[ Well, at least he doesn't answer the door wearing only his shirt...
Except maybe the reality is a lot worse. There's a possibility Roy has never seen Jamie look any better than this, even with the bit of a sunburn across his nose. The sunburn makes him look more human, a reminder that he isn't perfect, even if his body looks it half the time, and it's stupidly endearing. His hair looks ridiculous in that way that makes Roy want to run his fingers through it, brushing back those strands out of his eyes. What Jamie is wearing - which is very little - Roy honestly can't tell are meant to be shorts or underwear. If it's not underwear, they should be illegal. And Jamie's semi is enough to make his brain shut down for at least five seconds, glad for the sunglasses he's still wearing (he didn't need to wear them inside but he's technically still incognito) that hide the sudden desire in his eyes to pull down Jamie's shorts, kneel down and suck his cock right in the doorway.
Of course, a hot Brazilian could be responsible for the way Jamie looks, and that's what stops him from grabbing Jamie and kissing him. Instead, in a classic display of Roy Kent behaviour, he shoves Jamie back so there's enough room for him to pass, growling in response to the clown joke because that was only funny when used to describe Ted.
He takes off his sunglasses so he can see better, then proceeds to search Jamie's hotel room. He starts with the bed, pulling the covers off to make sure no one's under there (no Brazilian). He checks out the bathroom, including in the shower (no Brazilian). He checks the balcony (no Brazilian), behind the curtains (no Brazilian) and finally in the wardrobe (still no fucking Brazilian). ]
...No one's here. [ He sounds so confused, his voice rising as it always does when he's having some kind of mental breakdown, which Jamie is usually responsible for. He gets all up in Jamie's face, which isn't at all threatening in his outfit. ] Why the fuck are you alone? Why aren't you shagging fit Brazilians?
[ Jamie thinks Roy is going to kiss him, a little bit.
That's how it always goes in films, isn't it? After all the drama of the person you want to make a big, stupid grand gesture not going through with it, and then they fucking do, standing right there in front of you when you really didn't expect that it would happen, and then they kiss you and probably fuck your brains out after--
Roy just shoves passed him instead, which is both predictable and fucking annoying, even if the way the man growls low in his throat while he does it still makes Jamie's dick twitch a little, anyway. He rolls his eyes, head shaking as he swings the door back shut, and Jamie's mouth is open to deliver little smart-mouthed jab about old people and jet lag when he turns back to face him, only to immediately lose track of the joke when he sees Roy doing...whatever the hell he's fucking doing.
It's like Roy is looking for something, which doesn't make any sense, but he seems intent on pulling Jamie's room apart until he finds it regardless. It's so bizarre that for once Jamie doesn't have anything to say about it, no little shitty quips or sarcastic commentary while he watches the other man work his way through every nook and cranny, and he's still wearing a look of clear, muddy confusion on his face when Roy gets right up into his space to start interrogating him about Brazilians.
It's been a long time since Roy getting in his face like this has triggered the urge to do anything other than bite his mouth or get his hands under Roy's clothes, but threatening is the absolute last thing on Jamie's mind when every fucking word out of Roy's mouth is just making him more confused than he was a second ago. ]
'Course I'm alone. What the fuck are you even talkin' about? [ He is so fucking confused. If Roy had been worried he'd find Keeley in Jamie's room, maybe he could understand that, what with knowing she'd be coming on the trip and all, but this is clearly not that. ] Why would I be shagging Brazilians?
[ Outside of the fact that he's in Brazil, where it's reasonable to suspect most Brazilians would probably be available for said shagging if that's what were happening, and it isn't like they've talked about-- fuck, any of this shit that they're doing, and certainly not in anyway that would invite a discussion about who they are or aren't sleeping with outside of each other. Mostly Jamie really doesn't mind avoiding that conversation, and yeah, maybe it's a little because he doesn't want to deal with whatever tangled up shitty feelings it'll make him feel like to get an answer he doesn't want to get, but-- ] Is that why you're here? To see who I've been fucking on holiday?
