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[09.43] Changing rooms. Swimming pool. 2pm.
Jamie stares at the message on his phone and glances around. Roy’s in the manager’s office, gesturing at something on the whiteboard like he hasn’t just sent Jamie a dirty text. Or, like, an invitation to dirt. Whatever. Jamie’s thumbs feel like they don’t belong to him as he writes out a reply, not sure how he’s going to get through morning training when he’s got Roy waiting for him.
[09.45] 💦💦💦
*
The night before, Jamie’s cursing out a Swedish twat.
“Oi, you little fucker!” His thumb jabs down on his controller. “You do that and I’ll fucking fly to Sweden and fucking nut you.”
“You’d still be dead, pung,” Conny replies.
To be called a pung by some acne-prone fuck named Conny makes him want to throw his controller at the screen. He resists because he’s not a baby child who breaks his shit, but it’s a close call because Conny’s stalking him through Verdansk while the rest of the team spread out. They’re in his ear, telling Conny to shut the fuck up and stop pointing his gun at the back of Jamie’s head—they’re on a mission and two hours deep into it, so his bitching is ruining the game. Not that it matters to Conny since his sole purpose in life is to ruin Jamie’s gaming experience.
He fucks the lad’s mum one time and suddenly he’s got an online annoying stalker from Växsjö who’s hell bent on annoying the fuck out of Jamie.
“Jamie, go left,” Dana says. He peels off to the side and Conny tries to follow him. “Don’t even, Conny, for fuck’s sake. We’re in the middle of something here. Jesus.”
There’s a grumble of Swedish annoyance but he does as he’s told. Jamie shifts forwards, perched on the edge of his sofa, reaching for his beer and tipping the remnants down his throat. Fumbling for a cold slice of pizza that he chews with eyes locked on the TV, he wipes his fingers on his bare thigh and gets himself into position, enjoying the lack of Swedish cunt when his doorbell rings.
He ignores it.
There is no reason for anyone to be at his door, he’s made sure of it so he can enjoy this campaign in peace. He’s been looking forward to it all week—it’s taken fucking forever to get them all together at the same time because of time differences, jobs, and Misha’s family emergency delayed it for over a month. But now they’re finally together, Conny worming his way in because Ben’s a soft fucking touch and keeps inviting him back into the WhatsApp group each time Dana kicks him out for bullying Jamie.
So the doorbell pisses him off. And when it rings again, someone leaning on it only to follow up with a loud knocking, he swears.
“No, Jamie—” Dana protests. “Come on, we’re about to—”
“Twenty seconds,” he says into the microphone, nearly braining himself by tripping on a beer bottle. “I’ll tell them to fuck off. Don’t start without me.”
“Hurry up,” Ben urges.
Conny starts to say something but Jamie knocks the headphones down around his neck. He stalks towards the door, ready to snarl at whoever’s on the other side, and yanks it open.
“Keeley.” He stares, surprised, annoyance sliding from him. “Hey.”
“Hiya, babe,” Keeley says, smiling softly. “Mind if we come in?”
“We?” His eyes scoot over her shoulder. He freezes at the sight of Roy looming behind her, like this is the last place he wants to be and… fair . “Roy.”
Roy grunts, eyes on the dark bruise on Jamie’s left shin from a boot clipping him before they drag up his body, a grumpy once over. Jamie’s painfully aware he’s wearing a pair of boxers, a ratty shirt, and socks that keep slipping down his calves because he wears them for comfort, not functionality. He has no idea what’s going on but Dana’s increasingly sharp voice in his ear makes him lift the microphone, blinking slowly.
“Something’s come up. Sorry, guys.” He cuts off the complaints and protests, slicing through Conny’s cackle and insults, and tugs his headphones off. “What’s going on?”
“Can we come in?” Keeley asks again. “We should talk inside.”
“Er—” his stomach starts to churn, beer and pizza shifting uncomfortably. A quick glance at Roy, who’s examining Jamie’s blue anemones, offers no information, which means that it can only be about one thing. Right. Okay. Yeah. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up, and he doesn’t want them in his house. “You know, I’m a bit busy right—”
Keeley slips past him, brushing him to one side as she breezes in like she never stopped making herself at home. It’s a headspin to have her back in his house nearly a year after they broke up, her heels clacking against the floor reminding him of her many complaints that he should get one of those long rugs to stop the echo. He listens to her make her way through to the kitchen, frozen in his doorway with Roy Kent tearing his eyes away from his flower pots to look at him, shoulders tense and jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth.
