Work Text:
The first thing Roy notices when he rolls onto his back with a groan and a violent kick of the bike frame, is that he can see a few stars peeking through the light pollution and the gap in the trees.
The second thing he notices is that no, he doesn’t particularly feel like getting up, that the patch of grass or weeds or groundcover or whatever it is he’s landed on is quite comfortable, actually. And against expectations, not that damp.
The third thing he notices is that in the minute or so since he crashed, Jamie somehow silently snuck up on him and is now laying to Roy’s left, close enough to hear breathing and the rustle of clothes, not quite close enough for their arms to press together. Which is good. Because Roy doesn’t want that. What a silly thought.
“You know, half those stars up there are dead now, already burned out. Isn’t that fucking mental?” Roy says, after a few minutes of silent staring up at the some-time-around-one-in-the-morning sky.
And Jamie. Jamie has the audacity to snort. Fucking prick. “Whatever, granddad. Believe anything the internet tells you, you lot.”
“What? It’s true.”
“Nah, mate. Total myth.”
Roy scrunches up his eyebrows and turns his head. Jamie’s profile is lit up by the streetlamp light that makes its way into the little clearing off the path they’d been riding along. “Alright then mister smartypants, please do bestow upon me your superior intellect.”
Jamie launches into some long winded explanation that includes reenactments of supernovas and the big bang by way of elaborate hand gestures and Roy can’t really do much else than lie there and watch, until Jamie finally goes quiet after a final “so yeah, that’s why you’re wrong. Like, probably. It’s physics, yeah?”
“Are we gonna talk about when you got smart, or is this just a thing I need to accept now?” Roy asks. And sure, it’s a bit of a dick comment, but whatever. He’s being consistent.
“Always been smart, mate. Just wasn’t all that curious. Or, I like, I was but just sort of… I dunno. Got complacent, I guess.”
“Huh.”
“Yep.”
Neither of them say much for a while. They lay there and stare at the sky. Jamie points out the International Space Station, barely visible just above the light of the city as it freefalls over Europe and it makes Roy feel weird. Kind of small and insignificant which, in defiance of expectations, is a sort of comforting thought.
Maybe it was the brief discussion about Keeley earlier, the reminder that she’s always been so comfortable being who she is that she never really came out as such , that compels him to blurt out the random question that worms its way up from somewhere behind his nasal cavity. That’s where it feels like it comes from anyway, because he sneezes immediately after.
“You ever kissed a bloke?” Sneeze.
Jamie doesn’t respond for a moment, and Roy imagines he’s probably making that face. The what the fuck are you on about face. Roy doesn’t look though. Just waits and feels sort of awkward and wishes he could reel the words back in.
“What like, not as a joke?” Jamie asks. He doesn’t sound grossed out or confused, only curious.
“You’ve kissed blokes as a joke?”
“Yeah like, truth or dare and stuff, what you haven’t?”
“No.”
There’s a rustle of clothes, and then an elbow in Roy’s ribs as Jamie moves his arms about. “Ow, fuck.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to jab you. Not used to laying on the ground without moving for so long.” Jamie says, then more rustling and Roy sees Jamie’s knees down in the lower parts of his peripheral vision. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Roy grunts.
“You ever kissed a fella?”
“No.”
“I reckon if I weren’t a footballer, I’d definitely be a bisexual,” Jamie says, and it’s so honest and blunt and naive, Roy can’t help but burst out laughing.
When he turns his head, Jamie’s glaring at him.
“What? What’s so silly about me being a bisexual?”
“Mate, I think if your only reason for not being a bit gay is football, you’re probably one already.”
Jamie makes a harrumphing noise, and turns his face back upwards. Roy doesn’t stop looking at him. Silence descends again, until, “How do you know, though? Like how do you think Keeley knew?”
Roy shrugs. “I dunno, maybe you have to try it out and see if you like it?”
“You wanna try it out now? Like no funny business or nothing, just an experiment.”
Roy’s heart does a weird sort of leap in his chest that shouldn’t feel as complicated as it does. He instinctively bares his teeth and growls. “Get fucked.”
Jamie wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, Roy shoves him hard in the ribs until Jamie cackles, then rolls around a bit before calming down and going back to serious.
“But also like,” Jamie says. Roy watches as Jamie’s face does a bunch of complicated stuff in between phrases, “I guess also why like, wouldn’t you? Like what’s so different? Like is it about the cock? Because I wouldn’t say no to a trans chick who still had a dick if she were fit like, y’know? Why wouldn’t I be attracted to a bloke?”
“Are you? Or I mean, have you ever been?” There’s that heart thing again.
Jamie doesn’t reply. He gets up, reaches a hand out and pulls Roy to his feet, then stares down at the bike laying in the long grass. One of the wheels is bent, and complains with a loud squeak when Jamie tries to turn it with his foot.