[ Why? What kind of stupid fucking question is that? He can't believe he has to spell it out to Jamie. ]
Because you're Jamie fucking Tartt! [ He answers like he shouldn't have to say anything more than that, but Jamie is looking at him like he has no idea what the fuck that even means, and if he doesn't explain himself, he might actually punch Roy. In the dick. ]
Jamie, you're in a country full of people who look just like you - hot and sunkissed - who want to fuck you for your accent, not in spite of it. You're young and horny enough to have jacuzzi sex on shitty reality television - which, yes, I fucking watched every episode of, but only because my friends at yoga made me, and it was actually fun to watch something that requires no brain power with a glass of rosé. [ He can't believe he just admitted any of that to Jamie. Also, who says 'television' and not 'TV'? Old people like Roy. ]
You shouldn't only be fucking some grumpy old bastard back in London who had to turn to coaching because that's the closest he'll ever get to a football pitch again in his pathetic life. [ He forces a laugh, like his insecurities are something to make light of, but when Jamie doesn't laugh with him, when there's nothing but dead silence from him, he gets this sick feeling in his stomach. It's the feeling he gets when he knows he's fucked up. ]
Shit, no, I'm not checking up on you, I swear. I'm here because—
[ And this is when he's interrupted by a knock. Room service, one of the hotel staff says on the other side of Jamie's door. Roy ignores it and tries again. ]
Because—
[ Room service! ]
Because I—
[ ROOM SERVICE! ]
Fuck! [ Roy yells out of frustration and slides his sunglasses back on (he seems to think wearing them makes him invisible to the public). He almost yanks the door from its hinges in his annoyance to open it. Apparently Jamie has ordered so much food it's on a trolley that has to be wheeled into the room, and Roy throws Jamie an incredulous look. Three fucking courses?
And then the member of staff looks expectantly at Roy for a tip. ]
Jesus Christ. [ He gets out his wallet with a sigh and shoves a generous amount of money into the man's hand. ] Excuse my muppet of a boyfriend's manners for not tipping you himself.
[ He doesn't even realize he let the word boyfriend slip, but there sure is a lot for Jamie to unpack once they're alone again. ]
[ Jamie isn't sure what he expected to get in response to his questions but it wasn't...all of that. He's learning fast that sometimes the only thing to do when Roy is keyed up and stressed out is to let him just get it all out, like he's puking his guts up after a bad night out and the purge after is inevitable if he wants to find even ground again, and Jamie is nothing if not well fucking versed in keeping his mouth shut and his body still while he weathers through the worst of someone else's verbal onslaught--
It ain't really like that, though. Not with Roy. If Jamie is quiet while Roy goes off, it's because he's actually listening to the words coming out of the man's mouth, rapidly trying to put the pieces together even when it feels a little like they're falling too fast for Jamie to catch them, and if he doesn't move it's probably because the only place Jamie wants to be is here, in front of him, taking it all in. He doesn't laugh at that barb Roy turns in against himself, and a deep crease furrows in between Jamie's eyebrows in the wake of it instead, mouth tight. ]
Roy--
[ The knock at the door startles the hell out of him, making him jump, and Jamie thumps his hand to his heart a little theatrically while he swears for it because he'd completely even forgot he fucking ordered anything. He ignores Roy's dirty look as the trolley comes in, still trying to work out what the fuck he was even preparing to say before they'd been interrupted, lost somewhere between Roy admitting he'd watched Jamie voluntarily on that stupid show and the way Jamie wanted to punch him in the chest for talking down on himself the way he had been, and then it's just one word, boyfriend, that slams into Jamie's brain like a bolt of lightning.