“Told her about the boot room,” Roy finally says. “She’s not happy.”
The boot room.
The fucking boot room.
The first acknowledgement he gets from Roy since it happened three days ago and it’s on his doorstep with Roy’s girlfriend inside waiting for them to join her. Bile rises through him, burning his chest and throat with it; he swallows hard, a clammy sweat breaking out over his skin.
“Yeah, okay, yeah." He steps to one side, eyes somewhere around Roy’s knees. “Come on in.”
Jamie’s imagined Roy in his house so many times. Right from the age of six when he first saw Roy play on the old TV that held itself together with duct tape more than anything else, he’s thought about Roy coming to visit. First it would be for a chip butty, Mummy making it and Jamie dragging Roy outside to have a kickabout in the concrete garden that was where all the kids played; then it was booting the door in to deal with Dad and whisk him and Mummy away.
He had all sorts of ideas when he first came to Richmond—befriending Roy, having him round for whatever it is grumpy pricks like to do in the evenings, but that didn’t work out. And now Roy’s here, in his house, while Jamie’s in his boxers and the smell of pizza and beer is in the air all because Jamie dropped to his knees and let Roy fuck his throat in the boot room before offering something more.
If Keeley kills him, he’s going to end up missing Simon’s 50th birthday and he can’t do that, it’d kill the old duck.
“Sit,” Keeley says when he and Roy join her in the living room. Jamie dutifully sits while Roy hovers, casting his eyes around and taking in the gun lamps and the balloon poodle that he liked so much he got four of. “You too, babe.”
“Like a fucking kid’s playroom in here,” Roy mutters, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “Is that a duck lamp?”
“No,” Jamie says. “It’s a statue. You put a candle inside it and light it so it glows from the inside out. It’s dead cool.”
“No it’s not.”
“Fucking yes it is,” he protests. “What d’you have in your place? Fucking—I don’t know, coffins and black curtains and shit?”
Roy opens his mouth to growl at him but Keeley cuts across both of them. “Shut up. Both of you. Please and thank you.”
Jamie tears his eyes away from Roy and his annoyingly straight posture to Keeley who stands before them, her face inscrutable. The game controller turns sweaty in his palm. “Keels—”
She holds up her hand. His mouth snaps shut with an audible snap.
“Roy told me what happened the other day.” Keeley’s looking at him, pinning him in place with her eyes. “When I said to agree with everything he said, I didn’t mean to blow him. How did you even get from that to that?"
Jamie’s skin heats, the back of his neck prickling with his discomfort and embarrassment. “Didn’t mean to. Just happened, didn’t it?”
“Things like that don’t just happen, babe,” she says. “And I know that Roy accidentally made you go fuzzy but it shouldn’t have happened. Roy should’ve stopped it.”
There’s nothing in the world that will make Jamie look at Roy right now, but he does shift and mutter under his breath so Keeley reaches out with her foot and lightly taps his calf.
“What was that?”
“Not his fault,” Jamie mutters a little louder. “Wanted it.”
Keeley makes a sound in her throat, unimpressed and exasperated. “Your brain always goes wonky when someone you fancy’s mean to you. And Roy—”
“Keeley,” he whines, cheeks blotching with embarrassment. “C’mon.”
She rolls her eyes. “You sucked his cock, babe. I think he knows you like him.” Jamie doesn’t want to look up and see if Roy does actually know that. “We need to talk about what happened, all three of us, because I’m upset with both of you.”
She finally sits on the edge of Jamie’s coffee table, proper fit in her mini skirt and thigh high boots that draw his eyes up. He has to look away since getting hard because of her is a surefire way for Roy to headbutt him.
“‘M sorry, Keeley.” Jamie focuses on his hands, actually sorry—not for sucking Roy’s cock because that was mint, but sorry she was hurting and his role in it. “Didn’t mean to.”
Roy doesn’t apologise, a silent weight at the end of the sofa, but Jamie imagines he’s been doing a lot of that lately.
“Look, I’m not—I get it, yeah? I understand. The two of you’ve always had this weird sexual tension.” Jamie does look up at that, his protests joining Roy’s. They have fucking not. “Oh, please. I’ve had to listen to both of you complain about the other for a long time. Sucking each other’s cocks is not a surprise.”
