[ 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: 2023-06-23 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--
no subject
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. ]