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It’d be one thing, wouldn’t it, if Roy’d wanted to keep it casual. Just get each other off sometimes, not altogether unheard of in the showers.
The alternative is to actually see where this goes, and that’s too terrifying to look straight at. To be in a—relationship—with the person who knows Jamie brutally well, the person who shaped him before he even knew him, and also a man and his goddamn coach, and Keeley’s other ex and, and, and.
It’s fucking Roy.
If Jamie knew what was good for him, he’d get out of this before it properly starts. There’s too much at stake. Call it the heat of the moment, laugh it off. Because the thought of opening up all the way just to lose him doesn’t remotely sound like something Jamie’s willing to bear.
But then Roy looks at him.
And Jamie’s not sure he knows what’s good for him after all.
The third time it happens, Roy crowding Jamie to the inside of his closed door after sweaty morning training, Roy slows down. He drags his palms up Jamie’s waist, disarmingly gentle. He cups Jamie’s jaw and kisses him so tenderly Jamie thinks he might break.
Heat prickling helplessly through him, Jamie yanks him into something rougher, hungrier. Seizes Roy’s hips and shoves him up against his own wall. Roy indulges him, but there’s still this edge of— care to it, and Jamie bristles, deepening the kiss with a sort of desperate fury.
Roy pulls away and looks at him.
“Hmm.”
Jamie blinks, his throat suddenly very dry. Something that could be anger flashes across Roy’s expression.
But then he only curls his lip, arches a brow, and flicks his gaze unmistakably.
Jamie sighs with relief and gets obediently to his knees, grateful to take Roy into his mouth and settle into the heady comfort of his hard-earned praise.
The days between Roy’s touch stretch like toffee, and the next time Roy pulls him in Jamie’s gone half-mad with the waiting, the aching, the trying very studiously not to be desperate.
He goes into the kiss with snarling heat, spitting into his palm and stroking Roy at a bully’s pace.
But Roy’s jaw drops at the treatment and he rides it like an expert, thrusting into Jamie’s fist with an elegant, easy power that does nothing to quiet the savage fire of Jamie’s heart. He smirks into the kiss, fingernails dragging across Jamie’s soft skin.
Jamie knows pleasure, it comes with the life and, obviously, this face of his. Yet no drug or fuck or match compares to the highs of being Roy Kent’s focus, and taking him the fuck apart.
Jamie hardly has time to gloat when Roy comes with a hoarse cry after a few moments of this treatment, because then he’s being manhandled against the wall and into Roy’s stupid, perfect, competitive mouth.
This time, when Jamie’s getting close, Roy pulls away to loosely jerk him off. He laps lower, wet tongue curling against Jamie’s base, over his sensitive balls, the crease of his thigh—
Jamie hears the string of swears rather than really chooses the words Roy coaxes out of him. Perhaps this is why he can’t help himself from saying the thought that’s been screaming in his mind for weeks now—and hissing, for years before that.
“D’you wanna fuck me?” he manages at last, the words coming out in a breathy rush.
And if he’d had any proper doubts about Roy’s intentions, they cower in the face of the sound Roy makes. The twitch of his fist on Jamie’s dick.
Roy looks at him.
“Have you—?”
Jamie shakes his head. He doesn’t offer anything else. He doesn’t have to.
Roy surges up the bed and kisses Jamie so filthy he comes in a shuddering, twitching hurry, his dick wet from Roy’s spit and rubbing between the hard planes of their stomachs.
Roy grins into his mouth.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. He shakes his head. “You know I do.”
Jamie’s hot all over, terribly vulnerable and somehow, distantly, he’s aware that he’s happier than he’s been in his entire life.
He knows Roy means it. And he knows what it means. ‘Cause the thing is—he knows Roy well enough to tell when he’s bullshitting.
“Good.”
When the night comes, Jamie’s as ready as he’s gonna be. But of course, again, Roy takes him by surprise.
The candles, for one thing. There’s like ten and they smell nice in a gentle, mature sort of way.The fresh soft sheets, the bottle of lube conspicuous and unapologetic on the bedside, the fucking extra toothbrush in the bathroom, which Jamie stares at with a sort of hysteria.
Roy closes the door, shutting out the rest of the world. He turns his hot gaze on Jamie and Jamie squares his jaw instinctively.
Roy shucks his own shirt first. Jamie follows suit.
