Chapter Text
Keeley slips out of bed at the first sound of her alarm, planning to get through her inbox before the day really gets going. Roy is just blinking awake, they lean over Jamie to kiss each other good morning. He’s grabbing his book and reading glasses as she washes her face and clips up her hair, opting for a slower start to a rest day. He decides he won’t bother to wake Jamie unless the lie-in gets truly ridiculous.
Roy props himself up against the headboard and reads for a bit, enjoying the morning quiet and Jamie’s warm weight at his hip. Eventually, Jamie stirs on his own, flipping on to his back and giving Roy a sleepy smile. They chat - or Roy chats at him a bit as he slides out of bed and throws on a shirt, Jamie mumbling back and yawning.
Roy is planning to go make coffee and bring it up, but Jamie won’t let him go, pawing at his hip from the bed and eventually hauling himself up to come along.
Jamie is drowsy and softly sluggish as he follows Roy down the stairs, slowly waking up and clearly feeling the impact of yesterday’s match. In the kitchen, he steps up right behind Roy as soon as he clicks the kettle on and drapes an arm around his waist, clingilly worrying the hem of Roy’s shirt between his fingers.
“You alright?” Roy asks, pressing his palm over Jamie’s restless fidgeting, flattening both their hands together over his own stomach.
Jamie huffs a soft sigh into Roy’s neck, “Just tired.”
“Why don’t you go and sit in the garden? I’ll bring your coffee out.” Jamie presses a lazy, open mouthed kiss to Roy’s cheek and pads out, pulling his arm across his chest to stretch his shoulder as he goes.
Roy finishes making his own tea, tipping in a bit of milk, and collects up Jamie’s coffee. Jamie had left the garden door open behind him, curled up in a chair and artlessly rubbing at his eye socket with the heel of one hand. Without looking up, he reaches out the other to take the cup Roy’s offering him.
“Oh - I wanted to try that new oat milk in it?”
“Okay, give it back then,” Roy would be embarrassed if anyone but Jamie heard how soft his voice sounds. He goes back into the kitchen, the stone tiles cold through his socks. Finds the oat milk carton in the door of the fridge - easy to spot because it’s in obnoxiously bright trendy colors. It had come in the mail with a note covered in hashtags and Roy doesn’t quite get it because oats were certainly never trying to sponsor him during his playing career. Convenient enough though, Jamie doesn’t like dairy in the mornings and he probably will post this if he likes it.
Roy gives the milk a shake and guesstimates, tips a bit into Jamie’s usual black coffee, stirs it up with the same spoon he’d used for his tea - left on the side of the sink how Keeley hates. He’ll make sure to wash it up before she comes down.
He comes back to the sight of Jamie basking a bit in the sun, tilting his patio chair back with one foot exactly like Roy is always nagging him not to. His eyes are closed, his head lolling languidly.
“Here you are, princess,” Roy says fondly, setting the cup down on the little table next to Jamie with a little flourish. The legs of the chair clatter noisily down on the pavers as Jamie’s foot slips, rocking him forward.
Roy chuckles, stepping over and putting a hand on Jamie’s shoulder to steady him, “Whoa, startled you? Where are those killer reflexes they’re always talking about on Sky, huh?”
Jamie’s takes a long beat to look up at him. When he does, his eyes are huge and dark in his face, his cheeks flooded with pink. His jaw is slack, his expression blank. He looks a little like he’s been he’s been knocked upside the head and a lot like he does mid-fuck, sending a confused pulse of heat throbbing through Roy.
“Babe?” Roy says, only further mystified when Jamie answers with a low groan, a broken curse. He’s reaching out to hook an arm around Roy’s waist and pull him closer. Once he has him right next to his chair, he knocks his head down against Roy’s hip, burying his face in against him, locking them in a weird lopsided embrace.
Jamie is blushing all over, Roy sees as he bares his neck, the pink flush up from under his shirt and his ears bright red. He scratches his nails lightly over the exposed knobs of Jamie’s neck. Jamie’s breath is hot and a little quick against his stomach.
“Jamie?” Roy asks, confused. Jamie’s breathing is edgy, but Roy honestly can’t tell if he’s about to laugh or about to cry.
Jamie manages, mumbling “Roy, I’m - you called me… I can’t.” He clenches his hand restlessly in the back of Roy’s shirt.
Baffled, Roy mentally rewinds the last few minutes, “Huh? I called you… oh!” His hand freezes in Jamie’s hair.
The realization strikes him like a hammer against metal, with a nearly audible clang, leaving him vibrating in its aftermath. He presses the tips of his fingers lightly into the curve of Jamie’s skull. “I called you princess?”
Jamie makes a noise like he’s been punched, almost a sob.
