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English
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Published:
2021-09-11
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1/1
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Good

Summary:

"Let us take care of you, yeah?"

Notes:

No spoilers, but in my mind this definitely takes place after/is heavily influenced by episode 2x08, "Man City." (As well as every other Roy/Jamie interaction this season...)

Enormous thanks to Siria for not only helping to inspire but also betaing this and making every line better.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

On special occasions, when Keeley used to bring out the strap, it was always when he really needed it. She just knew. He would kneel, waiting patiently, while she put on the harness, and if he was good she would pet his hair and let him kiss her sparkly pink cock. Jamie wanted to be good. Truly. But in the end he weren’t good enough for Keeley Jones.

Hard to argue with that, really. Especially when the competition was Roy fucking Kent. Even this old, sad bastard version—a shadow of the man from Jamie’s childhood bedroom wall. How was a miserable little fuckup like him supposed to challenge that?

But he had it wrong again, didn’t he? He wasn’t supposed to challenge. He was supposed to submit.

Of course that wasn’t how Keeley put it. Keeley with her soft hands and her lovely familiar smell, drawing him close and whispering, “Let us take care of you, yeah?”

But it was the weight of Roy’s big hand against his shoulder blades that really undid him. That rough but merciful push. He stumbled and it was a relief to come down on his knees on the edge of the mattress. “Are you going to do as she fucking says?”

“Yes,” said Jamie. He could feel Roy looming over him and the loom alone made him hard. Roy Kent used to loom over him from the wall as he touched himself, when touching himself was still surprising and shameful. After a while, he had realized he could make the shame worse, yet also make it feel better, if he stole glances Roy’s way, watched that dark face glaring down at him in his Chelsea blues. He was bad but he wanted to be good.

“I’ll be good,” he told Roy now.

Keeley was fiddling in the familiar drawer. “I used to have him go down on me first,” she said brightly, grinning in Roy’s direction, “make him earn it a bit.” Then she turned to him. “Would you like to do that for Roy?” she asked. “Make him feel welcome while I get ready?”

“You sure?” Roy asked Keeley, even as Jamie swallowed and said, “Yeah, all right.”

“Just be sure to angle yourselves so I’ve got a view,” Keeley told them, fingers dancing through the air like she was conducting an orchestra or something. Roy seemed to be able to follow her better than he did, because suddenly his hands were back, warm on Jamie’s shoulders. Businesslike, he hauled Jamie around to sit with his feet on the floor. Jamie shivered at the feeling of those rough fingers on the back of his neck, then brushing along the curve of his jaw, tilting his chin up.

“You want this?” He looked Jamie dead in the eyes as he asked it.

Jamie felt pinned to the bed. Somehow he managed a nod.

“You can stop anytime,” Roy said, and released him.

Jamie waited as he efficiently shucked his shirt and trousers. Jamie had seen him naked in the locker room, of course, but he hadn’t looked; he still could barely bring himself to look. He got a sense of Roy’s heft, of the thick, dark hair on his chest, and had to force his gaze down, to focus it on the dick he was about to suck: somehow that was easier. Especially when he had Roy’s deep voice, rumbling in his ear: “How do you want it? You want me to feed it to you?”

“Oh, he likes that,” said Keeley, as if Jamie weren’t already nodding, straining forward with his lips parted. He began to pant, thinking about how easily they’d figured him out. Knew what he needed.

“That’s good,” said Roy, and the blunt head of his cock was against Jamie’s mouth. Jamie kissed it like he used to kiss Keeley’s silicon cock—but Roy was warm and alive; Jamie could smell and taste him: an overwhelming whirl of sensations as he opened his lips and let Roy push inside. He felt thick fingers twine into the hair at the back of his neck and he nearly sobbed; he could imagine a few seconds ahead, to Roy making him take it too deep, making him choke, and he loved the idea, a little.

