Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roy could watch Jamie run all day.

As a centre mid, he has the stamina to outlast anyone on the team. Bumbercatch is the only Richmond player who can compare, but the margin is wide.

During training, Jamie wears some of the tiniest shorts Roy has ever seen, leaving miles of toned thighs and calves on display. He can take endless laps, outpacing everyone else and still going strong when Coach Beard blows the whistle for them to stop. The others are sweaty and gasping, but Jamie looks loose and happy, like he could run a thousand more laps. Sweat beading at his temples and nape is the only sign of exertion.

During matches, Jamie is a beast. He tracks up and down the pitch between the penalty boxes, sidestepping opponents without a second thought.

Roy has seen Jamie pivot between offense and defense so fast it makes his head spin. When Jamie snags the ball, he drives forward to the opponent's goal like a tank, setting up shots for Roy or Dani.

If the other team has possession, Jamie can put on a burst of speed for a tackle, chasing down the opponent to recover the ball.

After winning matches, Jamie is hot and sweaty but still wired with adrenaline. Like an overexcited puppy. Roy is tempted to take him to a park and play fetch until Jamie is worn out.

But once Jamie is showered and fed and finally exhausted, Roy drives them home and tucks Jamie into bed beside him. He'll sleep like a rock for ten hours, then get up and do it all again tomorrow.

* * *

Jamie is still a little starstruck by Roy.

After all, he's Roy Kent. One of the best strikers in the league. Scouted by Sunderland when he was nine years old for his raw talent, won the Championships with Chelsea, and now determined to make Richmond into a real team. Add tall, dark, and handsome to the mix and Jamie is swooning.

On the pitch, Roy has a quick temper and can brawl with the best of them. But when he's about to take a shot, he blocks everything out and has an air of absolute calm. It's a deadly combination that makes Roy almost unbeatable.

Roy’s footwork is immaculate. He dekes out the opponent's defenders before they realize he's there and lines up an implausible shot. The ball snicks cleanly into the net and the crowd erupts into chaos.

It's all Jamie can do not to throw himself at Roy and kiss him soundly on the mouth, crowd be damned.

Jamie watches as Roy scores again and again, jumping around and hollering with the lads to celebrate each time. Then when he and Roy get home and are finally alone, Jamie makes up for all the missed kisses.

Chapter Text

Roy knows what’s in the envelope before he opens it. There’s a lad from down the road who was called up last week, and Roy knew it was only a matter of time until it was his turn.

He rips open the top to reveal blocky letters.

NOTICE OF CONSCRIPTION

Fuck.

* * *

His sister knows as soon as she gets in from work. She doesn’t cry, but Roy sees her chin wobble before she can turn away.

He promises to send back his pay. Nurses’ wages are scant, so it will help cover rent and groceries, at least.

Roy knows she’ll be alright. She’s had to be resilient, bringing up Phoebe on her own. But still, he can’t bear to leave them.

* * *

It takes Roy two days to build up the nerve to tell Jamie.

Immediately, Jamie says, “I’m going to enlist.”

“Fuck, no!”

Roy has heard about the trenches. There’s no way he’s letting Jamie end up there, no less as a volunteer.

Jamie opens his mouth like he’s about to argue but Roy interrupts him.

“Stay here and be safe. Keep an eye on my sister. And give me something to come home to.”

Jamie still looks unhappy, but he nods tersely.

Roy softens. “Anyways, it will be over before you can enlist. I’ll be back by Christmas.”

He reaches out to hold Jamie’s hand, thumb stroking over his knuckles. Everything will be fine. It has to be.

* * *

The night before he ships out, Roy stays with Jamie. It’s a rare treat. They’re always cautious not to appear too affectionate in public, or to be seen disappearing behind closed doors together too frequently. Companionship that was excused in boyhood is no longer tolerated.

Jamie knows that Roy’s sister and niece need him but cannot begrudge himself this selfishness. To hold Roy, to breathe in his scent. Jamie pretends it will be enough to tide him over until Roy returns.

