i&#x27;m the island&#x27;s top scorer... sexually.

course it’s the pillow. though his point stands, it does clear up the image for him, jamie lying in his bed, newly shy without something to busy his mouth. since roy can’t stick a hand in there, toy with his tongue like jamie’s teething, jamie’s left to teethe nothing at all. as ever. he can see it perfectly clear—the frustration, a pout if roy’s lucky. “good,” he praises, hoping that he can see the pout dissipate, something more keen replacing that frustration. correcting behaviour with reward. the real reward will have to come much later, this is just a quick treat.

roy almost chuckles at his obedience, the keenness he was hoping for. “like that,” his meaning is less grasped by the words and moreso by their muffled quality. “you’ll have to lose the fingers for now if you want to talk to me.” it’s a great shame to ask jamie to do the opposite of what’s usually encouraged: shutting up. jamie’s excitement earns a real exhale of amusement, a smirk resting on his features. “i saw. you’re a good boy who deserves to be fucked.” it plays like an empty-threat here since roy hasn’t and isn’t planning on sticking anything in the calendar. the moment will take him — he’s still actively trying not to fuck this or jamie up even if the surface is painted over totally fucking chill. “take off your clothes like you’re getting ready for me. and touch your body like a pretty slut. leave your cock alone till i say otherwise.”

The praise brings a smile to Jamie's face. He doesn't need to chew on anything if there's praise to be had for not chewing. He pokes his tongue at his lower lip, at the inside of his cheek, over his teeth, mostly just occupying his mouth however he can. It's easy to forget about that once his own fingers are in his mouth, a suitable replacement for the corner of the pillow. A reminder that even when Roy's not actually with him, he's still with him. Keeping him company. Telling him how to be good for him.

It's rare for Roy to tell him to talk more; Jamie's a chatterbox if there ever was one, never silent, always saying every last thought in his head. But, in order to do that, he needs to keep his fingers out of his mouth. He can do that. "I do. I do deserve t'be fucked. Boys who play like that've earned it, I think. Played like a fucking god." Going up to that stadium, especially without the brains of their team in the technical area, is incredibly difficult. Even if the team still had their beating heart in Jamie on the pitch, it was incredibly fair that people were betting against them. Richmond proved them wrong. Again. "Don't have any clothes on," he tells Roy after sitting up and tugging his shirt off with haste, tossing it into the corner of the room with his bag. He whines at the order to leave his cock alone, propping himself up against the headboard. "How'm I supposed t'touch m'body like I'm a slut if I'm not allowed t'touch m'cock?" He rubs his hand over his own chest, gropes one of his pecs, rubs his thumb over his nipple. It's not as fun when it's his hand; it's way too predictable for Jamie. Jamie could pinch his nipple right now and it wouldn't hurt in that perfect pain-pleasure way because he's already anticipating it. "Can I touch m'cock now? I'm already super horny, Coach... I'm ready for you. Been ready for you for ages."

yeah, yeah, glory days. they were a long time ago for good reason. “d’you want to fanboy for me any harder?” you’ve got to grow out of it eventually — most of it, anyway. jamie keeps his ego plenty big, he caught a fucking star, said star is well fucking obsessed with him. not that he’d like to get into the habit of saying it, but roy’s pretty fucking mental about him. still working on the former.

it’s fortunate that jamie’s a little less steady on his feet than usual. roy’s not left so far in the dust. he’ll get used to it — maybe. “yeah, yeah. but leave the jets off, i’m not planning on staying the night.” in the bath that is, fuck if he’s driving home now. he watches as jamie clambers into the bath and slowly trails after him, a grit of his teeth before he hauls his legs up and inside. an audible sigh of relief follows. “come here,” he mutters, having taken the opposite side of the tub. “can’t leave you alone for too long.”

#blasphemier #blasphemier [ roy ]#again so sorry this is bad

Jamie settles into the tub, leaning back against the wall, closing his eyes for just a second. It's relaxing, soaking after sex, being in the warm water. A nice change from his constantly cold showers. He hums confirmation; he won't turn on the jets. "Y'won't stay the night?" he asks, opening his eyes, looking at Roy with the best eyes he can give him. Jamie's bed is more than big enough for the both of them. And Jamie wants to cuddle him.

The pout quickly turns to a grin when Roy actually moves to join him, though. He wiggles back a bit more, pulling his legs up so that Roy doesn't sit on them. "What'd happen if y'left me alone? Y'think I'd tear the house apart?" Nevertheless, he crosses the tub, scooting forward until he's sitting between Roy's legs, still facing him. He rests a hand on his side, smiling up at him. Nudging his nose against Roy's shoulder, he kisses him there. "Thanks for tonight, Coach..."

