin to play video games. The two of them had way more hours in then he did and it was pretty clear after the first round that this was a grudge match that Jamie was mostly there to spectate. It was comfortable, really, sitting on the floor, head leaning against the couch cushion near Colin's knee while the two of them ruthlessly sniped at each other, yet kept up a friendly banter.
When they started making noises about takeaway for dinner, Jamie made his excuses, uninterested in the usual tug of war over whose favorite would get picked. He intended to drive home, but there was something lulling about the road and he wound up turning a few aimless circles around the city, watching the lights turn on.
The house was dark when he got back and he moved through it like a shadow himself. The light from the fridge made him squint as he shifted through the scattering of fruit, vegetables and prebiotic sodas. A lone chicken cutlet had survived to today, the bench-marker of a re-order. He pulled a few things out and then turned back to the fridge to see if there was any cheese tucked away when he spotted a Tesco's bag tucked in the way back.
Jamie ordered from Sainsbury because it was closer. The closest Tesco's was nearer to Keeley's place than his.
Taking the bag out slowly, he found a single remaining scallion and a lone red bell pepper. Had he told Roy that he hated green bell peppers? He couldn't remember doing that. Rolling the pepper between his fingers for a moment, Jamie tried to make sense of it. But maybe it was another brick in the mystery wall of Roy Kent.
Maybe Roy had just fancied an omelette and was too lazy to dirty his own pans.
Jamie cut up the pepper and scallion, chucking them into the stir fry. He turned on music, volume up as he mouthed along to the words of familiar favorites and tried not to think about it too hard.
After dinner, he ran through a few stretches and then sat back down on his couch. He scrolled through Netflix for far too long, the titles blurring together on him. After a fruitless search, he tossed the remote away in disgust and threw himself back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
There was a book on his coffee table. Nothing special, some discarded paperback that had been passed around the locker room by the guys that read on the tour bus. Jamie couldn't say how it had wound up with him and he kept meaning to bring it back.
He'd mentioned it idly to Doc. Their sessions were irregular and odd. In theory they met every other week, but it was really more like monthly. When he'd mentioned the book, she'd asked if he read it.
"Why would I do that?"
"Why wouldn't you?" Doc asked.
"Reading isn't for me."
"Why not?"
And he'd had to sit with that. He'd had enough sessions with her that he knew she'd shoot down anything like 'I'm not good at it' or 'I can't'.
"I don't always get it. Makes me feel stupid."
"Mm," Doc gazed at him implacably. "When did you last try?"
"Been trying that book Ted gave me," Jamie admitted. "The Fitzgerald one."
"Which one?"
So Jamie had shown her the much-handled and attempted Beautiful and the Damned.
"Oh, Fitzgerald," she said with a trace of disapproval. "That's no where to start if you're out of the habit. Pick something else and come back to that if you must."
Jamie had clutched the book a little defensively, but also with some relief. The story always left him with a sick swooping feeling as if it knew something he didn't and wasn't going to tell him until it was too late. It worked better as a talisman than a story.
And now there was this paperback. Unsymbolic, uncomplicated. A mystery or something. Not very thick, dog-earred and broken-spined. Just a book.
With a sound of frustration that might've impressed Roy, Jamie reached for it and picked it up. He read slower than he'd like to admit, but it wasn't bad, exactly. It felt like stretching a muscle that had gone tight after too many hours of sitting. The story flowed and made sense. The characters didn't deliver any complicated gut-wrenching human truths. Instead they chased clues in short chapters.
When he woke up the next morning, he was still on the couch with the book open on his chest. Fine. Maybe he could read one book. It'd be funny to reference it when the guys were least expecting it anyway.
A few days later, he met Keeley for lunch. It was something new they were trying since Brazil, a middle ground of friendship where they asked after each other and flirted a little, but only in the most surface useless and kind of fun way. The both ordered piled up salads and Jamie tried to listen attentively as she talked about her business. In the weak afternoon sun drifting in through the window, Jamie thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
"So I'm left with ten boxes of neon eyeliner that might have lead in them and a no show client!" She concluded. "Can you imagine? I'll have to pay someone to haul it off."
"Regular pencils have lead in them. Don't they?" He asked, hoping that made some sort of sense.
"Do they still?" She picked up her wine glass. "I don't think so. Do they?"
"Dunno. But you could probably use it like a pencil, right? Maybe someone wants them for some art thing or something."
Keeley smiled at him in that certain way that made him want to squirm in his seat. The smile that said she was proud of him like he'd done something she knew he could, but didn't think he would.
"That's an interesting idea. Thanks, Jamie."
"You're welcome," he said smugly. "Any good people apply for that secretary job?"
"Administrative assistant," she corrected blithely. "And oh…I don't know. It's weird, hiring people."
"Nah, it's dead easy," he assured her. "You ask a few questions and if you're wrong, you fire them."
"When have you hired someone?" she asked.
"Nothing like you're doing, but the housekeeper and the landscaper for my place. It's like getting a new team member. You size them up, let them play and see if they're a good fit."
"I guess so," she allowed. "I just don't want to wind up with someone I regret."
Did Keeley regret Jamie? He didn't think she did. Hoped she didn't.
They parted ways with a hug which was nice. Her perfume lingered on his clothes though, distracting him at odd moments.