It’s wild. They’ve gotten each other off already, been naked in front of each other countless times. This is different. Everything is different: Roy Kent wants him. And yet somehow it’s as if they’ve been leading here all along. It’s just that Jamie never, ever let himself think it might actually happen.
“I can’t believe I finally get to touch you,” Roy growls, shaking his head, and Jamie closes the rest of the space between them before Roy can.
When Roy presses him into the bed, Jamie tries to sneer and shove—
Only to have Roy pin him firmly to the mattress. He straddles Jamie, crosses his fucking arms, and frowns down at him like he’s laying out the ground rules for a drill.
Incredulously, Jamie feels himself relax.
“Listen, this isn’t training and I’m not going to pretend it is,” Roy says in a low voice. “You have to tell me if something hurts, or if you don’t like it. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop, unless you want me to stop. And you have to tell me if you like something. I need to trust that. And you need to trust me. You got all that?”
Jamie’s so hard it hurts. He knows Roy feels it. He nods, but Roy tsks, takes Jamie’s jaw in his hand.
“Aloud, Jamie.”
Jamie swallows.
“Yeah, coa–Roy. I will. You can. I got it.”
The corner of Roy’s mouth curves up at Jamie catching himself. Jamie gets it— coach works in bed, but only ‘cos it’s sexy, and only when it’s sexy.
“Good boy,” Roy murmurs, slipping the pad of his thumb between Jamie’s lips.
The pleasure centers of Jamie’s brain flood almost painfully—he squirms and gives a broken moan, grinding needily upwards. It’s far from the first time Roy’s said that, far from the first time Jamie’s heard it in bed, but never so heavy with power and promise.
Roy’s smirk widens. Wild how the man can look both menacing and devastatingly sexy at once. Or maybe not, really, maybe that intersection of rough and kind is exactly why Jamie—
Roy sets his mouth to Jamie’s throat and his big hand curls around Jamie’s dick and Jamie’s mind short circuits rather splendidly.
“You like that?” Roy murmurs, dragging his tongue up Jamie’s jaw. “Like being good for me, Tartt?”
“Fuck off,” Jamie pants. His hands stutter over the muscles in Roy’s shoulders. He’s memorised so much about these muscles, this body, this man. I can’t believe I get to touch you, he’d said, taking the words right out of Jamie’s mouth. Roy smirks, Jamie can feel it against his skin.
“I know you do,” he says, too quietly to mean only one thing. His mouth finds Jamie’s again, kissing away his shame before it blossoms. “Jamie,” he rasps, “I like you too. D’you know that?”
“I—”
Jamie realises, rather forcefully, that he hadn’t. A full body shiver goes through him, and Roy pulls back to look at him.
“Oh,” Jamie finishes weakly. “Oh.”
His arms go round Roy again, and then Roy’s snogging him stupid, that tongue eager in his mouth, both his hands coming to sink into Jamie’s hair and tug.
“You’re a brat,” Roy murmurs, his fingers playing over Jamie’s chest. “You’re insufferable, and the prickiest prick I’ve ever met.”
“Your pillow talk’s shit.”
Roy yanks him to the side and spanks him, sharp and without warning. Jamie makes an extremely obvious noise.
“You like it,” Roy says, and Jamie nods, thighs trembling.
“Fucker,” he breathes, “you know I do.”
“See?” Has Roy’s voice always been quite this raspy? The gravelly affection, pressed this close, so focused on him, makes Jamie fucking dizzy. “Brat.” He huffs a laugh. Drags his tongue down the lines of Jamie’s chest, his stubble sparking against Jamie’s tight nipples. “I was saying. You are all of that. The absolute worst. And—one of the best men I’ve ever met.”
“This is still shit pillow talk,” Jamie says, but his legs are already hooked around Roy’s waist, rocking their bodies together. Roy digs his teeth into Jamie’s nipple, tweaking the other between his fingertips, and Jamie arches into him, gasping.
“I need you to get it,” Roy says simply. He shakes his head. “I know you, Tartt. All of you. And I want you.” He looks up. “And not just in my bed.”
“Fuck,” is all Jamie can manage, but by the daybreak of a grin spreading across Roy’s face, he knows Roy, of course, understands. “Fuck,” he says again, sinking into Roy’s kiss, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Yeah,” Roy says. "Fuck.”
And then Roy’s mouth is on him again, his hands leaving Jamie’s skin alight in their wake. Jamie writhes against him, desperate and terrified at once for it to start.
