Chapter Text
1.
Fucking fucking fuck FUCK.
Roy clenched his fists and hid them in his lap, tensing when Keeley or Jamie brushed his shoulder in their excitement. Normally, he wouldn’t mind the physical contact from his lovers, but tonight, in the middle of a fucking rugby game of all things, everything grated on his senses. Every cheer from the crowd reverberated around his head, every strained smile he had to shoot at Keeley whenever she glanced back at him, and every growl he had to bite back whenever Jamie shook him to get his attention. He knew they meant well; and, normally, he would be shouting with excitement alongside his boyfriend, but today… Everything just struck his nerves wrong. And the chaotic environment did not help his unsettled state.
And fuck, if he didn’t have a dignity to uphold, if he wasn’t bracketed by two of his favorite people in the world that he would do anything for, then he would’ve walked right out of that stadium and driven back home, back to the calm and to the quiet.
The hollering from the crowd suddenly intensified after a player made another touchdown, and Roy instinctively brought his hands up to cup his ears. The moment he realized that he was falling back into old habits, however, he shook himself off and sat on his palms. (He wasn’t autistic, but he grew up… socially challenged, to say the least. Being around people put him on edge, and sometimes the matter of existing was too much for him. Interestingly enough, football was the only thing that quieted that noise, because everything shrunk down and he was able to just focus on the game and himself and his teammates and--the world just made more sense on the field, and he didn’t have to worry about the colors or the noises or any goodman thing as long as he got the fucking ball in the fucking goal. The annoyance that was triggered by, usually, people within him faded over the years, but hadn’t completely gone away. He could never go to a concert or, willingly, go to a nightclub.)
Keeley glanced at him again, and this time he couldn’t smile. Not when his face was still twisted in a grimace. Not when his eyes could barely focus on a large green field.
His chest was tightening. Something was happening, and he didn’t fucking like it.
Roy grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. He could deal with it, like the fucking adult he was.
Then something was shoved over his ears and he startled, because who the fuck --
Everything went silent. The shit over his ears made everything silent.
Roy released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. The fuck was this?
One arm from the left-side of him wrapped around his shoulders, Keeley’s delicate touch ghosting along his collarbone, while one arm from the right of him wrapped around his waist, Jamie’s hand resting on the top of Roy’s thigh. The points of contact grounded Roy in his shock, and he looked back and forth between his two lovers, frowning deepset. How did they know?
Carefully, Roy lifted his butt off of his hands so he could prod the thing sitting on his head and--yup, it was Keeley’s bright pink, noise-canceling headphones. It was fucking embarrassing, the possibility of someone snapping a quick photo of Roy Kent looking like a fucking nine-year-old, but… at the same time it is the best thing that had happened all day.
Without even realizing it, Roy had leaned in his lovers’ holds. His jitters and agitation disappeared. Jamie must’ve noticed this, because he turned away from the game and grinned that soft smile he saved just for him and Keeley, when there was nobody to fool and nothing else to care about. Roy watched his lips mouth the words, “love ya.”
Roy’s gaze fell to the ground. He wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t.
“Fucking shut up,” Roy grumbled back without any heat behind it, and Jamie shook him with his soundless laughter. “I hate you.”
Keeley nudged him from his other side, and he could just imagine the words “oi, be nice,” coming from her mouth, and he cracked a tiny smirk.
They all were so fucking domestic, it was fucking sappy.
The newspaper was left on the front door step, slightly damp from the morning dew. Roy dreaded what he would find in the pages of the paper—everyday brought the possibility of another mortifying story about him or his team that would require a fuck ton of work from Rebecca and the publicity agents and even themselves to put out—but like clockwork he numbly picked it up and gently closed the door behind him. He made a beeline for the dining table and sat down with a huff.
Keeley and Jamie were still sleeping upstairs, wrapped around each other like fucking octopuses. Roy really wanted to join them in bed—he had only gotten up to piss—but since he had woken he couldn’t seem to settle. Something had him off center, and he didn’t know what. Might be something lingering from the rugby game, the nerves that Jamie and Keeley settled but didn’t quell, but it also could be something different. He couldn’t tell.
Hesitantly, Roy opened the paper and read the front page.