“yeah? s’it turn you on? watching us like your own fuckin’ porno?” roy holds keeley’s gaze from above jamie—it’s what makes this even more exhilarating to him. no matter where he is he can watch the two of them, the thought of just them is enough to make him come in his solitude. there’s not so much of that now anyways, thank god. his fingers flex and thrust inside of jamie, involuntary growling with desire as his other hand grips tighter at his ass.

the corners of his mouth curve upwards. “yeah? keep your eyes on me, babe. you’re so fucking gorgeous like that.” roy’s fingers move quicker, like he’s working keeley’s cunt in place of jamie’s ass, pressing his third finger inside of him. his own cock grows harder by the moment, aching for the both of them. “good boy, jamie. that’s it. make her fucking cum with your mouth and then you can do it with your cock.” his eyes stay locked on keeley, nodding at her like it’s permission, “make her cum and the real fucking fun can begin.”

toptabled

" yeah, yeah it.. it does, yeah. oh fffuck.. " it's a whine, her hand twisting in jamie's locks tightly as his actions, teamed with roy's instruction do something in the pit of her stomach -- her thighs clamp either side of jamie's head and she moans something incomprehensible. she likes to think she's got the upper hand in these situations but it isn't true, not with the way roy's eyes are locked on hers, the way he nods his permission. it's more than just sexy, it's outright fucking erotic, his fingers in jamie moving near in time, " jamie, just -- oh, shit, roy. " her eyes stray briefly to glance down at that beautiful curve in jamie's back, the way he backs into roy's ministrations and fuck doesn't the sweet pup press his fingers into the sweetest spot? her fingers pull at jamie's hair as she cums, whining out his name as for a second she presses him closer into her, back arching toward roy. she'd tried keeping her eyes on him, on roy, but she'd trained jamie so well that he'd made her eyelids flutter.

her chest rises and falls a little harder for a second, releasing the handfuls of hair she'd taken hold of, staring down at the two of them with her eyes half-lidded, " you look so good like that, jamie.. isn't he good to you? ain't he? lettin' you have all you could ask for. " she pauses, head tilting, " say thank you, why don't you? " @tartt9

#blasphemier #blasphemier [ roy ]#toptabled #toptabled [ keeley ]

If Roy's grip leaves bruises on his ass, Jamie will thank him for it. He loves being marked up by the two of them, loves getting to look at evidence of their fun together the next day, an impermanent reminder of the two people in the world that love him in a way no one else can. He presses his hips up and back towards Roy again, begging for more despite the fact that his mouth is occupied by Keeley's cunt. He's surrounded by the scent of her, her thighs keeping him close as he tries to curve his fingers just right, to lick her just right, to push her over the edge just as Roy told him to. There's the excitement of the possibility of getting to put his cock in her, too – it's like he's getting every gift in the world tonight. He must have been dead good this week.

Keeley cums under his touch and there's a pride that bursts in Jamie's chest. Fuck yes, he's still got it, even after nearly four years of not being with her. He could do this again and again and again, all day every day and he'd be delighted. Eating Keeley out is fucking fun. He whines quietly when she lets go of his hair, nuzzling his nose against her gently, slowly, not wanting to overstimulate her. He keeps his mouth locked around her as he opens his eyes, looking up at her through his lashes, lapping against her gently. "Thank you, Coach..." he says, obedient, putty in their hands. "You're very good t'me. I'm a lucky puppy."

"keep fucking still," roy orders, his foot remains still in place, enough of his weight pressed down that he can keep himself up-right, "you take what you're given." he does seem to know what those words mean when it comes to taking his fingers, choking on him already, a smirk follows. the whining is seductive enough for roy. "suck," he tells him, "you're better than a drooling toy. show me what you can do." this isn't exactly the same but if jamie can do nothing but gag on his fingers, he'll be hopeless with his cock.

he leans further forward on his front foot as his other hand reaches down to his jeans, feeling for his excitement as he undoes them, pulling down the zipper. roy sticks his hand into his pants to palm himself loosely, it's not hard to get hard when he's looking at jamie like this. when he pulls his cock out, the relief is unlike anything else. the hand in jamie's mouth finally pulls away to touch himself with jamie's saliva before he pulls his hands away. "keep your hands off. show me how you use your mouth."

The pressure from Roy's foot hurts, but it hurts in just the right way. The perfect combination of pain-pleasure, practically engineered for the sole purpose of driving him mad. He can't respond, can't apologise, he just has to hold his hips as still as possible, has to take what he's given and be a good boy. He doesn't want to stumble his way into a punishment because he couldn't keep his hips still, after all. The order snaps him back into reality; he's meant to be taking the fingers like he takes cock. Sucking, bringing Roy pleasure, even if they are just fingers. He can pretend they're cock. He starts to suck, looking up at Roy through his lashes, holding as still as Jamie possibly can - which is still a bit squirmy, but it's the best he can do without being restrained. He's not trying to get himself off, he's trying to be a good boy.

