Archive of Our Own

Jamie tears up the ticket.

Not right away, and not without packing a bag when he’s sure he’s going to make the flight. But, in the end, he tears it in two.

He’s done giving Roy the easy way out; Roy can do the hard work if it—if Jamie—matters.

The catharsis doesn’t last long though. Regret over the confetti he’s made of the ticket kicks in and he’s relieved that Simon doesn’t make a thing out of it when he finds him rootling around his craft bag for some sellotape. He carefully pieces it back together, conscious of each minute passing where Roy thinks he’s on the plane flying to him. Jamie wonders if he’s going to be at the airport waiting, watching the doors for a Jamie that’s never going to appear.

The thought makes his eyes burn and his throat close up, hand scrubbing over his face.

Once he’s got the ticket looking like a wonky jigsaw, he slides it into the box under his bed alongside his other keepsakes, and it’s only then that breathing comes a little easier.

When he mentions this to Simon four days later on their way home from Tesco Express, Simon bobs his head, thoughtful.

“That makes sense,” he says like the wise old Yoda he is. “You’ve made the decision that’s best for you. I imagine it’s a weight lifted.”

“Still wish he’d text me or something,” Jamie admits, something he’s only able to do because Mummy’s not there. Any mention of Roy at the moment has her eye twitching, a grudge settling in her bones. “It’s been a month since we’ve properly spoken and it’s like he just doesn’t give a shit.”

Simon rearranges the bags cutting into his palms. “Could be he thinks you want space from him and he’s waiting for you to reach out.”

“He’s never cared about that before.”

“It’s not like before though, is it?”

He’s a wise man is Simon, wise enough that he picks up on Jamie’s mood dropping and smoothly changing the subject to Laila down the street who’s about five minutes away from giving birth based on how large she is. No one knows who the father is yet, the three potential dads hovering around like it’s Mamma Mia: The Crumpsall edition.

“My money’s on Devon,” Jamie says. “They were always weird about each other.”

Simon hums his agreement, thoroughly unbothered by the little twats kicking a ball about at the end of the alley. He cut his teeth on the littlest twat of them all when he started stepping out with Mummy, and Jamie likes to think he gave Simon a run for his money that makes all the other gits on the estate child’s play to him.

“It’s Jamie Fart!” The littlest one, some prick by the name of Aaron, cackles at the sight of him even though he nervously approached Jamie when he first arrived looking for an autograph and a hair ruffle.“Jamie Fart, do-do-do-do-do-do, Jamie Fart!”

“Piss off, you little wanker,” he snarls just for the hoots it gets him. He lunges, sending them scattering, and exchanges a grin with Simon as they scamper off. “I weren’t ever that rude.”

Simon’s laugh crinkles his eyes and deepens the lines around his mouth. “No, you were worse.”

He grins and bumps their shoulders together, eyes catching on a car parked two doors down from Mummy’s. A car he recognises that stops him in his tracks, Simon carrying on only to turn when he realises he no longer has a stepson keeping pace.

“What’s wrong?”

“That car...” his heart throbs in his throat. “That’s Roy’s car.”

Simon looks from the car to the house, face drooping. “Oh dear.”

His feet are moving before he’s fully grasped the situation, and he closes the distance to the front door. The muffled sounds of Mummy’s anger washes out to him as he struggles with the key, leaving the groceries on the doorstep to burst in, an explosion of noise, panic, and hope. He stumbles across the threshold and half falls into the living room.

Cheeks flushed from her fury, Mummy looms over Roy who’s sat prim, proper, and overwhelmed on the sofa.

“What the fuck?”

Roy’s already looking at him with his hands flat on his thighs, a small sign of his nerves—one of the many little things about him that Jamie’s hoarded away to ration out as the days stretch long without him. There’s a beat where Roy’s eyes flicker over his face, down his body, cataloguing him like he’s changed in the time they haven’t seen each other, a small leak of tension easing his shoulders before Roy flicks his gaze back to Mummy, anxious.

Which—Jamie gets that. Judging by the thick air in the room and the look on her face, Mummy’s been sharpening her tongue on Roy’s soft flesh. He’d be anxious too, and he might actually feel sorry for Roy were he not distracted by his full beard and head of curls, reminding Jamie of the pundit era he missed appreciating in person. A look he might—just might—have wanked to long before they started speaking again.

But he can’t be blamed: it’s not his fault tired, pathetic, and hopelessly hairy does it for him.

“Shall I pop the kettle on?” Simon appears in the room behind him, his polite cheer breaking through the tension. “Get some scones out?”

No one speaks.

“Roy?” There has to be another gas leak. It’s the only explanation why his knees are weak and his head’s fuzzy. “Thought you was in Marbs.”

“I was.” Roy clears his throat of the rasp that’s settled in his voice. “Realised there was somewhere else I had to be.”

“Crumpsall?”

“With you,” is the answer that devastates him with its sincerity. Roy’s eyes slide briefly back to Mummy who’s only holding her tongue now that Jamie’s here. “Can we talk?”

Of course he’s not going to say no. Everyone in the room knows that but he nods anyway.

Roy stands, looking out of place in the living room that has a tiny shrine to Jamie in one corner and the ratty old blanket Nana Frenchie crocheted for Mummy when she was born. There’s a long, awkward pause until Jamie jerks into motion, remembering that Roy doesn’t actually know his way around this house.

“We’re having lasagna tonight,” Mummy says, confusing everyone. Roy pauses, clearly wondering if he should congratulate her before wisely deciding not to say anything. “You’ll join us.”

“Really?” Simon asks, startled, only to nod his head at Mummy’s piercing glare. “Yes, absolutely. More the merrier, right, Jim Jam?”

Not once in their years of knowing each other has Simon ever called him Jim Jam, and it makes him turn bewildered, panicked eyes onto him. What he gets in return is an apologetic grimace that would make him laugh if he wasn’t living in some kind of alternate universe where Roy fucking Kent is asking to speak to him in front of his family.

He used to have dreams like this.

“Lasagna sounds great,” Roy says, stiff, awkward, and perhaps a little afraid. “Thank you.”

Mummy turns her back on him, sinking down onto the sofa and flicking the TV on in a clear dismissal. Figuring that’s as good as it’s going to get, Jamie jabs a thumb over his shoulder. Roy nods a little too quickly to be anything other than ridiculous and follows him up the stairs.

*

Having Roy in his bedroom with its narrow single bed and remnants of his childhood is strange, two worlds that shouldn’t ever meet. With his eyes on the room, Jamie’s acutely conscious of everything from the china duck on a shelf to the poster of Roy on the wall that has thick eyebrows twitching at it, amused, only for the smile to freeze where it’s growing in the corners of his mouth at the sight of Keeley taped up next to him.

Jamie hasn’t been able to bring himself to take it down—hers and Roy’s. All he’s done is taken to sleeping with the door open so he doesn’t wake with both of them staring and giving him confusing boners.

He sits on the edge of the bed when the click of the door closes them in together, only to get back onto his feet when Roy remains standing, awkwardly looming over him. Bulky and painfully out of place, Roy looks more nervous than Jamie remembers ever seeing him.

Which is good, he thinks.

“How did you know where to find me?” Jamie asks when it becomes clear Roy’s forgotten how words work in favour of nosing around the room. “Never told you about here.”

“You said you were from Crumpsall, but it’s bigger than I thought it was so I had to bribe some twats from City to get an address.” Roy tears his eyes away from his old boxing gloves. “You box?”

“Used to.” He twitches his fists into the bottom of his shirt, cloying anxiety digging through his chest. “Couldn’t keep doing it when I turned pro. Contracts and shit.”

Roy unfurls his index finger and traces the edge of one glove. Abruptly, he shoves his hands into his jacket. “The prick at City sent me to your place first. The posh one. Your neighbour said you’d probably be here.”

“Yeah, I don’t go there much. Dad and his mates use it more than me.” Roy’s mouth flattens at the mention of Dad, and a surge of annoyance rises through him. “What the fuck’re you doing here, man?”

“I wanted to talk.” It’s forced out, pained and rough, eyes fixed on a point just past Jamie’s shoulder. “Apologise.”

“Call the fucking press,” he snaps, mean, instantly regretting it when Roy turns even stiffer. “That was wank. Sorry.”

“Don’t—I have…” Roy breaks off, eyes darting to him and then down. He pulls his hand out of his pocket, a piece of folded paper clenched in his fist. He thrusts it out to him only to pull back when Jamie hesitates. “Right. I should…”

“What the fuck’s this?”

Roy unfolds the paper and clears his throat, skin red and blotchy under his beard. “I wrote some shit down so I didn’t forget it.”

His hands slick and his stomach knots. “Roy—”

“I want to tell you I’m sorry,” Roy reads, haltingly. “I never meant to hurt you but I did.”