“Didn’t suck his,” Roy grumbles.
“Dead rude that,” Jamie says before he even thinks about it. Roy gets to his feet. “Oi, sit down, Granddad. Keeley’s not done.”
“I’m not,” Keeley agrees. Roy sits back down. “I’m not happy you two went ahead and started this without talking to me first, felt awful when Roy told me. Like I didn’t mean anything.”
Guilt writhes in Jamie’s stomach. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you, Jamie, I appreciate that,” she says, tugging on the hem of her skirt and gripping the edge of the table. “Roy says the two of you haven’t talked about what happened, yeah?” Jamie bobs his head, agreeing. “So, I’ve heard what Roy wants but what do you want?”
“Huh?” Jamie blinks and risks a glance at Roy who’s not looking at him, unhelpful fucking cunt that he is. “What does Roy want?”
“Fuck off,” is his answer.
“He’s interested in seeing where this thing that you two started goes,” Keeley says, and she might well have told him she’s the secret daughter of Charles and Diana for how stunned he is. Roy Kent wants to keep it going? Jamie pinches the inside of his wrist to make sure he’s not dreaming. “What about you?”
“I—er—yes?” He doesn’t mean to inflect upwards, he doesn’t, but he’s been given no warning and he’s all confused. “I mean, course, yeah. But—what about you?”
“I don’t want to be a part of it,” Keeley tells him, firmly. It stings, just a little, and clearly shows on his face because she softens. “I don’t mean—I’m just so busy at the moment, that’s all, and I think it’d do you both good to have something in common outside of football.”
“Me blowing Roy is a shared hobby?”
“Or Roy blowing you.”
The blood rushes through Jamie so fast he almost misses what Roy says in a snarled, snappish tone. “I’m not getting on my knees for that prick.”
“Roy, shut up.” Keeley shakes her head, the clink of her cluster earrings breaking through the syrup-thick tension. “Don’t mind him, babe. He’s not normally so selfish.”
Jamie’s not sure he’d survive it if Roy did decide to blow him. It’s got to be illegal or something to have Roy on his knees, like there’s something wrong with the universe, he doesn’t know. “No, I don’t—it’s fine. But what about—I mean, when we did this we had rules, yeah?”
“Good boy,” she says, a soft smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. He shivers, and Roy shifts on the sofa. “I’ve been thinking about it, what I’m comfortable with and all that. I’m okay with you two spending time together but the one thing I really don’t want is you having sex. I’m just not comfortable with that.”
Clearly not news to Roy who doesn’t look as though the world’s spinning furiously around him. Taking sex off the table is disappointing but, ten minutes ago, Jamie didn’t know that anything was on the table so the disappointment is easy to brush aside.
“Alright,” he says, mouth dry. “Sure, yeah. Er—other stuff?”
“Kissing, handjobs, and blowjobs I’m okay with,” she says, Jamie’s mind whirring with thoughts and ideas about how broad that is. “Whatever you two are comfortable with within that, it’s fine. But I don’t want to hear about what’s going on either. It’ll just make me horny and distracted. I can’t deal with that right now.”
“No pictures?” Jamie droops. “Babe—”
“I know,” Keeley says, eyes crinkling softly at the corners. “Sorry, love, but I’m trying really hard with the new job and the two of you are a big fat distraction.”
That’s fair. Jamie’s fit even on his worst day and he photographs really fucking well. Pictures of him and Roy would be cracking. He starts thinking about it, what sorts of pictures they’d take, and getting turned on right now is really inconvenient so he starts thinking about Barbara from the estate with her two moles that grew enough hair she sometimes plaits it as a joke.
Thankfully, it works.
“I’m good with that,” he says, thoroughly failing in trying to hide how eager he is based on Roy’s scoff and Keeley’s smile. “I mean, someone’s got to make sure this old fart doesn’t bore the shit out of you, yeah? Be like care in the community or something.”
Roy’s nostrils flare. “Fuck you.”
“Sorry, mate, Keeley said no.”
Keeley giggles, ducking her head. The sound of her laughter cuts through the sharp, biting response Roy was going to make and softens him instantly. It’s fascinating to watch his face lose all of its anger and go sweet and kind. Jamie wants to be looked at like that, wants Roy to turn soft with him like he almost did before in the boot room, his hand reaching out to smooth down Jamie’s hair, pausing before it pulled back to his side far too soon.