“I didn’t mean anything by it?” Roy’s hastens to assure him, words tripping over each other. Maybe Jamie associates it with being taunted on the pitch or something? Roy had never gotten that particular name, but he's not half as pretty as Jamie. Jamie never really gets upset about what's been said to him during a match though, part of what makes him so absolutely infuriating to play against.
Jamie doesn’t say anything more for a long moment, huddled up against Roy. He holds the curved line of his shoulders tense, hunched and self-protective.
Roy barely breathes, pops his jaw, the air suddenly electric and tight as a strung bow. Time feels stretched, thin. The slight morning chill is starting to dissipate as the sun climbs in the sky, and birds are chirping, flitting between their tree and the neighbors’. A lorry is backing up way down the street, monotone beeping barely audible.
Roy cannot claim that patience is his best strength. He can’t stand it, has to do something, even if he’s going to make it worse. He pulls Jamie up to stand, gets him in a real hug, though he lets Jamie keep his face hidden, pressed into the side of his neck. “Jamie,” he ventures, tentative. “C’mon - you okay? I barely even meant to tease you, really.”
Jamie’s breathing is trembling and uneven, Roy makes a move to rub his back, sure he’s about to feel tears against his shoulder. Not an ideal start to a weekend is it - a real miscalculation on his part.
Wordlessly, like he doesn’t even care about the very likely possibility of Roy dropping dead of the shock, Jamie shifts his hips so Roy can feel that he’s fully, achingly hard in his thin shorts. Roy gasps, instinctively pushing back. He feels like his brain is being tumbled in a wash cycle, worry swept away in a searing wave of dizzy lust.
It had truly been an offhand remark - something he would easily say to Keeley or even in the locker room. Instantly though, a slide show flashes behind his eyes of what it would look like if he did mean something by it - Jamie’s long eyelashes fluttering, his pink lips open and wanton, Roy pushing him back into a pillow and growling princess and treating him right - hot, he can get into it.
Roy feels like he’s rushing to catch up to Jamie, but he’s certainly not adverse to getting something started. It’s an off day, they were going to get to the sexy part sooner or later.
Calculating quickly - and what a thing to deal with before he’s even had his breakfast - Roy ducks his head to put his lips up to the shell of Jamie’s ear. “Do you want me to say it again, baby?” Roy pitches his voice low, pulls Jamie’s hips back to his with a flirtatious grope, halfway to hard in his own shorts.
“No! Don’t -” Jamie jerks out of his arms, almost stumbling backward over the chair. Roy trips back as well, his hand grasping at empty air. Jamie’s eyes are wild, his face cherry red. He hugs himself protectively, babbling “not… not right now. I can’t - I dunno. I’m gonna -”
Too quickly for Roy to react, he flees back into the house, roughly yanking the sliding door closed behind him. Roy’s left gaping dumbly in his wake. “Fuck,” he growls.
Roy honestly feels like he might still be dreaming, one of those dreams where nothing that happens really follows from what happens before: Ted telling him he’s failing Chemistry, this situation where Jamie has basically put his brain in some sort of a sexy blender - same difference.
On delay, Roy follows Jamie back inside just in time to hear the distinct sound of the door to the upstairs bathroom slamming shut. When he gets up to the landing, Keeley is poking her head out of her office doorway at the other end of the hall, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“What’s going on? Are you arguing?” she asks. Roy throws up his hands, stalking over to the bathroom.
“Hold on,” Roy replies, “I don’t know what the fuck is happening.” He listens at the door. The shower is running. He hesitates, then knocks .
“Fuck off, Roy,” Jamie's voice is tight and worryingly tearful.
“You okay?” Roy tries to keep his tone light - knowing that he’s upset someone makes him edgy and uncomfortable with the urgent need to fix it in a way that he knows easily runs into frustration. “I swear I’ll never fucking say it again, let’s just forget it.”
“Please go away,” Jamie begs him, his voice raised over the sound of the water.
Keeley touches Roy's elbow and jerks her head, gets him to follow her back into her office. She sits him down on the daybed and pats at his arm. Only being treated like he needs to calm down makes him realize - fuck, he really needs to calm down. His heart is racing in his chest and he doesn’t even want to think about how he must look. He can feel the dire glower on his face.
Keeley is saying something soothing, trying to get him to lay down. He tilts back, stiff as board, feet still on the floor.
“Why don’t you just lay down for like two minutes, babe, and then we’ll have a chat. And you’ll explain to me what the fuck is happening,” Keeley says, efficiently patting his knee. The first part is a nice gentle tone, the second a clear command.
Roy obediently stares up at the ceiling, barely able to hold on clear thought between feeling sorry for himself and also like maybe he should punch himself in the face for upsetting Jamie.