“What the—?” He snatches the paper from him. Neatly typed at the top of the page is his name, and surprise builds as he scans the page. “This is therapy stuff.”

Roy shifts his feet. “Yeah.”

“Mate.” There’s a long pause as the tension turns fragile. “Are you seeing a therapist?”

“Yeah."

“Whoa.” It unmoors him, the admittance. “Since when?”

“Does it—?” Roy cuts himself off this time, back teeth clenching down as he stops his instinctive reaction. Jamie watches, fascinated. “Since the last time we spoke. Booked a session the next morning.”

For all that a bomb goes off at the confession, the world doesn’t actually explode. “But that were weeks ago.”

“Yeah.”

“You went to therapy because I weren’t talking to you?” Roy’s neck is stiff when he nods. Jamie blows out his cheeks, creasing the paper in his fist until he thrusts it back to him.“Right. Go on then.”

Roy hesitates. “What?”

“You’ve got things to say to me, right?” He nods at the paper. “A whole fucking list, apparently. I want to hear them.”

This time he sits down on his bed and stays seated. He scoots back and crosses his legs under him, waiting. Crumpling the paper further, Roy looks down at it, then back at Jamie, and then he just sits on the floor like his strings have been cut.

The silence of neither of them speaking is softened by the noise of Mummy’s TV show muffled through the floor and the rumble of cars two streets over before Jamie says—

“This is a shit apology.”

Roy sets the paper on his knee. “I know.”

“I’m not doing the work for you,” he says, firmly. “You need you to actually say the words or there’s no point in you being here, is there?”

A muscle twitches in Roy’s jaw as he focuses on the football cover that Mummy pulled out for his stay. “I haven’t been fair to you.”

“Fucking understatement,” he nods. “Carry on.”

“And I was lying to you, not just to—” Roy’s eyes dart towards Keeley’s poster, misery shadowing his eyes. “It wasn’t fair to either of you.”

“No, it weren’t.” Jamie twists his fingers into his sweats. “Can’t figure out why though. Not like we were shagging or anything since Wembley. Don’t know why you’d lie to her about that.”

“Because it was easier than telling her the truth.”

Exasperation aches his chest. “Which was what? What the fuck’s the actual truth, huh?”

“That I liked spending time with you.” It bursts out of Roy, heating his cheeks on the way. “That five minutes with you doing nothing was better than a whole day with her doing everything.”

“Oh. That’s—oh.”

“You’re so—” Roy’s face scrunches in frustration, looking so much like Phoebe that Jamie wants to laugh. “I didn’t think you’d be so fucking you.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” he grunts, turning his frown onto his hands. “You’re such a prick but you’re also—I fucking liked spending time with you. I didn’t expect it. Didn’t expect you."

Jamie swallows, throat aching. “Is that why you wanted to break up with her, that first time?”

“No, that was something else.” In a way, that’s a relief. Like not being responsible for that part of it all makes everything that came after easier to bear. “After you dragged me into the boot room—”

“I didn’t drag you,” he protests.

Roy’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “You didn’t fucking invite me into it.”

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, fighting the urge to smile. “After the boot room, what happened?”

“Had a fucking breakdown is what happened,” Roy begins, rubbing his beard. “When I was a kid, I had this friend...Gordon. I hadn’t thought about him in years but then you got to your fucking knees like you’d never wanted to be anywhere else and when I got home and all I could think about was him.”

Not a single word of that helps to work loose his confusion. “Huh?”

“I think he was the first person I loved.”

That does it though. The honesty of it is so shocking it keeps him quiet.

“You know what it’s like doing what we do,” Roy goes on. “Can’t fuck blokes unless you’re high and it’s a bet or something. So I shoved it all down and forgot about Gordon until you. I realised afterwards that all the things stopping me from looking at men properly were gone. I wasn’t playing anymore, didn’t have to worry about the tabloids and being the next Fashanu or whatever.”

He ends with a stiff, self-conscious shrug. Dizzy, Jamie asks, “Roy, mate, are you gay?”

“I don’t know,” Roy mutters, scrubbing at his beard so hard he risks a bald patch. Jamie wants to reach out to still his hands, but he thrusts his own under his thighs instead. “I don’t fucking know what I am. Didn’t even know the words for any of this shit until Molly fucking got on at me about it. She thinks I’m a right twat, by the way. She likes you and she clipped me one when she heard what happened.”

Jamie doesn’t fight his smile this time “Good.”

Roy rolls his eyes, the tension softening just enough for him to lean back and grunt. “Here, Phoebe wanted me to give you this.”

He offers up the contents of his pocket, a small ceramic magnet is placed carefully in Jamie’s palm. It’s a silly thing, an octopus with curled legs and bulging eyes, but his mouth twitches as his thumb smooths over the surface. He want to talk except his throat closes up he misses Phoebe and her weird little questions and ability to appear out of nowhere to scare the shit out of him. He curls his fingers around the gift, a sharp tentacle pressing into his palm.

“She and Molly are back in Marbella, think they both got tired of me moping,” Roy says.

Jamie takes a moment “You invited me out when they were going to be there?”

“I mean—” Roy shifts and he thinks about throwing a pillow down for him but a bit of discomfort is good for the soul and feeds a petty part of Jamie at the same time. “They only got there two days ago. I’d planned for us to have a couple of days together. Figured you’d want to yell at me some.”

“Generous,” he says, dryly. Roy grimaces. “So, you’re maybe gay. Me sucking your cock changed your whole world view.”

“Not exactly.”

“Uh-huh.” He presses an edge of the octopus into his thigh. “You wanted to break up with Keeley so you could what, shag blokes?”

Roy nods. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“And she didn’t like that?”

“We were fine before you, settling into it and everything,” Roy says like he’s trying to convince himself even now. “Never even thought of blokes except for maybe if they had a nice arse or not. Didn’t seem fair to stay with her when my head was all turned around so I told her what happened and about Gordon. Said I needed to end it.”

“But she–?”

“Disagreed.” One word tells him everything and nothing all at once, frustration burning when Roy doesn’t elaborate, like a twat. “Decided to stay together but with an exception.”

Finally, understanding begins to settle in his bones. “Me.”

“Yeah.” Roy’s not looking at him again, examining his fingers instead. “Figured we’d done it once so it was better than me hitting up Grindr or something.”

“Don’t use Grindr,” Jamie says, quickly, faintly panicked as the thought of Roy on Grindr makes him want to vomit. “It’s a cesspit.”

“I know, I downloaded it to see what it was like.” The look on his face sends sympathy trickling down Jamie’s spine. “But she figured doing shit with you was better than doing with strangers who might sell the story to the fucking tabloids. Reckon she thought we’d kill each other before too long.”

Jamie remembers her sharp, emotion-wet words at the funeral.

“But we didn’t.”

“No, we didn’t.” Roy finally looks up at him. “You’re just...fucking hell. I didn’t think I’d actually feel shit for you but then you were right there, smiling and laughing and being fucking charming and asking me about the books I read like you actually wanted to know—”

“I did! I do!” It bursts out of him, loud enough that there’s a pause in the noise downstairs, the TV going on mute for a split second as his heart thunders in his chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, Roy, I haven’t been hiding it, you prick. You’ve got to know how I feel about you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Shame cauls him. “Wear your bloody heart on your sleeve, don’t you? Don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s just who I am,” Jamie tells him, heat pulsing through him as they finally, finally, make headway into the mess that’s tangled between them. “Why did you stop us fucking about? After Wembley, I mean. Was it because of Keeley?”

“No.” Roy worries his fingers. “It was what you said to me after everything. You said you could blow me or something, right after your dad was a right cunt. You were worried about me kicking you out, and I...I didn’t want you feeling like that.”

“Right.” He tries to understand, a headache pulling at his temples. “So you cockblocked both of us instead of talking to me?”

“When have you ever known me to talk about shit?”

“Fair.”

“I just…” a deep breath pushes at Roy’s chest, Jamie’s eyes dropping to follow the movement. He wants to put his head there, close his eyes and fall asleep and wake up in the morning with everything fixed and happy between them again. “I didn’t want you doing shit when I was up in my head about my feelings for you and not sure if I could give anything back.”

“I didn’t care about that,” he argues. “Although now I know David fucking Bowie taught you, I’m mad jealous about it, but I didn’t care.”

“I did.” Roy pins him, gaze pained. “I fucking cared. I fucking cared about you and it scared the shit out of me.”

“Why? It’s just me, you knob.”

“Exactly,” Roy says as though that makes any fucking sense. “You’re fucking terrifying. Because you’re not...you’re not a hook up or an experiment or anything like that.”

“Then what am I?” Jamie unfolds his legs and shift to the edge of the bed, looking down at him, mouth tacky with everything he’s feeling. “No more kicking the ball about, you’ve got to tell me. What the fuck am I to you?"

“Everything.”

Jamie loses all sense of self, desperation and hope blooming through him.