Roy leans forward more and that perfect pain-pleasure only increases, Jamie's eyes falling shut for just a second. Then, he hears the sound of a zipper being tugged down and Jamie just can't miss that; he opens his eyes again just to watch as he sucks on Roy's fingers, pressing his tongue up against them. Roy's got the best cock in the world, he's sure of it. Better than Jamie's, even, though he'd never admit that bit out loud. It's beautiful. Jamie wants to wrap his mouth around it and keep it warm and safe there forever. If he could survive off of just Roy Kent's cock, he would in a heartbeat. "Yes, Coach, thank you," he answers as soon as he can, glad to have the ability to use his words again. "You're so," he kisses Roy's thigh, "beautiful, y'know that?" Leaning in, Jamie drags his nose up the length of him. It takes a bit of moving around, a bit of shifting up on his knees, before he can wrap his mouth around Roy. When he does, though, Jamie moans lowly around him, taking just the head into his mouth and sucking gently. Maybe it's a bit of a tease on Jamie's end, but he's still fucking hard himself, still trapped in his jeans. What's he supposed to do, be perfectly well behaved all the time? If Roy wanted someone perfectly well behaved all the time, he wouldn't have chosen Jamie. He dips his head down further, just an inch, looking up at Roy once more, using his tongue to his advantage while he can.

it's easy. roy hopes as much for him as jamie----no, even more. just flicking a switch in his brain. bright and excited despite where roy puts him, down on his knees like a good dog, eyes gazing up at him, following every word. drooling on his fingers, roy's already weak, willing himself not to sink to his own knees ( not a good idea in the first place ) and seize his lips, jaw spar and lick up his fucking slobber. but jamie closes his mouth and roy groans low and pleased in sync with the sound that he feels around his fingers from jamie. "good boy," the lingering of his tone is cut short by the tugging at his jeans. he tuts, his foot trails an inch backwards, "stick your hands behind your back." his foot slides forward again, but this time, it extends between jamie's thighs, "are you already getting hard, just from sucking on my fingers?" roy smirks, presses hard enough to make him sting as his fingers push knuckle-deep into his mouth, "so desperate to be touched. will you get me hard too? take my cock instead of my fingers? is that what you want?" he'd urge him to use the golden words here but with his fingers in his mouth maybe he's only teasing.

The praise feels like a drug. He is a good boy, he's Roy's good boy, and whenever he's told such, it's like he can turn his head off. Good dogs don't need to think, they just do as they're told. Jamie sucks when he's told to suck, kneels when he's told to kneel, he's good. He keeps his gaze on Roy's face, big and bright and not a thought behind those eyes other than Roy himself. He whines at the tutting; he didn't mean to misbehave, didn't mean to touch without permission, but Roy's right there, how could he possibly expect Jamie to keep his hands to himself? He moves to lock his wrists together behind his back, like he's lining up to defend a free kick, no hands, no arms allowed. He can balance just fine like this. He moans lowly as soon as Roy's foot presses up against him, trying (and failing) not to rut forward. Of course he's already getting hard. He's on his knees for Roy Kent. The only thing that might make his position better was if Roy had those leather boots of his on. Fuck, the things Jamie would do to those boots... His thoughts of his own pleasure quickly disappear, though, when he starts to choke on Roy's fingers, and he has to focus all of his efforts on not choking. Obviously he's not going to pull away, he takes what he's given, but it's a lot. He can handle it. However, he can't respond to any of Roy's questions; there are tears in his eyes as he tries to force back his gag reflex, as he tries to relax his throat and take Roy's fingers. Jamie tries to moan a confirmation around the fingers, but the noise sounds more tortured than seductive. There's no way to form a Yes, Coach, no way to form a Please, Daddy, so he just has to use his eyes to try to express how good he'll be, even as a tear drips down his cheek.

roy figures if jamie weren't into how he smells, sweat and dirt and all, he'd have said something by now. if memory serves ( which it often doesn't ) he probably has said something about it, what feels like centuries ago ( and was really only a few years ), because roy is something something old and gets sweaty after fucking about on the pitch for however long --- or fucking about in jamie's bedroom for however long. pheromones aside, roy is not overly keen to let it fester for much longer. "my head's big enough," he mutters back, but jamie goes on, it's unintentional but it has all the same effect. i like you. like they're holding hands on the playground, like it'll go all around the school, jamie tartt likes roy kent. like likes. instead of saying it back, roy manages to say, "good," and immediately recalls why he was hoping to put compliments aside for the night.

jamie rolls off of him and roy, slowly, pushes out of his bed and onto his feet. yeah, it hurts proper now, he winces as he goes but steels himself for jamie's sake. fine, maybe it's for his own sake. to not look like some ancient pensioner who kicked too close to the sun. he's briefly thankful that jamie's up ahead without being told for it. roy leans ( casually, might i add, but all very necessarily ) against the door frame as he watches jamie. "run it hot. i ought to climb in with you."

"Is it big enough? I don't think it is." Roy has tools at his disposal that would shut Jamie up at any given time - fingers, a hand, even just pinching him would distract him from his train of thought for long enough that he doesn't return to it. When Jamie first met Roy, Roy was past the years of having a massive ego. Would it really be such a shame to bring it back? Roy Kent of his glory days, of scoring for Chelsea and England, of the captain's armband around his bicep... no, no, bringing that back couldn't be a bad thing. Good. Jamie doesn't press for him to say anything more than good, though he was hoping for a bit more than good. Maybe I like you back, Jamie. Maybe I think you're fit. But he'll take good.