If the bloke who'd brought the food notices anything strange, his face doesn't show it. Maybe it's not strange, for someone to call someone else their boyfriend. Maybe he doesn't even know who they are to know that it is strange, almost fucking impossible, for that word to fall out of Roy's mouth. Maybe he just doesn't fucking care because he works in a stupid posh hotel full of stupid rich posh dickheads and this probably isn't even close to the weirdest thing he's seen today. Whatever it is, he leaves the second he gets his tip, the door snapping securely shut behind him, and Jamie realizes he's staring at Roy like he's been sucker punched. ]
Did you just-- Wait, what did you--
[ What is he even saying? Christ, was his heart always in his throat? ]
What did you just say?
[ Jamie can hear it in his own voice that he sounds a little like he thinks he's stroked out and didn't hear what he thought he heard. ]
Not the-- not the fucking muppet part. The other part.
[ Because he can already hear Roy's voice in his head answering, I called you a fucking muppet, fuck off and if Roy actually says that Jamie really will hit him. ]
[ Roy really doesn't like it when he has to repeat himself, and he fixes Jamie with a glare at first, a for fuck's sake on the tip of his tongue. Then Jamie repeats a specific word Roy has never, ever used to describe another man - at least not in the context of belonging to him, which is what "my muppet of a boyfriend" implies - until this very moment in a hotel in Brazil with someone he flew the other side of the world to be with.
Not often is Roy speechless from a conversation with Jamie. They've always had consistent banter, even back when they were sworn enemies, and Roy will always try to come up with a comeback, no matter how stupid.
But he can't make a joke out of this - because it's not. He fucking called Jamie his boyfriend and it came out of his mouth so easily because Jamie falls right into that category. They spend every day together, every night together, every day off together. He does everything he used to do for Keeley with Jamie - cooks him meals, watches shows Jamie loves but he hates, lets Jamie blast his music in his car, fucks his brains out - except what pushed Keeley away doesn't seem to bother Jamie at all. Roy never bothered giving Jamie any space because he never viewed what they had as an actual relationship he could potentially lose...
Until now. It's suddenly very fucking apparent that they're not shagging each other purely just for fun or out of boredom or loneliness anymore. It's become so much more than that.
Rain pours outside of nowhere - he can hear it hammering against the windows - and a flash of lightning streaks across the room from the balcony doors. He feels it deep in his bones, and if there was ever a sign that he needs to listen to his heart right now, this has to be it. ]
Fuuuuck. [ Wide-eyed, Roy looks like a deer caught in headlights, like he might just throw himself off the balcony at any moment. Instead, he strides straight over to the mini-bar in Jamie's room and helps himself to - surprisingly, not alcohol, but a bottle of water. This choice is intentional knowing what he knows about Jamie's dad. He doesn't want to be another man in Jamie's life who uses alcohol as a coping mechanism, and he certainly doesn't want Jamie to think he needs to get shitfaced at the idea of Jamie being his boyfriend. He just needs water to calm his nerves because his hands are visibly shaking.
He didn't check what kind of water it was though - sparkling - and Roy pulls a face after swallowing it down. ]
Ted's right - sparkling water is shit. [ He puts the bottle down, takes one look at Jamie still waiting for an answer from him and closes the distance between them. It's time to be fucking accountable. ]
I'm sorry for yelling at you about shagging Brazilians. [ He pauses to brush a couple of strands of hair out of Jamie's eyes, and his fingers are still shaking a little because he's so fucking nervous he's fucked a good arrangement with Jamie by putting a label on it, one they can't even use in public. Calling Jamie his boyfriend in private is good enough for him because as far as he's concerned, what they have is nobody's fucking business, and he doesn't want the press poisoning it by making it seedier than it actually is. ]
Sorry I'm not sorry I called you my boyfriend. [ He lifts his chin a little at that, bracing himself for a fight, waiting for Jamie to choose violence than ever accept being Roy Kent's boyfriend. ]
Jamie is dead fucking sure of it. Roy is going to walk it back, and say he didn't mean it or that Jamie should just fucking drop it, and Jamie will, of course he will, even if it feels like twisting a knife to do it. The rest of it doesn't really matter much when this isn't really something they can actually fucking afford, not when they're already constantly under fire by the press just for being footballers, hunted by paps for the perfect tabloid money shot and viciously picked apart by anyone with internet access that fancies themselves an expert, and everyone, everyone knows that putting a label on a good thing can ruin it faster than anything else. Jamie's greedy but not actually stupid, most of the time, because this is a good thing, better than anything he would have fucking thought he'd be able to swing when he came back to AFC Richmond, better than any long-shot fantasy or wild adolescent dream, and he doesn't need a label to enjoy it for what it is--
Roy is going to walk it back and Jamie is sure of it, because it really is the hope that fucking kills you and he doesn't dare fucking hope for anything else.