“Yeah, you two are going to be fine,” Keeley decides, pleased.
As Roy and Keeley make moves to leave, Jamie has one, startlingly clear thought: they’re idiots.
Whatever this is, Jamie’s sure it’s going to get messy. He’s sure it’s going to hurt one of them—or, worse, all of them—but he doesn’t want to stop it, doesn’t want to tell them he’s changed his mind before they’ve even reached his front door. Not when the warm, faint scent of Roy is left behind in the air—clean soap and a brush of warm leather. Jamie wants to bathe in it, to feel it warm him all the way through. He wants to take everything Keeley’s letting him have of Roy and squeeze the pieces so tightly they turn to diamonds in his fists.
Keeley presses a lipstick kiss to his cheek, smiling at the mark she leaves behind, and hurries her way to Roy’s car while the man himself lingers, looking at Jamie with that inscrutable expression that’s so fucking difficult to read.
“Tomorrow?”
Jamie’s heart misses a beat, flopping in his chest, and he nods. “Tomorrow.”
*
Roy grunts when Jamie finally gets his hands on him and pushes him back up against the office door, wooden frame shaking on impact. Jamie presses in close, breathing hard, hands sliding up his chest to span over his pecs, thumbs catching on his nipples. Roy smells so fucking good this close and Jamie’s dizzy with the fact he gets to touch him, that Roy’s actually allowing it and it’s not some sort of fever dream.
“Jesus Christ,” Roy mutters as Jamie rocks his hips to press his erection against the strong thigh he wants to squeeze, dragging his mouth over the skin of his neck. He presses his tongue there, letting the flavour of him burst and fill him. “You’re desperate for this.”
“Fuck yeah, I am.” He pushes Roy’s shirt up, getting it caught under his arms. He wants it off, wants Roy naked and as desperate as he is, but there’s not enough time. He keeps it tucked there, hands tracing over his chest, bumping Roy’s chin higher with his nose to suck at the hollow of his throat. “Dreamt about this for years.”
Roy’s breathing hard. “What?”
“Told you,” Jamie says. “Had your poster on my wall when I was a lad. Roy fucking Kent. Used to wank to that poster until I thought my cock was going to fall off.”
There’s a grunted curse, hands falling to Jamie’s hips and pulling him closer. Not that he needs to apply any pressure; Jamie flows into him, reluctantly removing his hands to yank his shirt off over his head. It’s bloody cold as the swimming pool has been closed for the last two weeks as renovations take place, Ms Welton pumping money into the club now that she’s got her hands fully on the reins. But Roy’s putting out a lot of heat and Jamie curls closer, mouthing at his neck, cupping the back of his head while grinding his hips in small motions.
“You had a crush?” Roy tips his head back, fingers flexing on Jamie’s hip. “You and everyone else.”
He grins against his throat. “Egotistical git.”
Roy holds his hips steady and grinds up against him, a whine curling from Jamie’s throat at the strong heat of his cock against his body. “Fuck—you going to blow me, Tartt?”
“Fuck yeah. You really don’t want to blow me though?” Jamie’s fine with that, he’s fine, he really is, but he’s got to ask. Roy tenses, jaw rigid, and Jamie lets him off the hook. “S alright. Some blokes don’t like it.”
Roy clearly doesn’t like being lumped in with some blokes judging by the angry grunt that warms Jamie’s face. “You fucked a lot of men?”
He shakes his head. “A couple of times, not a lot. Can't risk it, you know? Handies and blowies, course, but they’re different to being fucked. You?”
“Never,” Roy admits, his thumb hooking in the elastic of Jamie’s shorts, dipping beneath the band. “Plenty of people’ve sucked me off before, never much cared if they were man or woman…never returned the favour though.”
“Selfish prick,” Jamie says, startled and delighted when a laugh rolls through Roy’s chest. He feels drunk with his success, like he’s done something incredible to turn that hard stone of his expression into something almost gentle. “Anyone famous suck your cock? Am I the most famous? Go on, tell me.”
Roy rolls his eyes. “The prickiest, that’s for sure.”
“Fine, keep your secrets.” He noses at the side of his face, ghosting a kiss across his jaw. “This can be fun, yeah? We don’t have to make anything of it. Keeley’s onboard, you like getting your dick sucked, I like sucking it. It’s win-win-win, yeah?”
Roy turns his face to Jamie’s, breath warming the side of his face and sending a shiver racing its way down his spine. His cock throbs in time with Roy’s breathing against his temple, his voice a low murmur near his ear.