“You don’t even know the half of it, do you?” Roy rumbles. Jamie parts his thighs to the sandpaper of his stubble. “Wild, ‘cause I know how full you are of yourself.”
Jamie grunts.
“It’s different, innit?” He licks his lips. “With you.”
Roy shakes his head.
“Fuck, Jamie. Of course I fucking want you. You know how I feel about you—”
“That’s different than wanting to fuck me.”
“True,” Roy acknowledges. “I want that too, though.”
Jamie swallows.
“Prove it.”
The grin that spreads across Roy Kent’s face is like nothing Jamie’s ever seen before. He knows, at once, that he’ll never forget it.
“My fucking pleasure.”
The kiss goes tender again. Roy’s calloused hands cup as close to Jamie’s bare body as possible. He moves like he’s mapping him, memorising him. Jamie’s never felt so relaxed and so alight at once. The tension in his muscles heats and melts him to treacle, his arousal settling into something less punishingly urgent and more…encompassing, somehow.
“Fuck, Roy.” His voice is lower than he’s used to.
When it starts to be too much, Jamie grabs at him, pulling him into something rougher again. This time, Roy allows it—but on his own terms. Kisses him deeper, clutches at him harder, but still slow, still disarmingly reverent. He spreads Jamie out, his gaze raking over what he’s seen a thousand times, but Jamie can feel the force of his desire now that he doesn’t have to hide it. He shivers, and Roy squeezes him. Perhaps it’s meant to be reassuring, but the pressure just makes Jamie whimper.
It’s the most vulnerable thing Jamie’s ever experienced, and, without question, the most thrilling.
Roy’s touch follows his gaze. There’s a familiar note of irritation there, and Jamie rises to it, nipping at Roy’s lip. Roy quirks a brow and shoves him back down with both hands. This close, Jamie can see something else shimmering behind that irritation—something equally familiar.
“Look at you all spread out for me,” Roy murmurs. “Handsome prick.”
It’s all for you.
“You gonna fuck me or just gonna wank about it for another decade, you bastard?”
Roy’s brows shoot up. He covers Jamie’s body with his, sinking his hands into Jamie’s hair. It feels so good Jamie nearly blacks out.
“You want me that bad, do you?”
Jamie swallows.
“Say it.” Roy’s grinning now. He reaches for the lube, and Jamie’s gut twists.
“Yeah, coach,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows. “I want you that bad.”
Roy’s expression twists into something almost savage.
“I fucking know,” he says, and it goes right to Jamie’s dick.
And then he’s curling Jamie into him, hitching his thigh up and over his waist, reaching below to prod with slick fingers just— there—
Jamie buries his face in Roy’s chest. He breathes him in, dizzy on the smell of him. It still feels hardly real, long-buried fantasy crashing into reality in a gauzy, desperate tangle. He loves the way Roy smells, he realises suddenly. He always has, and now that he’s pressed into him, he knows that the only way he ever wants to adjust to that strange, stretching pressure is with Roy steady against him, Jamie breathing him in.
“How does it feel?” Roy asks, the crushed velvet rumble of his voice.
“Weird,” Jamie says, “but—nice? I dunno, I—give me a minute.”
“Of course,” Roy says. He moves gentle but deliberate. Two thick, calloused fingers, slippery with lube and working Jamie open.
It’s not, strictly speaking, Jamie’s first time with this. He’s played with his hole a time or two and Keeley’d had her go of it, but nothing more than fingers and Roy’s are stronger and thicker than Keeley’s by a good measure.
And then Jamie opens enough for Roy to push deeper, and Jamie cries out, twitching.
The noise Roy makes is nearly enough to send Jamie over the edge.
“You feel,” Roy says, his voice more ragged than Jamie’s ever heard it, “so good.”
Jamie knows him well enough to believe it. He whines, grinding his hips down on Roy’s hand, jaw falling open as he rubs that spot against Roy’s fingertips.
“Fuck.” How many times has Roy hissed that at him? It’s never sounded like this before. Jamie can feel Roy’s dripping cock throb against his own thigh.
“You feel good,” Jamie finds he can say. Roy growls, and Jamie shivers—it’s never sounded so threatening before, and somehow so much like a purr.
