Chapter Text
THE BEGINNING… present, June 2022
“I’m here about Jamie.”
Dr Sharon stares at him for a moment, unimpressed, “You know I can’t talk about other patients, Coach Kent.”
“I know, I know,” he hurries to reassure her, “It’s not like that, not the way that sounded.” He’s silent, trying to figure out what he needs to convey.
“Okay. Take your time.”
“It’s more that…” he took a deep breath, counting back down from 5 inside his head, “I’m not good at words,” he explained, “My sister has informed me that I’m not good at feelings either. She said I should probably lead by telling you that?”
Dr Sharon nodded, “That’s a great start Coach Kent. She knows you’re here then?”
“Can you call me Roy? Please? Roy Kent is... I’m just here as Roy. “
“Of course.” Sharon nodded, something of an understanding dawning.
“And yeah. She threatened me and bullied me into it until I couldn’t be bothered dealing with her glaring at me any more.”
“I’m glad you have that kind of support backing you up in your journey here Roy.”
Roy stared at her. He couldn’t work out if she was taking the piss or not. He decided to just ignore it and barrel through before he changed his mind.
“Not that I don’t have them, by the way. Feelings I mean. I do, of course I fucking do, just that I spent so many years pretending I didn’t… repressed she called me, just pushing them down to the point where I could ignore them. Because I never learnt how to deal with them, apparently. So now I have trouble letting myself even have them, let alone feel them. God forbid fucking dealing with them. So understanding them and my emotions and also other people’s, it basically just feels like this huge, impossible task. And I don’t want that. I want to understand when people need me! And when they fucking don’t! And when I should be able to understand things without them explicitly asking me for things, for help.”
He thought back to Ruth, struggling for all that time, he was still kicking himself, had she ever dropped hints? How many signs had he missed because he had his fucking blinkers on?
”Sometimes I feel like… I know that it’s me, I’m the problem. I know that I need help, for me, for how to deal with something. And one of those times is happening now.”
“That’s really great that you’ve recognised that in yourself Roy, you’ve already done the hard work by getting yourself to that point, to understanding that.”
“Well, I’ve basically just repeated everything she told me, but yeah.”
“That’s okay. You still have reached that same point of knowledge about yourself. What do you need help with?”
“Fucking everything. Ruth thinks I might need to be referred on…”
“Referred on?”
Roy sat awkwardly, fidgeting in his chair, “For… further diagnoses…”
“Ok. Well let’s cross that bridge if we get to it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, ok.” Roy nodded, swallowing down his fear of being immediately medicated and packed off to the assylum, and took a few deep breaths.
“I’m worried.” he began, running a hand over the back of his head, agitated, “Actually it’s beyond that. I’m shitting myself about something Jamie’s going to do.” He looks up, seeking eye contact to clarify she knows what he’s referring to, he’s sure Jamie must have spoken about this with her at his own sessions. He finds her looking right back at him but giving nothing away.
He takes another deep breath and counts down again, trying to draw from deep within his own reserves to force out the words he needs.
“He’s going to see his fucking cu- … shit stain of a father and I don’t want him to. I mean, I don’t think he should? I think it’s a really bad idea and I’m scared for him. I feel like there’s so much more that we don’t know, ‘cos if James could do shit like we saw in front of everyone at Wembley, what did he do to Jamie when there weren’t any witnesses? Jamie’s spent too many years living under the shadow of that with no one to help him, no one looking out for him, no one fucking stepping in saying hey this is not fucking ok…”
He ran both hands over his head now, fingers scraping at his scalp in frustration,
“…and he’s made so much progress since… well you know what happened. He’s in a good place right now and I don’t want that to be fucked up again for him. His dad has a way of… he just… all Jamie wants is for him to love him and be proud of him and he deserves that so much and I know he’s not an idiot but I don’t want him to fall for his dad’s bullshit! I’m really freaking out about it and I don’t know what to do because he’s a grown man, he can do what he wants, he can make his own decisions and I know that and I don’t want to interfere and I don’t want to upset him. I just want him to be safe. I need to keep him safe.”
I think I need to be the one to keep him safe, it has to be me. It can’t be anyone else.
Fucking Ted and that fucking book.
“Take a breath, Roy, here.” Dr Sharon passed him one of the fidget toys from her repertoire before he ripped the arms off the chair he was sitting in.
Roy sighed, defeated, exasperated, squeezing and unsqueezing the green squishy tennis ball relentlessly, listening to the puffs of air escaping in a gentle whoosh each time before feeling it fill back out into a ball beneath his fingers. “But I also know he doesn’t actually want to do this and I want to tell him that’s ok, if he doesn’t want to he doesn’t have to! And he’s allowed to change his mind! And he’s allowed to feel scared and he’s allowed to need help and I want to do that, I just want to help him... if he needs me…”
He finally runs out of steam and his lungs heave, shaky, he didn’t expect to say so many words at once and is flummoxed for a second, surprising himself. He takes another deep breath, Dr Sharon nodding at him in encouragement, clocking what he was doing, why is breathing so hard right now?