But Roy didn’t let him off so easy. He started petting Jamie’s head, murmuring a rush of soft fucks, mixed with other words that Jamie could barely stand to hear: “Fuck, that’s good. What a clever fucking mouth. Finally found a good fucking use for it, haven’t we?”

Jamie felt the bed dip beside him: Keeley. She gave his shoulder an encouraging rub. “You both look lovely,” she said. “Like a painting.” She made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe I should take a course.”

Jamie knew his cheeks were flaming; even Roy’s rhythm stuttered a bit. A small growl emerged from his throat and Jamie had to dig his nails into his thighs to keep from touching himself.

“Sorry, we can discuss that later,” said Keeley. “Roy, I think you should finish on Jamie’s face.”

Roy’s hips stuttered again. Jamie could feel a line of drool escaping down his chin. If he ever got to do this again, he thought maybe he could be bad: make him lose control, really use him. He clenched his hands on his thighs.

“You want me to come on your face?” Roy asked him, peering down, and Jamie could only bob his head. He tried to bite back the little keen he made when Roy’s cock slipped out of his mouth. Roy gasped too, which was— fuck. He tilted his head up, wanting to watch as Roy bit his lip and stroked himself, stroked his cock still wet with Jamie’s saliva until he let out a deep guttural groan and— Instinct Jamie couldn’t subdue made him shut his eyes so he only felt the hot come splash against his lips and nose and cheeks. He did kind of wish that Keeley would paint this—or that she would take a video, post it on Instagram for everyone to see… Shame rolled through him and he opened his eyes, panting. He wanted to see himself but the stunned look on Roy’s face, staring down: it was almost as good.

As was—no, it was beyond, watching Roy sink to his knees. He took Jamie’s face in his hands again, big thumbs swiping spunk away from his eyes, over his cheekbones. “Fucking extraordinary,” he breathed. “You little shit. Come here.”

Tugging Jamie forward by the back of the neck, kissing him—Jamie felt dizzy, a puppet with his strings cut. He watched, feeling dopey, doped, as Roy leaned over and kissed Keeley next. They looked good together, natural, and it stung but didn’t sting. Perhaps it was hard to feel jealous with Keeley’s side pressed up against his side, with Roy’s hand on his thigh and his come all over his face.

Keeley seemed to remember at the same time: she pulled back and said, “Here, let me take care of that” and produced a damp cloth with which she gently and efficiently cleaned Jamie’s face. Like some of Jamie’s friends’ mums growing up, the ones with the big handbags full of everything. Magical Mary Poppins bags. Keeley was basically a handbag mum, but sexier. She even said, “there,” when she was done, and pinched his cheek, then stood up so he could see her in all her glory: lacy red teddy, sparkly pink harness, and matching sparkly pink cock.

“Fuck me,” said Roy. “Now who’s a painting?”

Keeley preened. “You know I’m always happy to,” she said, giving Roy’s hand a squeeze, “but right now it’s Jamie’s turn. He’s been such a patient boy.”

“I have,” Jamie asserted, because he felt like he’d earned it. And Keeley liked him to be a little bit naughty while he took her cock.

“Strip off, hands and knees,” she told him, and he scurried to comply. He could feel Roy watching him, and it made his heart race, but he had to keep going, tugging down his briefs so Roy could see how hard he was—hard and leaking just from sucking Roy’s cock, from letting Roy come on him.

And he knew he looked good. He did still know that, most days. He’d probably be able to remember it for weeks now, twined with the memory of Keeley smiling at him, of Roy’s little growl of affirmation as Jamie lifted his ass and dropped his head. He felt Keeley press a kiss to the curve of his spine.

“I hope you know I did miss this, Jamie,” she said. “You were often so good for me.”

Not good enough, he thought, before forcing the thought down, away—forcing himself back on Keeley’s fingers and feeling that instead. “I’ll show you,” she was continuing brightly, talking to Roy now, “and maybe next time, you can do it.”