He walks to the bathroom, unused to the feeling of moving around after being fucked. He'll adjust, his body's good like that, but for now, he thinks Roy might take some perverse amusement from seeing Jamie adjust his gait because he's just been fucked out of his head for the first time in ages. "You're gonna get in with me, Coach?" he asks with a grin, turning the hot water on. "Y'want the jacuzzi jets on, too? Might be good on your back." Jamie loves them, but they might be a bit intense for post-sex bathing. When the tub's full, Jamie turns off the water, climbing in without waiting for Roy's word to do so. "C'mon, then... can't leave me alone for too long..."

“what’re you chewing on? i can hardly hear you,” roy asks—because he wants to know what jamie’s chewing on, not because the muffling of his words is much of a detriment to the clarity. “you know how to use your words,” he chides. it’s what makes jamie’s shyness here, at the prospect of getting what he wants, all the more exciting. he’s fucking cute, roy can almost see him. tired, sure, but never tired enough to miss out on anything. especially not this.

“shame i can’t shove my fingers in your mouth now,” roy reaches over his chest to wrap his hand around his phone and hold it there, like the thing sitting there could get close to grasping jamie’s flesh or tugging at his hair. as jamie’s voice buzzes through his phone, across his chest, he feels it, jamie’s not so far away for a brief moment. “shame i can’t touch you at all now—reward you for your good work today.” he isn’t that tired, he thinks. “maybe, as a treat, you could touch yourself for me now. just for tonight, you’ll just have to follow my instructions.”

He's typically much more suave than this. He can flirt with just about anyone at just about any time. But Roy makes him a different man, it's like just the sound of his voice takes Jamie apart and leaves him in a million little pieces in the best way. "M'pillow," he answers, the corner of the pillow still in his mouth, but he does speak a bit louder so Roy can hear him better. At the sound of Roy chiding him, though, he rolls over, abandoning the corner of the pillow just so he can speak a bit more clearly. "Sorry, Coach." He can see the look in Roy's eyes in his mind; there's a hunger there, but also a pride at Jamie being good and using his words, a different but equally present pride at the way Jamie played today. "Won't chew on the pillow anymore."

A hum comes from his throat, poking index and middle fingers into his mouth, nudging around his teeth, dragging his thumb over his lower canine. "Like this," he says, though he's sure the words come out muffled, the way they would be if Roy could shove his fingers into Jamie's mouth right now. He sucks at them for just a moment, closing his eyes, trying to imagine that they are Roy's fingers, pressing down on his tongue, thumb moving to grip his own chin. That doesn't last long, though. At the prospect of being able to touch himself tonight, Jamie quickly pulls his fingers from his mouth, wiping his saliva on the duvet. "Yes. Yes, fuck yes, Coach, I'll be so good. I deserve the treat. Did y'see how good I was out there today? I deserve it, I'll follow instructions, I'll be a good boy."

roy stifles a laugh. if you'd have told him jamie would be calling him fucking magical anytime soon, he would have laughed in your face. and because he's so fucking cute, roy pulls him closer, keeps them tight. "i won't," he murmurs, "i wouldn't have lasted a decade thinking about it." roy's not often so keen for confessionals but he thinks it all the same as jamie. tartt has been plaguing his dreams since long before they were anything close to real, he has to catch himself out of daydreams nowadays. "alright, that's enough," he chides in hushed tones, his ego will fucking explode if he goes on --- never learned how to take a compliment in a nice way. "thank you. for putting up with me." it sounds far more forced than he means it to be. he brushes it off with a pat to his arm, "but you're filthy," roy teases, "we should get you cleaned up . . . and me. a bath?" he asks, the option is shower or bath, if it isn't clear, he's not overly keen to go to sleep like this.

#blasphemier [ roy ]#blasphemier #replies !

Roy's sweat smells fucking amazing. Jamie knows there's something animalistic about that thought - don't animals who're meant to be having sex with each other think they smell good? There's a word for it, he knows it. It's like hormones, but different. Fire-moans, maybe. He'll come up with it later. He cuddles closer when Roy pulls him in, his hand rubbing over Roy's bicep, up his neck, tracing his collar bones, touching for touch's sake. "What, don't want me makin' your ego get all big again? Like you're Chelsea's captain and every nice word somebody says about you goes right t'your head?" he jokes, a cheeky smile on his face as he turns his head to prop his chin on Roy's chest just to be able to meet his eyes. "It's not putting up with you. I... I like you. A lot, and I have for a while." He would've done just about anything to be in this position with Roy for just about two years, now. Maybe longer, but he wouldn't have admitted it before then. At the proposal for a bath, Jamie nods in agreement. "Yeah - yeah, one sounds mint, yeah." His bathtub has jacuzzi jets, another shower head, he loves a hot bath after games. It's plenty big enough for the both of them to fit, too, should Roy choose to join him in the bath instead of opting for a shower. He rolls off of Roy, trying to avoid getting cum on his sheets, and heading to the bathroom, this time assuming Roy would follow him without instruction to do so.

roy grins as he murmurs an, "oi," quiet and tame here in contrast with the usual severity of his words. it's barely more than habit here but he uses it to his advantage. "what are you supposed to be calling me?" it's definitely not a fucking twat. roy's fingers keep on scratching as he leans up into it, roy knows jamie likes it. he remembers it. "good." he trusts him to speak up---to whine, if anything.