“I want him to need me.”
“That’s very admirable of you Roy.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“It looks to me like you actually do have a pretty good grasp of your feelings about this, you’re very self aware about yourself and where you fit in to this situation.”
“But I… how do I help him?”
“Have you spoken to Jamie about anything you’ve just told me?”
“Fuck no.”
“Maybe you could start there?”
“Fuck no!”
Dr Sharon said nothing, but fixed him with a look. At least it felt like she did. Her expression never changed when Roy glanced at her to check. But he felt like she should be giving him a look right now. Maybe she didn’t have to.
“I mean… I don’t know what to say.”
“You can say exactly what you told me?”
“Fuck off!” Roy scoffed, as if that was the maddest idea he’d ever heard, “I mean… No! I can’t say any of that!”
“Okay. We’ll come back to that later. But maybe you could just ask him if he wants any help with it? Any support?”
“What kind of help though? Because the type of help I want to give him involves red rope at 4am but a distinct lack of red paint and a distinct possibility of having to explain to a judge later why James deserved everything he got and I shouldn’t have to go to jail for it.”
Dr Sharon stared at him, face impassive as ever but Roy could feel she was unimpressed, “Jail terms aside, I was thinking more along the lines of offering him a lift? Waiting for him outside and being there to support him when he comes out.”
“Oh. Right. How would I know how to support him when he comes out?”
“If you don’t feel comfortable asking him outright, you could try just looking at him, maybe see if his body language looks sad, or upset, or angry. He might appreciate you just being there for him, he may need nothing more from you than that. But depending on how it goes, he may need more, but he won’t know for sure until he comes out. So if you’re there for him already, physically, then you can be ready for whatever he needs.”
Roy’s cheeks did not go pink at the word physically. They didn’t. Now was not the time Roy.
“But that’s the problem isn’t it! I don’t know how to read it! I know what I want to do, but apparently I’m too much for people, too intense, too clingy and shit? So I know that what I want isn’t what other people want, so how will I know what he needs?” Roy’s voice rose higher as panic set in, “What sorts of things might he need?”
Dr Sharon seemed to realise that Roy needed her to be very specific with her responses here, that Roy was spiraling to the point of complete incompetence, at least, his level of doubt in his own abilities when it came to this feelings shit was telling him that.
“Maybe he needs you to lend an ear so he can rant or vent about his visit. Or he might not want to say anything. He might just want a cup of tea and a biscuit.”
“He’s not allowed biscuits!”
Dr Sharon did raise her eyebrows this time at his outburst and he cowered under the perceived glare he was sure he was receiving, nodding guiltily. He hadn’t even meant that, Jamie can have a fucking biscuit if he wants one.
“Sorry. No you’re right, Jamie can have whatever he wants or needs in that moment?”
“I agree. And he might not even think about biscuits at all Roy. He might just rip it apart into tiny pieces like you’ve done with that ball…”
Roy looked down, shit, he hadn’t even realised he’d done that.
“…he might appreciate a comforting presence alongside him while he processes what happened when he was in there. Perhaps he might need a hug. He might need to cry.”
Roy looked alarmed.
“You might not be able to tell what he needs by looking at him, you might need to ask him.”
The alarm went off. Ask him?? Fuck sake.
“Right. Okay.” Roy’s voice was strangled, even to his own ears.
Dr Sharon took one look at his face and softened her own in response, “Jamie is very fortunate to have a friend who cares as much as you do about him Roy.”
If anything that was even worse, Roy struggling to hold in the automatic protestations that were instantly attempting to claw their way out.
When he finally had himself under control, panic stations set in, reviewed and dismissed accordingly, Roy’s voice was quiet, the usual guilt rising up in him, “I just wish I could do more. He deserves more. I’ve been a proper cunt to him from the moment we met.”
“What can you tell me about that? The moment you and Jamie met?”
“It was a long time ago. Jamie doesn’t know about it. He’d tell you about a different time if you asked him the same question. I haven’t been honest with him and he doesn’t deserve any of that. “
“In what way? You’re friends now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah… yeah we are. Best friends apparently.” Roy let out a huff of laughter, unable to hide the fondness in his eye roll, “Which is why he deserves better than that. Better than me.”
Dr Sharon was silent, assessing him Roy knew, but she didn’t know what she was assessing, she didn’t know the half of it, suddenly Roy wanted to tell her everything, he wanted her to understand. He needed someone to understand.
He flushed, remembering that first night in the club.