He should have just kept his mouth shut and taken the win, that Roy came all this way to see him just because Jamie told him that's what he wanted, just because Roy wanted to, and let whatever possessed Roy a moment ago to say what he said slide. Jamie knows that this thing between them, whatever it is, isn't just-- fucking easy hookups and a way to kill time between matches and training, even if maybe it was that for Roy, once. But Jamie knows that it's since evolved into something that he isn't sure he even has the proper words to really fit around when it's so much more intense and consuming than anything else he's ever experienced in his life, because Jamie's thought he's been in love before but never, ever like this, and he should have just shut his stupid fucking mouth and let it ride so he didn't have to watch Roy look at him white as a sheet like he's just seen a fucking ghost.
Roy is going to walk it back because he's already walking away, and Jamie, even now, doesn't blame him for the distance. It's fine, it'll be fine, and he's only vaguely aware there's a storm raging outside the building that probably lines up pretty well with the tangled up mess threatening to crack open inside of his chest, a knot like a fist swelling up in his throat, and it's fine. It's fine that Roy is on the other side of the room. It's fine that he's talking about fucking-- fucking water, it's fine that Roy looks more startled and unsteady than Jamie has ever seen him, it's fine that Jamie wants to fucking shout at him to just fucking talk to me, will you--
He tilts his face into the brush of Roy's fingers before he can help himself. Pavlovian, and fuck if he hasn't understood what that means more than he does now because the rest of him is wound so tight he feels like he might snap if he moves a muscle, jaw set, shoulders locked, and Roy is still talking about the wrong fucking thing, about Brazilians and apologies Jamie doesn't want, and when he starts his second sentence with another sorry, every inch of Roy looking like he's waiting for a fight, it takes everything in Jamie not to shove him away by the chest.
He's glad he doesn't, because the very next second he feels knocked flat. ]
Fucking hell.
[ It's the only thing he can manage before he all but launches himself at Roy for a kiss. It's too hard, too desperate, nearly clacking their teeth together as Jamie finds his mouth, pressing them together the way he wanted the second he saw Roy on the other side of the door. ] --don't say sorry, fucking dickhead--
[ It's difficult to tell if the fucking hell he's hearing is good or bad - that is until the bundle of energy that is Jamie Tartt catapults towards him, and all Roy can do is catch him in his arms, stumbling back into a dresser in the room. He can't even complain about how there's probably a bruise against his lower back from colliding with the furniture thanks to the impact of Jamie kissing him. He can't complain because even for how clumsy the kiss is and how unprepared Roy is for it, it manages to be one of the best kisses of his life for the simple fact that Roy just staked his claim on him and rather than call Roy a delusional twat, he's kissing him for it.
One hand grips the back of Jamie's head, the other wraps around his hip, clutching Jamie flush against him. Fuck, he's missed kissing Jamie, missed it more than he does playing football in a stadium full of people chanting his name, but he's trying to be a better man and he doesn't think Jamie should let him off the hook so easily. ]
But I am fucking sorry— [ He murmurs against Jamie's lips before they're kissing again, Roy guiding Jamie back by his hips until the back of his legs touch the edge of his king-sized bed and Roy pushes him down, climbing on top of him. ] Do you have any idea how jealous I'd be if I found you fucking someone else? The only Brazilians I want you near are the ones you're destroying on the pitch like the talented shit you are.
