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Summary
Jamie would love to pretend he hadn’t spent the last three days with every free thought drifting to Roy fucking Kent. The grip of his arms around his shoulders, his hand at the back of his neck, the smell of his cologne, the heat of his breath on his ear. It had been the last thing he’d ever expected to experience. But in the aftermath of facing off against his dad it had been exactly what he’d needed. And now, lying awake in bed thinking about Roy Kent because he was too wound up to sleep, Jamie realized that this was becoming an eerily familiar problem. It was just like he was 14 again, in his mother’s flat, staring up at his poster of Roy and trying to pretend he wasn’t gay.