*
*
*
Sunday 16th August, 2015
He had been planning it for weeks. The entire event had to be completely thought out and organised in his mind, whenever he had an opportunity to scratch that very particular itch. The itch deep inside that could only be scratched by particularly hot guys with a particular size cock that he picked up in particular bars in particular towns…
Particular towns that were particularly far from home.
It had to be an away game, always, in a town miles away from where he lived, where he had less chance of someone clocking him. Or at least, being Roy Kent, as he was, with people clocking him literally everywhere he ever went, he needed less chance of running into Brenda from the front desk at the podiatrist or Zahid from behind the counter at Hus’ kebab shop, or the absolute worst, one of the seemingly millions of ex’s who he somehow managed to manifest into appearing around every corner he turned in London. Usually on their own hens nights, which still didn’t seem to deter them.
He needed to be somewhere like here, in a fucking nice hotel room in an expensive hotel, on the other side of the city to the one he checked out of with the the rest of his Chelsea teammates earlier that morning.
He needed to have some time to himself. To distance himself from the Roy Kent of it all. The Roy Kent of that morning. The Roy Kent he presented to the world. He needed time to find the nerve to unpack himself. The self he didn’t always know how to find. Didn’t have the guts to find.
He needed to find the guts to unpack his other suitcase. The one with his other clothes in it. His other life. His other self. The one that was no longer Roy Kent.
He breathed.
He opened his eyes.
*
Roy ran the razor under the hot water and lifted it to his head, raking across the lines of his already shorn skull. Over and over again until it was completely clear. He repeated the same motion hypnotically, following the lines of his arms, the lines of his legs, over and over again, his hands following the blade to gauge until they were as smooth as Roy’s hairless arse.
He looked in the mirror, the eyebrows he’d taken care of earlier in the hotel spa not looking quite as black hairy caterpillarish as they had before the threading. The redness had died down now, thank fuck. He still felt a tingle in his nether regions from the back sack and crack wax but it was so worth it as he ran his hands over the expanse of smooth skin, hoping later someone else would be enjoying it too.
He ran his hands over the rest of his body checking for anything left that might need another once over with the razor before he got out the hair removal cream. He couldn’t leave any trace of his usual thick carpet of black hair anywhere on his body.
Stepping out of the bathroom he surveyed the selection of very un-Roy like clothes he’d laid out on the bed. He had to commit, if he had any chance of pulling this off, he had to appear to be as completely unlike himself as humanly possible. His fingers trailed the white silk of the classic Dior collarless shirt, to be worn rolled to the elbow and unbuttoned seductively low at the neck to display his smooth fake tan chest, delicate chains at his neck. He eyed the tailored white trousers rolled at the ankle, trying not to second guess himself, black belt and black Louboutin loafers, ready to slip on, worn with no visible socks, why not give the boys the thrill of an exposed ankle.
When he’d already spent hours getting ready, he stood in front of the mirror trying to convince himself this wasn’t the worst idea in the world before he finally walked out the door, reaching for the final touch. A pair of thick black rimmed Tom Ford framed glasses, he was Clark Kent now, not Roy Kent, the only way he could leave the house if he actually followed through with his weeks long plan, he needed this, he needed to get his fix.
He needed to be taken apart and put back together with no control of it himself, if he even had a hope in hell of getting through the next few months of being his usual fucking self. He needed to make it to the next chapter.
*
He held his breath through the attempt at atmosphere from the smoke machine, but the second Roy emerged at the bottom of the stairs he felt an overwhelming sense of confidence and calm wash over him, like all eyes were upon him, raking up and down, appraising, rating, swiping right.
He felt that same old prickle down his spine, never quite out of the danger zone like someone would clock him at any second, but no one paid Roy Kent any mind, all anyone could see was the Clark of it all as he stepped into the pulsing pink lights, all nonchalant confidence…
…anything resembling the eager hope he trembled with inside, he kept to himself.
It settled him, the all too familiar tack as his soles tracked across the obligatory sticky carpet, compulsory to every nocturnal venue he’d ever stepped foot in, the heavy bass all encompassing, the air thick with the same Lynx and male sweat as the dressing room but with the added bonus of the thrill of the chase and the chance of being caught.
He blinked into the flash of the strobe cutting across his face, illuminating the heaving dance floor to his right, a mass of sweaty glistening chests and gyrating bodies, the dim, crowded space lit up sporadically by the bright flash of lasers on mirror balls. It was intoxicating.
The anticipation thrummed through his veins with every pulse, every beat as he made his way to the bar, weaving in and out of the crowd of shapeless figures through the darkness and he stared, brazen, as the handsome faces of attractive men emerged all around him when the lights landed right.