It was much worse than a photo of him sitting in the bleachers with pink fucking headphones over his ears.
Three in the Crowd; Romantic Scandal between football legends, Roy Kent and Jamie Tartt, and a third?
Blood roared in the back of his mind as he forced himself to read the beginning of the article.
Yesterday, AFC Richmond Coach and player, Roy Kent and Jamie Tartt, were spotted at the Richmond Rugby home game in the bleachers beside independent media publicist, Keeley Jones, executive of her own PR company. Looking at these three, one would assume a simple and close friendship. However, an anonymous source reveals there is much more behind what meets the eye: Kent, Tartt, and Jones seem to be in a polyamorous—and sexual—relationship. Images of the three are not circulating the Internet like a tornado; the signs we did not see before are startlingly clear and painfully obvious. Fan reactions are a mix of surprise and outrage, support and disgust. How will this power throuple change AFC Richmond and its following? Read more on page 15.
The newspaper crinkled in his clenched hands.
What. The. Fuck.
All of them—Roy, Keeley, and Jamie—kept their relationship very private. Only the coaches and a few players at Richmond knew what was going on, and they swore never to let anything get out about them. So who the fuck decided it was a bloody fantastic idea to share this information?
The world was becoming an angry red. Who gave the cunt the fucking right to expose them like this? This was a fucking declaration of war, and he was going to fucking kill the people who wrote the fucking article and then the fucking source, and they will fucking die a slow and painful death for being a right cocksucker, digging into fucking private business, and be sent to the fucking deepest pits of Hell or so help him God--
Fucking Jamie and Keeley deserved better than this shit. They were good fucking people. They couldn’t afford to have their reputations shat on, and here it was, the fucking shit delivered to them right on a silver platter. God fuck, if only Roy could stamp this wildfire out of existence--
“Hey, hey, you’re gonna hurt yourself, grandad.” A smooth hand covered his fists and carefully started to unfurl his tense fingers. Another hand went flat against his chest, idly rubbing circles on the fabric of his shirt. Only then did he notice the article, for he whispered a sharp, “shit.”
Roy growled instinctively, baring his teeth. A smidge of fear entered his body as he tried to speak up but apparently he couldn’t even loosen his jaw.
“Roy,” Jamie kneeled beside the older man, intently focused on his face. “You gotta relax, yeah? Don’t fret over the article--we’ll call up Rebecca and deal with it, but right now, you gotta calm down.”
No, he shouldn’t fucking calm down because this was gonna fucking ruin Jamie and Keeley and fuck him if Jamie is not as fucking angry as him because this was all fucking cockshit--
“Stop it. Fuck, Roy, stop it right now.”
He couldn’t.
The revelation startled him. He… couldn’t stop. His brain swirled with half-formed thoughts of anger, pierced with feelings of hurt and fear and he couldn’t relax and what the fuck was happening to his body--
It was like he was shutting down, his perception of the world becoming a prick of light in a world of darkness. Fuck, he couldn’t catch a breath. His emotions were in a melting pot that just kept suffocating him and he didn’t know the way out--
Fuck him--
FUCK--
Something warm tugged at his stomach, and suddenly Roy was being pulled against something warm and soft and familiar and--
He inhaled--
Vanilla. Vanilla vanilla vanilla--
The shampoo that Keeley bought, but Jamie used, and fuck him if he used it as well.
He exhaled.
Vanilla was familiar. Vanilla was grounding and calm and Jamie was hugging him now and--
Roy closed his eyes and burrowed deeper into his embrace (though he will vehemently deny it later).
“I got you, luv,” Jamie was saying as he ran a hand through Roy’s bedhead. “Everything’s going to be alright.” The hand traveled to cup the bottom of Roy’s chin. “You gotta relax. You’ll hurt yourself. C’mon,” he traced patterns with his fingers along Roy’s neck, and the strange sensations forced a cough and a shiver out of the older man. “There we go. Just relax, luv.”
Roy still couldn’t say anything--his jaw was unlocked now but his throat was super fucking dry--and just nodded into Jamie’s shoulder. He didn’t quite believe him, that everything was going to be alright, but he trusted him.
Somehow, when the world was less red and he could be fucking composed again, maybe it will be.
For now, he just let himself be held.