He hears the bathroom door creak open and knifes upwards. Keeley turns around and catches his panicked eyes before they both rush into the hall as Jamie slips out.
Jamie seems too exposed despite the towel wrapped around his hips, sort of shivery and pale, his eyes downcast and red. His dripping hair clings to the tender contours of his head. He sticks close to the wall as he silently slides past them down the hall to slip into the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him without a word.
“Roy,” Keeley hisses impatiently. “What the fuck is going on.”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know! We were out in the garden, he got upset, he wouldn’t talk to me, he came back in here,” they have their heads close, taking it in turns to dart anxious glances at the bedroom door.
“What did you do - you said something to him?”
Roy slides his eyes away from hers. “I’m not sure I should tell you.”
He wants to, really badly - because Keeley normally solves his problems for him, because he wants her to explain to him what happened, because in all honesty the whole thing is getting a bit scary. He knows he shouldn't tell, with a quivery certainty that centers around remembering the look in Jamie’s eye right after he’d said it; the need to close his ribcage around that look and keep it locked there.
“Will you check on him?” he asks, plaintively. Keeley must catch the distress in her voice. Her gaze softens and she agrees, squeezes his arm before she steps away.
Roy collapses back against the wall, tips his head back, puts an absurd amount of energy into holding back the yell building in his chest. The fucking neighbor is already running his stupid noisy brushcutter, Roy swears he starts earlier every weekend. Jamie hadn’t dried off properly and he’s tracked little puddles on the hardwood all down the hall.
Roy never used to go through things like this, when he was dating (fucking, but calling it dating, because that’s the respectable thing to do north of 35) random women who stole his watches and his dignity. He can hear Keeley talking quietly in the bedroom, like she’s calming a spooked animal - his whole heart is behind that door. He’s trying not to listen, but he breathes a little bit easier when he hears Jamie’s deeper tones answering her.
Roy is extraordinarily tempted to go back to bed - call the morning a wash and try to start the day over. The whole situation feels almost surreal - like an art film, one of the ones where nothing anyone’s saying makes sense. He hasn’t even had his first cup of tea.
He goes into the bathroom to pick up Jamie’s clothes - if nothing else helpful, at least he can start a load of laundry. The bathroom is a tip, like Jamie was crashing around trying to set a showering speed record. The little bottles of skincare products on the counter have been knocked askew, his briefs are thrown over the tap, the medicine cabinet is hanging open. When Roy picks a crumpled towel up off the floor, the bottle of silicone lube they normally keep in the cabinet tumbles out. He replaces it, quietly clicks the door shut. Things might as well get even more baffling.
When he comes back out, they’re both back in the hallway. Keeley has Jamie all wrapped up in her arms, rubbing his back. “As long as you’re sure you’re alright,” she murmurs. Jamie nods into her hair and the snarled knot in Roy’s chest loosens incrementally.
Jamie steps away and Roy sees that he’s gotten dressed to go for a run - compression shorts under loose running shorts, a big loose tee, those neon Adidas socks he likes. He’s got his headband on over his dripping wet hair, more worrying than almost anything else because Jamie never lets his hair dry in less than perfect conditions.
He slips past Roy down the stairs, his running shoes in one hand and his phone in the other, queuing up a playlist. His earbuds are already firmly in his ears.
“Didn’t he just shower?” Roy asks the hallway at large.
“Leave it alone, Roy,” Keeley says, already back in her office.
Roy doesn’t particularly want to leave it alone. But he also doesn’t want to be by himself and he especially doesn’t want to get kicked out of his Keeley’s presence. Not that he would admit it, but he’s feeling a little vulnerable to rejection.
He retrieves his book and lays back down on the daybed, staring blankly at a page and keeping his mouth shut. He’s already being indulged by being allowed to have his sulk there - normally no one can be in the room when Keeley does her email.
Barely an hour later, he’s zoning to the background noise of Keeley’s clicky typing, feeling settled down in the way a hard match against a nasty team would settle him down, limbs deadened and body wrung out. Jamie isn’t back yet, which is pushing it for a run that isn’t on his training plan. Roy probably isn’t allowed to worry about that today.
His phone chirps and it’s a text from his sister. Rachel is asking if she can drop Phoebe off with him. He steps out of Keeley’s office and gives her a ring back, stopping her before she can get into the exact nitty gritty details of the accident she’s been called in for. He offers to pick Phoebe up instead, successfully playing it casual enough that Rachel doesn’t seem too suspicious of the offer.
Now that the idea’s there it seems a good enough one. He lets his plan for the afternoon take a new shape around the idea of giving Jamie some space and doing something nice with his niece.