He waited at the bar, eyes intent on the action behind him reflected in the mirror opposite, enjoying the proximity of the jostling throng surrounding him, vying for the attention of the barstaff.
Taking a sip of the firey amber liquid now in his hand, he relished the sensation of its burning path down the back of his throat, grounding him, gearing him up. He turned back to survey his surroundings, to make his next move, swilling it round the glass to hear the satisfying crack of the ice as it cooled the alcohol before downing it in one. Picking up his second, his eyes returned once more to the thrum of the dance floor as he turned, a thrill running all the way through him as he made his way over.
He finally found himself space with room to breathe again, settling on a high stool at a table in the dimly lit furthest corner, intending to just casually scope the scene from his strategic vantage point while his liquid courage grew enough to actually go on the pull…
…and then he almost left immediately the second he sat down when he instantly clocked Jamie fucking Tartt by the pool table.
He eyes nearly flew out on springs like they do in cartoons and his heart thudded to a halt in his chest in horror,
…fuck fuck fuck no no no what the actual fuck…
What should he do?? What the fuck should he do?? He couldn’t stay here! That was it. All his carefully laid plans out the window. His life flashed before his eyes. This was it. His career was over. Down the pan. May as well retrace his steps back to the Chorlton Street bridge now. Is it too much to ask for, to hope to drown when you throw yourself into such a shallow canal? Or would he have to hope he hit his head on the way down too?
Everything was fucked.
He downed his drink, eyes scanning for a glimpse of the exit through the smoky haze.
But then, like a dreamscape unfolding in slow motion before his eyes as Roy stared in disbelief, with a startled yelp Jamie was swept up in the strong arms of some random bloke who tipped him back into a deep and dirty snog, grabbing one of his legs to hoik up around his waist to hold him in place with an insistent, greedy hand, a greedy hand now groping the ample swell of Jamie’s arse, staking his claim, to the accompanying raucous cheers of those surrounding them.
Ok, maybe not so random a bloke then, the way Jamie was laughing into his mouth and kissing back as the random bloke seemed to be trying to devour him hungrily, arms snaking around the not so random neck as he nearly fell before being righted on his feet again.
Ok, so maybe Jamie had as much to lose as Roy did.
And Roy wasn’t here as Roy, but Jamie was definitely here as Jamie. And Roy couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried.
He was dressed up and glamorous, almost ethereal, the pulsing lights sweeping across the sharp angles of his face, catching on the shimmer dusted across his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw softened in laughter. His eyes were alight with an easy candour Roy would never have had the audacity to display, not in a place like this, not at that age, let alone this one.
He was beautiful, in a way he’d never have expected from this lad’s lad he’d last seen sweaty and covered in dirt on the pitch just a few hours earlier. He was as effortless and graceful dancing here under the lights as he had been earlier, sprinting across the grass. Roy’s eyes followed his every move, swaying to the thrum of the bass, footwork to be admired no matter which surface they found themselves on.
Roy was mesmerised, entranced.
He was clearly celebrating something with a bunch of similarly clad exotic and exuberant friends. All sparkly and shimmery, lithe muscles and clothing clinging suggestively to their gyrating bodies on their own little corner of the dance floor, taking a breather and knocking back a shot or two between floating in and out of active participation amongst the heaving mass of bodies in the middle of the room.
Jamie looked happy and free, and more than comfortable with his own body and self in this environment, an environment Roy had to mentally work himself up to putting himself in, for days, weeks prior, that took meticulous planning and a city far from home. And here Jamie was all happy-go-lucky snogging some random bloke. Some random bloke who, albeit clearly conceited as fuck, clearly thought himself the hottest person in the room despite his little leg-day-skipping twigs in his painted on acid wash jeans and don’t even get Roy started on his fucking pink tank top with the strategic side slits for a glimpse of his tits, his vanity muscles, that Roy knew for a fact, no further evidence needed, would never make the distance when it counted. Clearly.
Who, with his constant handfuls of Jamie’s arse, (how he was even tolerating his suffocating relentless proximity, constant groping limpet hands and grating braying), Roy quickly realised as the night wore on must have been Jamie’s boyfriend. And all the people there knew it.
And now Roy knew it too.
All his best laid plans went completely out the window.
It turned out he couldn’t take his eyes off of Jamie for the rest of the night, no one else even had a look in, not a chance. And wasn’t that a turn up for the books.
Roy watched the scene unfold before him with baited breath, enthralled, increasingly invested as his concern grew about Jamie’s welfare as the night wore on.
He watched as Jamie nursed a single beer bottle for ages, not even taking a sip, cheering with everyone else every time another tray of shots appeared in front of him and everyone grew steadily more sloshed. But Jamie returned his to the table untouched every time, only drinking from the capped bottles of sparkling water littering the table that he’d brought back for himself with every round, never touching a drop of alcohol.