This isn’t fucking fair. He never actually expected to get everything he’s wanted but here’s Roy, sprawled and angular on the floor of his childhood bedroom reaching into his soul and scooping out all the right words.

The fucking cunt.

“And you’re not my second choice,” Roy goes on. “It would be easier if you were but you’re not. Jesus, you’re not. Going home with you at the end of the day to just cook dinner and watch TV and talk? That’s the happiest I’ve been in fucking years.”

Jamie turns his head, dragging in a wet breath. The world’s tilted, leaving him scrambling for something to anchor him.

“Then why didn’t you break up with her properly?” The demand fractures his voice. “She couldn’t keep you there if you didn’t want to be.”

“Because being with you, properly, that means something,” Roy admits, the words coming easier now even though they’re fragile around the edges. “And I didn’t know if I was ready for it. But then the funeral fucking happened and I saw the look on your face. You looked so…” he grunts and knuckles at his temple. “I realised that I was a fucking idiot when I got a good look at you.”

“You are,” he agrees, sharply. “And a twat.”

“And a twat.” Roy rubs at his beard again, the scratch of it faint and intimate between them. “When you were drunk, I wanted to—didn’t realise I hadn’t been giving you shit until you were looking at me like you didn’t know how I felt.”

“I don’t.” His fingers dig into his thighs. “How the fuck am I meant to know? You say stuff to me but not anything actually important about us. You’ve been keeping me at a distance and confusing the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” A wince passes across Roy’s face as he settles on his knees, resting back on his ankles in front of Jamie like a supplicant. “Figured you didn’t know when you fucked that woman.”

He says it like it hasn’t driven a knife of pain into him, like Jamie can’t see the grief on the plains of his face.

“That fucking killed me, that did,” Roy says, quietly. “The thought of someone else touching you...”

The audacity enrages him. “You and Keeley were fucking.”

“Yeah,” Roy looks down. “Fucking stupid that. Couldn’t stop thinking about you the whole time. Wasn’t fair to her.”

Heat burns through his gut, a mix of pleasure and shame. “Really?”

“Really.” He looks up, the shadows under his eyes dark bruises. Jamie wants to press his fingers to them and his lips to his forehead. “Fucking in love with you, aren’t I?”

It’s a gut punch. The shock of it exploding outwards, vision blurring. “Roy—don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it,” Roy tells him. “I’ve meant it for ages now.”

“Since when?” It rips out of his mouth in his desperation to know. “When?”

“Don’t know when it started but I knew for sure that day you came round to look at my pipes,” Roy says. “You just—you cleaned my fucking pipes out for me even though it was disgusting. And you were so good with Phoebe she never shuts up about you, and you made it fun. You make everything fun.”

A breath shudders from him. “That was months ago.”

“I know.”

“Months,” he repeats, angry. “We could’ve—you’re such a fucking coward. You could’ve just said this to me, said any of this. We could’ve not been sneaking around hurting Keeley. Fuck’s sake, Roy. All you had to do was say one fucking thing!”

“I know, I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t do anything to soothe his anger, and he lifts his hands to press his fingertips against his eyes, rubbing hard. “I want to fix this but I don’t know how. My therapist says it’s not fair to ask you how but I need to know if it can be fixed. D’you think—can you forgive me? Can we try again?”

Jamie digs his fingers in harder, white light flaring. He tries and fails to stop the sob pressing against his throat breaking free. It rolls through him, until he’s dipping his head and leaning forwards. Roy’s right there, catching him against his shoulder. The smell of him and the heat of him wraps him in comfort, strong arms tentatively circling his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” A kiss buries itself in his hair, lingering as the next words are spoken against his skin. “D’you want me to leave?”

He breathes, wet and shaky. “Would you?”

“If you want me to,” Roy murmurs. “I’ll come back in the morning though. And every day after that if there’s still a chance.”

“What if I want you to stay away?”

“Then I’ll stay away. I’ll fucking quit if it’s weird for you at work.” Roy pulls back, hands steady on the curve of his shoulders. “I’m the one who fucked it. You shouldn’t have to deal with it at the club too.”

Jamie frowns, head too heavy to lift. “Where would you even go?”

“Chelsea.” A comforting hand clasps the back of his neck. “They’ve reached out a couple of times since I retired. Said they’d like me on youth development team if I wanted to come home.”

He thinks of Roy leaving Richmond, of not having him as a coach with only Ted and Beard left to run the show. He’s shaking his head, eyes pulling up Roy’s chest to settle on the hint of collarbone.

“Surprised you haven’t said yes,” he murmurs, exhausted. “You miss Chelsea.”

“I do, and I’ll say yes to them if you don’t want me at Richmond,” Roy promises. “We can, I don’t know, not work together and try and make it work if you want some space. Or I can just fuck off if that’s what you want too.”

He finally meets Roy’s eyes. “All about what I want, huh?”

“Bout time it is, isn’t it?”

“That’s not—” frustration wells in him. “I wanted it to be about us. Not one or the other.”

Roy hesitates, faintly hopeful around the edges. “Is there an us?”

“I don’t know.” Jamie lets loose the breath that’s been caught in his chest, slow and deliberate. “You really hurt me. You treated me like shit. Not all the time. Most of the time it was great but you lied to me. You used me to hurt Keeley. And now everyone knows about us and it’s fucking…” he shakes his head. “Surprised the tabloids haven’t figured it out too.”

“They won’t.” There’s conviction in Roy’s voice, something he doesn’t have the energy to dig into now; he’s probably threatened a headbutt or two and that’s enough to keep the jackals at bay, for now at least. “And I’m sorry about the team. Isaac had a lot to say about it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he wasn’t impressed.” Roy doesn’t sound put out about it. There’s a hint of pride, like he’s pleased Isaac called him out. “Look, I’m going to go stay at a hotel. Let you fucking think or whatever. We could—breakfast? Tomorrow. If you want.”

Jamie stares at him, long enough and hard enough that Roy starts to shift uncomfortably.

“You really want this,” he finally says. “Me."

“Yeah.”

“I can’t—if you’re going to fuck me around, if I’m just a thing on your way of figuring out your sexuality or something, I can’t do it, it’ll kill me.” He knows it’s a touch dramatic but it’s a truth he needs Roy to understand. “You fuck me up really bad. Really fucking bad. I can’t do it again.”

“You’re not. A stop or whatever.” The hand on the back of his neck softens, leaving him. “You’re the fucking final destination.”

“Jesus.” He stares. “That was stupid romantic.”

“Fucking embarrassing more like,” Roy mutters, not looking away this time. “I mean it though. I want to come home to you and cook you dinner and listen to you talk about your Wikipedia binges and watch documentaries on Cordyceps with you.”

That startles a smile out of him. “You remember Cordyceps.”

“It grows out of bodies and gave me the fucking shivers for days after,” Roy says. “Course I remember.”

Jamie dips his fingers into Roy’s shirt as hope pierces through the cracks left in him, filling the spaces with gold.

“I’m fucking mad about you,” he admits. “I wish I weren’t. Wish I could forget about you.”

“I’m not good at this but I want to be, for you,” Roy admits, shoulders a little hunched. “I’ll be better. I won’t fuck up again.”

He rolls his eyes. “You fucking will. You’re a twat, remember?”

“Alright, you’re not wrong,” Roy says with the tiniest of smiles. “But I won’t hurt you like this again. I swear.”

And the thing is, Jamie thinks this is where it was always going to end up. Roy on the wall, Roy in front of him—there’s never been a choice to make. Not for him.

“Okay,” he says, so softly it barely exists. He tightens his grip on Roy, a hand rising to cover his wrist. It’s devastating to understand he was never going to say no to him. “Stay. Don’t go to the hotel. Fucking stay. Tonight. Know the bed’s a bit small but...stay.”

The tension leaks from Roy, his body softening and falling forwards. Head in his lap, arms around his waist, Jamie squeezes his eyes shut and lets his hands finally touch Roy properly, bending over him to hold him.

Okay, he thinks. O-fucking-kay.

*

Mummy waits until Simon’s dragged Roy outside to look at the begonias to turn to him. She catches him with the Marigolds tugged up his wrists, plates submerged in soapy water, and he tenses under her sharp gaze. It’s like he’s seventeen all over again and she’s cornering him in his bedroom to ask whether or not it’s true that Dad’s back in his life, the disappointment fracturing across her face when he stumbled through the truth haunting him still.

“You’ve forgiven him then,” she says.

“He apologised.” Jamie hears the sound of her many excuses for Dad echoing down the years to them. “I mean—he’s doing it proper like. Gone to therapy and everything. Had a whole list of things he wanted to say.”

“They always do.” She reaches for the tea towel and starts drying, their shoulders bumping at the sink. “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to take him back. Could tell me and I’ll throw him out on his ear.”