The next morning, he ran through dark streets, aware of Roy thirty paces behind him. Did Roy get haunted by Keeley's perfume? It must've been on everything he owned as it had once been on Jamie's. Did Roy stop what he was doing in the middle of the day and imagine his hands on her, her lips on his because she'd drifted citrus and sugar scent his way by accident?
A car crawled past them, their shadows long for a moment, giants running through the night.
This was the long run day when Roy would let Jamie streak ahead, then duck through the shortcut to meet up with him again. For twenty minutes, Jamie moved alone, paying attention to his breathing and not much else. When he made out Roy's silhouette, emerging between someone's bins, his shoulders unwound and he turned to run backwards to watch Roy as he passed him by.
"What are you fucking doing?" Roy asked him.
"Running," Jamie said with a grin and gave him a little finger wave, skipping around the broken bit in the sidewalk that used to trip him up.
They only passed Keeley's place on long run days. Neither of them acknowledged it though they both would glance up reflexively, looking for a light that was never on.
Except today it was, a stark lit rectangle in a line of slumbering homes. She was in a robe in her kitchen, framed in the glow as she filled her kettle. Her hair was loose, her face clean of makeup, and her fluffy robe bundled around her. When they trotted by, she waved and they waved back, in perfect harmony like lovesick robots.
Then she ducked back and they both slowed, exchanging a look, silently agreeing to let the moment play out.
When her door opened, Jamie fought the urge to bound up to her like a lost puppy. Then she gave a quick head jerk towards the door and he gave into it. He could hear Roy a few paces behind him.
"What are you two doing out there?" She asked.
"Training," Jamie said, flashing her a grin.
"At 5am in the off season?"
Which….was an excellent point. The trouble was that the first weekday after their huge win, Jamie had woken up at 4am like clockwork, stumbled into his workout clothes and gone downstairs. Like clockwork, Roy had been there at 4:05. Then they had stared at each other under Jamie's porch light, utterly lost. Someone had to admit that they could change the schedule. Someone had to change the pattern.
Instead, Roy had shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said hesitantly, "Ready then?"
And really, sleeping in was overrated.
Which now left them in front of Keeley, both searching for an excuse for their behavior.
"Just got used to it," Roy said. All right, so maybe not both of them. "Leaves the rest of the day free."
Apparently, that answer satisfied and she nodded.
"What are you doing up?" Jamie asked since apparently they were having a little dawn chat.
"Couldn't sleep," she sighed.
"Fucking neighbors again?" Roy asked.
"No," Keeley shrugged. "Just couldn't. Gave up after a few hours. Luckily Rebecca is five timezones away, so I can text her complaining about it."
"Is she having a good time?" Jamie knew stopping this long was a bad idea, his legs already informing him what they thought about it. He stretched a little.
"A great one." Keeley yawned. "Do you two want a cuppa?"
While they had separately offered their apologies, the three of them had not been in the same room since that terrible night. Jamie wanted it badly, but he waited for Roy to stop it. To say they had to jog on or worse, that Jamie should proceed alone.
"All right," Roy said.
It should've been awkward, the three of them clinging to mugs as the sky tinged pink and gray. Two of them were sweating and foul with it, one of them exhausted. But the dawn painted calm around them, a hush that Jamie respected. They talked only slightly above a whisper about nothing of consequence, all balanced on the thin ice of rebuilding trust.
When they hit the bottom of their mugs, they broke apart with smiles and goodbyes and not a single touch exchanged.
The world outside was transformed, the sun heaving itself above the horizon and people with normal jobs beginning their commutes in smart clothes. Jamie made to break into a trot, then slowed to a walk at Roy's signal. Roy had a slight hitch in his walk, the only tell that his knee was acting up. Usually he'd send Jamie on ahead of him, but the quiet tea must've gotten to him too.
Instead, they walked back, a meandering stroll that took them by an opening cafe. A second round of tea and with a reluctant 'It is off season' from Roy, two gorgeous pastries that they ate as they made their way back to Jamie's place. Roy's car was parked behind his in the driveway, but somehow, they wound up back in Jamie's house together.
"You want something besides sugar?" Roy asked.
"Could do an egg," Jamie said casually. "Sit?"
And to his shock, Roy sat.
Apparently, Jamie's soft boiled eggs were acceptable, the accompanying toast soldiers taken with an eyeroll, but consumed.
"What do you have on for the day?" Roy dredged a last bit of yolk up, concentrating on it like the answer didn't matter to him.
"Uh, dunno, hold on." Jamie dug out his phone. "Going to Sam's restaurant for dinner with Colin and his boyfriend apparently. Wants to introduce him to me and Isaac and Sam properly."
"He's a good bloke," Roy said. "You'll like him."
"Figured. You?"
"Phoebe wants to see a movie."
"Which one?"
How that transitioned from idle talk to Jamie sitting in a theater with bucket of popcorn (not approved of technically, but hey, off season) and enough diet coke to drown in, was hard to say. Phoebe seemed happy enough to see Jamie, folding him into a recitation of all the facts she'd learned about the Hindenburg Disaster from her library book.
"Who knew some gases could be so dangerous?" Jamie asked, profoundly amused by her.
"Literally everyone," said Roy. "Are you two going to actually watch this movie I paid for or talk over it?"
"Trailers don't count, Uncle Roy," Phoebe said primly.
They did shut up and watch it. It was some young adult dystopia thing with enough plot holes to make a golf course, but it was fun to hear Phoebe's quiet sounds of contentment, underscored by Roy's noises of disapproval.