"what d'you mean? i'm a delight to have on the pitch. and in here." roy hazards a smile but adds, "i hope i don't get carded in here." he likes to think he and jamie are on the same wavelength more often these days. not always, but usually, he can predict what jamie's about to start spouting when he starts barking at him and vice versa. he gives him a nod after he gives the tap.

it's already a little bit intoxicating to hear. anything jamie says can be intoxicating when he's looking up at you though. he almost laughs. "is that what they say, is it?" he's not so in on locker room gossip anymore but they could both guess that part. "we'll see." he's not overly keen to go calling the boy's jamie's titles but if it slips, it slips. they'll all have to be good boys. they are. sometimes. positive reinforcement isn't so bad---it's just not roy's style. we don't stop counting till it hurts and so on. bit of tough love never killed anyone. "you'll have to make sure you're being good then." he regards him as though it's a real threat. "can't have my boy being any less than the best."

#blasphemier #blasphemier [ roy ]#replies !#fuck him fthursday <3

If Roy expects Jamie to stop calling him fucking twat and mean old cunt and grumpy bastard, Roy doesn't really know Jamie. Nevertheless, Jamie's in a good mood, he's having his head scratched by Roy's very talented fingers, so he'll comply. "Sorry, Daddy." He tilts his head to the side so that Roy can scratch at another bit of it, his fingers running over Roy's hip.

"Who are you, Phoebe at school? A delight t'have on the pitch..." he snorts a little laugh, nudging Roy's knee with his own. Roy was a menace on the pitch in his time. It was a beautiful thing to watch, a delight to spectate, but fucking hell, playing against him would've been awful. Was awful. Jamie only managed it twice, once in that very last game Roy ever played, once with City, and both times Roy put up a hell of a fight. "I'm pretty sure y'won't get carded in here, but it's important for us t'have, just in case, yeah...?"

The boys love Roy, Roy's a great manager, it's nice to play under someone who's actually played the game before and knows how it works from a player's perspective. "They say a lot of things. Mostly are you still waking up at half three, Tartty and why're you waking up at half three, Jamie, and how d'you have so much energy if you're waking up at half three every morning without any coffee." Sometimes it's less than that - knowing glances, raised eyebrows, towels thrown at him with all the love the boys have. But they want nothing to do with Roy's favouritism, which means there's more for Jamie. "I'm always good." An obvious lie, but that's beside the point. "That's why y'wanted me in the first place. 'Cause I'm a good boy. Now I'm your good boy. Been your good boy for more'n a year, honestly. Did y'really think I'd start waking up at half three for just anybody?"

he’s still panting for his breath back as he catches his lips, hungry and passionate despite the lack of oxygen between them. he’ll take what jamie gives him regardless, unable to let go just yet as he murmurs curses into his mouth. his forehead falls against jamie’s as he speaks, eyes still shut. “yeah, are you okay? d’you feel good?” he asks back quietly, reluctantly peeling himself away to look down at him. “you’re still so fucking fit, fucked out and covered in cum.” roy pushes jamie’s legs together before leaning over to pull himself down to the bed, rolling onto his back as his chest rises and falls hard.

“c’mere,” he mutters, soon pulling jamie into him, regardless of the state they’re in. “you were so good for me—i’ll get a towel in a minute just…” he trails off as his breathing begins to slow, a hand falling into jamie’s hair, “i’ve wanted you for so fucking long. sorry for making you wait…” it was worth every second of it. he might be rambling, words falling out of him without the usual mental process, a hand possessively holding jamie’s head, his lips leaning down to kiss the top of his head unceasingly. “you’re so good for me.”

Inhaling Roy's exhalations, being held like this - they're as close as two humans can physically be. It's intoxicating. Everything about fucking Roy was like being introduced to a new drug - and this one's totally legal in terms of being able to keep playing footy. He can play a match, come home, fuck Roy, and go to training the next day, and there's no problems. He feels fucking amazing. "Yeah," he gasps his answer, nodding rapidly. "Yeah, fuck, I feel fucking great." When Roy pulls away, Jamie lets him go, despite how badly he wants to cling to him. "Covered in cum because of you, Coach," his words are slurred as he smiles, eyes half lidded, a hand coming to rest on Roy's chest. "Fuck, you're fucking magical..."

Jamie eagerly rolls to press his body to Roy's. He's never cared about having cum on himself before - he's hairless, he can shower it all off with ease, and he's not really thinking about the fact that pressing his bare skin to Roy's might cause some issues in regards to the cum drying. Nevertheless, he doesn't want to let go of him, so cling he does. "Don't want you t'go anywhere," he admits, resting his cheek against Roy's chest, listening to his heartbeat. "I'd've waited another decade for that if y'made me..." That's true. He would've waited a lifetime for him. He never wanted to push Roy into doing anything with him, but now that the day's finally come, he feels like he's been made into a whole new man. He loves the way Roy's holding him, loves feeling this cared for after sex. "You're fucking great. Seriously, fuck. Amazing. Thanks for... for everything."