He watched as Jamie time and time again had to prise an over-eager, unwanted hand from his arse, from his hip, his waist, his face, polite refusal, laughing removal, working harder to dance out of arms reach, out of harms way than he ever had to on the pitch.
Not all insistent hands were belonging to the slimeball that was Jamie’s boyfriend, trying their luck when they thought his back was turned, (Roy later learned that his name wasn’t even Celestino, he had given himself a fake Italian name to try look cool, and his real name was Tony. Lol.)
Worst of all, Tino’s were by far the hands with the biggest threat behind them, the biggest intent, claiming him like a prize to display and assuming some kind of right to him, like he was the one doing Jamie a favour by showing him off publicly, (hah, as if,) and Roy couldn’t shake the feeling that there’d be repercussions if his unrelenting hands were refused.
The unrelenting hands that tried again and again to make Jamie acquiesce, tried to ply him with shots to make him compliant, not even noticing that they went untouched and he instead made sure to dance himself out of harms way with arms slung around the neck of a different friend back to the dance floor each time. And each time Roy saw him scanning his surroundings, scanning for the next hands to remove, the next drink thrust his way to be discarded, the next escape route.
Maybe he didn’t actually look as happy now as he had initially, or maybe he never had at all, and maybe he really did need an escape, and maybe Roy could help with that.
Roy’s mind was made up when he watched Tino come storming back to their little corner of the dance floor, one of their other friends in tow, who he then just proceeded to suck face with against the wall for a few minutes before both their hands made their way into the front of each others skinny jeans.
Roy had had enough of this dipshit and his overt attention seeking, and realising he’d been staring, incredulous, abruptly stood and took himself off to the gents to piss in fury on Jamie’s behalf.
He was still standing at the sink washing his hands angrily when the door slammed open and he watched in the mirror in disbelief as Tino and his new fuck buddy hurried as one into the cubicle behind him, a flash of bare arse and cock already on display. The almost immediate skin on skin noises emanating from behind the door spurred Roy into action and he legged it back out into the club, foregoing his table in the corner for now as his eyes cast about for Jamie.
They landed on him finally, for a moment Roy worried he’d left, but there he was waiting his turn at the bar, and Roy tried his hardest not to hurry over too fast to fight off the throngs already there eyeing him up, to join him himself. Presumptuous much??
He was achingly beautiful up close under the colours of the pulsing lights, and Roy felt his heart break as he watched him buy himself three top shelf spirits in quick succession. He had knocked two back immediately but now stood staring at the final one at the bar, as if only just realising what he was doing and not sure if it was a good idea after all. Roy took that as his cue.
He watched him ponder the glass in front of him, watched him order another before quickly heading over there to intervene, to distract him, to stop him from doing something he’d only wake up to regret in the morning.
He put his hand out to take the third glass from his grasp before he could down it along with the first two, and got the barman’s attention again to swap the forth for two bottles of water instead, remembering just in time to change his voice, an octave higher than he was used to and with fewer grunts than usual, remembering words were the preferred method of communication for most people.
“Yeah, sparkling, thanks.”
Jamie was staring at him in frustration, “What the fuck? What did you do that for??!”
“He’s not worth it mate.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Don’t punish yourself for him being a bellend, you don’t wanna wake up in the morning regretting the decisions you made because some cunt made you sad.”
“What the fuck?!”
“Or mad.” Roy accepted the bottles from the barman and turned to face Jamie, still staring at him incredulously, pressing the water into his hand.
“Thanks…?”
“You’ll thank yourself later for making the right decision. He seems like a total fucking nob.”
Jamie took a long swallow before slumping down on the bar at Roy’s words, head pillowed on his arms for a second with a groan, “No you’re right, you’re right, he is.”
“Then you’ve made the right decision.”
“Yeah, yeah I have…” he fiddled with the plastic label already sliding off the bottle, “I mean, he’s fine when it’s just the two of us, usually… but as soon as we go out, in public he’s different, such a fucking show off!”
And that’s the last thing I want.
“And that’s the last thing you want.”
Jamie lifted his head and looked at him in wonder, their eyes meeting,
“Yeah…”
Roy looked away first, wilting under the scrutiny, crossing all his fingers and toes and every other extremity and praying to every non-existent deity he didn’t believe in that Jamie wasn’t recognising him right now.
Jamie straightened, eyeing him curiously, Roy cleared his throat,
“Must be hard, to feel like you’re constantly having to be on guard, looking over your shoulder all the time…”
Jamie was nodding before Roy had even finished, “Yeah… it is…”
“I saw you having to fend him off…” Roy indicated over his shoulder back to where they’d been milling around in the corner, “He didn’t seem to fucking understand boundaries… or being told no?”