[ He stares down at Jamie, pinned to the bed by Roy's hips, holding himself up by his elbows. ] Fucking hell, Jamie, I've missed you.
[ It's crazy how much. It's crazy how he went from hating Jamie's guts to not knowing how to function without him. It's crazy how he'd follow Jamie anywhere, catch a thousand pain-in-the-arse flights to be with him, even in an economy seat that's really uncomfortable for his knee. It's crazy how he'd walk 500 miles to be with Jamie, like that annoying as shit song the lads sang at the last karaoke night, which he couldn't help but sing under his breath while looking over at the love of his life.
Fuck, he loves Jamie, but he's not ready to say it. Not today. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-06-13 11:49 pm (UTC)Except maybe the reality is a lot worse. There's a possibility Roy has never seen Jamie look any better than this, even with the bit of a sunburn across his nose. The sunburn makes him look more human, a reminder that he isn't perfect, even if his body looks it half the time, and it's stupidly endearing. His hair looks ridiculous in that way that makes Roy want to run his fingers through it, brushing back those strands out of his eyes. What Jamie is wearing - which is very little - Roy honestly can't tell are meant to be shorts or underwear. If it's not underwear, they should be illegal. And Jamie's semi is enough to make his brain shut down for at least five seconds, glad for the sunglasses he's still wearing (he didn't need to wear them inside but he's technically still incognito) that hide the sudden desire in his eyes to pull down Jamie's shorts, kneel down and suck his cock right in the doorway.
Of course, a hot Brazilian could be responsible for the way Jamie looks, and that's what stops him from grabbing Jamie and kissing him. Instead, in a classic display of Roy Kent behaviour, he shoves Jamie back so there's enough room for him to pass, growling in response to the clown joke because that was only funny when used to describe Ted.
He takes off his sunglasses so he can see better, then proceeds to search Jamie's hotel room. He starts with the bed, pulling the covers off to make sure no one's under there (no Brazilian). He checks out the bathroom, including in the shower (no Brazilian). He checks the balcony (no Brazilian), behind the curtains (no Brazilian) and finally in the wardrobe (still no fucking Brazilian). ]
...No one's here. [ He sounds so confused, his voice rising as it always does when he's having some kind of mental breakdown, which Jamie is usually responsible for. He gets all up in Jamie's face, which isn't at all threatening in his outfit. ] Why the fuck are you alone? Why aren't you shagging fit Brazilians?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-16 05:11 pm (UTC)That's how it always goes in films, isn't it? After all the drama of the person you want to make a big, stupid grand gesture not going through with it, and then they fucking do, standing right there in front of you when you really didn't expect that it would happen, and then they kiss you and probably fuck your brains out after--
Roy just shoves passed him instead, which is both predictable and fucking annoying, even if the way the man growls low in his throat while he does it still makes Jamie's dick twitch a little, anyway. He rolls his eyes, head shaking as he swings the door back shut, and Jamie's mouth is open to deliver little smart-mouthed jab about old people and jet lag when he turns back to face him, only to immediately lose track of the joke when he sees Roy doing...whatever the hell he's fucking doing.
It's like Roy is looking for something, which doesn't make any sense, but he seems intent on pulling Jamie's room apart until he finds it regardless. It's so bizarre that for once Jamie doesn't have anything to say about it, no little shitty quips or sarcastic commentary while he watches the other man work his way through every nook and cranny, and he's still wearing a look of clear, muddy confusion on his face when Roy gets right up into his space to start interrogating him about Brazilians.
It's been a long time since Roy getting in his face like this has triggered the urge to do anything other than bite his mouth or get his hands under Roy's clothes, but threatening is the absolute last thing on Jamie's mind when every fucking word out of Roy's mouth is just making him more confused than he was a second ago. ]
'Course I'm alone. What the fuck are you even talkin' about? [ He is so fucking confused. If Roy had been worried he'd find Keeley in Jamie's room, maybe he could understand that, what with knowing she'd be coming on the trip and all, but this is clearly not that. ] Why would I be shagging Brazilians?
