#tfw you write the fic you wish to see in the world 😌

[valdomarx]

Roy had it all planned out: he was going to spend six weeks in a beautiful villa in Marbella with his gorgeous girlfriend and it was going to be relaxing and cultured and oh so romantic.

But life is capricious and fate is cruel, so instead he found himself dumped by his girlfriend and in a beautiful villa in Marbella on a romantic getaway with Jamie fucking Tartt.

Keeley had been very kind and as gentle about ending things as she could be, but Roy knew the signs of someone progressing out of his league. He’d saved her the discomfort of a protracted fizzle out by being the one to say the words, but he was pretty sure that she would soon be moving on to better things and he would not.

She had insisted — like, really insisted — that he take this holiday though, and because this was fucking Richmond AFC and it was packed to the rafters with gossipy old women, rumours were spreading within hours that his relationship was on the rocks and was he going on holiday on his own.

He would have been annoyed about that, would have preferred to lick his wounds in private, but the day he arrived in Marbella an entire entourage had turned up at his door. Half the team was there, bustling into his rented villa with cans of cheap beer and bags of crisps and bottles of sunscreen, and by the time the doorbell stopped ringing his living room was crammed with cheery, excited lads, and perhaps it was actually kind of sweet.

They’d spent three weeks swimming in the sea and eating tapas, staying out too late at fancy bars and dancing like idiots at expensive clubs. Sam had taught them all to windsurf — a man of hidden talents, that one — and Isaac enthusiastically organised games of beach volleyball. Dani nominated himself head chef for the holiday, and Jan Maas was in charge of carrying home anyone who fell down on their longer nights out.

It was, to Roy’s frank astonishment, really rather fun, and certainly better than moping alone.

And thank fuck, not once did anyone mention Keeley or ask him to talk about his fucking feelings.

Soon the three weeks had been up, and it was time for the team to return home. But for some unknown fucking reason, Jamie had decided that he was staying. No arguments or recriminations or any amount of yelling would move him. He’d simply planted himself on Roy’s sofa and announced that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Some fucking misguided sense of loyalty or some shit. Roy should never have hugged the prick at the end of the season.

(Nah, he couldn’t regret that. He did get them promoted. But why the fuck Jamie thought he had to stay now, Roy couldn’t say.)

-

So they’d settled into… something. The first few days Roy lazed about on the balcony overlooking the sea, and Jamie mostly read (who knew he could read?) and stayed out of his way. They ate dinner together at cosy, casual restaurants, and it was… okay. It was fine.

Jamie would get up early to go for a run before the day got too hot, and Roy would get up late and make coffee for them both. Jamie would pick up pastries from the bakery on the way home, then they’d share breakfast and talk about their plans for the day and Roy didn’t hate it.

It felt like a respite, like they were extracted into a bubble of sunshine, pausing for a while while the world spun on without them.

Jamie arrived back from his run one morning literally bouncing with excitement. “I took this new route, right, and I saw these sculptures in town, right? And they’re by Salvador fucking Dalí! The absolute legend. How cool is that? We gotta go visit em!”

As Jamie bounced off to shower, Roy very quickly googled Salvador Dalí and saw a lot of chat about surrealism and impressionism and some other arty shit he didn’t understand. When Jamie came back he nodded sagely like of course he knew who Dalí was, and was just surprised that Jamie did too.

They went and looked at the statues. They certainly were, uhh, shaped.

Then they walked around the rest of the city, and all day long Jamie babbled out facts about Marbella and Dalí like he’d swallowed a fucking guide book. Roy mostly tuned it out. It was hard to maintain his distant, grouchy air though, when Jamie was so enthused. Like he was having the time of his life, as if there were literally no place on Earth he’d rather be and no person he’d rather be regaling with the full artistic history of Spain.

It was fucking weird, is what it was. And weirder still, Roy found himself almost enjoying it.

That night, Roy declared he’d had enough of eating out and he was going to cook dinner himself. Jamie sat and watched, wide-eyed, as Roy sliced vegetables and grilled some chicken, and Roy snarked at him for being a fucking child who didn’t know how to cook, and Jamie sassed him about being an old man preparing food for the whole retirement home.