“That’s it, Jamie,” Roy urges. “That’s it, good boy.” He curls his fingers and Jamie shouts. Roy’s grin is a feral thing, and Jamie doesn’t know how he resisted so long. He crushes a kiss to it and Roy adds a third finger and Jamie gasps through the sting of it. Roy bites his jaw before shoving him away. “Get on top of me.”
Jamie scrambles to straddle him, hissing when Roy doesn’t let him sit on his cock.
“Not yet.”
Jamie knows that tone like he knows himself—it brooks no argument. Jamie opens his mouth to protest anyway, like usual, but Roy bares his teeth and touches him again, toying at his slick, never-been-dicked-down entrance.
And if Jamie’s learned one thing this past year, it’s that the only thing better than giving Roy shit is doing what he says, because then Roy makes it good for both of them.
He swallows, and nods, and lets Roy work three fingers into him until Jamie can feel himself loosening enough to blush with it.
“I—”
“What is it?” Roy sucks on his lip, rubbing him just so. Jamie’s shaking.
“I can’t wait anymore,” Jamie whines at last. He barely catches sight of Roy’s grin again before Roy’s lining him up—and pulling him down—
Jamie cries out, steadying himself with both palms on Roy’s chest.
“Fuck, you’re big.” Jamie’s voice has gone thin. He needed three fingers, he needed every moment of that prep, and he’s blushing even more that Roy knew it.
“Easy,” Roy says, and oh. His voice is different too. He sounds raw and wrecked, and something feverish sings through Jamie’s chest and settles his nerves, knowing that he’s fucking Roy up just as much as Roy’s doing to him. “Nice and easy. I’m not going anywhere, yeah?” He squeezes Jamie’s hips. “Go on, Tartt. Take what you need.”
“And you know what I need, do you?” Jamie’s panting. He’s fraying at the seams, his own erection bobbing obvious in his lap, Roy Kent’s huge fucking dick easing inside him.
“I’ve got a good idea I’ve got what you need, yeah,” Roy grins.
Jamie stares at him, skin prickling, and sinks down with a drawn out moan until he’s seated in Roy’s lap. It’s Jamie’s turn to grin at him wildly, panting, while Roy’s face twists like he’s been wounded. Jamie rocks in his lap, bending over him, his sweaty hair curtaining his face.
“That’s it, Jamie,” Roy says. “That’s it, there you go. Good lad. Mmm.”
Roy lets him get used to it, and it’s easy to, when Jamie’s learning what Roy looks like when he’s inside him, when he’s learning the curve of his dick, the way his thighs feel and his nipples harden and how he likes it when Jamie clenches…
Slowly, the sting of the stretch eases, until there’s only the tug of it, and the sweet, sharp press, and the fullness. God, the fullness. Jamie lets his movements get bigger, Roy’s thick cock punching the breath out of him with each thrust. It’s easier than Jamie expected, riding him. Those muscles aren’t practiced but they’re not weak, either.
Then Jamie thinks of something, and chuckles, scrubbing his hand over his mouth.
“Coach,” he says. “Is this why you’ve got me doing all those squats?”
In the top ten things Jamie likes doing to Roy best, making him laugh is definitely up there. Doing it while Roy’s cock is inside him—that goes quicker to Jamie’s head than any booze ever has.
“No,” Roy says, licking at his mouth. “But it will be now. Fuck.”
Jamie leans back and sticks his tongue out between a toothy grin, rolling his hips with flair. He digs his fingers into Roy’s thighs. Roy shakes his head.
“Cheeky bastard.”
Jamie’s mouth twists into a smirk.
“What’re you gonna do about it?”
Roy tightens his grip on Jamie’s waist and punches his own hips up. Jamie cries out and loses his balance.
“Shit,” Roy says, “was that all ri—”
Jamie slams his hips back down, breathing hard through his nose. He pulls Roy into a savage kiss.
“Do that again.”
Roy grins at him savagely, and then everything goes a bit blurry at the edges.
Of course Roy can fuck. Jamie’s known. Jamie’s envisioned. Jamie’s heard.
But it’s another thing entirely to have those thighs that Jamie coveted, that chest, these muscles, put to use of fucking Jamie like his goddamn life depends on it.
“Prick,” Roy spits at him, groaning. “D’you know how handsome you look taking my cock?”
Jamie cries out again. His eyes are wet, and he’s on fire everywhere in the best way.
“I love how you feel inside me,” Jamie says, because he can’t help it.