[ Outside of the fact that he's in Brazil, where it's reasonable to suspect most Brazilians would probably be available for said shagging if that's what were happening, and it isn't like they've talked about-- fuck, any of this shit that they're doing, and certainly not in anyway that would invite a discussion about who they are or aren't sleeping with outside of each other. Mostly Jamie really doesn't mind avoiding that conversation, and yeah, maybe it's a little because he doesn't want to deal with whatever tangled up shitty feelings it'll make him feel like to get an answer he doesn't want to get, but-- ] Is that why you're here? To see who I've been fucking on holiday?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-17 11:36 pm (UTC)Because you're Jamie fucking Tartt! [ He answers like he shouldn't have to say anything more than that, but Jamie is looking at him like he has no idea what the fuck that even means, and if he doesn't explain himself, he might actually punch Roy. In the dick. ]
Jamie, you're in a country full of people who look just like you - hot and sunkissed - who want to fuck you for your accent, not in spite of it. You're young and horny enough to have jacuzzi sex on shitty reality television - which, yes, I fucking watched every episode of, but only because my friends at yoga made me, and it was actually fun to watch something that requires no brain power with a glass of rosé. [ He can't believe he just admitted any of that to Jamie. Also, who says 'television' and not 'TV'? Old people like Roy. ]
You shouldn't only be fucking some grumpy old bastard back in London who had to turn to coaching because that's the closest he'll ever get to a football pitch again in his pathetic life. [ He forces a laugh, like his insecurities are something to make light of, but when Jamie doesn't laugh with him, when there's nothing but dead silence from him, he gets this sick feeling in his stomach. It's the feeling he gets when he knows he's fucked up. ]
Shit, no, I'm not checking up on you, I swear. I'm here because—
[ And this is when he's interrupted by a knock. Room service, one of the hotel staff says on the other side of Jamie's door. Roy ignores it and tries again. ]
Because—
[ Room service! ]
Because I—
[ ROOM SERVICE! ]
Fuck! [ Roy yells out of frustration and slides his sunglasses back on (he seems to think wearing them makes him invisible to the public). He almost yanks the door from its hinges in his annoyance to open it. Apparently Jamie has ordered so much food it's on a trolley that has to be wheeled into the room, and Roy throws Jamie an incredulous look. Three fucking courses?
And then the member of staff looks expectantly at Roy for a tip. ]
Jesus Christ. [ He gets out his wallet with a sigh and shoves a generous amount of money into the man's hand. ] Excuse my muppet of a boyfriend's manners for not tipping you himself.
[ He doesn't even realize he let the word boyfriend slip, but there sure is a lot for Jamie to unpack once they're alone again. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-20 03:51 am (UTC)It ain't really like that, though. Not with Roy. If Jamie is quiet while Roy goes off, it's because he's actually listening to the words coming out of the man's mouth, rapidly trying to put the pieces together even when it feels a little like they're falling too fast for Jamie to catch them, and if he doesn't move it's probably because the only place Jamie wants to be is here, in front of him, taking it all in. He doesn't laugh at that barb Roy turns in against himself, and a deep crease furrows in between Jamie's eyebrows in the wake of it instead, mouth tight. ]
Roy--
[ The knock at the door startles the hell out of him, making him jump, and Jamie thumps his hand to his heart a little theatrically while he swears for it because he'd completely even forgot he fucking ordered anything. He ignores Roy's dirty look as the trolley comes in, still trying to work out what the fuck he was even preparing to say before they'd been interrupted, lost somewhere between Roy admitting he'd watched Jamie voluntarily on that stupid show and the way Jamie wanted to punch him in the chest for talking down on himself the way he had been, and then it's just one word, boyfriend, that slams into Jamie's brain like a bolt of lightning.