“Or being told no…” Jamie echoed with a sigh, shaking his head as if in disbelief, “Yeah, you’re right, what the fuck was I thinking??”
“What a fucking cunt.”
Jamie observed him with a wry glance, knocking back half the bottle of water in one go, hoping to hold the vodka off from hitting him just yet, he wanted his wits about him, “You seemed to get the measure of him pretty quick…” he arched an eyebrow in question.
Roy barked out a laugh, “Ha! Unfortunately I know his type well. And, well I just saw him fucking some other cunt in the bogs for all and sundry to see and I thought that did you a fucking disservice! And I thought that you deserve better than that! I saw you having to fend off every creepy gropey hand from molesting you on the dance floor every way you turned and he was the worst of the lot when he should’ve been fucking defending you!”
Jamie stared at him wide eyed, unblinking in awe, he’d been wary at first, expecting this smooth tanned bespectacled blonde buzz cut stranger dressed all in white to be just another twat trying his luck, but there was something different about this guy, like he was just sick of everyone’s shit and not afraid to say so. He was also fucking gorgeous, he looked like he’d stepped straight off a catwalk or the pages of Vogue, with his intense eyes behind those huge frames and all that sexy smooth, tanned skin in the vee of what Jamie could see of his exposed chest.
“Do you wanna dance with me?”
“Yeah, ok…”
*
So they hadn’t stopped talking since they’d started, Roy remembering his Clark voice and Jamie laughing along and forgetting all thoughts of drowning his sorrows in vodka, (…what was I thinking??) …eagerly letting himself be pulled to the dance floor by Roy, Roy who never, ever danced at clubs, Roy who never went clubbing by choice but was dragged kicking and screaming under obligation to his teammates or when his hunger for cock grew to the point he couldn’t ignore it.
Well that had definitely been the original reason for his little incognito outing that night, but rescuing Jamie Tartt from his cunt of a boyfriend quickly became his priority. He definitely didn’t intend to rush in like some kind of knight in shining armour, definitely didn’t expect to get his dick wet anymore when the night became about much more than that. He was genuinely enjoying the banter with someone he knew he had way more in common with than either of them let on, which led both of them to be able to explore completely different sides to themselves that perhaps neither ever let on to most people. They talked about films and music and fucking cat videos on the internet and the shitness of dating apps and the way some people fuck up making tea.
And it was incredible. Roy was transfixed. He wasn’t thinking ahead, he wasn’t thinking of the next time their teams faced off against each other and he’d have to watch him dance up the pitch with the ball and act like he didn’t know how it felt to have Jamie’s body pressed up against his, bodies writhing around them on the dance floor. He’d have to act like they’d never met, like nothing had happened between them in a dark and loud sweaty club in Canal Street.
Well, he supposed they hadn’t met, not really, Roy Kent and Jamie Tartt had never met, not officially, just faced off against each other from a distance for 11 minutes, but Clark fucking Kent had met Jay, just Jay, who didn’t even know his pretend name let alone his real one, the beautiful boy with the cheekbones and the jaw that could cut glass, whose boyfriend was a tosser who cheated on him on his birthday before dumping him in front of all their friends.
They’d made their way upstairs for a breather, Roy almost forgetting not to be Roy Kent as he caught himself exclaiming loudly first at the welcome nip of the night air that hit them in the face, followed by the immediate splutter of complaint as they fought through the heavy air of all the smokers lingering by the entry. Jamie was laughing as Roy’s arms flailed about to clear a path in the air in front of them, complaining the entire way as Jamie pulled him free until they were standing in the mouth of an alley, just round the corner enough to be out of sight (and smell),
“There you go lad, that better?”
“Yes.” Roy stared at him in wonder as Jamie stood there, effortlessly cool and casual, back to the wall, blowing into his closed fists to warm the chill in his fingers, one foot propped up on the red bricks behind him.
“Here, let me.” Roy stepped closer, taking Jamie’s freezing hands to envelope them between his own warm palms, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb as he started to talk, eyes locked on the warm ones staring back at him, no idea where his words were coming from but certain fo some reason that maybe Jamie really needed to hear them right now,
“You’re more than the way he treated you, like just a fucking trophy boyfriend or some shit, and you don’t deserve to be treated like all you are is just another pretty face for him to show off. You’re better than that, Jay. What you feel matters, what you think matters, what’s important is what’s in here…” Roy reached to touch his finger gently to his heart,
“…and here,” he moved his finger to touch at his temple, “…what’s important are your actions and the things you have to say. ‘Cos you’re more than that, more than him. You deserve so much more.”