Afterwards, when Jamie made to leave so he could change for dinner, Phoebe caught his hand up.
"Where are you going?"
"Ah, got a dinner thing, mate," he told her. "Few of the team are meeting up."
Kids were generally foreign to him, but Phoebe made sense. Roy talked to her like a small adult so that's what Jamie did too and it generally worked fine. She took that information in, then turned to Roy.
"Why weren't you invited?" she asked.
"It's just for a few people, not a team party," Roy said. "Besides, I can't hold Jamie's hand through his whole day."
Jamie flipped him off over Phoebe's head and Roy…
Roy winked at him.
Well. That was Jamie's whole night lost.
He thought about that wink the whole drive home, through picking out an outfit and freshening up and the entire drive to the restaurant. It hadn't been a good wink, was the thing. It wasn't the charming one Jamie practiced in the mirror or Keeley's salacious one that conveyed exactly what she might do to you later. It was more of a twitch than a wink.
Dinner helped. Jamie focused in on Michael and found him to be as decent as Roy had said. He was slyly funny and gently teased Colin a few times, blending in seamlessly with the conversation. Isaac had brought his new girlfriend along too and she was sweet, if a little quiet. Jamie was saved from looking like a complete fifth wheel by Sam sitting with them whenever things slowed down and he could stop gladhanding.
"What do you think?" Sam asked him when the two couples had cleared out. Jamie was still working on his sole drink of the evening as Sam picked through the remains of his dinner plate.
"I like him. You?"
"Yeah. Her too?"
Jamie grimaced. "Seems like another one that'll be gone again in a few months."
"Maybe," Sam allowed. It wasn't lost on Jamie that now that they were friends, Sam allowed Jamie to be the voice of his less charitable thoughts. That was fine. Jamie didn't mind being a prick as long as it was a useful prick these days. "What about you? Got anything going on?"
"No," Sam said with a slight frown. "Sometimes, I think I should wait until I go home."
"Could be years," Jamie stared at him. "You want to wait that long?"
"Not really, but I don't want to choose between someone I love and going back to Nigeria."
"If they love you, maybe they'd go with you," Jamie said. "Supposed to be what love is, right?"
"Have you ever been in love?" Sam asked, then winced. "Sorry, forget I asked."
"It's fine. And yeah, the once obviously. Thought I was before that, but it didn't really compare."
"Who was the first?"
Jamie shrugged, "It's not an interesting story."
"So bore me," Sam saluted him with his glass of water. "I'm not doing anything more interesting right now."
The restaurant was quieting down, only a few tables left still merry, but headed for the check. Jamie shuffled through ancient (seven years ago) history.
"I had a group of mates when I sixteen or so. We hung around, made trouble, no one I played footie with, just neighborhood lads. There was a group of girls that hung around with us. A few of them dated a few of us, always some drama."
"How much of it did you start?" Sam teased.
"More than my fair share," Jamie laughed. Which wasn't a lie exactly. He'd been different then. A little prick, certainly, but also quieter about it. He was the one who had promise, the one who was good at something, who had plans. He couldn't be too loud about it or he'd attract everyone's anger. The drama back then had been less him picking off other guy's girls and more about him thinking he was better than them.
Maybe he had been, maybe he hadn't, but certainly at the time he had thought so and probably didn't hide it well enough or at all by the end.
"So it was one of those girls?"
"Abby," Jamie finally pulled her name out from the depths and as soon he did, all the rest of her came with it. "She was quieter than the rest, sort of went between that group and the girl's football team. I never noticed her much until she out of blue asked me why I hadn't taken her out yet."
"I like a forward woman," Sam nodded.
"Me too," Jamie grinned at him. "We had some fun together. We went out for eight months or so. I thought we were it, you know? Even told my mum I was going to marry her. But she dumped me over the summer for some other guy. I was fuming at the time, but I can't remember his name now."
"But you remember hers," Sam said.
"Well, yeah. You don't forget them, do you?"
"No."
"What about you?" Jamie asked because he was getting good at this conversation thing. The way you had to turn questions around on people.
Sam told him a story about a perfect woman, older and gorgeous and clever. It had to be more recent than Jamie's dusty story, traces of longing still in Sam's voice. As far as Jamie knew, Abby had gone on to marry that other guy or maybe she'd managed to go to uni like she'd said she might some day. He'd never seen her around the old neighborhood at least. Sam's first love was not so far away.
"You could win her back," Jamie said.
"No. The time for that had gone. It's something to remember now, not something to run after."
It was annoying how smart Sam was sometimes. Why couldn't Jamie consign Keeley to memory too? Why couldn't she be someone he loved once and no longer?
"Right, of course," he said instead of any of that. He was friends with Sam now, but he wasn't going to rip his heart out to show the man for fun on Friday night.
"Why didn't Roy come tonight?"
"Wasn't invited, was he?" Jamie frowned. "Why would he?"
"Isaac and Colin thought you would ask him."
"Why?"
The question hung in the air, tissue paper thin, and Jamie knew the answer before Sam said anything.
"You're with him every day. We thought you'd tell him."
A flare of anger kindled in Jamie, but not at Sam. No longer ever at Sam, who had soaked up too much of Jamie's ire over the years and forgiven him anyway. He couldn't even say at who, so he swallowed it down.
"Just…tell me next time and I will."
"Thank you. No one wants to text him. He's got the worst responses."