If the bloke who'd brought the food notices anything strange, his face doesn't show it. Maybe it's not strange, for someone to call someone else their boyfriend. Maybe he doesn't even know who they are to know that it is strange, almost fucking impossible, for that word to fall out of Roy's mouth. Maybe he just doesn't fucking care because he works in a stupid posh hotel full of stupid rich posh dickheads and this probably isn't even close to the weirdest thing he's seen today. Whatever it is, he leaves the second he gets his tip, the door snapping securely shut behind him, and Jamie realizes he's staring at Roy like he's been sucker punched. ]
Did you just-- Wait, what did you--
[ What is he even saying? Christ, was his heart always in his throat? ]
What did you just say?
[ Jamie can hear it in his own voice that he sounds a little like he thinks he's stroked out and didn't hear what he thought he heard. ]
Not the-- not the fucking muppet part. The other part.
[ Because he can already hear Roy's voice in his head answering, I called you a fucking muppet, fuck off and if Roy actually says that Jamie really will hit him. ]
Did you just...call me your boyfriend?
no subject
Date: 2023-06-23 11:55 pm (UTC)Not often is Roy speechless from a conversation with Jamie. They've always had consistent banter, even back when they were sworn enemies, and Roy will always try to come up with a comeback, no matter how stupid.
But he can't make a joke out of this - because it's not. He fucking called Jamie his boyfriend and it came out of his mouth so easily because Jamie falls right into that category. They spend every day together, every night together, every day off together. He does everything he used to do for Keeley with Jamie - cooks him meals, watches shows Jamie loves but he hates, lets Jamie blast his music in his car, fucks his brains out - except what pushed Keeley away doesn't seem to bother Jamie at all. Roy never bothered giving Jamie any space because he never viewed what they had as an actual relationship he could potentially lose...
Until now. It's suddenly very fucking apparent that they're not shagging each other purely just for fun or out of boredom or loneliness anymore. It's become so much more than that.
Rain pours outside of nowhere - he can hear it hammering against the windows - and a flash of lightning streaks across the room from the balcony doors. He feels it deep in his bones, and if there was ever a sign that he needs to listen to his heart right now, this has to be it. ]
Fuuuuck. [ Wide-eyed, Roy looks like a deer caught in headlights, like he might just throw himself off the balcony at any moment. Instead, he strides straight over to the mini-bar in Jamie's room and helps himself to - surprisingly, not alcohol, but a bottle of water. This choice is intentional knowing what he knows about Jamie's dad. He doesn't want to be another man in Jamie's life who uses alcohol as a coping mechanism, and he certainly doesn't want Jamie to think he needs to get shitfaced at the idea of Jamie being his boyfriend. He just needs water to calm his nerves because his hands are visibly shaking.
He didn't check what kind of water it was though - sparkling - and Roy pulls a face after swallowing it down. ]
Ted's right - sparkling water is shit. [ He puts the bottle down, takes one look at Jamie still waiting for an answer from him and closes the distance between them. It's time to be fucking accountable. ]
I'm sorry for yelling at you about shagging Brazilians. [ He pauses to brush a couple of strands of hair out of Jamie's eyes, and his fingers are still shaking a little because he's so fucking nervous he's fucked a good arrangement with Jamie by putting a label on it, one they can't even use in public. Calling Jamie his boyfriend in private is good enough for him because as far as he's concerned, what they have is nobody's fucking business, and he doesn't want the press poisoning it by making it seedier than it actually is. ]
Sorry I'm not sorry I called you my boyfriend. [ He lifts his chin a little at that, bracing himself for a fight, waiting for Jamie to choose violence than ever accept being Roy Kent's boyfriend. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-06-25 01:22 pm (UTC)Jamie is dead fucking sure of it. Roy is going to walk it back, and say he didn't mean it or that Jamie should just fucking drop it, and Jamie will, of course he will, even if it feels like twisting a knife to do it. The rest of it doesn't really matter much when this isn't really something they can actually fucking afford, not when they're already constantly under fire by the press just for being footballers, hunted by paps for the perfect tabloid money shot and viciously picked apart by anyone with internet access that fancies themselves an expert, and everyone, everyone knows that putting a label on a good thing can ruin it faster than anything else. Jamie's greedy but not actually stupid, most of the time, because this is a good thing, better than anything he would have fucking thought he'd be able to swing when he came back to AFC Richmond, better than any long-shot fantasy or wild adolescent dream, and he doesn't need a label to enjoy it for what it is--
Roy is going to walk it back and Jamie is sure of it, because it really is the hope that fucking kills you and he doesn't dare fucking hope for anything else.
