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Meeting Jobe Bellingham was nothing like how Carney had expected. Having played against him a few times back when he was on Aston, Jobe on Birningham; He remembers expecting a bit of an ego around the last name. Maybe a fair amount of entitlement too, when joining a club his brother had already made a name for him in.
However, along with that, Carney can understand the expectations that come with being Jobe Bellingham, how it can make a guy feel more pressured — be less of a team player and more selfish for the sake of being recognized. But what he couldn’t understand is why Jobe wasn’t like that at all.
Jobe, a man with a smile that screamed sunshine and eyes that were even warmer than that. Carney couldn’t recall ever feeling offended or even a bit annoyed in his presence, and he’s had a fair deal of that across English football teams. But now, being one of Jobe’s best mates, he finds himself in awe of him in all kinds of ways.
Such as when Jobe makes a quick tackle that finally turns the ball back over to them, getting up skillfully quick, and getting right back into position.
Or when they’re playing FIFA at Carney’s and Jobe’s shorts keep riding up when he wipes his hands on them because they’d been sweating— like he always sweats when he’s concentrated.
Which was, well, happening right now. They had an off-day at last, and had decided to go for coffee. Except Carney was now holding both of their paper cups, while Jobe who was standing behind him, struggled to tie his locs back.
“Mate— just loop it twice. Come on.” Carney urged, with no actual urgency or impatience in his voice. They stood outside the coffee shop now, and he could feel Jobe’s slightly shaky fingers brushing against the back of his head and neck as he tried to collect the rest of Carney’s hair into the hair tie.
“I’m frickin’ trying, this thing is too stubborn you know?” Jobe half mumbled half whispered, and Carney could feel his breath on his head.
Finally, he got the job done, and Carney turns around, eyes flicking to Jobe’s as brown met brown. Jobe’s raised eyebrows and expectant expression nearly brought a chuckle out of him.
“Thanks.” He says, unable to help the smile that stretched across his full lips, revealing his teeth.
Jobe’s own smile appeared, never failing to match Carney’s really, “Hey, no worries. Least I can do after—“ He stops mid sentence, giggling slightly as takes his coffee out of Carney’s hand, their fingers brushing, “Nevermind. I was the one who paid.”
“Yeah alright, you got to it first, big deal.” Carney huffs, as they fall into a step beside eachother, and Jobe grins into his cup before taking a sip.
Walking down the street, Carney could feel the slight breeze along the sides of his neck now that his hair was tied back, the shorter locs left in front. As he takes a sip of his latte, he glances to his right at Jobe, who’s looking straight ahead.
For a moment, he gets caught up at the sight, his eyes tracing Jobe’s strong jaw, lighter pink lips, eyelashes that shouldn’t be as long as they were, and the definition to each of his beautiful features. He was a sight for sore eyes, anyone could tell you that.
But what made his appearance so enticing to Carney was how unbelievably welcoming it was. Maybe it was a personal problem— but he swears Jobe has eyes that dare you to keep looking. Lips that drag along his perfect teeth when he smiles, like a tease. The way he groans when he’s annoyed, throat rumbling a sound that Carney feels deep to his core. How could anyone not see that? How could anyone look away from it? Why should it have to be that Carney has to?
He’d been ridiculed about many things throughout his life— his shy attitude with new people, the way he laughs at the wrong times, his long hair, the slight hesitance in his dribbles ever since his knee injury. But for admiring the man in front of him? He supposes he could take it.
“You’re proper staring, Carney.” Jobe breaks the silence, the edge of his lips quirking up to a smirk , paired with raised eyebrows, his coffee already finished and thrown out.
“I’m not.” He mumbles, shrugging his shoulders and turning his head away, wishing he could hide behind his hair.
“Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were, just now.” Jobe nudges him, his smile audible in his voice, and because Carney hadn’t really expected it he stumbles just a bit to the left.
Carney tries to glare at him, but he can’t really find it in him to, when he looks back at the lightskin man, who was fully grinning at him now, chin tilted just slightly downward, eyes fixated on Carney. It was hard to decipher what Jobe was thinking when he looked at him like that.
“Don't get too full of yourself man.”
“Nah, I won’t. You keep me humble, y’know.” Jobe replied, bringing his arm up to rest along Carney’s shoulders, pulling him closer. The significant weight wasn’t more heavy than it was warm, like everything else about Jobe.
“Eh, someone’s got to.” Carney smiles at him, earning a breathy chuckle that he feels on the side of his head. Jobe’s always had an issue with leaning way too much into him when he laughs. Not that he was complaining, but it made it a bit hard to think, even harder to respond to Jobe’s teasing in a functional way.
“Hey, d’you wanna come back to mine? We could play FIFA.” Jobe asks, perking up as he stares into Carney’s eyes, forcing eye contact.
“Yeah.” His response came out breathless, and Jobe’s grin widened.
And just like that, he’d found himself laying on his back on Jobe’s sofa, trapped between the cold leather and the furnace that was Jobe, as he stayed perfectly still. He felt Jobe’s jaw shift, where he lay his head on Carney’s chest, his large arms tightening around Carney like a boa constrictor.
“Yer always so cold, I swear.” Jobe whispered. There wasn’t any need to whisper, but in these moments that were never mentioned after the fact, it felt almost serene, like something that needed to be protected. Or hidden.