Jamie was floored, he almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, like it was some kind of dream or a film from the 80’s that his mum liked to watch starring people like Molly Ringwald, like that A-ha music video for Take on Me, where the movie star or pop star, or maybe your favourite premier league footballer, comes to life out of the poster on your bedroom wall and tells you the most amazing things you’ve ever wanted to hear…
Fucking wow.
“But you still wanna fuck me though, right?”
And Roy, in his head that was currently exploding with the absolute need to do the right thing, alongside the extreme need to protect and care for this guy who seemed like he was in desperate need of it in return, it was almost completely overwhelming him, in his head he was all like, well yes, course I do…
…but he also wanted to make it clear he wasn’t just staking a claim on him like just any other arsehole despite everything he just said, if that made any sense whatsoever?
So although everything he just said appeared to have made Jamie immediately go all boneless and breathless in his arms all
oh my god please fuck me right now…
…it made Roy hesitate for only a second before offering in return, actually out loud, outside of his head,
“…or you know, you could always… fuck me? If that’s something you might be interested in, too?“
And Jamie could do nothing but swoon his face off in response, even more wide eyed and oh my god about it all, because people usually just deferred to him being on the receiving end, without even asking, no one had ever given him the choice before, there had never even been the option.
“Come home with me?”
And Roy was a weak man at the end of the day. When Jamie took him by the hand and tugged him closer, when he drew him in and their lips met, Roy was incapable of resisting.
.
“I’m just around the corner,” Jamie drew away just long enough to whisper into his mouth before Roy was drawn back in, he’d lost track of how long they’d stood there, “Come on.”
.
And it really was just around the corner, Roy taking note of the tearooms they passed just after they crossed the bridge, figuring he might appreciate them in the morning, and marvelling at the way the big heavy original Victorian door at the street front immediately locked out every single sound of the bustling nightlife they’d only just left behind them. Jamie had been savvy enough to purchase wisely with a side entrance as well as one right off the main street frontage, in case he ever had to arrive in stealth mode Roy figured. And the second the door closed behind them Jamie was pushing Roy back against it, lips questioning at first before Roy’s eager acceptance spurred him on, hardly parting for air as they made their way up the seemingly never ending winding stairs to Jamie’s top floor flat.
Finally, breathless from more than just the exertion of getting his steps up, Roy let Jamie push him up against the front door, snogging him senseless while he waited for his thumbprint to activate the lock. Roy had no idea what was happening, expecting him to pull out a key like a normal person, and definitely not expecting the door to open behind him as if by magic as he fell through, laughing in almost fucking delight at the surprise of it, pulling Jamie with him as he staggered inside, righting themselves against the doorframe as Jamie claimed his mouth once more.
“This is fucking magical,” Roy breathed in awe as Jamie turned him away from the front door finally, steering him towards the bedroom, taking in the sight of the twinkling lights lining the paths in the park below them and the glowing windows in red bricks stretching as far as the eye could see as Manchester spread out on all sides around them. He tore his gaze away from the windows and back to Jamie who was drawing the curtains in his bedroom with the touch of a button, “You’re fucking magical.”
He flicked another switch and the entire room was bathed in a soft pink glow, “Well come on then, come and I’ll show you how fucking magical I am.”
And how could Roy ever refuse an invitation like that?
.
Jamie’s sheets were exquisite, Roy had never experienced anything like them and he marvelled at the way they moved and the way they felt against his skin as they draped themselves across his body, and he would forever be relieved he’d fessed up about the fake tan and asked for a shower first before sprawling out all over them, even if they were ‘not just any old pink, fuchsia innit?’ they were already going to be dealing with enough without adding a tinge of fucking orange all over them.
And deal they did, first they dealt with Jamie practically throwing Roy down to devour him on sight the second he emerged from the ensuite, they dealt with Jamie’s hair still damp as he ran it through his fingers as though he couldn’t wait a second longer to get out of the bathroom and back to Roy waiting in his bed, the scent of his hastily rinsed conditioner lingering as it mussed against the pillows, they dealt as the expanse of smooth skin warmed by the hot spray now broke out in goosebumps in the wake of Roy’s fingers softly trailing paths along the defined ridges of his body, they dealt,
they dealt,
he was breathtaking, and Roy was captivated, he was captured, as Jamie took him apart.
Which hadn’t been Roy’s plan, not that he was complaining, not in the slightest, but his own pleasure had been second to Jamie’s in his mind and he had intended to be in the reverse position to the one he currently found himself.
“I think I’d look really good with your cock in my mouth…” Roy felt it as the words were murmured against the skin of his belly, breathed out on an exhale, ending with a moan as the cock in question twitched in response against Jamie’s cheek, “Please?”
and how could he fucking refuse an offer like that?
.
…yes fuck yes, I want you to make me remember this when I wake up and you’re not here…
Ohmyfuckinggod. Fucking swoon.
.