“You’re okay with that?” He asks, the tips of his fingers slipping under his waistband to join his thumb. “Just sucking me off and nothing more?”
Jamie doesn’t know how to make Roy understand that he’s more than okay with that in a way that doesn’t make him sound entirely unhinged, so he just nods and tucks his face back into Roy’s throat, humming. “Yeah, fucking sound, mate.”
The hand dipped just beneath his shorts slides lower. Jamie breathes a soft moan as his right cheek is cupped in Roy’s palm, long fingers flexing to get a proper squeeze in. His mind slips and slides at the fact that the Roy Kent has a grip on his arse. It rocks his cock against his shirt hip, thumb thrumming over a nipple as Roy breathes hard and hot into his temple.
“Jamie,” Roy murmurs.
It’s the use of his name that makes his knees wobble, his body sliding down Roy’s until he’s settled at Roy’s feet. He tips his head back, looking up at him. He’s tall and dark like this, a canvas of black hair and tight muscles that he wants to explore with his fingers and mouth. Jamie doesn’t understand why Keeley would give her okay to this, why she’d let someone other than herself touch Roy. If Roy belonged to him and him alone, Jamie would never.
He slips his fingers under the elastic waist of his trackies and tugs them down to reveal inches of skin a little at a time. As the material shifts, he presses his tongue to the sharp edge of Roy’s pelvic line, eyes hooded while he drags his nose down until the crinkly line of pubes press against his lips. Jamie draws his palms down Roy’s hips to his thighs, taking his trackies with him, catching Roy’s cock in the waistband. Jamie’s breath catches at the sight of it, hard, slick with pre-come on the head, when it’s freed.
“Tell me how you like it,” he pleads, scrambling for the lube he slipped into his pocket in anticipation. “Want to know what works for you.”
Roy swallows, like no one’s ever asked him that before. Which Jamie knows is bullshit because Keeley was always asking what he liked, helping him find new things to try and love. But Roy is older than both of them, and Jamie knows from the tabloids Roy’s sex life was fucking wild until a few years ago, so maybe Keeley’s never had to ask. Maybe Roy knows what he likes and just tells her, doesn’t have to explore like Jamie still has to.
And that’s an exciting thought—Roy teaching him things, not just on the pitch but here too.
He reaches down and squeezes his cock to take the edge off, just a little.
“Last time was good,” Roy says, hand touching the top of his head. “Was really good.”
His chest warms at the praise. “Yeah?”
“Soft at the head, sensitive there,” Roy continues, tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip. “Nice and wet’s good too.”
Jamie swallows, dizzy at the question he wants to ask. He’s not embarrassed easily—really, he’s not—but he never thought he’d be asking Roy questions like this. “Fingers?”
Roy hesitates, colour slipping from his cheeks, warming his throat, and then over his chest like a glorious spill of red wine. “Not today.”
“Alright. Now don’t be shy about getting your hips moving, yeah?” It’s all nice and easy, lips pressing a kiss to Roy’s hip. “God, I’m about to blow your mind.” He grins. “And cock.”
“Jesus—”
He wraps his fingers and palm around Roy’s cock, cutting off his explanation and dragging a low moan from him. Jamie watches his face as he strokes, properly enjoying the weight of it this time. Head nice and clear this time, every detail sears itself into his mind: the way it jumps, the thick vein running down the side, the glistening pre-come at the tip that he swipes his tongue nice and slow over it, pressing into the slit and swallowing the taste down, careful of the sensitivity.
Roy’s fingers slide through his hair, cupping the back of his head. “Mmm, that’s right. Like that.”
He lets the words pull him down, sinking his mouth onto Roy’s cock, bathing it in heat and letting his mouth fill with saliva to drench the length of it, listening to the sounds Roy’s making over his head. Hollowing his cheeks, he flattens his tongue and spreads it up Roy’s shaft to kiss the tip of his head, glancing up at his face, elated by the open mouthed look of pleasure that greets him.
He strokes his hand over his cock and nuzzles his way down to the neatly trimmed pubic hair, breathing in the deep, masculine smell of Roy before he rests his hands lightly on Roy's abs and does what he's been wanting to do for years.
He swallows Roy down until his nose jams against his stomach.
“Fuck!” Roy’s bark echoes around the room as Jamie swallows around him, hips twitching. “Fuck, shit—Jesus Christ.”