Roy texted with too much punctuation, like he really was someone's grandad. There was something deeply threatening about the reply 'Thanks.' from Roy Kent. Or there had been. Jamie didn't even notice anymore, just sent back strings of emojis until Roy sent him the middle finger emoji. Their little ritual.
A wink. A middle finger. Lingering, speaking looks in the dark.
All of it followed Jamie down into sleep that night and trailed after him all weekend. There was no Roy this weekend, his clock in as Uncle going longer than expected. Jamie woke up at four on Saturday, then rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. By five, he was in his home gym doing a modified workout.
He made himself an omelette. It would've been better with scallions.
By the time Roy reappeared on Monday morning, Jamie would've gladly run twenty kilometers to satisfy him. The weekend had dragged on forever and Jamie was thoroughly sick of himself.
A bird trilled as the sun rose and Jamie did one-handed pushups on his back lawn.
"Did you know house sparrows don't make regular nests?" It wasn't really a question. Roy certainly didn't answer. "That's why they call them that. They sleep in places we made."
"We fucked them up," Roy said.
"Yeah, probably, but they've adapted and all. Mean too, fight off other birds. Each other."
"Animals for you. Switch arms."
Jamie threw in a clap for good measure, showing off a little with his good mood. It went unacknowledged, but that was fine. It was more for himself anyway. "They've got a whole pecking order thing. You can tell which of the guys is in charge because he's got the most black feathers."
A grunt of acknowledgement. Roy was listening. He always listened. There would be suggestions of annoyance and exasperation, but Jamie had quickly figured out that Roy listened when he blathered on about whatever he'd soaked up. It would come up later, passing comments in conversations with other people or follow up questions weeks later when Jamie had already moved on to the next topic.
"Or that's what some people say. Might also just be them getting older. Not like older and more in charge are always the same thing."
The next grunt had a shade of suspicion to it, so Jamie gave Roy his best 'no one home' smile.
"They don't migrate much. Hang out in the same neighborhood they grew up," Jamie said. His right arm was always a little weaker than his left, but he pressed on. "Except the young ones sometimes. They'll go like anything to start somewhere new."
"Stop," Roy said and Jamie dropped his other arm down, just holding himself in a plank for a moment to regulate. "What got you going on birds anyway?"
"Not all birds. Just house sparrows. There's one nesting outside the bathroom window. I was figuring out how to make her go away."
"Did you get rid of it?"
Jamie pushed back so he was kneeling, only a few feet away from Roy. His hands rested on his thighs, the slight tremors of muscle well used singing through his palms.
"No. Seemed rude after learning all that and she's not bothering me."
"You've named it haven't you?" Roy scoffed.
"No," Jamie said too quickly.
"Out with it."
"Prudence," Jamie muttered. "Pru for short."
"Why?" Roy asked, aggrieved before even hearing the answer.
"Came in through the bathroom window, didn't she?"
Roy's eyes closed against the answer, but he was smiling. "Fuck. Right. Go shower, you fucking lunatic."
Apparently Roy had gotten sick of eggs and Jamie was treated to yogurt laden with fresh fruit and overnight oats that he was too hungry to take the piss out of. It only occurred to him after Roy left that overnight oats, by definition, needed to be made overnight. Jamie didn't own oatmeal. Even Caro wouldn't do that to him. Though she had stooped to turnips last week, probably in retaliation for him leaving his wet towels on the floor. Fair enough.
Things were normal as they got that week. Training, going out when he could find a place to go, an interview Keeley had setup with him that he behaved through even though she couldn't come to babysit him through it. There was no more winking or dawn tea or surprise breakfasts.
Except that those didn't leave him. Jamie wanked as much as the next person, maybe a little more and his fantasies were usually straightforward things. Memories trotted out or vanilla internet porn.
That week, he kept getting dragged back to that tea, the three of them sitting around the table. He had fucked Keeley at the table more than once, so he'd indulged in those memories at first, but after the third time, the fantasy started to shift. He thought about kneeling in front of Roy, inches instead of feet away.
Jamie had his first crush on a man when he was thirteen. It had been a distant thing, a guilty pleasure. One of his friend's fathers, who actually gave a shit, and checked in on them when they were getting loud about video games. A clean cut guy with dark eyes and a smile to rival Sam's. Even at that first blush of interest, Jamie knew it had to be something he locked away. He was lucky enough to like girls too and that was so much easier.
There had been a run in or two, scattered moments in drunken clubs. Enough to confirm that it wasn't something reserved for gauzy fantasies. The way Jamie thought about it was that he wasn't an even split. He liked all women and only got interested in a tiny pool of men, so it barely counted. Wasn't worth mentioning.
Except.
Except.
His first wholehearted, helpless flaming desire as a full blown horny adolescent was Roy Kent. He had fallen asleep with that poster bearing down on him for years. He had explored himself under it's unblinking gaze and thought about the impossibility of Roy's hands replacing his own.
Then he'd run face first into the brick wall of Roy's actual presence and broken his proverbial face on it. It had doused any embers of a previous fire that Jamie might've kept burning.
Except that Roy had embraced him in his worst moment, a pivot so hard that when Jamie revisited the memory, his whole body would go right back to that terrible melange of feelings.
Except that Roy had seen him. Really seen him, when even Ted and Keeley couldn't. He understood Jamie, he hugged him, he listened to him rattle off facts as he pushed Jamie as hard as he could to be better.