Maybe if they spoke quietly enough, it would be as if it never happened. But this was becoming a recurring habit, with Jobe inviting him over under the guise of playing FIFA or catching up, just to end up holding him again, sometimes murmur about his wishes of being in the Premier League. About how pretty he thought Carney’s eyes were. Or about how he misses his brother.
Carney could listen to all of it, because he knew he’d never have to respond. That’s what Jobe preferred, anyway. He knew because he’d tried to share a bit as well once, but it had been shut down pretty quick. “Oh c’mon, I already know everything about you.” Jobe had told him. And in a way, Carney knew that. But with Jobe laying his heart out bare to him so often, he felt obligated to do the same, share the vulnerability. But he wasn’t sure Jobe would ever want that. And nothing could be a greater mistake than upsetting Jobe. His Jobe.
“Carney?” Jobe lifted his head, looking at Carney with skeptical expression. “Were you even listening to a word I said?”
There was a pause, where Carney would usually deny it, insist that he was listening, give him a small smile and nod to continue. But that didn’t happen this time.
“No…I wasn’t, really.” He mumbled, followed by a sigh. He couldn’t help himself, bringing a hand up to the side of the other man’s face, and it was like slow motion when his fingers rested on Jobe’s cheekbone.
So smooth and soft, just like him, Carney thought.
Jobe had been silent, which usually would alarm him, but right now as he stared into his eyes, he watched them soften, and one of Jobe’s hands shifted on Carney’s waist, his thumb sliding across his hip. His own breath hitched, and he wasn’t sure Jobe was even breathing, with how still he was, eyes narrowing on Carney. They stayed like that for a moment, before Carney’s hand slowly inched past Jobe’s face and down his neck, settling there in a hold, and he felt the tension leave Jobe’s shoulders.
“Jobe.” He whispered, his tongue dragging across his lips briefly, his own eyes betraying him as they dropped downward. The air around them felt tighter, and he could feel each rise and fall of Jobe’s chest against him. Carney wants to be closer.
His eyes flick across every feature of Jobe’s face, trying to memorize how he looked in this moment. He doesn’t ever want to forget how Jobe’s chocolate brown eyes look at Carney as he melts into his hands. How they forget to hide the amount of restraint he’s maintaining, slightly widening like they always do before making a decision.
One of Jobe’s hands leave Carney’s waist and come up to his chest, gently flattening, and only then does he realize how fast and unsteady his breathing is. Jobe breaks the notably intense eye contact to glance down at where Carney’s chest hitches up and down, before slowly sliding lower. And lower. Until his long fingers tease the hem of Carney’s jumper.
He glances back up at Carney and pauses, his eyes flitting back and forth between Carney’s. They’ve apparently found what they were looking for, because Jobe lets out a breath and looks back down, his fingers sliding higher underneath the fabric, causing the jumper to ride up his dark skin until they reach his chest, and the warmth of Jobe’s hand settles on his sternum, with some weight as if to settle him.
“Relax.” Jobe finally speaks, but not above a murmur.
Carney’s eyebrows furrow together, as he tries to calm himself down, but he’s only a man. A man that wants– so, so much. But he can’t because the stakes are too high and he’s always been scared of doing the wrong thing. It was like the universe was having a laugh at him, dangling the fruit in front of him just to rip it away just before he reached for it. And right now, it felt like his fingers were grazing it, the sweet scent teasing his nose.
“You– you’re right mean.” Carney finally speaks over a gulp, bringing his hand up and nudging Jobe away. Jobe’s expression shifts, confusion taking place over something Carney couldn’t name. But he wasn’t looking into his eyes now, he couldn’t. He sits up, moving Jobe off of him in the process.
“Wait–” Jobe begins, pushing back, but he’s cut off by a shake of Carney’s head as he puts his hands on Jobe’s shoulders.
“No.” He manages, shoving at him, before throwing his legs over the sofa and getting off quickly, before he changed his mind. His jumper falls back down as he straightens. “I’ve got to go, like, now.” He breathes out, not looking back at Jobe, who’s now sat on the edge of the sofa. The odd spell that had been cast around them was completely broken now, a shunning cold replacing it.
“Carney, c’mon, you know you don’t want to leave.” Jobe relented. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be more right. But he’d die before admitting it.
“I’ll…see you tomorrow, Jobe. At training, yeah?” He says over his shoulder, voice having returned to a reasonable volume, evening out.
There’s a silence before he hears Jobe shift, and Carney assumes he’s nodded. And with that, he grabs his keys and heads to the door. When he puts his shoes on, Jobe has stood, facing Carney but not meeting his eyes.
“See ya.” Jobe mumbles, nearly pouting at this point and it would’ve been amusing to Carney any other day. But he couldn’t find the humour in it today. Not when he wanted nothing more than to take three steps forward and grab Jobe, kiss him and tell him what he really wanted.
“Yeah.” He replies, before opening the door, glancing over his shoulder one last time, and closing it behind him. Carney knew this wouldn’t ever be mentioned by either of them, it never was. And he knew they’d probably go for lunch tomorrow anyway. In a twisted way he looked forward to seeing Jobe’s smile again, to being alone with him like they always inevitably were.
As he walked down to the elevator, he tried to block out the stinging, warm feeling on his skin where Jobe had touched him, but it was as if there was an imprint of his hand right there on his chest. Similar to how Jobe had left a scar in his head, the way he never left. He had given up trying to push Jobe out. And Carney wasn’t adamant on trying again anytime soon.