Gentle kisses escalate into passionate ones. Roy kisses Jamie like he’s trying to consume him, and Jamie presses close against him, as if he could sink under Roy’s skin and they could be one creature. When Jamie’s hips cant against his, Roy urges him onward, drawing him right up to the very edge.

“Will you wait for me?”

“Yes,” Jamie gasps, “I’m yours. Only yours.”

That’s all it takes for them to finish.

* * *

They say their goodbyes at Jamie’s since he can’t come to the station with Roy.

Jamie cries. It breaks Roy’s heart.

All he can do is hold Jamie and rub his back as he collects himself, breath shuddering.

“Just come back,” Jamie mumbles into Roy’s shoulder.

“I will.” Roy desperately hopes he isn’t lying.

Chapter Text

“Hey Roy, do you want to go for dinner at Bar None?”

From the next room, Roy can hear Jamie digging through the closet in the front hall. Then there’s a triumphant sound and Jamie appears in the doorway. He has his left shoe on his foot, and the right shoe in his hand, probably retrieved from the small avalanche of shoes in the closet.

“Why don’t I just cook,” Roy says, looking up from his book. “There’s chicken in the fridge that needs to be used. And I can make those little potatoes you like.”

Roy isn’t lying. There’s a pack of chicken thighs in the fridge. He’s just avoiding the whole truth.

“But we never go out.”

“Then ask Keeley. Maybe she’ll go.” Roy realizes his mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Jamie frowns, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. “You don’t want to go out with me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You just told me to call someone else!”

Roy can’t think of how to tell Jamie that he touched a nerve that Roy had been trying very hard to ignore. Now Jamie is upset, and Roy knows it’s his fault and he’s scrambling for something to explain it away.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I –”

“What else could that possibly mean!”

“It’s not about you, Jamie! Just leave it! Please!”

The room is thick with tense silence. Roy feels like he’s been backed into a corner.

“Fuck.” He puts his head in his hands. “Fuck.”

“What’s happening, Roy?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

There’s silence again. Jamie waits.

“I can’t eat in front of people.”

Jamie opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then tries again, “You eat in front of me all the time.”

“That’s just – it’s different. I know you.”

“It’s just around strangers?”

Roy nods, looking miserable. “Mostly. Sometimes I can’t eat stuff if I don’t know exactly what’s in it. It’s easier if I cook things myself.”

That makes a little more sense to Jamie. He knows what it’s like in the on-season, having to stick to the meal plan and keep track of macros and all that.

Roy rubs his face. “Fuck, I used to be worse. I had to see someone about it at Chelsea.”

Things were bad enough that one of the assistant coaches noticed and told the manager, who sent him to a sports psychologist. It helped. But it’s not easy to let go of something you’ve obsessed over for thirty years. Roy still considers it a miracle that nothing got leaked to the press.

Jamie is still absorbing everything Roy said. Roy has always been the backbone of every team he’s been on. It’s hard to imagine him struggling with anything.

“You can still call Keeley if you want,” Roy says. “I’m fine.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Maybe another time. I’d rather stay in. Will you still make those little potatoes?”

Chapter Text

“I won’t fight anymore. Without me, the Trojans will crush your army. And until you award me the accolades that are due, I will savour your suffering.”

Jamie turns away from Agamemnon and strides back towards his camp, Roy hot on his heels, and the Myrmidons following close behind.

The rest of the Greeks mutter about hot-headed boys. Surely Jamie will not be able to resist the call of the battlefield and will change his mind.

* * *

Jamie does not change his mind.

He and Roy spend idle hours enjoying the respite. Jamie fashions a ball from scraps of leather and they kick it back and forth between them. He dodges around obstacles and awards himself points for arbitrary achievements, using any available trees as goalposts. Roy indulges his playful mood.