It was better than a poster and a dream. It was overnight oats, scallions, and a terrible wink.
The first time Jamie wanked to the thought of Roy Kent in this decade, he nearly blacked out it was so good. Then he laid there dazed, stomach sticky and his lips tingling from pressing them together.
"Fuck," he whispered to the ceiling.
Downstairs, a soft creak signaled Caro's arrival. Jamie rolled off his bed and dive bombed into the bathroom. Caro was very clear that if she walked in on him naked one more time, she would start taking her sharpest scissors to his favorite sheets.
So it was an ordinary week, except for all that.
Well that and:
"I won't be around Friday," Jamie told Roy on Wednesday morning.
"Why the fuck not?" Roy's attention, previously wandering to a game being played in the park, snapped to Jamie so hard that it sliced directly to his ill-behaving dick.
"Going to my mum's house for dinner and staying over," Jamie said. "She's got a hen do this weekend or it'd be Friday. She gets the training thing."
"One morning off," Roy said like it was something he was granting instead of something Jamie was taking. "Back to work on Monday."
It was a relief to go home. He didn't do it as often as he should. He knew his mother missed him and he missed her dearly, but the house tended to close in around him after a few hours. It was too much of the past, too much of the kid who didn't fit in his skin and wanted to go tearing out through the world.
If Jamie could talk to himself at sixteen, he'd tell that kid to slow down. Not to be kinder or better. He couldn't have done that. That kid was doing what he needed to do to get through. But he could've taken a few more deep breaths. He could've hugged his mother more and stayed home a few more nights than he went out.
Like icons of saints, Roy and Keeley's poster selves stood watch over him. His mother's bedroom was the down the hall and they likely had the TV going anyway. Confident that he was alone with his ghosts, Jamie told them,
"I don't know what to do with any of this."
Weirdly, he knew what they'd both say in response to that. Shut up and go to sleep. Jamie mostly obeyed them, even if was with a detour down memory lane, down to cleaning himself off with his t-shirt and stashing it back in his overnight bag to wash at home.
He didn't linger after breakfast. His mother hugged him tight and he held her back, burying his face against her shoulder, inhaling the last reminders of her comfort, before releasing her to a group of her friends, already waiting outside, passing around a single cigarette and cracking dirty jokes. Most of them greeted him as he slid by, and he had to slow to say hello and then sped up again before they could ask questions and trap him there.
When he got back to his place, it was to Roy sitting on the hood of his car. He wasn't dressed for training at least, so this wasn't some bizarre ambush. The leather jacket was zipped up in defense against the light rain.
"Miss me already?" Jamie asked.
"You didn't fucking say it was your birthday," Roy said and it wasn't angry at all. If anything, Roy looked…it was hard to say. Jamie wasn't sure he'd seen that expression on his face before.
"Thought you knew. Same day every year, isn't it?"
"So you know my birthday?"
"Eighth of October," Jamie said then wished he hadn't because it only made Roy's expression worse. "You won a game against Tottenham with a hat trick on it one year. Stuck in my head."
Nope, worse again, Roy's eyebrows threatening to meet in the middle. Jamie gave up and headed for the front door. "It's fucking raining, mate, come in or don't."
Roy came in. He followed Jamie as he tossed his bag down and beelined for the kitchen to put the kettle on. He usually didn't bother with tea this late in the morning, switching to energy drinks, but the rain had gotten into his bones and he needed the heat.
"You want?" He asked without turning around and got what he decided was a 'yes' of a grunt.
Getting down mugs and faffing around with teabags killed a minute, but eventually he had to turn around and face up to Roy.
Who was holding out a gift bag, a sedate matte blue, but someone (suspects limited) had dotted it with sparkly stickers of birds.
"Told her about your sparrow friend," Roy explained.
Jamie took the bag carefully in both hands. Sitting on top was a box wrapped in purple tissue paper.
"She said she knows it's not your favorite color, but I didn't give her enough notice."
"She knows my favorite color?"
"Orange."
"Who told her that?"
"Calm down, it's not a state secret. Probably said it in some interview or another."
Jamie very much had not. Not because it was a secret, but because no interviewer who sat down with him was going to waste time on things like that. They wanted dirt or a quote or to catch him out.
"Yeah, all right," he said and opened the package before the tension rose any higher.
Nestled in the box were ten circles, each a myriad of different colors.
"She's learning to crochet," Roy said. "They're headbands."
Picking up the red and blue one, Jamie could see where the stitches were uneven. They were only a little thicker than his usual preferred bands. He pulled it over his head with a practiced gestured and shoved his hair back out of his eyes. Putting his phone in selfie mode, he studied his mirrored self. It was certainly obvious, the bright twists of color jumping out, but not in a bad way. A perfect fit in a way that made Jamie suspect adult involvement. He snapped a picture and texted it to Roy.
"For her," Jamie said before Roy could get off a comment. "So she knows I got them."
"Good," Roy deemed.
Jamie set the rest of them aside to go through later. The bag still had weight to it. He reached in and pulled out another box. This one was nicer, black and glossy. Too big for jewelry (which thank fuck, what would Jamie have done if Roy brought him jewelry?) and too small for booze. When he opened it, he found painted porcelain nestled in foam.
Windmills.
"You don't have a fucking salt and pepper shaker, you child," Roy said,without any bite to it. "I only had a day to find something, so I don't want to hear any shit about it."