A thrill of heat raced up Jamie’s spine. There was a roaring in his ears: he could barely make out Keeley’s patient instructions, but he knew she was describing to Roy how she was working him open, stretching him so he could take her cock. Roy was making attentive noises. Jamie clenched at the sheets. “Oi,” he said, “enough playing tour guide back there. Are you going to fuck me or what?”

“Cheeky,” said Keeley, and slapped his. “Go ahead,” she told Roy, “he likes it.”

Jamie felt himself start to sweat. He could sense Roy’s hesitation—something he would never have imagined, had he imagined this. He swallowed. “Yeah, give us a spank. Know you’ve been dying to.”

Roy didn’t have to be told twice. A solid thwack that sent his hips stuttering forward. And Jamie could tell it was him without looking: the hand so much bigger, the force stronger—but still restrained, still holding back, and Jamie wasn’t sure if he was grateful or furious.

“Come on, old man. Is that all you’ve—”

Roy slapped him again, then pinched the skin he’d just stung. Jamie felt his arms go liquid; he had to fight to keep himself up. “Give it to him, Keeley,” Roy growled. “Little shit’s clearly desperate for it.”

“Yeah, come on,” Jamie said. “Else I’ll be as old as he is by the time you’re done and all.”

“Brat,” was Roy’s only comment. It made him shiver—and made Keeley laugh. She was still giggling as she lined up and pushed into him—the stretch were dead good; it was everything he’d remembered. And then some: he could still hear Roy, still smell him; and then the grip on his hips shifted and he realized he was being held in place by two sets of hands, Keeley’s fingers intertwined with Roy’s as they gripped him for Keeley to thrust. He moaned and almost collapsed again, and Roy said, “It’s all right, drop to your elbows if you have to. I’ll make you do proper fucking pushups later if you’re concerned about your prowess.”

He let out a sob and buried his face against the bed. “Shh shh shh, you’re doing so well, Jamie,” Keeley said. The head of her cock struck his prostate, again and again. “Roy, give him a hand?”

“Anything for you, love.” He could hear them kiss—a long, liquid moment in which Jamie hung suspended (not to mention hung literally off of Keeley’s cock). Then Roy’s big hand was enveloping his own twitching prick. “Go on, you can fuck my hand as she fucks you.”

But Jamie barely got more than a couple of strokes in before his back was arching and he was coming apart, pinned between them both.

He felt, more than saw, Keeley stretch out beside him. The harness he heard thunk to the floor; then Roy was there, above them both, licking between Keeley’s thighs as she let out those hiccoughy little moans he remembered so well, that he had always strived for. Roy drew them out with joyful ease while Jamie lay there, bleary-eyed and panting. Keeley reached over and took his hand.

After Keeley had finished she let out a blissful sigh. “That was lovely,” she said. “Wasn’t it, Jamie?”

Jamie could only manage an affirmative grunt. His brain still felt separate from his body, which he did not entirely mind.

Keeley’s chatter washed over him like warm bath. “Roy, come up here, have a bask with us. We all deserve a nice bask, after that.”

A growl emerged from between Roy’s teeth. “Bed’s too small.”

Jamie saw her reach her arms out, beckoning. “Not for a puppy pile. C’mere.”

Jamie stiffened, then relaxed against the feeling of suddenly being covered by a Roy-shaped blanket.

“This is ridiculous,” the blanket said.

“I like it,” said Keeley. “At least temporarily. You’re all toasty-warm.”

Jamie tried not to let his mind seize on the word temporarily. He’d liked it better when his brain wasn’t doing anything. He wanted to go back to that, to stay safe under his Roy-blanket, engulfed in sweet Keeley-scent. Ridiculous, just like the man himself said, but…

“We can always buy a bigger bed,” Keeley said sleepily, and Jamie drifted off still clinging to the fantasy that this time he’d shown himself to be good enough, that they would keep him.