❝ JUST BECAUSE YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO PULL THEM OFF... ❞ roy smiled to himself, concealing the real grin with his teeth around the meat of his cheek like jamie might have been able to see it. like all of the burning in his chest, up to his ears, was a secret. it wasn't. not anymore. roy exhaled a short laugh, a laughably bad lie from jamie, even worse than usual. ❝ oh, yeah? you didn't like it when i was all sweaty? ❞ as though he hadn't brought it up because he relished it. roy saw right through him.

here, separated by a distance they had never endured before and yet closer than they ever had been, it was light. the air was playful as opposed to snippy. roy hadn't changed, no, but he was all too aware of what could tear them apart now. when jamie returned, they could bicker. now? ❝ yeah, y'did. ❞ he inhaled long and slow. the sound of him smiling, words half-muffled by whatever was making up for roy's chest. he could see him almost vividly when he shut his eyes. not alone in a hotel room, but here, head on his chest, grinning away regardless. ❝ i s'pose we'd have to celebrate the best way we know how. you know, after you shone out there, and we were all alone . . . ❞ the images played through his head, what had already been, what could be. maybe he was especially desperate, it had been a day too long apart. his voice lowered, ❝ only if you were quiet. you wouldn't want the rest of the team to hear me fucking you, would you? ❞ the smirk that was beginning to play on his lips faltered just slightly. ❝ unless, you're too tired? ❞ in the hypothetical and . . . now.

"Fuck off, I can pull off anything." Is that directly contradictory to what he's just said about the Sunderland stripes? Sure. But he can't let Roy get away with thinking he can pull off anything that Jamie can't. Thinking about Roy all sweaty will only lead him down a path he doesn't particularly want to go down right now. Not without Roy here. Roy's never been here before, never will be here. Nothing smells like him, nothing reminds Jamie of him. It's very much Jamie's space, to his dismay. Even with his face in the pillows like this, it doesn't smell like Roy. He can't wait to get back to London to kiss him.

Hearing Roy admit that he played like a star will never get old. He's fucking proud of himself, and hearing that Roy's proud of him too feels like taking the best drug in the world [ if Jamie was allowed to try drugs. He's not. Obviously ]. Roy knows stars firsthand. Roy's played against Messi, against Ronaldo, against Gerrard, against Henry, against fucking Zava. If he says Jamie's a star, then Jamie's a star. "Yeah... yeah, I do know," he agrees, biting at the corner of his pillow. His cheeks go pink when Roy continues to speak. "Not too tired," he quickly insists. "I'll be quiet, Coach... Keep m'mouth shut... none of the lads'll ever know owt." He can almost picture Roy here with him now. "And... if I'm not... y'can shove your fingers in m'mouth to shut me up."

SENDER SOMETHING SOMETHING SUCKS HIS THUMB / @LUSTCONQUERSALL .

roy tells him to sink to his knees, tells him how he likes him — on your knees, looking up at me like a good boy. he says sit, and jamie plays the part beautifully, roy holds his gaze all the way down like it’d kill him to look away. his hand creeps forward to find his hair, brushes it back, then down to his cheek, he toys with his jaw. lost in the blue of his eyes, the way the light makes them fucking twinkle looking up at him. roy’s thumb presses against his lips as he murmurs, “open,” before pushing his thumb the rest of the way until it won’t go any further. his thumb presses on his tongue, then pulls on his cheek until he turns his hand to slot his first two fingers into his mouth, even further. “look at you. drooling like that, i know you can take it.” he murmurs, “that’s it. prove you can take my fucking cock. show me how you’ll use your tongue.”

Jamie is a good dog. There's something about being given an order and obeying on instinct that makes him feel all warm inside. Roy says sit, Jamie sits. He keeps his eyes on Roy's face as he kneels, his hands kept to himself no matter how badly he wants to touch Roy's thighs. Leaning up into each of Roy's touches, Jamie smooths his hands down on his thighs, his eyes bright with anticipation. He's got a half chub already, just because it's Roy, and look at him. From this angle he looks almost like a god, with the light coming in and framing his profile. Jamie wishes his eyes could take a picture. He keeps his mouth shut as Roy's thumb touches his lips, until he gives him the next command – open. Jamie opens his mouth, leaves it open like a good boy [ Roy didn't say close ], the corners of his lips tugging upwards as soon as Roy slips the thumb inside. The thumb is replaced with Roy's fingers, pressing against the back of his tongue. He can feel his mouth watering, can feel some of his saliva running from the corner of his mouth as he presses his tongue up against the fingers he's been given. His eyes are still wide, still bright as he looks up at Roy. At the command, Jamie finally closes his lips, flicking his tongue up against his fingers, moaning lowly to Roy. He sucks gently, his hand coming forward to hold onto the hem of Roy's jeans, knees spreading a bit wider. He wants to impress him, yes, wants to take his cock even if it's just for cockwarming's sake, but he's quite happy like this, too. This is a million times better than chewing gum.