Jamie pulled the salt shaker out. The paint wasn't precise on it, an indication of a human hand at work with an errant brush stroke. Perched on one spoke of the windmill was a tiny brown bird, only distinguishable by an even tinier yellow beak and clawed feet gripping on for dear life.
He ran his thumb over the bird and then gently set it down next to the sink. The pepper shaker wasn't identical, the bird missing from it, replaced by a trail of ivy. They were nothing special. Something you could find in a charity shop, if you looked hard enough or a tourist trap in Amsterdam.
They might be the nicest thing anyone had ever gotten him.
"I love 'em," Jamie said tightly, refusing to look up. "Thanks."
The kettle chose that moment to turn off. Saved by tea not for the first time and not the last, Jamie set down the pepper shaker and poured them both cups, stirring in the the teaspoon of milk that even Roy hadn't had the heart to take from him into his own and the preferred dash of sugar into Roy's.
"If you cook, why don't you have them already?" Roy asked.
"I did," Jamie said and it seemed safe to look up now. Roy had re-schooled himself into his usual resting homicidal face, thank fuck. "I was drunk cooking one night and shattered almost everything on the counter."
"What were you trying to make besides a mess?"
"Dunno. Too pissed to have a plan."
"I once accidentally drank the olive oil. Thought it was more whiskey," Roy said.
"Was it the good stuff at least?"
"Before I could afford that."
They both let out a tiny gust of air, the acknowledgement of the lean years before so much plenty was dumped on their heads that it started to seem like a distant dream that they'd ever once scrapped through their pockets for change in hopes of having enough for a pint.
"How's your mum?" Roy asked as if it was being pulled out of him at gun point.
Which only goaded Jamie on. Roy should really know better. Filling Roy's ears with his mum's gossip and small friend dramas was light work in the game of 'annoy the shit out of Roy'. Even if all Roy really did beside complain was sit down and listen to it.
If Jamie took his moments of filling his mouth with tea to take a breath and actually really look at Roy that was his business. The rough scrape of stubble was so familiar to Jamie now that it shouldn't give him a giddy feeling to note the way the subtle lines of it moved when Jamie was entertaining Roy instead of pestering him. The catch and pull around his eyes, the entire language buried in his excessive eyebrows, and his occasional betraying micro-smiles really did give everything away.
It all added up to a man, who was stupidly, ridiculously attractive in the artlessly masculine way that Jamie had given up on almost immediately. Jamie's beauty was entirely artful and intentional, thank you very much.
Something must've crossed Jamie's face that gave him away because Roy got to his feet and announced,
"I should go."
"Yeah, all right," Jamie said as casually as he could manage. "Usual time tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Roy said. Jamie trailed him to the door, hoping Roy was being normal weird instead of 'were you checking me out' weird.
At the last second, Roy turned to face him. "You're a fucking menace, do you know that?"
"To you or in general?" Jamie smirked.
Then Roy took a step towards him, too fast and Jamie took a step back automatically, then winced. "Sorry. I just-"
"Don't," Roy said far too gently. He took another step forward, then another and Jamie had to back up or…or he couldn't say.
Their dance went another two paces and right when Jamie's head would've collided with the wall, Roy's hand whipped out and Jamie's eyes slammed closed, reflexive again. But his face didn't meet a fist and his head didn't hit drywall. Instead, his head smacked, very softly, into Roy's open palm.
Opening his eyes, Jamie had the singular terrifying experience of Roy's deadliest eye contact locked in on him from mere inches away. They were both breathing hard, a marathon run in five steps.
Then Roy's eyes dropped down to Jamie's lips. Jamie's tongue darted out to wet them and Roy definitely followed the tip of his tongue around, before snapping his glare back to Jamie's eyes. Roy's other hand landed on Jamie's shoulder, pinning him without force to the wall. Jamie stayed, waiting, locked in silence.
Then slow enough that Jamie could dodge it, Roy came in closer. Jamie's eyes fell shut again for a very different reason. The kiss (how? what? how? more importantly, again, what?!) wasn't a demand, but an open question and after a moment of the soft press, Jamie had to answer.
Without checking in with his brain or his heart, Jamie went back to the tried and true organ that had once guided all of his free time. His hands went to Roy's waist, pulled him in closer, and then Jamie was kissing him back with gusto. Roy kissed like he did everything else, intensely and without apology.
Everything about Roy was an assault on the senses. There was the scrap of his stubble, the gentle, but insistent hold on the back of Jamie's head, the press of his coat zipper against Jamie's thin t-shirt, and the armor of leather over his hip. There was no give to him at all.
Exactly what Jamie had imagined alone in his bed too many times to count, but far far better for being real.
Breathing became necessary and they were forced to separate by a bare inch. Just a wide enough space for doubt and questions to creep in.
"Roy," Jamie started, but it died there, no further words forthcoming.
"Never really…"Roy trailed off.
"Me neither. Not with someone I knew," Jamie sagged against the wall, head still safely cushioned by Roy's hand. "But I wanted to." And when the silence went a hair too long, Jamie stepped off the cliff like Wille E. Coyote to add: "With you."
"Fuck," Roy exhaled and then he was on Jamie all over again.
If they were better men, they would've sat down and talked it over. There would've been a serious conversation that covered a lot of ground and touched on at least a dozen topics. One of the things Jamie liked about Roy was that he was as bad as Jamie, sometimes worse, even with them both trying to be better. So instead of talking, they kissed themselves into a horny fog until it made perfect sense for them to unzip and rut against each other in the front hallway like they'd never heard of a bed or couch in their lives.
