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Roy lets out a soft laugh, pressing his forehead against Jamie’s as he closes his eyes.
“Yeah,” Roy agrees. “And you’ve got two good knees. That’s fucking embarrassing for you.”
Jamie lets out a loud laugh, jostling Roy a bit where they’re connected. “Fuck off, dickhead. You complain all the time about how exhausting Phoebe is. All grumbly and fond.”
“Maybe,” Roy gives, easing a little bit further into Jamie’s grip. He can feel one of Jamie’s hands playing with the small hairs on the back of his neck—fingers smoothing and then pulling in an intoxicating rhythm. It’s soothing, Jamie’s touch. It’s soothing and lovely in a way so many things in Roys life aren’t.
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Bookmark Notes:
It fucked with Roy’s head a bit. Jamie was constantly showing just how much attention he paid to Roy, how well he knew him and what made him tick. It made Roy feel floaty, a bit weightless, sometimes, when Jamie would reach out with a smile already on his lips, his fingertips gentle and questioning, even if the words on his lips were teasing and obnoxious—like he knew Roy could only accept the gentleness if it was masked with the teasing—if Roy didn’t have to be open, vulnerable.
So yeah, fucking fine. Jamie’s easy affection and seeking touches made Roy a bit sentimental, but, honestly, how was he supposed to not get a little fucked up over it? Jamie was something Roy never saw coming—something he didn’t even realize he was missing and desperately in need of until he had him. Roy is relatively sure that, if anything ever happened to Jamie, he’d have a nuclear fucking meltdown. He was already a bit too protective of him, but fuck if he didn’t feel it was justified. Jamie was arrogant and argumentative and crass, but he was also sweet and warm and soft in the most breathtaking ways. Roy wanted to worship him, even if sometimes he also wanted to wrestle him a bit.