“I know,” he says. It’s still light outside, summer stretching late into the evening, and he watches as Roy nods at something Simon says before gesturing at the orange tree Simon’s valiantly been trying to grow for years. “Don’t want to though. I want…” it sticks in his throat, his skin flooding with heat. “I know it’s stupid.”

Mummy holds back her sigh. Jamie feels the sting of her disappointment that she’s locking down, stowing it away, respecting his choice even if she wants him to choose differently. Simon’s better at keeping his thoughts to himself;; Mummy, like him, has her emotions splayed across her face, and they know each other too well to keep the truth hidden.

“It is what it is, and what it is is love. Much as I wish it wasn’t.” She passes her hand over his forehead, up into his hair, and he leans into her to rest his cheek on the top of her soft-smelling hair. “It’d be easier on that heart of yours if it was anything but.”

His mouth wobbles, eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. “Don’t think there’s anyone but him. What’s it Simon says when he’s taking the mick?”

“Roy Kent always remains,” she says, sighing and turning to press her forehead to his. His shoulders hitch, and he tries to press himself closer to her. “Doesn’t stop him from being a twat though.”

“Not nice to say that about Simon. He’s a bit of a dork but—” Mummy gives his hair a playful tug, and he stops, a half-smile shadowed on his mouth. “He is a twat. And a bit of a cunt. But...I don’t know—I’ve got to try it, yeah? One more chance.”

She pulls back, holding his face to gaze at him steadily. “It always starts with one more. Just one.”

“He’s not like Dad.”

“No, he’s not.” That agreement sends relief washing through him, confirmation of what he already knows settling. “He doesn’t seem like the violent type off the pitch. Shoved you about a bit more than I’d have liked—”

“You once got a warning for threatening Denny for tackling me once,” Jamie reminds her. “We were seven.”

“I was right about that little shit,” she shoots back. “He’s off in prison now.”

“For thieving, not for violence.”

Mummy pulls a face. “Same difference.”

He rolls his eyes and she’s wrapping her arms around him, all nice and strong like only she can do, and he’s leaning into her. He was sixteen when he grew taller than her, his growth spurt coming about a year later than his friends, and he’s used to resting his face in her hair as she squeezes his rips and rubs between his shoulder blades. He misses being as little as he used to be, when he’d scamper into his pyjamas and crawl into bed with her to fall asleep drooling on her stomach. She wouldn’t mind if he did it now—nor would Simon, truth be told—but he strips off his gloves and hugs her back, trying to sink into those feelings of childhood safety.

“Whatever you decide,” Mummy starts into his shoulder, “I’ll support you. Me and Simon both. Just...make sure you keep hold of that self-respect I drummed into you so you know when to walk away. Don’t make the same mistakes I did, yeah?”

Black eyes. A fractured jaw. So many tears they almost drowned in them.

Roy’s not Dad, but Jamie knows the pain he could inflict, the way it’d break him.

He nods into her hair. “Promise.”

Body folded around hers, her face tucked into his shoulder, he lets himself lose the tension that a long, somewhat embarrassing crying session upstairs has left knotted in him. Not that Roy’s made him think he was daft, lifting his body to sit on the bed next to him, holding him as he cried, murmuring his apologies until his fingers set up a smooth stroke through his hair. They’d just lain there in silence until Simon was cheerfully calling them for dinner and Jamie had to figure out how to deal with his puffy face and Roy’s faintly miserable-because-I-made-him-cry expression.

“—surprisingly good fertiliser,” Simon says, letting Roy pass in front of him. Mummy gives him one final squeeze and then releases him. “Oh no, did I miss a hug? I hate it when that happens.” He raps his knuckles against Roy’s arm. “The two of always them sneak about behind my back having a good hug without me.”

Jamie rolls his eyes, stretching out an arm and his nose is filled with Simon’s floury scent. No matter what he does, he always smells like flour and warm butter—the smell of home these days—and he glances at Roy around the side of Simon’s ear. He looks oddly small in this kitchen, all shoulders and chest against the green cabinets and kitschy pictures Simon loves, the dork. He’s never looked out of place before, not at Jamie’s at least, and it’s jarring enough that he releases Simon.

“We’re just going to—” he gestures vaguely at the ceiling. Mummy’s lips thin but she nods. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, it was great,” Roy adds on, broken glass in the place of words. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Simon’s smile is a casual, easy thing, the exact same kind of smile he had on his face when he went in to talk to Jamie’s teacher after she called him stupid. He imagines the conversation outside was less about gardening than was suggested. “Staying the night, are you?”

Roy’s eyes slide to Jamie’s, the tips of his ears burning red. Jamie nods. “Yeah, he is. We’ll keep it down. Know you’ve got to be tucked up in bed by nine or you’ll be a grump.”

“Ten, thank you,” he says, primly. “Go on then, you boys go get some sleep. Roy, you’ve been travelling all day. You must be exhausted.”

Jamie saves him from answering by turning on his heel and leaving, trusting that Roy will seize on the opportunity to escape. He does. The heavy fall of his feet follow him up the stairs and into his bedroom where he pauses on the threshold while Jamie sinks onto the edge of his bed, again.

“What you going to do, sleep standing up? Come in, you knob.” Roy closes the door behind him and still doesn’t relax, like he’s unsure of his welcome—Jamie’s pretty sure this is going to get old fast. “What was Simon talking about?”

“Giving me the shovel talk,” Roy says. “He’s not as terrifying as your mum but there’s something about him that makes me nervous.”

“Yeah, he’s like that sometimes.” He tugs on the bottom of his T-shirt, rubbing his heels against the floor. “No one expects him to be mean and shit but he sort of comes up from behind and takes you by surprise.”

“It’s nice. Them, I mean. Your parents.” The staccato burst of his words makes him wince. “Good that you have them and not just your dad.”

“Yeah, they’re sound.”

Roy glances at his poster again. “Have you heard from him?”

“Not since Wembley.” Both a blessing and a curse since there’s always a low-level thread of anxiety when Dad’s gone radio silent, like he’s in the shadows waiting to fuck his life up. “Know he’s about though. Keeps spending the money I send him.”

“You send him money?” Roy turns, surprised and sharp. “Why the fuck would you—?”

“Don’t fucking start,” he interrupts, annoyed. “You give your folks money even though you were ranting about how shit they are with Phoebe over that prick Bernard.”

“He’s been bullying her, it’s not fucking flirting or whatever the fuck they think it is,” Roy explodes. “Bad enough he gave her that stupid Christmas gift but then he starts pushing her over? Fucking old fashioned bullshit that’s setting her up for—”

“I agree with you, mate.” He holds his hands up, calming. Roy snaps his mouth shut with an audible clack. “Just glass houses and shit like that.” Roy grunts. “All that shit still sorted? Nothing new?”

A shake of his head. “Nah, Molly put the fear of Christ into his fuckwit parents. That and Ms Bowen keeping a close eye on things.”

“Good, that’s good.” A yawn builds in his throat, smothered into his fist, wet slicking his eyes as he blinks the tears back. “I’m fucking knackered.”

He turns his phone over, checking the time. It’s not even nine in the evening but he feels like he’s been awake for days, and Roy’s looking rough around the edges too. He hadn’t given it any thought until Simon mentioned it downstairs but he must’ve been travelling for hours—Marbella to London to pick up his car instead of flying direct to Manchester like an idiot, a minimum of a four-hour drive up the M4, figuring out where the fuck Jamie was without calling him, and then dealing with Mummy alone while Jamie was at the shop.

It’s enough to exhaust any fucker.

“Come on.” He pushes himself to his feet and blinks at Roy. “It’s going to be a tight squeeze but we’ll make it work if you don’t hog the bed.”

Roy rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging hopefully. “You’re the bed hog.”

“No, I’m the Roy hog, there’s a difference,” he points out, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. “Not my fault you take up all the bed.”

“You’re such a prat,” is drenched in so much fondness and affection it makes him dizzy.

Jamie sheds his clothes while Roy takes off his shoes and jeans. Neither of them take off their boxers. There’s not even a moment of doubt. Gone are the days when Jamie felt comfortable sprawled naked in Roy’s presence, chatting with him like he’s not balls out and dick spent. He really fucking hopes they get back to the easy companionship they’d enjoyed without the shade of Roy’s lies and confusion.

Roy hesitates by the bed, trying to figure out how to Tetris their bodies together, and Jamie tugs the duvet back to lie on his side. He regrets it, the wall ice cold against his back, but Roy eases into the bed and settles himself down like a stiff plank. Twat, Jamie thinks, painfully fond. He spreads the blanket over them, too small for them to share really, and there’s a few moments of shifting as they try to get comfortable without actually touching too much until he decides enough’s enough and spreads himself over Roy’s chest.