roy takes it all into account. “it makes sense,” the severity wanes just slightly after jamie’s admission—their history. you’d never believe this. “‘course it fucking did—i liked it too.” jamie’s obedience from day one, wiping the little smirk off his face. roy’s fingers in his hair give him a scratch, “there’s a line. and if i ever cross it, you have to promise you’ll tell me.”

smart. roy agrees with a hum—completely is more than a word here. “stick to what we know? penalty rules—red card me if you’ve gotta.” keep it simple stupid. “or… tap out if you can’t get the words.”

the boys are probably more unphased by roy and jamie’s relationship than they should be. the blurred lines with what ‘their relationship’ actually is remain permanently unclear — roy’s perfectly fine with keeping this like that. everyone minds their own business. “nobody’s calling you a good boy but me,” he grumbles, “but… they’re gonna start sensing favouritism,” it’s much too late for that now. tongue-in-cheek, he finally says, “what if i call everyone a good boy?”

"Course you liked it, fucking twat," Jamie grumbles, but he's smiling. He pushes his head up into the scratches, expressing that he likes it, that he wouldn't mind if Roy kept going. "I swear down, if y'ever say summat I don't like I'll tell you." He looks up into Roy's eyes as he speaks just to drill his point home. He's unafraid to communicate with a partner in regards to his kinks. He's had enough sex in his life to be able to tell someone if he's not enjoying something. Especially when his partner's Roy, who he trusts more than anything.

Jamie snorts a laugh at Roy's suggestions. "Yeah? Still thinking of ways y'can collect cards even after retirement, eh, 6?" he teases, rubbing his free hand over Roy's hip. Roy can still get carded now that he's a manager, but he thinks the joke still stands. "Got it, though. Yeah. Yellow for a warning, red for stop." If he can't get the words, tap. He taps his hand twice to Roy's hip to express his understanding, to demonstrate that he knows how to use a tap if he needs one.

"Daddy," his tone is teasing, low, affectionate. "They've already sensed favouritism, they just don't want t'be your favourite, 'cause they know that means waking up at half three t'train at four. And they also know it means we don't stop counting 'til it hurts." If they wanted that favouritism, Jamie's sure that they could find him and Roy out training whenever they wanted to; there's a reason they've been alone up until now, and he thinks they'll keep being alone no matter what. "Y'can call everyone whatever y'want to call 'em, gaffer. As long as they're just good boy and not your good boy."

roy’s head tips back just slightly into tartt’s grip. he lets it, briefly, in the headiness, for the sake of indulging him. his head falls all the way back, sweat beading around his neck, and he catches a glimpse of the ceiling. his eyes don’t waste much time there but he does regain some new consciousness when he’s pierced with the blue of jamie’s eyes. “do as i tell you,” he warns, the hand on jamie’s thigh shifting away to take his wrist, pulling his hand from his hair. he grabs the other too, bound in the breadth of one hand as he holds them up, pressing them into the headboard.

“uh-huh?” roy repeats over the sound of his rambling, “you eager fucking slut. are you gonna come all over yourself for me while i come inside you?” he speaks through grit teeth, jaw clenching and unclenching as he struggles, his stomach tight. “be a good boy. cum for me. cum for me like — holy fucking hell — you feel so fucking good;” roy fucks himself over the edge just watching jamie, both hands grip tighter around his wrists, around his cock as a string of curses spill from his lips. he, eventually, as though it pains him to do so (while, unfortunately, it pains him to do the opposite) he slows. roy leans down to kiss him despite the heavy breathing on both ends. “you’re so fucking good for me,” he manages to say, releasing his hands slowly as both of roy’s hands shift to touch jamie’s hips, to kiss him with all the might he has left in him.

Jamie has half the mind to lean up and lick the sweat from Roy's collarbones. To nip and suck on them and lather them with his saliva until he can't taste the sweat anymore. The second Roy meets his eyes, though, that thought is gone. He's lost in how pretty and brown they are, lost in the pleasure of his own body. "Yes, Coach, sorry, Coach," he gasps. He's not sure what he's doing that goes against what Roy told him to do, but it ends with Roy's weight pinning his wrists to the headboard, which is fucking sexy, so he's not going to question it. "Thank you, Coach, I'll be a good boy next time, swear–"

He is an eager fucking slut. He's an eager fucking slut who's a breath away from orgasm, staring up at Roy with eyes wide and mouth agape. He arches his hips up a bit more to try to angle Roy deeper inside of him, his abs tensed as he does so. He comes hard as soon as he feels Roy's cum filling him up with a cry of his name. Jamie can't find his tongue to speak another word, he feels so fucking good. Roy is inside of him, Roy's cum is inside of him, Roy's hands are on him and keeping him still and working him through it as he clenches around him. Time seems to slow, to stop, as he comes down from that high, his heart racing in his chest as Roy releases his wrists. They slowly lower to the pillows, the silk pillowcase cool under his warmed skin. He kisses him just as deeply, sticky from cum and sweat, but he couldn't care less. He feels like he's on fire in the best way possible. Like he's lying in the sun on holiday, but the sun is in his ass, or hovering directly above him and called Roy. He never wants to be without Roy's cum in his ass again. "That was," he pants against Roy's lips, arms still extended above his head as he can't quite gain the strength to move them into Roy's hair, "fucking... amazing... Coach..."