Roy's hand was calloused and firm, his technique ruthless. Whatever hesitation he might've had around touching a cock was lost in the edge of competitiveness as they drove each other on. What pushed Jamie over in the end was the way Roy trailed his lips down Jamie's neck. It gave Jamie every reason to shove his right hand under Roy's jacket while his left did the real work.
Whatever face Roy made when he came, Jamie missed it as his own eyes slammed closed, hips stuttering forward. Roy's forehead came to rest on Jamie's shoulder, a pleasant reversal and Jamie held them both up.
When Roy didn't move, Jamie tentatively slid his clean hand free of shirt and jacket and brought it up to rest on the back of Roy's neck.
"Well," he said, listening to the rasp of Roy's breath, "Happy fucking birthday to me then."
For a heartbeat, Jamie could see everything splintering. Roy would growl something at him, zip up and leave, storming out the door to a future where they couldn't meet each other's eyes. Extra training would halt and Jamie would be left still waking up at four am for weeks until he readjusted to a life where Roy hated him for new and exciting reasons.
The heartbeat passed and Roy's shoulders shook, the rusty sound of his laughter breaking between them like a wave.
"You fucking prick," Roy said to his collarbone.
"Your fucking prick, actually. Both our fucking pricks, really," Jamie pointed out, mostly to see if Roy would laugh harder. He did. The sound plucked Jamie's own laughter free and then they were both giddy with it, pressed together in sweaty elation.
"We should talk. Need a shower first."
Maybe Roy meant he should shower alone, but he was out of luck. Jamie started shucking off clothes as they went upstairs, an old pro at stripping down with style on the stairs. He led Roy into his en suite as he pulled off his socks. With care, he took the new headband off and set it by the sink.
"Works better if you're naked too," Jamie leered.
"Shut up," Roy said, but his eyes were on Jamie's thighs which were in particularly spectacular form these days, so he called it a win.
A bigger win when Roy really did start stripping down. He no longer had the body he might've when a younger Jamie taped up an aspirational poster, but it was still one to be proud of. Muscle carved lines through him, the only hint of softness around his stomach and that mostly shielded by hair. There were scars here and there, same as Jamie had. Bar fights, incidents on the pitch, all the small things that befell men who weren't as careful with themselves as they should be.
"Get in," Roy commanded like it wasn't Jamie's shower.
Jamie got in. It's what he'd wanted anyway. "How hot do you like it?"
"Boiling. What the fuck is this shower?"
"Isn't it great?" Jamie twisted the knob to his usual scalding temperature. "Came like this when I bought the place, didn't have to do a thing."
The bathroom lacked a bath, but Jamie had always preferred showering. Especially a shower large enough for three people, multiple shower heads and a wooden bench if he didn't feel like standing. Or had other activities on his mind.
"This is a villain's bathroom," Roy told him.
"What's that even mean?" Jamie complained as Roy followed him in. Score.
"In movies when they want to make it clear someone is really evil, they show them with a really stupid car or a fuck off big bathroom that's all chrome and glass and shit. Dark-sided bathroom choices."
"Okay then, I'm a villain," Jamie rolled his eyes. "You want to feel the massage setting or not?"
As it turned out, Roy very much did and the sounds he made did some things to Jamie's head that were going to be nearly impossible to undo.
"Sign me up to shoot Bond in the dick," Roy grumbled.
Delighted Jamie sat down on the bench, settling for whatever water managed to hit him through Roy. It also had the side effect at putting him at cock level, his fantasies of the last week/decade racing back to him all at once.
"If I sucked your cock right now, would you get hard again?"
"No idea," Roy said. "Let's find out."
That was new territory, but Jamie couldn't have cared less in that moment. He'd done worse with less notice and planning and come out fine for it. Curling his hands around Roy's hips, he leaned in and went for it. With the beating hot water, Roy didn't taste like much, but he did grab onto Jamie's shoulders, thumbs sweeping over them in random patterns as Jamie figured out how to breathe through his nose exclusively on the fly.
Fuck, it was good. Jamie loved eating women out. The scent, the sound, the taste. When he'd imagined sucking dick, it had seemed less intense. Maybe it was if you weren't sucking Roy Kent's dick. Which was definitely getting hard again. Mark up a point for Jamie Tartt, ladies and gents.
Fuck. This was going to distract him every waking moment for fucking weeks even if he never got to do it again.
"Goddamn you," Roy said, the words almost carried away by the pounding of water. "Who gave you the right to look this good while doing that?"
Make that months.
When Jamie's jaw started to ache and he was considering what the polite way to say 'come already before my jaw locks up', Roy pulled back and sat down heavily beside him on the bench.
"We'll shrivel up before I can come again." Jamie opened his mouth. "If you make an age joke right now, I'm not returning the favor."
Jamie had never clacked his teeth together so hard in his life.
"Good man," Roy gave him a shove. "Stand up. I'm not kneeling on tile."
Lucky for Jamie, he was not an old man and he was absolutely game to stand there as long as it took for Roy to sort himself out. It was well worth the wait, not only in the perfect wet heat of even the worst blow job, but the visual of curling short black hair and memorable nose burning it's way into Jamie's retinas. It was perfect. Even if Roy pulled off and made him wank down the drain at the end. Swallowing on the first go was probably a huge ask, in fairness.