“Good,” Roy snarls. “Cause you’d better get used to it.”
And then he wraps his palm around Jamie’s dick and Jamie rides it for a few helpless, hysterical moments—thrusting between Roy’s grip and his cock—
“Wait, wait,” he gasps, pushing away. “I’m gonna—I—” Jamie gnaws his lip, and Roy nods, his hands warm on Jamie’s thighs again. “I wanna last.”
I don’t want this to be over yet.
There’s that smile again. Crinkling Roy’s eyes at the corners, making Jamie thrum all over.
“Hey,” Roy says. “Can I try something?”
This is new, and Jamie registers distantly that he’d’ve remembered to be ashamed of it if Roy hadn’t looked so damn excited, if he didn’t sound like he does, moaning like a whore as he eats Jamie out from behind.
“God, you taste so fucking good,” Roy groans irritably into him. He spreads Jamie wider, flicking his tongue over Jamie’s hole as if it were his slit, and the fresh realm of pleasure makes the sheets crumple tight in Jamie’s clenching fists. Jamie wants to snark back on instinct, but he finds he doesn’t want to fight the wild, wordless pleasure of taking Roy’s mouth.
Roy’s tongue presses in, and Jamie keens. His hips grind back before he knows what he’s doing. Roy growls, and forces Jamie harder against him, licking into him as deep as he can. He jerks Jamie off as he licks into his stretched hole, just too loose to let Jamie over the edge.
It’s fucking filthy. Jamie’s fucked open and tender, slick with lube and precome. Roy eats him like a starving man, and Jamie can’t be embarrassed when Roy’s loving it so much, so he can only take it instead. It feels so good he doesn’t quite know what to do with it, this raw vulnerability that Roy brings out in him—-the only lover in the world who could wield it quite like this.
Roy drags his tongue up Jamie’s crease, sucks at his balls. He fucks Jamie on two fingers again until the not enough of it screams up Jamie’s spine and Roy reads it like the back of his own hand, licking hard circles into Jamie’s hole and playing with his dick, toying with his balls, thumbing hard at his perineum. Jamie’s brain keeps trying to memorise the twist of his tongue, the way he alternates his pressure, the way it’s different than eating a cunt, because he can’t wait to do this back to Roy if he lets him—but then Roy groans brokenly into him and pushes harder, wetter, and Jamie loses track of everything but pleasure until the pillow beneath his head is wet with sweat and tears.
“On your back, pretty boy,” Roy says quietly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
Jamie flops over. Even as he squirms piteously at the loss of touch, Jamie feels something deep in his chest unlock.
For ages now, going home meant hearing pretty boy and other shit like it in the worst way. For ages now, Jamie’s heard it for the slur it’d been intended. For ages now, Jamie’d go sick with the kernel of almost-truth inside it, the guilt, the shame.
But now here he is, doing exactly what he thought was always impossible—gettin fucking railed up the arse by Roy fucking Kent— and Roy means pretty boy in the exact opposite way Jamie’s heard it all his life. Pretty boy, because he is, and he does want Roy to fuck him stupid and pull his hair, and there’s nothing goddamn wrong with that.
And…the moment their eyes meet, Jamie knows that Roy understands all of that. In a way that no one else quite can.
“It’s all for you, you bastard,” Jamie says, reaching for him.
“Hm?”
“I—ah!”
Roy pulls him to the edge of the bed, positions him so he can stand by it, hook Jamie’s legs over his shoulders, and enters him again, deep.
Jamie shakes his head, grinning as Roy starts to move.
All that fucking training, building all this strength—for the first time Jamie feels that he knows what it was for. Yeah, he’s a god on the pitch with it, he knows that, yeah he’s a god of a lover, he knows that too.
But with Roy, it’s both at once.
No one else knows Jamie like this, knows what he’s done and what he’s felt and what this means.
More than that—everything Jamie loves about his body right now is where it is because of Roy fucking Kent. He got Jamie started. He made Jamie push himself his whole life. And he’s been training him ever since.
And nothing Jamie’s ever done with this body has felt as good as making Roy look like this.
Something is chiming in the back of Jamie’s head, sharp and steady at once. Less like an alarm clock or a buzzer, more like the creak of a branch in the breeze, or perhaps a distant windmill.
“You like this?” Roy’s gruff voice wraps around what’s left of Jamie’s ragged, blissed-out consciousness.