He rubs his cheek against the chest hair that’s soft under his skin. Hello, old friend. Listening to the gentle thump-thump of his heart settled in his ribcage and wondering how long he’s going to get to keep this for, Roy’s hand comes to settle on the back of his head. His eyes flutter shut, Roy’s other hand coming to rest tentatively on the curve of his waist.

“I’ve missed this,” Roy murmurs, fingers slipping into his hair and pressing against his scalp. “Missed you.”

“I was right here,” he sighs. “All you had to do was talk to me.”

“I wasn’t ready to talk to you.” His scalp’s scratched at, his left foot twitching with pleasure. “Needed to figure shit out before I hurt you again.”

He presses his nose into the cut of Roy’s muscles, breathing in the warm smell of his skin. “Therapy’s doing a nut on you, isn’t it?”

“It’s fucking awful,” Roy complains. “She keeps poking and prodding and asking me shit.”

“Dr Sharon?”

He feels rather than sees Roy shake his head. “No, someone outside the club. Molly found one for me that can be trusted. Paying through the nose, obviously.”

“You’re rich, you can afford it.” The hum of agreement vibrates low beneath his cheek. He’s struck by a sudden thought that pierces him, locking him in place as fingers brush down his neck and then up again. “You’re going to keep going, right? You’re not going to stop now we’re—"

He cuts himself off, not ready to admit to the fact that they’re teetering on the edge of back together, this time without the shade of Keeley between them.

“I’m going to keep going,” Roy promises. “Think it’s useful.”

Relief loosens his muscles. He inches his fingers across his chest, circling patterns through the hair and giving a small tug. “You spoken to Keeley?”

Roy tenses, his fingers pausing before he picks up a thick lock and rubs it between his thumb and forefinger while Jamie listens to the thump-thump of his heart.

“Only when I went to get my stuff from hers, a couple of weeks ago,” he admits. “Rebecca and Sassy were there.”

The thought twists a grimace across his face. “Doesn’t sound like fun.”

“It wasn’t.” He curves his palm around the entirely of Jamie’s skull. It feels so good he forgets how to breathe. “But it’s over now. For good. Don’t know if she’s ever going to forgive me but it’s definitely over.”

He tugs at Roy’s chest hair, earning a small, sharp inhalation but no move’s made to stop him. He shuffles, winding himself tighter around Roy’s body. “D’you want her to forgive you?”

“Yes.” It’s said without thought, unhesitating. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“That’s clear, thanks so much.”

Roy snorts, dipping his head to dig his nose into Jamie’s hair. “I know I hurt her—Christ, I really fucking hurt her. The way she looked…” he doesn’t need the reminder, Keeley’s face pinched with pain flashing in his mind. “I’m fucking pissed at myself for not ending it sooner, that first time. But, I don’t know, I’m still annoyed she played a stupid game with me. Told me it was fine when it wasn’t.”

“Yeah.” He presses the flat of his index finger to one nipple, just to feel it. “I don’t understand any of it really. The two of you, you both fucked around and hurt each other, and me. It just all seems fucking pointless now.”

“It is, it was,” Roy agrees, kissing the top of his head and lingering before he pulls back with a sigh. “I’m sorry I put you through that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Fucking right I didn’t.” He presses the point of his chin into Roy’s chest and finally looks up at him. “What about Gordon?”

A moment of tension. “What about him?”

“D’you want to talk about him?”

Roy hesitates, eyes flicking away. “Not—I’m not ready for that. Not yet. There’s still a lot—”

“Okay,” he interrupts. “That’s okay?”

“It is?”

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Jamie says. “You just have to not hide shit from me and lie to me.”

Roy swallows, fingers touching the back of his neck. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He bows his head, rubbing his forehead against his chest. “I’ve missed you though.”

Roy’s mouth twitches at the corners, hope sinking into the shadows there. “I’ve missed you too. Missed your weird binges.”

“Hmm.” He shifts upwards, just a couple of inches, making it so he’s close enough that when he speaks, he does so with his lips cradled in the nook of Roy’s neck. “Did you know there’s a cheese that’s aged and fermented by introducing maggot larvae into it, and when you eat it you’re also eating the maggots?”

“I didn’t know that.” There’s a warm thrill of happiness in Roy’s voice. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s a delicacy in Sardinia.”

“Jellied eels are a delicacy in the East End but we’re not eating them.”

“Yeah, cause they’re from the Thames, who eats stuff from the Thames?” Jamie slips his hand up to press his fingers over Roy’s mouth, shivering at the softness of them and the wet tip of his tongue that catches on his skin so quickly he thinks he imagined it. “And don’t say Granddad.”

“He did though.”

Jamie hides his smile in Roy’s neck, pulling back to look at him properly, shy and delighted when he finds he’s already being watched. There’s an aching fondness on his face that Jamie’s only seen directed at Phoebe, and it fizzes through him as he settles his elbow on the pillow and rests his head on his hand. Roy seems perfectly content to lie there and look at him, the backs of his fingers crooked and gentle against his stomach.

He strokes his chest and asks, “when d’you have to go back to Marbella?”

“I don’t,” Roy says. “Molly and Phee can have the run of the place. I just want to be where you are.”

“Roy.” It’s hard to hold onto his hurt when Roy’s in front of him giving him everything he’s hoped and more. “You can’t say shit like that.”

A hesitation. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” He shakes his head and flattens his palm against his chest, spreading his fingers over the beat of his heart. “I don’t want you to ever stop. It’s...I don’t know. A lot. After not enough."

Roy sweeps his hand up the length of his torso, thumb brushing over the hollow of his throat, before it comes to rest against his cheek. The softness of his palm, the touch of his fingertips just under the flesh of his earlobe, thumb resting against the corner of his mouth—Jamie stills, breathless.

“I hate what I’ve done to you,” Roy says with that pared back honesty that hurts when it slips under Jamie’s skin, healing parts of him that were splayed open by the lies. “Feels like I’m going to be spending the rest of my life making up for it.”

Hope sinks its talons into him. “Rest of your life, huh?”

“Yeah.” Roy meets his gaze head on, not flinching from him at last. “That okay with you?”

“Is that…? You fucking knob.” He shakes his head, trying to get his balance back. He’s been dunked under water, held there until his ears filled, and now he’s all turned around. “You want...don’t just say that if you don’t mean it. That’s fucking cruel.”

“I mean it.” Roy rubs up from his mouth, over the line of his cheekbone. “Took me a while to realise it, but I fucking mean it.”

He stares. “Because you like me?”

“Because I love you.”

Jamie trembles, a bird caught in a storm. “Tell me again.”

“I love you,” Roy repeats.

He closes his eyes. “Again.”

“I love you.”

He shudders. “One more time. Please.”

With patience and care, Roy tells him again, “I love you.”

His entire body reacts. A shiver moving from the tips of his toes up to the roots of his hair, skin lifting in goose pimples along the way. He loses strength in his arm, sinking back down as Roy rises, sliding a hand between his back and the wall to move him, pushing him onto his back to hover over him. Unable to breathe properly, he watches the way Roy’s eyes move over his face, the brush of his fingers against his skin, tracing the lines of his features. If he were able to tear his eyes away from him, he’d see his old faithful watching them from the wall.

Roy’s heat washes over him as he leans in and brushes a soft kiss over his forehead, leaving a trace of warmth in its wake. He holds his breath as Roy moves down, kissing the bridge of his nose, just under his left eye and a matching one under his right. Jamie hears the rush of blood through his ears, feels the way his heart’s trying to break free as the scritch of Roy’s beard catches on the corner of his mouth before he lingers there, nose pressing uncomfortably into his cheek.

“I love you,” Roy murmurs, thick and bruisingly sincere. “And I’m so fucking—”

Jamie cants his mouth, catching another apology before it’s spoken. He lifts his hands to grip at Roy’s arms, pulling him closer.

“I love you too,” he manages when he needs to breathe again and Roy’s mouth is wet from his. “Course I fucking do.”

Roy breathes out a laugh weakened by his relief. “Didn’t want to assume.”

“Fucking geriatric—” he mutters, frustrated and thrilled all at once. “What the fuck am I going to do with you, huh?”

Roy opens his mouth, as though he thinks he actually wants an answer, only to let out a startled moan Jamie swiftly smothers with his tongue at the kiss that bruises between them.

He’s gone so long without Roy’s kisses that he turns hungry, hands trying to find purchase on his body as he attempts to crawl inside of Roy and not leave. But at least he’s not alone. Roy pushes right down onto him until he’s blanketing the entire length of his body with his own.

“I’ve missed you,” Roy breathes against his mouth. “Fucking hell, I’ve missed you.”

Jamie whines, sinking his fingers into Roy’s hair, tugging on the soft curls and shifting restlessly under him. “I’m here. I’ve been right fucking here.”

“I know, I know,” Roy murmurs, dragging his teeth along his collarbone, sinking a bite into the soft flesh on his neck that has his hips twitching upwards. “Still missed you.”