"fucking---" roy doesn't manage to finish the sentence, something about how good he is, how desperate he is, arching up to meet him, the curve of his body. his teeth grit through a groan of pleasure, he's not going to try stammering like fucking tartt. "you're all fucking mine and you feel so fucking good," he replies, fingers gripping hard into his thigh.

his other hand moves with each thrust of his hips, watching as he squirms and shifts under him. "stay fucking still--be a good boy." he meets his eyes, stares down at jamie as he asks. roy would be foolish not to oblige. "good. look at me while i'm fucking you. take my fucking cock until i'm done with you." roy hisses as he feels himself grow closer, fucking him with all that he can muster as sweat beads across his forehead, down his chest, breathing hard. maybe training really could make do with some changes... it's a thought for another time. what'll be a nightmare to train on tomorrow barely enters his mind here, kneeling over him. "are you getting close? do you think you deserve to come? are you gonna beg to come with me?"

There'll be bruises on his thigh in the morning, five of them in the shape of Roy's fingertips. Just as Jamie likes it. A reminder, a place for Roy to put his hand and grip him and remember. "I'm all fucking yours you're so big Coach you feel- oh fuck," he gasps, shifting his hand from the headboard into Roy's hair, trying to get a grip despite how short it is. This was well worth the wait. Well worth the years of craving and denying the admission of what he really wanted, well worth the gazes in the showers and the fights he purposely started just to get Roy's hands on him. It's all so worth it.

Jamie's never been good at staying still, especially during sex, but he has to try his best. Roy told him to stay still, so he'll stay still. He'll be a good boy. Staring up at Roy when he tells him to look at him, Jamie pants, tongue hanging out involuntarily. Roy's got these gorgeous brown eyes that Jamie could get lost in for ages if he weren't so occupied with the feeling of being fucked. He whines with each thrust, the way Roy's stroking him in time with them feels fucking amazing. He's close, and getting closer by the second. He just can't verbalise that until Roy brings it up, and when he does, Jamie starts nodding rapidly. "Yes Coach, please Coach, I need it, Coach, I'm so- I'm so close, I'm gonna cum, I am, Coach, please- please don't stop–"

roy fears that jamie’s words will be completely true. he will crave him forever. he groans at the nails up his back, allows him to leave a mark — fortunately, he’s not stripping in locker rooms these days. he swallows the sounds with his lips, hungry and urgent, like it’d kill him to touch any less of him.

roy watched as his body bends: erotic even when he’s fully clothed, he’s in awe just at the sight of him. fuck the game — tartt’s training for him, to look this ridiculously fucking hot. a shiny fucking ken doll, maybe he sees the appeal in all the waxing bullshit. his lips curve upwards into a smirk, the groan that follows as he thrusts into him sings through a smile. “look at you. tongue out like a good little fuck toy. that’s what you wanted, yeah? to be my filthy fucking toy?”

his eyes, his neck, his chest, his stomach. roy’s eyes travel down to his cock, hard and leaking. roy does the generous thing, slips a hand up to jerk him off, the other leaning up to hold his thigh. “that’s better.” the sound of their skin hitting one another picks up, “my desperate slut, you’re so fucking whiny when you’re turned on. look at how bad you need it—i think you can take it harder, don’t you? unless you’re gonna end it so soon?”

Jamie has had the boys take the piss out of him plenty of times for coming into training marked up. It hasn't happened in a long time - since he started training with Roy, who dictated his schedule to the point that Jamie was practically a born-again virgin; you can't really invite someone over and tell them they have to leave before 20:30 because your coach is coming to train you at 4:00 sharp. Breaking that sexless streak [ with the exception of the summer holiday, Jamie always manages to fuck over the summer holiday ] with Roy is fucking spectacular. Jamie wants him to mark him up, to make the marks dark enough to last through their game on Saturday so he can get on the pitch in his kit, knowing the marks are there, and still play like a fucking god.

Roy is smiling. Roy is fucking him and he's smiling, and Jamie feels like he's in heaven. He adjusts his grip on the headboard, arching his hips up towards Roy's, trying to get him to drive in deeper. He's panting, sweating, smiling despite the fact that his mouth is still hanging open. He's happier than he's been in a long time... maybe happier than he's ever been. "Yeah - yeah- yes, Coach, I'm yours," he promises. Roy's filthy fucking toy. And fucking proud of it.

When Roy's hand wraps around his cock, Jamie all but mewls, trying his hardest not to squirm with delight. He bucks into his touch, unable to stop himself from chasing the pleasure. "No - yes, yes, Coach, I'm- harder, I need it, more, please," he begs, staring up at him, hand gripping Roy's shoulder as firmly as he can. "I can take it, give me everything." He is close, but he doesn't want to admit that, doesn't want this to end so soon. He'll hold himself back as best he can for as long as he can, despite the precum leaking out of him steadily at this point.