“Yeah,” Jamie manages. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Roy pets Jamie’s hair out of his eyes, fucks him hard and touches him sweetly at the same time, and Jamie’s mouth falls open, punched-out little noises wrenching from him with every perfect, thorough thrust.
Jamie never lets himself lose control like this. Not in anything he does. But he was right and he knew it—doing what Roy wants always works out best for both of them.
The thing is, there’s a sort of power in succumbing, Jamie’s realising somewhat madly. When it’s someone you trust. When it’s Roy.
And finally, finally, Roy is everywhere. Roy’s pinning him down, Roy’s holding him tight, Roy’s heavy on top of him and heavy inside him and Roy’s bringing him this spiraling, maddening pleasure and he knows he’s bringing it to Roy too, just by giving in, and there’s something so, so freeing in the surrender.
“Get it now? I want you to come on my dick, pretty boy,” Roy says, slow and deliberate in Jamie’s ear, “because I fucking like you.”
Jamie sobs through gritted teeth, dragging Roy in deeper by his heels.
Jamie flings his arms over his face as the ecstasy sharpens inside him, Roy hollowing him out and filling him with something molten and excruciatingly sweet. He hears himself gasp, hears Roy spit, feels him wrap his fist around Jamie’s desperate cock, hears himself wail in a tone he barely recognises—this feels better than any sex he’s ever had, than winning the biggest championship, than anything, anything, anything, this feels fucking new—-
And with a rush, just before Roy snarls and makes him go blank with white-hot pleasure, Jamie thinks, Fuck—
I’m gonna remember this one.
He cries out, wordless and raw. Roy fucks him through it, nailing that sweet spot and making those sounds, touching him in a thousand places. It’s Roy that Jamie sees, when he wrenches his eyes open even as he’s still shuddering, Roy pink-cheeked and sweaty with effort, bicep flexing as he jerks Jamie off.
“Good boy,” Roy murmurs, and Jamie goes tight, twitching and overwhelmed in the best way.
When Jamie slows at last, Roy traces his fingers through the mess he’s made on their stomachs, licks it off with a satisfied hum. He shifts, and Jamie realises what he’s about to do.
With the little strength Jamie can muster, he holds Roy fast. Roy’s brow arches, questioning, and Jamie nods. For the first time since they kissed, Jamie looks at him and says,
“Please.”
The look on Roy’s face is almost enough to get Jamie hard again.
“Fuck,” he says. He bites his lip and does what Jamie wants: fucks him with shallow, needful thrusts as he chases his pleasure in Jamie’s body. Jamie floats, settling into the mingling, perfect comfort of post-orgasm haze and post Roy-workout-soreness.
He almost says it, when Roy’s jaw drops, when his hips pick up speed. That creaking, chiming thing, threatening to claw out of Jamie’s mouth. When he watches his lifelong hero up close, his hairs and his scars and the damp of his brow, a wreck because Jamie made him that way.
“What’s that smirk for?” Roy pants.
Jamie sighs, squirming pleasantly.
“You already know.”
Roy rolls his eyes at him, and Jamie laughs, and then Roy’s kissing him again, grinning into his mouth—and then gasping into it, and then Jamie’s gasping too, as Roy fills him up, hot and impossibly deep, for the very first time.
Roy collapses on Jamie’s chest. The weight feels almost as good as the fucking. Jamie never wants to move again, a thing he’s never experienced before.
“Say it anyway,” Roy says.
“What?”
Roy lifts his head. They both shiver as he pulls out. Jamie flinches at the cooling stickiness, but Roy grabs his jaw again.
“Say it anyway. Even if I know.” His eyes are stern, but his lip is trembling. Oh. Oh. “If you mean it,” Roy says. “If you want it. Say it.”
Jamie swallows.
“You first.”
Roy rolls his eyes again, and Jamie breaks into a smile so big it hurts.
“You little brat.”
“You like it.”
“I love it,” Roy says, and that’s enough really, Jamie believes him. But then he kisses Jamie with the sort of urgency that speaks for itself—and then he says it anyway.
Jamie’s mouth goes dry.
“Wild, innit,” he says. “I’d—I’d been so fucking scared I was gonna lose everything. For so long. And then you went and—” he gestures. "Flipped it. Flipped it all.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Roy murmurs, “unless you want me to.”
“Don’t you dare,” Jamie pulls him into another kiss and says, at last, “...I love you too.”