Catching the grief in his throat, Jamie wonders if it’s ever going to fade, whether he’ll forget this pain in the face of the love Roy’s spilling everywhere. He tilts his face, seeking a kiss to forget for just a moment, and he shudders as the kiss turns wet and messy. He grinds upwards, cock sparking pleasure up his spine as Roy holds still for him to rut against.

“Fuck,” he moans into Roy’s mouth. “Want you.”

“Yeah?” Weight shifts as Roy pulls back just an inch, though it’s an inch too far in Jamie’s opinion, to look down at him with dark eyes. “We can do whatever you want.”

And the words tumble from his mouth before he’s even thought about them, “what if I want to fuck you?”

Roy jerks, cock pressing hard against his hip, and Jamie feels the wetness seeping through his boxers at the thought. He tugs on Roy’s hair, bringing his mouth down again, licking into him as he pushes up, forcing Roy to move backwards, bending until he’s falling onto his back so there’s space for Jamie to bracket him with his thighs. Perched above him, he rolls his hips and watches Roy’s face flood with pleasure, want, need, his hands clenching into useless fists in the duvet twisted beneath them.

“Want you to fuck me,” Roy says when he gets his sense back. Jamie shudders, dipping his head as his fingers spread over his chest, a gentle roll keeping the buzz of pleasure fresh and aching between them. “Been wanting it for ages.”

“You could’ve asked,” he tells him even though he’s not sure either of them could have. They toed the lines of Keeley’s rules and fucking would have thrown them both so far over there would be nothing to do except sneak around. “Did Bowie fuck you?”

Roy snorts, a hand falling to cover his face as he laughs. “Still thinking about that?”

“It’s David fucking Bowie,” he says, rolling his hips to punctuate his point. He peels Roy’s hand away, pulling it up to hold it against his chest. “Course I’m still thinking about it.”

Roy’s hand creeps up, fingers brushing against his mouth. “He fucked me.”

A small whine slips out. “Fuck, bet that was mint.”

“It was pretty good, yeah.” There’s a smile settling on his lips, one Jamie wants to kiss, and he sees no reason not to—leaning down, he kisses him soft and slow as Roy’s hand curls around the back of his neck. “Bet you’ll be better.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, bumping their noses together. “It’s David Bowie, man.”

“Says Jamie Tartt,” like that means anything except that Roy’s trying to get back in his good books with bald face lies. “Your parents are downstairs.”

“So?” He doesn’t actually want Mummy and Simon to overhear anything but he also doesn’t want to stop. “You’ll have to be quiet then.”

Roy quirks an eyebrow like he’s not the noisy one, the filthy liar. “Didn’t exactly bring lube with me.”

“There’s some under my pillow.”

“You’re a fucking boy scout, aren’t you?” Fondness and affection drips from Roy, sweet honey filling Jamie’s mouth. He leans in and mouths at his beard, nuzzling, only for Roy to say, “I don’t—we should wait or something.”

He pulls back, confused. “Why?”

“Because—” an annoyed huff of air. “I don’t fucking know why but you’re...I want it to be—we shouldn’t rush it.”

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t, but only because the thought of Roy fucking Kent wanting to make their first time special chokes him instead. It’s romantic and lovely and really annoying all at once.

“I want to fuck you.” He tightens his fingers in Roy’s hair and tugs, lifting, nose nudging against his cheek, desperate to feel him all over. “Right now. Need to feel you proper like.”

“Jesus.” Roy pitches the word on a whine, swallowing loud enough that Jamie hears it. His body lowers slowly, shifting to the side, hooking his leg over Roy’s hip to stop him wriggling away if he were going to try to. But he doesn’t. He presses their foreheads together and his hand sweeps down Jamie’s side to settle on his hip. “Don’t want you to regret it."

“Don’t regret the last six months,” he says, honestly. “Not going to regret this.”

“What the fuck did I do to deserve you?”

Jamie flushes, shifting against Roy. “It’s not—”

Roy uses his other hand to tip his chin up with two fingers, gentle, stilling him. “Want you to fuck me too.”

Jamie’s not able to breathe, desire so strong he’s sick with it. He feels himself nodding. Roy hums and nods, kissing him and slipping his hands beneath his shirt. “Okay, yeah, okay.”

Roy’s hands sweep over his back, pulling him down, and it no longer feels like he’s stealing something. He’s allowed this. Roy’s in love with him. He’s allowed to touch and look and taste and take what he wants because Roy wants him to have it.

Digging his fingers beneath the elastic of Roy’s boxers, the soft heat of skin burns against his touch as Roy slides a hand down to grab a handful of Jamie’s arse. He’s conscious of every inch where they touch, the fact that this is the freest he’s felt with Roy like this, not worried about having to hold back. He rocks down, Roy’s hand guiding him as hips lift, the mattress giving a faint groan as Jamie eases black boxers down narrow hips and corded thighs.

Roy flails a leg, kicking the boxers off the rest of the way while Jamie scrambles to cover him again, nestling himself between his legs and rolling their cocks together. He shudders, swallowing hard as Roy’s hands dig under his boxers, trying to work them down. Jamie doesn’t want to stop grinding against him long enough to help him, groaning when Roy sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, a sharp jolt of pain that goes straight to his groin.

“Stop fucking kissing me and start getting naked.”

Jamie pulls his lip free and licks a stripe above Roy’s beard, nipping at the apple of his cheek. “Where’s your fucking patience?”

“Not here.”

It’s a tangle of hands and limbs as they try to both get his boxers off as quickly as possible. Jamie nearly gets an elbow in the eye and there’s going to be a bruise on the inside of Roy’s thigh from his knee but then he’s naked. Roy’s chest is red and blotchy beneath his thick coating of fur, mouth pink and wet, and Jamie holds himself above him, pushing until he’s on his knees between Roy’s splayed legs. He drinks in the sight of him, floating with how real this all is while still holding the blurred edges of a dream.

“You’re so fit,” Jamie says, spreading his hands over Roy’s abs where there’s a solid heft to them even if they’re not as defined as they used to be—the lucky bastard gets to eat whatever the fuck he wants now and he’s only a little jealous of it. “God, look at you.”

“Get down here.” Roy reaches for him: chest to chest, cock to cock, they’re lined up perfectly. Roy presses his face into his neck, flat of his teeth sending a jut of electricity down through him. Somewhere he hears Simon laugh. “You taste good.”

He opens his mouth only to choke when Roy angles the bone of his hip up, catching his cock on a downward roll that makes his hips stutter. The mattress gives a low whine, his bed not made for two grown men to fuck about in, and he doesn’t want Mummy and Simon knowing what’s going on even though they probably do.

“Floor,” he rasps. “We need—get on the floor.”

Roy doesn’t protest the move, all he complains about in snuffling whines is the lack of Jamie’s mouth as they separate. Jamie grabs his duvet and pillows and send them tumbling to the floor, kicking them into a vague shape so Roy’s comfortable, grabbing the lube that skitters across his mattress.

He’s barely had time to grab it when Roy’s got an arm around his waist, pulling him down, kissing into his open mouth, wet and slick. He groans, reaching behind him to sink a hand into Roy’s hair as they fall back onto the duvet that barely softens the floor. Hot puffs of air burst across his cheek, Roy’s thick cock leaking against the small of his back and he thinks about changing his mind, demanding that Roy fuck him instead but then Roy’s leaning back, pulling him with him, hand sliding down until it’s wrapped around his cock.

He hisses between clenched teeth. “Fuck.”

“How d’you want this?” Roy’s voice is right there in his ear, and if he opens his eyes, he’s there on the wall too, glaring down at them. Jamie keens, head flopping back as Roy’s thumb tracks firmly over the head of his cock, spreading his pre-come down his shaft. “Want me to ride you?”

“Fuck, yes, Jesus.” Images of them in locked in various positions sends him breathless, choking on want. He twists, pressing Roy back, and shoving his thighs apart. “Later though. Like this first.”

Roy groans his approval, scraping his fingers down his back and dropping his head. Jamie’s hand shoots out, catching it before he whacks it on the bedside table; they’re shuffling, making space, while he clenches and unclenches his fingers against the flesh of Roy’s side as he tries not to come in hot, desperate bursts against his stomach. He focuses on the heavy heat of Roy’s cock catching against his own.

“Fucked anyone since Bowie?”

Roy’s eyes roll, his mouth tugging into a small, amused grin. “Not going to let that go, are you?”

“David fucking Bowie, man,” he reminds him. “That’s the coolest thing about you.”

“Mmm, my dad thinks the same.” Roy nudges their noses together, licking at his mouth. “He was fucking gutted when it ended. Only time he was really proud of me.”

Jamie looks down at him, surprised. “Your dad was fine with that?”

“Not the gay thing but David was different, wasn’t he?”

“You call him David.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jamie’s tugged down and kissed so hard and deep he forgets about David Bowie while his toes curl. “I haven’t been fucked by anyone in years.”