Jamie didn’t tell Roy what he did for a living, and even if Roy hadn’t already known, he’d never have been able to tell just by looking around in the cold light of day the next morning. He’d never have been able to guess it was something public and lucrative that kept him in everything he needed, and then some, at such a young age. But Jamie did tell him everything Roy already knew about how hard it was in the life they led in the world that particular career was immersed in. And somehow without even mentioning once what said career was.
Roy knew that even a starter wage in the Prem was an absolute fortune for council estate boys like Jamie, like himself, (although the wages were very different now to what they’d been when Roy had been coming up,) but looking around at the gorgeous little flat that he now found himself in, way more homely and personally decorated than his own first flat had been, (and tastefully.) So what if Roy had refused to spend money on such a ridiculous thing as an interior designer, and so what if he still felt the same now, so what if for the first decade of living on his own he had lived in sparse empty spaces filled with only what was absolutely required and nothing more. What was the point of art? Of shelves filled with knickknacks and trinkets and fucking framed photos? Well, that’s what he’d always thought, but looking around him now, he could see nothing but that kind of frivolity on every surface his eye landed, and it told him so much about the man lying in the bed with him and made him change his mind immediately. He could see Jamie reflected everywhere he looked, and he just couldn’t help but love it. He resolved in that moment to make a photo wall. To put up shelves. To buy art. A vase. Flowers. Wallpaper. Throw cushions. A matching soft fluffy blanket for the couch. Fuck. What had he been missing? A house that he liked being in? If Jamie never played a minute more football in his life he could make a killing at making bachelor pads nice instead.
Jamie had told him that he had saved up his first paycheques to buy his mum’s council house for her, she wouldn’t let him buy her a new one, she liked where she was and the community she had there, which, fair enough. Roy couldn’t argue with that.
But Jamie had been worried because his dad knew where she lived and therefore where to find her, and therefore him, and always took it upon himself to turn up uninvited. Despite the restraining order. And he didn’t feel safe.
So he’d secretly bought this little place. He’d wanted somewhere he could whisk his mum away to safety if she ever needed it, and where he could hide.
And bonus, it was right in the heart of the city and particularly in the thick of things for Canal Street where his dad, hopefully, would never be seen dead.
He and his mum had some cracking nights out dancing, just like he and Roy had just done, and then all they had to do was walk around the corner (and up six flights of bloody Victorian era stairs to the top floor, and sure, as soon as he entered the front door he was immediately met with a cracking view out over Sackville Gardens all lit up and the red bricks and rooftops of Manchester through the 360’ windows, yeah, lovely, but no bloody mention of the lift Roy saw staring him in the face when he went to leave the next morning.)
And Roy was so gone for him, he was head over heels for this gentle, considerate and kind, vulnerable, emotional, gorgeous man he’d only just properly met, his heart bled for him and how much harder it must be for someone so clearly more accepting of themself and their own identity to exist in that crazy masculine homophobic world they inhabited, than for someone like Roy who was so closeted, so straight passing that no one would ever question him, (not even Jamie Tartt who had played against him on the pitch mere hours ago and yet had no idea who he was now balls deep in.)
And Roy felt so many ways about that. He regretted every second of not telling him who he truly was and he didn’t regret a single thing.
He regretted that this moment here in bed right now was all it could ever be. That he could never have it again and that it was almost over and he could never breathe a word of it to anyone, ever.
But he didn’t regret a single second of anything that happened and wouldn’t change it for the world and would do it all again in a heartbeat. Fuck. He was so fucked.
Roy was more than happy to be a rebound fuck and for the first time in his life didn’t want to have to leave it all behind him the second it was over.
He had scooped Jamie up into his arms and they’d fallen asleep tangled together, and it had taken everything in his power to leave Jamie lying rumpled and sated and so fucking incredibly gorgeous in the sheets (after an enthusiastic and energetic round two, three, four…) before he had to make his way down in time for his car home the next morning, (in the fucking lift thank you very much, not the fucking 6 flights of stairs.)
And if he made a point to note the make of Jamie’s luxurious sheets before leaving the bed, to ordersome for himself the second he got home and then had done exactly that, and had slept on them exclusively ever since, thank you very much, (and if he thought of Jamie every single time he got into bed and woke up in the morning then that was no one’s business but his own.)
And that was the first time he met Jamie Tartt.
But…
… But
Jamie doesn’t know that.
Sharon doesn’t know that.
Can he tell her? Her question still hangs in the air.
“What can you tell me about that? The moment you and Jamie met?”
She senses something, she sees him dithering as the entire night flashed before his eyes, she clearly sees the anguish written all over his face.
“We can come back to it if that would make you more comfortable …”
Instead Roy swallows.
“I’ve never told anyone this before…”
He starts from the beginning.
*
*
*