They ate dinner together on the balcony, the last rays of the setting sun painting the sky and the salt tang of the sea in the air, and it wasn’t terrible.

-

During their last week in Marbella, Jamie told Roy he was considering a momentous and important decision and would need his support and understanding during this life-changing time.

Turned out he was getting a fucking haircut.

Roy had resolutely refused to listen to a moment’s more fretting about the various merits of warm versus cool toned shades and the importance of feathering to maintain volume and shape, and had kicked him out of the villa to go to the salon.

Jamie’s hair had grown out since the end of the season, flopping in soft curtains over his eyes. When he came back it was shot through with highlights, streaks of silvery brightness contrasting against the mousy brown beneath.

It looked… sun-kissed, was the expression. Like the warmth of Marbella had left its imprint on him, as if Jamie himself were brighter and lighter because of his time here.

“It’s very. Blonde.” Roy managed.

“It’s walnut mist, actually,” Jamie pouted.

“Whatever.”

-

Their last night in the villa arrived faster than Roy had anticipated. He was well rested and well fed, and the new season would be starting soon so they really did need to go home. Still, he found himself strangely disinclined to leave.

But time waits for no man, as nice as the pause had been.

Roy had expected Jamie would want to go out for their last night, to make it a big evening on the town. But he’d smiled softly and said, “Nah, fuck that, let’s stay in and cook, yeah?” instead, and that took Roy so much by surprise he didn’t realise Jamie had volunteered him to do the cooking until he was already chopping.

“Oi! Tartt!”

Jamie popped his head round the kitchen door.

“Get in here and help me chop these veg.”

Jamie did as he was told, and while he had seemingly no knowledge of cooking whatsoever — how was it possible that a grown man didn’t know how to chop a carrot? — he did follow instructions well.

Roy put on some music, and they opened a bottle of wine, and between them they pulled together a decent meal out of whatever was left in the fridge.

They ate on the balcony again, the stars gleaming overhead in the clear night sky.

At some point Roy asked, offhand, what Jamie had been reading, and Jamie got very excited and told him all about this book Ted had given him. Roy was treated to an in-depth analysis of The Beautiful and the Damned, and how it seemed at first that it was all about banging parties and beautiful women and having fun, yeah? But then, like, it all goes to shit? Because this guy thought he was living it up and having the best time but actually he was being selfish and it was making him miserable, right? Because, like, money and glamour and all that shit ain’t actually what it’s about, is it? That ain’t what makes life worthwhile?

Roy sipped his wine and hid a smile. Ted really did have a way with people, the fucker.

“It was well good.”Jamie beamed in conclusion. “What about you, though? You doing alright? About… About Keeley and everything?”

The question caught Roy off guard. He’d been actively trying to dodge his feelings about the breakup, but if anyone could understand what it was like to be dumped by Keeley, it was Jamie.

He sighed. “It’s rough, innit?”

Jamie tipped his glass. “That it is.”

“I think I knew it was gonna happen, though. She’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I dunno if we really fit together any more. She was busy with work, and I was just hanging on, you know?” It was easier that he’d have thought, talking to Jamie about this stuff. “It was probably for the best.”

Jamie nodded contemplatively. “You’ll be alright. You’ll find someone you do fit with.” He glanced up for a moment, meeting Roy’s gaze, then quickly looked away.

Roy allowed himself a moment of wistfulness. “That’d be nice.”

“Who could resist the charms of Roy Kent? He’s a grouchy old fuck but he cooks a decent meal.”

“Fuck off,” Roy laughed, the ease of it sloughing the sadness off him.

“He swears a lot but he’s got a heart of gold.”

“Do I fuck, I’m dark and complex.”

“Ha! You’re a fucking teddy bear, mate, you can't hide it from me.”

“Only cause you’re a nosy wanker.”

Jamie grinned, bright and warm, eyes sparkling, and Roy let himself bask in it.

“Have you had fun though? On holiday?” Jamie’s voice was light, but he was biting his lip, a hint of nervous excitement about him.

Roy smiled in spite of himself. It had been ridiculous, and messy, and childish, and delightful. Yeah, it had been fun.

He raised his glass. "It's been…" he flicked a half smile, "memorable."