“I’ll go slow.”

“What if I want you to go hard?”

Jamie’s eyes slam shut, nostrils flaring, hips jerking against Roy, leaking fresh pre-come over his skin and in his hair. “Shut the fuck up.”

Roy’s laugh warms his cheek. It’s a new, looser, more relaxed side of him that Jamie wants to sink into and drown himself in. All the tension and the uncertainty seems to have faded from Roy, his brow clear of any frown and his smiles coming quicker and easier, like just being here with Jamie lose his mind is the best thing in the world.

Jamie’s not sure he’s going to survive this new sunny Roy. He’s going to end up a sexy corpse, and he thinks it’ll be worth it.

He bites at Roy’s shoulder, his bicep, his chest, sinking his teeth in and sucking hard against the skin to hear the short gasps that rock through Roy. He wants to leave his mark sprawled across Roy’s body, to see it in the morning. He’s rubbing at the soft heat of Roy’s creased hip when he looks up to find Roy watching him, eyes bright and mouth swollen from the kisses Jamie has taken from him. Eyes locked, he bites down hard on the meaty flesh and watches as heat spreads up Roy’s chest and explodes through his face, grunting when he wants to cry out.

“Jamie,” is panted out above him.

He presses his hands against Roy’s hips, holding him down, nuzzling at Roy’s cock before he swallows the head of it and lets his tongue dip into the slit so he’s finally able to taste him again. The sound Roy makes cracks so hard through the house that there’s a pause in the TV again before it returns, louder than before. Jamie’ll consider being embarrassed when this is over.

“Jamie, please, fuck.” The words tumble from his mouth, small pleas that have Jamie’s hips jerking downwards. “I’ll come.”

Good, he thinks, still not quite over the sheer pleasure of Roy having him come again and again and again one night when he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off him.

It doesn’t take long, gratifyingly.

Jamie might’ve teased Roy about it under other circumstances but they’re both keyed up, hungry for each other, and Roy’s stuffing his knuckles into his mouth as he spills on Jamie’s tongue, down his throat. He pulls off and pushes up, grabbing Roy’s chin and tugging his mouth open, kissing his own come into him. Roy shudders, taking it all, swallowing it down, and Jamie wants to cry when Roy puts a hand on the back of his head, holding him there as he sucks on his tongue.

He bites down on his bottom lip, and Roy jerks back, nails pressing into the skin on the back of his neck.

“Get yourself ready for me,” Jamie orders in a rasp. “Want to watch you.”

Colour floods up Roy’s neck and into his face, hand shaking just a little as he squeezes a thick squirt of lube onto his hand. Spreading his legs wider for Jamie’s eyes, Roy dips his fingers between the cheeks of his ass and one finger slides smooth and easy inside himself, like he’s done this a hundred thousand times before. Sitting back on his haunches, Jamie squeezes the base of his cock, so turned on he thinks he’s going to vomit, catching the sounds he wants to make when Roy presses another finger into himself.

The slick found of fingers moving through lube and breaths catching on moans slides through the room until Jamie demands, “more, another one.”

A flicker of eyes over him, a twitch of an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Oi,” he laughs. “Fuck off.”

“You fuck off,” Roy says, happiness tumbling from him.

But he adds another finger, slower this time, grunting at the stretch that threatens to turn into pain. Jamie reaches out, lightly tracing his finger over Roy’s stretched rim, fascinated. “Christ, you’re so pretty like this.”

Roy whines, flushing at the sound of it, more embarrassed by that than the thick squelch of his fingers fucking himself open and leaving him loose and slick for Jamie’s cock. “Would you stop gaping and just fucking get in me?"

“Fucking be patient, Jesus. It’s not every day this happens, you know?” He chokes off the arousal in his cock, knowing that if he comes as soon as he gets into Roy, he’s going to have to flee the country and go into hiding. “You want—like this, or on your front?”

There’s a beat, like Roy hasn’t considered the logistics, before lube-slick fingers leave marks on his bicep as Roy levers himself up to catch his bottom lip, kissing him, and then shifting to turn over. It’s a moment that sears itself into Jamie’s mind, the sight of Roy Kent on his hands and knees, naked as anything, getting himself positioned to be fucked. He’s dazed by it, his hand not belonging to him as he drags his palm down the length of Roy’s spine, curling his knuckles to rub at where his torso splits into his arse.

He leans over and kisses the knobs of his spine, tongue sliding along his skin, sucking just below a smooth mole that he never wants to forget. “Wait a second.”

Pulling back, he twists and rummages through the stash of condoms he keeps in his room just in case—he doesn’t exactly make a habit of fucking people in his parents’ home but he and Lucy from three doors down and one street over have had a thing for years between their various relationships.

“We don’t have to,” he hears Roy say as he’s about to rip the packet open, “if you don’t want to.”

It takes Jamie a second, long enough for a burn of colour to slice its way down the broad sweep of Roy’s back.

“What?” His mind fritzes. “You don’t want—? Really?”

“I’m clean.” They’d both got tested right at the start of this because they’re not actually stupid and Roy awkwardly mentioned he and Keeley were using condoms and Jamie knows Keeley doesn’t fuck about. And Jamie got tested both times after he fucked the guy in the bar and then Maybe-Ivy and it’s stupid but he wavers, wanting to throw the condom away. “So we don’t have to if you want to skip it.”

He’s hit with the image of his come leaking from Roy’s body. It’s so strong he’s tossing the condom away and angling himself so he’s able to get at Roy’s mouth, cock hot and achingly hard between their bodies.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

Slicking his fingers and cock, he sinks two fingers into Roy, losing himself in the tight heat of him. Roy clutches at his fingers, twisting his head to look to the side in an effort to catch a glimpse of him. Tugging gently at his rim, Jamie gathers the broken hitch of breath and locks it away, crooking his fingers to tap at his prostate.

“Jamie—” grinds out from between Roy’s clenched teeth, his hips rolling back to take more of his fingers until knuckles are pressing a bruise into his cheeks. “C’mon.”

The fact Roy’s bleeding impatience over the floor makes it hard for Jamie to keep a steady hand as he pulls his fingers out, watching with parted lips at how Roy’s hole clenches around nothing, and them palms himself. Kneeing closer, breathing becomes impossible as he lays a firm hand on Roy’s back—to steady both of them since there’s a fine tremor running through Roy’s body that matches the one in Jamie’s—and slides his slick cock between the curve of his ass cheeks. His eyelids shutter, fingers curling into a useless fist.

It’s a mean thought that shoots through him then, but he could get off like this. Work himself between Roy’s cheeks, come over his back, ass, and thighs. Tell him to put his clothes on and kick him out, end it between them for good.

But as soon as the thought appears, it’s curling into tendrils of smoke and the head of his cock is catching on Roy’s loosened hole.

He could never.

Heat grips him, and he misjudges the slide, falling into Roy’s body faster than he wanted to. Bottoming out, he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and groans, knuckles pressing into the small of Roy’s back and free hand clenching down hard on his hip, skin yellowing under the pressure.

“Shit.” An ache blooms in the hinge of his jaw, a burning pleasure kindling up his nerves. “Fuck. Shit. Sorry. Fucking hell.”

Roy tenses, relaxes, and then flexes, rolling his body back onto Jamie’s cock with a low sound of pleasure. “Jesus Christ, finally.”

“Fuck. Off,” he gets out as trying not to come is hard enough without the arousal heavy drip of Roy’s voice. “Why the fuck d’you have to feel so good, you git?”

He feels the way Roy’s laugh shakes his body, not helping his situation at all. “Why the fuck don’t you do something about it?”

And if that wasn’t invitation enough, Roy uses his arms as leverage to push himself back, fucking himself in small jerks onto Jamie’s cock.

It’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen, watching himself disappear slowly into Roy’s body, drizzling more lube with a shaking hand when Roy releases small, pained hisses once or twice as he gets used to being filled again. He really needs to ask, when he’s not ball’s deep that is, whether there are any dildos tucked away in Roy’s house he hasn’t been told about. He’d never thought to ask before, shying away for fear of spooking Roy but now he wants to know and if there aren’t, he’s going to have to fix that as soon as possible.

“So fucking desperate,” Jamie murmurs, stunned. “Not even having to do anything back here.”

“Slack arse,” Roy grunts.

“Oi.” His hand comes down in a light but loud smack on the outside of Roy’s thigh. He chokes at how Roy reacts, his hole clenching tightly down around him. Gripping his hips, he holds him still. “Fuck. Okay. Yeah. We’re coming back to thatlater.”

He rocks, using Roy’s hips to steady himself, tipping his head back as he sinks into the pleasure that’s winding through him. Through half-hooded eyes, he drags his gaze up from where he’s splitting Roy open, along the heated back, and up to the unruly hair that’s messier due to Jamie’s fingers. And then his eye catches, drawn instinctively to the poster on the wall, Roy of old glaring down at them. The jerk of his hips knocks Roy forward in a jolt, tugging a choked moan loose and then Roy’s raising his head to look back at him, following his gaze to where he’s memorialised.