The feel of Roy's cock hot and hard in his mouth, tipping down into his throat, has him throbbing into his boxers, drool pooling out of the corners of his mouth and Roy rolls his hips without warning. Jamie—
—moans so loudly that Roy grabs his hair and thrusts into him again to muffle him.
His spine turns liquid as Roy cups his head and fucks into his mouth. He reaches down to palm his cock again, a brief moment of relief, before Roy pulls on his hair so tightly that true pain pierces him and ratchets his arousal higher.
“Don't fucking touch yourself,” Roy orders.
Jamie whines, delighted, and puts his hands on Roy's body again as he’s allowed a chance at air before Roy’s pushing him all the way back down, nestling his cock in his throat. He’s held in place as Roy jerks and swears and then comes so deeply down his throat he doesn't even taste it. If his throat was clear and he could speak, he’d think about teasing him for coming so quickly but Roy keeps him there, holding him in place, almost as though he knows what he’ll hear if he doesn’t.
“Fucking good boy,” Roy groans. All thoughts of mocking him tumble from his mind as that hits him low in his gut. “That was perfect. Fuck.”
Jamie whines and writhes, cock aching in his shorts, and Roy pulls him off by his hair, holding him there to be looked at. Admired, a small part of his brain thinks. The part that gets excited when the crowd starts up his chant. But this is so much better than fifty thousand people cheering him on because Roy Kent is looking at him and taking in his red-streaked cheeks and cock-bruised mouth.
Roy stares at him, heat building. He grips Jamie’s chin and pulls him to his feet. He staggers, all the blood in his body nestled in his cock, nothing leftover for something as useless as standing, but Roy catches him, turning him into the wall, bracketing him between strong arms that Jamie wants to sink his teeth into.
“Get yourself off,” Roy orders, low and heavy.
Jamie flinches in his rush to obey, thrusting his hand into his shorts and boxers, groaning at the pressure of his hand. He pulls himself free and starts to work himself over, breathing hard and heavy as Roy watches him with dark eyes, so close all Jamie can smell and see is Roy. It’s too much, it’s everything, it’s not enough all at once and he stares at Roy’s mouth, at how it’s parted and he can see the glistening pink of the inside.
“Jamie,” he says, “look at me.”
Jamie’s eyes snap up to his and he comes with a groan so loud Roy has to clamp his hand down over his mouth to keep him quiet. Come soaks his fist, slicking his fingers with it, and tears press out of his eyes as he squeezes them tightly shut while riding the wave of his orgasm. He’s panting, a little sweaty when he’s done, eyes peeling open to look at Roy with his pink cheeks, blown pupils.
“Fuck.” Roy’s eyes flick over him before he pulls his hand away and flexes his fingers. “Good?”
Jamie swallows and nods. “Fuck yeah.”
Roy lowers his hand with a nod before darkness clouds Jamie’s vision as Roy’s giant head blocks the light and then he’s being kissed. Roy doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t tease him, just presses their mouths together and kisses his way inside. Jamie groans, louder than when he came, and his arms wrap around Roy’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Tongue against his, touching the roof of his mouth, the edge of his teeth—Roy kisses like he’s cataloguing Jamie and Jamie leans into him, chasing his lips, the puff of air across his cheeks.
Roy pulls back slowly, as though not yet wanting it to end. Foreheads pressed together, Roy tucks himself back into his boxers, righting his clothes, and then does the same for Jamie, touching his cock perfunctorily but it burns through Jamie anyway.
“You should go get some lunch,” Roy says, tugging Jamie’s shirt back into place. “Need the calories.”
“Yeah, alright,” he agrees because he is actually hungry but he doesn’t want to leave Roy yet, wants to bask in his presence just a little longer. “You want to join me? Colin said there’s them roast pork rolls on today.”
Jamie knows Roy loves them, has watched him devour them before when the only time they’d speak to each other was to snarl and fight. And the temptation lands but Roy shakes his head.
“Meeting Keeley,” he says, and Jamie nods because, of course he is. It’s disappointing but at least there are pork rolls to soften the blow. That and a cracking orgasm that’s tingling through him. “Tomorrow again?”
Excitement leaps through him. ‘Yeah, absolutely.”
A faint smile touches Roy’s mouth, a smile that Jamie replays through the rest of the day because whatever this thing is between them, it’s fucking mint.