Jamie clinked their glasses together, looking at Roy a bit too intensely.

His voice dropped low and husky, and it pinged something deep in Roy's hindbrain. "We could make it more memorable."

They stared at each for a second, Roy's arm frozen halfway to taking a drink. The sound of the waves crashed in the background.

This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea.

"Fuck it, yeah, alright."

Roy shoved the dining table aside and Jamie pounced on him, pushing him back against his seat to straddle him.

Jamie was heavy, his thick muscular thighs pressing Roy in place, grinding their hips together with tempting friction.

He licked his lips and Roy wondered for one strange moment if Jamie was going to kiss him, but instead he buried his face in Roy's neck, teeth dragging along the sensitive skin there. His hands roamed over Roy's shirt, up under the waistband and over the now padded planes of his stomach.

Roy had gone from nought to one hundred in seconds, and his cock was hard between them. Jamie didn't waste time, just went straight for his belt with a focused determination that reminded Roy of him preparing to take a penalty.

He got on his knees so gladly.

"Mmm. Good lad," Roy said, and Jamie shivered. Roy unzipped his trousers and held out his cock like an offering, letting Jamie sink his mouth around it and enveloping him in wet heat.

He looked good between Roy's legs, forehead creased in concentration, eyes slipping shut, luscious lips stretched around Roy's cock and throat working hard.

Roy put his hands in Jamie's hair (softer now, his brain supplied, and sun-kissed). He ran his fingers through the stands, holding onto the back of Jamie's head and guiding him up and down on his cock.

Jamie took it well, letting Roy guide him for a few minutes before he did something with his tongue that made Roy tighten his grip on his hair, tugging at it, and Jamie moaned around his cock obscenely.

There was no rush this time, none of the frantic impatience of their last encounter. Jamie took his time, warming Roy up slowly, every moment deliberate, almost like he was savouring it. The daylight had faded and soft light from inside spilled across Jamie’s face, throwing it half into shadow.

Roy felt soft and molten, full of good food and warmed by weeks of sunshine and satisfied by Jamie and his goddamn miracle of a tongue.

“That’s good,” he growled. “That’s fucking good.”

Jamie moaned around him, a blush forming on his cheeks, and it said something about Jamie that sucking dick didn’t make him blush but a bit of praise fucking did.

Roy sighed, and decided he was feeling generous.

“You’re doing so well, sucking my cock. Your mouth feels fucking great.”

Jamie squirmed some more and took Roy deeper, the bit of positive reinforcement only gearing him up to try even harder at what he was doing. Roy got the feeling that was going to be a pattern with Jamie.

“You like that, don’t you? I fucking like it too.” Jamie’s eyes had that glazed-over, pleasure-drunk look that Roy was really starting to enjoy. “Do that thing with your tongue again. You know how I want it.”

Jamie did, flattening his tongue against the underside of Roy’s dick and undulating it, and Roy’s hands closed instinctively around Jamie’s hair, holding him in place. Jamie did it again, and again, and each time the coil inside Roy wound tighter and tighter until he snapped and yanked Jamie’s head forward, fucking his mouth in hot, tight little bursts.

Light and heat and pleasure pinged the inside of his brain and he came with a groan, all the tension and worry of the past season sliding off him and leaving him boneless and satiated.

Jamie swallowed, taking every last drop, his eyes blissed out and rapturous like he was receiving a sacrament. Roy wondered for a moment what it would be like to haul Jamie into his lap and lick the taste of himself out of his mouth, salty and bitter with the combined taste of them both.

He had meant to reciprocate this time, he really had — he wasn't a total arsehole — but Jamie had pulled away and already had a hand shoved into his pants, working himself off.

Roy took in the view: Jamie's heaving chest, the beads of sweat at his temples, the way he was jerking himself hard and fast, the perfect o of his mouth as it fell open. Before he'd had his fill of looking, Jamie was coming in shaky bursts, eyes scrunched shut and breath ragged.

He collapsed against Roy's leg, and Roy stroked a gentle hand through his hair, petting him as his breath slowed.

The night was warm, and the breeze carried the scent of the sea, and Jamie's hair was like white sand running through his fingers.