“That’s weird,” Roy decides.

Jamie snorts. “Not like you didn’t know about it.”

“It’s still fucking weird,” he says, exhaling and clenching down around him. “Keeley’s is…you’ve got fucking issues.”

Which—he’s not wrong but Jamie does think he’s more than a little hypocritical considering his everything.

With a grunt, he slides himself out of Roy’s body, pleased at the distressed sound that Roy will swear wasn’t a whine but definitely veers close to it. He moves quickly, not wanting to be gone for long, barely straightening his knees before he’s grasping Keeley’s poster. He hasn’t taken it down in the years since he carefully tacked it up next to Roy’s but now he grabs it, crinkling the glossy page he cut out from a magazine, and rips it from the wall.

Like a hole drilled through him, emptiness swoops and something breaks before he’s shoving it into the pocket of an old hoodie on the back of the door. He turns, cock bouncing against his stomach, Roy still where he left him.

You stayed right there echoes down their relationship to him. And he now understands Roy’s surprise, his hope when Jamie hadn’t moved from his knees in the boot room, waiting for him.

You stayed right there he wants to say.

They don’t talk about the poster, sliding past it to tuck it into the past, and Jamie falls on him again, pushing back inside like he was never gone.

“Fuck me,” Roy tells him, hot and demanding. “C’mon. Want to feel you.”

And he’s a grown man. If he wants to hold off on the tenderness for a bit, Jamie’s fine with that, so he repositions himself just a little, knocks Roy’s knees further apart. He watches Roy’s grip tighten on the bunched duvet under his palms as Jamie pulls slowly out until Roy’s hole is grasping at nothing and a disappointed sound murmurs from him.

Then he’s sinking back in, firmer, harder, hips meeting Roy’s arse with a gentle smack.

“Good?”

“Uh-huh.”

He does it again, a little harder, and pauses. “Good?”

“Yeah.”

And again. “Go—?”

“Fucking fuck me,” Roy snaps, a laugh ripped from Jamie.

“Don’t like being on the other end of teasing, eh?” He rubs the curve of Roy’s left buttock, pinching it just enough to make him jump. “Alright then.”

His hand slides up the length of Roy’s spine, settling it on his shoulder with a squeeze that elicits a pleased sigh, and then he’s fucking into him hard and firm. The slick grip and the drag of Roy’s hole over and around his cock turns him feral; dipping his head, he watches himself disappear again and again into Roy’s body.

Roy grips the duvet, pushing back to meet him, skin slapping against skin with loud, wet slaps. On a particularly keen thrust, Roy’s arms buckle. He drops to his forearms, spine arching to push back into Jamie, and the new angle sends him deeper and—

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, barely holding on.

He pushes Roy’s thighs open further, just a little, but far enough that they start shaking. Fine tremors and flickering spasms jump and roll across the length of Roy’s body, sweat clinging to his skin and shining in the cheap light of his bedroom. His hand slips on the sweat, landing on the back of Roy’s neck. The resultant moan is so loud the TV is jerked up higher, tinny laughter the soundtrack to their fuck.

His knees start to ache so he frees one of them, planting his foot flat on the ground in line with Roy’s hips, stretching to reach the hand not on the back of his neck around to circle Roy’s cock.

It’s hard again, leaking come over his fingers when he slicks it up and down.

“You’re going to come again,” Jamie tells him on the tail end of a pant. “Come on my cock, babe. C’mon.”

He bites the back of Roy’s neck, setting a hard, fast pace that threatens to be too much for both of them, stroking his cock in time with his thrusts so that Roy’s body clenches down hard, choking Jamie’s cock in the tight burn of his arse.

Jamie’s dizzy, fumbling, at the small grinding motions of Roy pushing back to eke out the pleasure even as a small, whining murmur of pain at the overstimulation ripples through the room. Beneath him, Roy makes a small sound, and he settles his hands on his hips, holding him in place.

Roy’s back flushes with heat, his hole clamping down, sharp and unforgiving, on Jamie who stutters, shaking with how close he is, and then Roy’s coming in thick ropes across his hand, the duvet, on the bottom of his chin.

“There we go,” Jamie breathes, pleased. “That’s a good lad.”

He doesn’t stop. He keeps going even as Roy starts to make small, faintly pained sounds at the overstimulation coursing through him. But Jamie’s so close, so fucking close his gums ache with tension, and Roy’s angling his hips to help him along, weakly clutching his muscles around his cock and Jamie’s curling an arm around his chest. He pulls him upright, the new position making his head spin, and with sweat-slick chest to damp back, he tugs on Roy’s chin, pulling his mouth around, spilling his tongue into his mouth as he rapidly approached the edge.

“Say it again,” he orders, rough and desperate. “Say it.”

Roy doesn’t need to ask what. Against the press of his mouth, he says, “I love you.”

There’s a brief moment where he has enough thought to realise that this might kill him but then he’s gripping Roy’s hip tightly, grinding in mean little circles into his body, sinking his teeth down onto the flesh at the back of Roy’s neck, coming. His vision blackens, blood rushing like a roar through his ears, his orgasm stretching out, loud and intense as his fingers prickle like electricity’s jumping through him and his muscles seize in a glorious grasp for more.

It’s so much, almost too much, and he doesn’t know what’s up and what’s down. All he knows is Roy and the wet heat of his orgasm flooding into his body as his hips jerk and grind, trying to wring every second out of this moment.

The heft of him pushes Roy forward, their balance lost, and there’s a soft fuck’s sake as Jamie lands his entire weight on top of Roy but they stay there, joined and exhausted.

He softens his mouth, ghosting it over the flesh that’s going to bruise within the teethmarks he’s left on Roy.

“That was mint,” Jamie whispers, sliding his fingers up into Roy’s sweat-damp hair, nuzzling against the curve of his shoulder. “Think I’m dead.”

“You’d better not be,” Roy grumbles, happiness evident in the way he turns into Jamie, finding the nearest patch of skin to kiss. “Your mum would fucking murder me.”

And Jamie presses his face into Roy’s shoulder, hiding the happy tears that wet his eyes.

*

Morning comes with the sound of the shower running, the pipes creaking a little as water rushes through them, and Jamie feels the comforting heat of Roy at his side. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, just in case it’s a dream even though his body aches, just a little, in the best possible way. He’s tipped half on Roy, the blankets tugged around them keeping his back warm while his legs burn from the cold. He tucks them closer against Roy’s legs, gentle fingers passing over his face.

A small brush of tenderness to start the morning off on the right foot.

“Morning,” Roy rumbles, knowing he’s awake.

Jamie opens his eyes, blinking into Roy’s face where there’s such a soft expression settled there that it steals his breath.

“Hi.”

Roy flattens his palm against his cheek, scratching just behind his ear in greeting. “You okay?”

Jamie nods, not trusting himself to speak. He tilts his face, seeking a kiss, one Roy gives him. It’s soft, lovely, tinged with morning breath but nothing could possibly ruin this moment.

“I think your stepdad’s frying bacon,” Roy murmurs, not taking his eyes from him. “It’s smells really good.”

Jamie smiles. “He makes great sandwiches. Puts egg on them just runny enough that it makes it wet but not messy.”

“Sounds nice.” Roy leans in for another kiss, distracting them for long moments. “He hasn’t taught you how to cook?”

“Oi, I can cook.” He tweaks Roy’s nipple, pulling a laugh and a stolen kiss from him. They settle comfortably against each other, drowsy with sleep and each other. He twists a chunk of chest hair around his finger and tilts his head back where it’s cradle in the curve of Roy’s arm. “How long are Molly and Phoebe in Marbella for?”

“End of next week,” Roy says. “Molly’s got to get back to work eventually and Phee’s got some Duke of Edinburgh shit.”

Jamie hums, releasing the hair and smoothing it out. “Wouldn’t mind seeing them, to be honest. I’ve missed Phoebe.”

There’s a pause, Roy stilling against him, and Jamie waits, nervous.

“You want to go?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He watches as Roy’s face cycles through a stream of feelings—hesitation, uncertainty, painful hope that tells him more than a thousand I love yous—before he’s getting a nod and a small smile.

“Marbella then,” Roy says, touching Jamie’s cheek. “They’ll be happy to see you.”

Jamie takes his hand, drawing his fingers to his lips and pressing a kiss to his fingertips. He settles against Roy’s chest, finding the solid beat of his heart to welcome him to the day, eyes drooping at how comfortable he is.

“Marbella,” he sighs, content.

And he knows there’s a lot of hard work down the line, arguments that need to be had, tears that need to be shed, but Jamie feels that this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

For better or worse.