He should have just kept his mouth shut and taken the win, that Roy came all this way to see him just because Jamie told him that's what he wanted, just because Roy wanted to, and let whatever possessed Roy a moment ago to say what he said slide. Jamie knows that this thing between them, whatever it is, isn't just-- fucking easy hookups and a way to kill time between matches and training, even if maybe it was that for Roy, once. But Jamie knows that it's since evolved into something that he isn't sure he even has the proper words to really fit around when it's so much more intense and consuming than anything else he's ever experienced in his life, because Jamie's thought he's been in love before but never, ever like this, and he should have just shut his stupid fucking mouth and let it ride so he didn't have to watch Roy look at him white as a sheet like he's just seen a fucking ghost.
Roy is going to walk it back because he's already walking away, and Jamie, even now, doesn't blame him for the distance. It's fine, it'll be fine, and he's only vaguely aware there's a storm raging outside the building that probably lines up pretty well with the tangled up mess threatening to crack open inside of his chest, a knot like a fist swelling up in his throat, and it's fine. It's fine that Roy is on the other side of the room. It's fine that he's talking about fucking-- fucking water, it's fine that Roy looks more startled and unsteady than Jamie has ever seen him, it's fine that Jamie wants to fucking shout at him to just fucking talk to me, will you--
He tilts his face into the brush of Roy's fingers before he can help himself. Pavlovian, and fuck if he hasn't understood what that means more than he does now because the rest of him is wound so tight he feels like he might snap if he moves a muscle, jaw set, shoulders locked, and Roy is still talking about the wrong fucking thing, about Brazilians and apologies Jamie doesn't want, and when he starts his second sentence with another sorry, every inch of Roy looking like he's waiting for a fight, it takes everything in Jamie not to shove him away by the chest.
He's glad he doesn't, because the very next second he feels knocked flat. ]
Fucking hell.
[ It's the only thing he can manage before he all but launches himself at Roy for a kiss. It's too hard, too desperate, nearly clacking their teeth together as Jamie finds his mouth, pressing them together the way he wanted the second he saw Roy on the other side of the door. ] --don't say sorry, fucking dickhead--
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Date: 2023-06-29 11:27 pm (UTC)One hand grips the back of Jamie's head, the other wraps around his hip, clutching Jamie flush against him. Fuck, he's missed kissing Jamie, missed it more than he does playing football in a stadium full of people chanting his name, but he's trying to be a better man and he doesn't think Jamie should let him off the hook so easily. ]
But I am fucking sorry— [ He murmurs against Jamie's lips before they're kissing again, Roy guiding Jamie back by his hips until the back of his legs touch the edge of his king-sized bed and Roy pushes him down, climbing on top of him. ] Do you have any idea how jealous I'd be if I found you fucking someone else? The only Brazilians I want you near are the ones you're destroying on the pitch like the talented shit you are.
[ He stares down at Jamie, pinned to the bed by Roy's hips, holding himself up by his elbows. ] Fucking hell, Jamie, I've missed you.
[ It's crazy how much. It's crazy how he went from hating Jamie's guts to not knowing how to function without him. It's crazy how he'd follow Jamie anywhere, catch a thousand pain-in-the-arse flights to be with him, even in an economy seat that's really uncomfortable for his knee. It's crazy how he'd walk 500 miles to be with Jamie, like that annoying as shit song the lads sang at the last karaoke night, which he couldn't help but sing under his breath while looking over at the love of his life.
Fuck, he loves Jamie, but he's not ready to say it. Not today. ]