After, they were both on the bench again, the only point of contact their knees which barely brushed against each other. Instead of words, they both cracked yawns.
"I'm done in," Roy admitted. "Can I crash here?"
"Yeah," Jamie said scrubbed at his face. He'd have to do his whole routine later, but right now a nap sounded better than anything else.
They barely toweled off, rolling damp into Jamie's bed without further conversation. There was a guest bedroom down the hall which would've done Roy fine, but he didn't ask and Jamie didn't offer.
Sleep hit Jamie hard and he woke with a little drool in the corner of his mouth and the deep conviction that he was late for something.
"Fuck off," Roy was saying, distantly. For a brief moment, Jamie was sure he'd missed practice or training.
It was only as he pushed himself up that it rushed back to him. Jamie hovered, holding himself planked as he remembered Roy's lips around him, unyielding and unpracticed, but good enough to bring Jamie over the brink for the second time in less than a half hour.
"You're a noisy asshole," Roy said, but not, somehow, to Jamie.
Brief visual investigation reported that Roy must've gotten up to piss and was talking to Pru through the window. The bird was twittering on, maybe warning Roy off her patch through the glass.
Stymied by too many options and a headache inducing amount of questions, Jamie lay back down and stared at the ceiling. If Jamie ruined everything….but Roy had kissed him. Roy had followed him up the stairs. Roy had stayed here. Sober of mind, sound of body, Roy Kent had kissed him, stroked him off and sucked his cock. If things were ruined, then they had done it together. Hooked up together. He'd hooked up with Roy.
Roy who was now looming over him, studying him.
"We should talk."
"Yeah," Jamie said. "Or."
"Or what?" Roy asked.
"Give me a minute, I just woke up. Haven't come up with a delay tactic yet."
"Why do you need one?" Roy sat down on the end of the bed, rolling Jamie towards him a little.
"It's a lot. I don't know…"
"Yeah. Talking is meant to fix that," Roy said, far too reasonable for a naked man.
"I liked it," Jamie said. It felt important to say that first. "I had a good time, I mean."
Roy nodded once, and looked down at his hands. "I should've asked."
"Why?" Jamie rolled his eyes. "Could've said no anytime I wanted. I do it all the time."
"You don't," Roy corrected. "Not actually with me any more."
Which was true and Jamie had truly been hoping that Roy hadn't noticed that. Jamie didn't care that Roy wanted to re-order his entire existence and prod him from dawn to dusk some days. It was good, the structure, the flow. Arguing with him was second nature, but Jamie didn't refuse him outright. Why bother when it was working so well for both of them?
"I could. Easy," Jamie contended. "Especially about sex stuff. It was my idea to blow you anyway, remember?"
A dark red flush started at the back of Roy's neck and stretched down his back. Wasn't that interesting?
"Yeah, well," Roy pressed on. "We've got a weird thing going on."
"Which bit?" Jamie rolled onto his side to face Roy.
"I'm your coach."
"Noticed that."
"Jamie."
"Roy," Jamie repeated the tone. "So what?"
"So there's a power dynamic and it's workplace…something."
"Yeah, okay," Jamie shrugged. "You want to un-fuck somehow? Forget about it?"
"You can't-"
"That's my point," Jamie said, propping himself up on his elbow. "It's done now. I'm not going to bring you up on charges. I was in all the way."
"I noticed," Roy said and maybe it was meant to be dismissive, but it came out sex rough. "You're a demon."
"Thank you," Jamie grinned up at him.
"This is going to happen again," Roy realized staring at Jamie's lips. "Fuck."
It was? Jamie wasn't sure he could smile any wider or more obnoxiously, but he gave it a shot. "Yeah, it is."
Someone's phone buzzed and Roy groaned. "But not right now."
"Got a hotter date than me?" Jamie asked.
"No. Yes. Fuck," Roy groaned. "I've got an appointment with my financial manager."
"Definitely not hotter."
"How do you know, dickhead? I might have the fittest financial manager that ever lived."
"You don't though."
Roy growled and pushed off the bed. He had gathered up a pile of clothes and eyeballed his briefs.
"Toss them in the wash," Jamie offered. "You can have some of mine."
"I'm not wearing your pants," Roy's lip curled up.
"They're clean."
"Not the point."
"You were happy enough to stick your cock in my mouth, what does some cloth matter?"
Roy's jeans were tight. Now that Jamie had fished around in them, he knew for a fact that going without was going to be both uncomfortable and immediately apparent to his not-hot financial manager.
"Fine."
Jamie rolled off the bed and walked into his closet. It was suitably large, big enough for an armchair and lit by a skylight. The underwear drawer was less exciting than the rest of it, but he did have a few interesting bits tucked into it. Nothing he'd foist on Roy, even for his own amusement. If he wanted this to happen again, best not end it on a gag as much as he wanted to. He produced a very ordinary pair of black boxer briefs that Roy took like they might bite him.
"Never thought you'd be squeamish," Jamie mocked which was enough to get them up Roy's thighs at least.
Despite Jamie being wider at the waist, they fit Roy well enough, settling there as he sat down to pull his pants back on. The spread of his shoulders, lightly furred, made Jamie want to lean down and press his lips to the knobs of his spine. Was that allowed? Jamie hovered, considering. Whatever they'd been doing seemed to have stopped for the moment, even if it was only a pause.
A halftime.