“I think you’ve fucked it this time, mate”
The situation is this:
Before Amsterdam, Roy had entertained notions of perhaps liking men every now and then, but the idea of actually acting on those thoughts was beyond any kind of realm of possibility. Completely fucking stupid. Why would he? He’s perfectly happy with women, he loves a nice pair of tits, and eating pussy is possibly one of the greatest things he’s done in his life. Besides, how would he even find another bloke who swung that way and was attractive in a way that floats Roy’s boat and would shut his damn mouth about who he’s screwing?
After Amsterdam, every time he shows up at Jamie’s front door at arse-o’clock in the morning, he starts thinking about acting.
Not that he would. But he’s thinking.
Especially when Jamie starts wearing a tiny pair of season inappropriate white shorts that show off his season inappropriate tan legs, and the muscular thighs that seem to do weird squirmy shit to Roy’s guts every time he looks at them Even worse, they make his dick twitch in his pants when he’s helping out with stretches.
Who knows what makes him do it. What makes him turn around half way back to the gate one morning. Maybe it’s the sunshine peeking over the neighbouring houses, making the world feel a tiny bit new and a whole lot more optimistic.
He knocks on the door. Jamie answers in nothing but a pair of socks and the fucking white shorts.
“What if I wanted to try it?”
Jamie stares at him in confusion. “Try what?”
“That thing we talked about, in Amsterdam… you know, in the bushes.”
“The…” Jamie makes a kissy face. Roy growls.
“Yes, that fuck you yes that. I want to try it.”
“With… me?” It comes out as a bit of a squeak. Roy cringes, and very nearly turns on his heel and runs for the hills.
“Yes with you, you’re fucking safe, ain’t ya?” Jamie’s not safe at all. This is like when Roy was three and thought playing with his granddad’s Zippo was a good idea and singed his eyebrows off.
Jamie opens the door wider and steps aside. Roy storms through, eyes fixed on the floor, pulls off his jumper because it’s fucking hot in here, and heads to the kitchen.
“You want a cup of tea first?” Jamie asks, as he trails after.
A cup of tea. A cup of fucking tea.
“What? No fuck,” Roy snaps back, gruff. He points to one of the seats by the kitchen island, and waves his finger around. “SIt on the stool.”
Jamie does as he’s told, in silence. Roy doesn’t mess about, he steps up close, and plants one. Too firm, too juvenile, too perfunctory, and he feels nothing.
Jamie grabs him by his singlet. “That was a shitty kiss.”
“So?”
“You’re not going to figure anything out if you don’t commit, you wanker.”
Then Jamie grabs him by the shirt, and pulls him in so quickly Roy doesn’t have time to think about it before lips land on his own, and they’re soft and gentle and at the same time filthy in a way that send a sort of desperate sounding noise up through Roy’s throat, then an involuntary movement of arms and legs that ends with Roy clutching at Jamie’s shoulder and waist, body pressed up against firm, naked chest.
Then he goes for it, aims for the best kiss ever recorded in human history. And Roy knows he’s great at kissing, he’s got the balance down. Almost every one of his relationships has started with a great kiss, and okay maybe he shouldn’t be thinking about that as Jamie gives back as good as he gets, all gasping open mouth, teasing tongue, and lips that slide against Roy’s in ways that do all sorts of shit to every part of his body, right down to his goddamn toenails.
This is not about a relationship. This is an evaluation. It’s just… an experiment. Testing out a hypothesis in a general sense. Does Roy Kent enjoy kissing men? Yes or no?
Yes, apparently.
Then Jamie pulls back a bit, tangles their tongues together like he doesn’t really want it to stop, and Roy can’t help but move his hands to Jamie’s chest and give one of his nipples a twist which, like… why?
Jamie makes a noise that can’t be described as anything other than obscene, and Roy is for once, glad he sometimes struggles with his impulse control.
Fucking hell.
“Shit,” is Jamie’s response, when they stop, all wobbly and breathy and Roy’s dick is definitely liking this way too much for something that’s supposed to be an experiment. “I uh…”
“Yeah.” Shit shit shit shit shit. “Fuck.”
They stare at each other for way too long. Long enough for Roy to want to do it again, long enough for Roy to start fantasising about Jamie shoving him up the stairs and having his way with him but—
“I gotta, uh, get to work,” he blurts out.
Jamie looks thoughtful for a moment, rolls his tongue around in his still wet, slightly open mouth, then shifts in his seat. Roy glances down, and can’t miss the stiffie.
“You’re pretty gross, Roy, I think you probably need to take a shower first.”
“Do I?”
Jamie hops down from the stool, and gets up in Roy’s space. They do a complicated dance for a few moments, not quite touching, until Jamie puts his hands on Roy’s hips, turns him around, and starts steering him out of the kitchen with his lips close enough to Roy’s ear for Jamie’s breath to make it start feeling a bit damp.
“Yeah, you do.”