They’re both sweaty from running, so they strip down and wade into the sea. The water is cool, and the waves are gentle as they splash around. When Roy is tired, he floats on his back, staring at the cerulean sky and pretending there is no war. Jamie has boundless energy, so he swims laps parallel to the shore and dives to the seabed to retrieve shells and pebbles. Once, he resurfaces with a thrashing silver fish, whooping with delight at his own agility. The fish is too small to eat, so Jamie gently returns it to the sea.

In the evening, Roy prepares their meal while Jamie plucks at his lyre. He starts to sing a simple tune from Phthia, his voice clear and full.

They sit by the fire until it burns low. The shadows creep in from all sides as dusk turns to night. They can hear the Myrmidons laughing and bickering amongst themselves around their own fires. When their fire finally turns to smouldering ashes, Roy dumps a handful of sand over the pit.

They head for the tent, closing the flap behind them. It is a meager barrier, but it is the most privacy that can be found in the camp. Jamie takes advantage of their seclusion and plasters himself to Roy’s front. His kisses are insistent as he muscles Roy over to the bed.

Jamie’s skin is still warm from the sun. Roy pours a bit of oil into his palm and massages it into the smooth skin of Jamie’s inner thighs. Where Roy has dark hair, Jamie’s thighs are covered in fine peach fuzz. Jamie shivers pleasantly at the touch and the cool temperature.

Roy pushes into the tight, hot space between Jamie’s thighs. He wraps his hand around Jamie, earning a quiet groan. They move together in practiced synchronization. It’s good and they’re both tired, so neither of them last long.

* * *

They get two days of leisure.

Bad news from the Greeks makes its way into the Myrmidon camp. First, it’s a trickle, small losses and minor injuries. Then it’s a flood. The Trojans have advanced to the edge of the Greek camps. There are ever increasing deaths, including a Greek king and his son. The soldiers no longer whisper when they speak of Jamie’s absence from the battlefield.

Roy knows there is a fine line here. For now, the Greeks see Jamie as a hero who can save them all. But if the slaughter continues, they will curse him for not intervening.

He tells Jamie.

“I will not fight,” Jamie insists.

“But they’re dying!”

Jamie shrugs. “Until they beg for my forgiveness, let them win without me or die trying.”

* * *

The next day, Roy pleads with Jamie.

Jamie refuses again.

Unwilling to watch the Greeks be massacred, Roy suggests an alternative.

“What if I lead the Myrmidons? I’ll wear your armour, and your name alone will send the Trojans running. It will show the Greeks how desperately they need you!”

Jamie considers it. “And you promise you will not fight?”

“Yes. I am no warrior.”

Jamie acquiesces. He calls for the Myrmidons to ready themselves, then helps Roy into his armour. It is ostentatious, elaborate and polished to a shine. The Trojans will recognize it immediately.

Before he steps into the chariot, Roy turns to Jamie. “This will work.”

“Be careful,” Jamie says solemnly. “Return to me.”

* * *

But that isn't how the story goes.

Roy's body is returned on a litter, wrapped in a shroud. Blood has soaked the material around his stomach, where Hector’s spear struck him.

Jamie falls to his knees and howls in rage. His cry seems to shake the world, as if it were ripping in half.

When Jamie rises, his eyes are flat. “I am going to kill Hector.”

He prays that he and Hector deal each other fatal blows. With Roy dead, Jamie knows he will not be far behind.

Chapter Text

Ever since Keeley broke up with him at the charity ball, Jamie felt Roy watching him. Maybe it’s just because Roy is the captain and he’s keeping an eye on Jamie’s athletic progress, but it feels like more than that. But Jamie can’t think of a way to ask without sounding like an idiot, so he doesn’t. And anyways, the only way Jamie can tell Roy is looking is because he’s looking right back at Roy. So, they’re at a stalemate.

Jamie isn’t proud of it, but he shows off a bit when he can feel the weight of Roy’s attention. He stands a little straighter, runs a little faster, kicks the ball a little harder. As long as he’s improving, does it really matter why?

And if he’s not much for one-night stands with long-legged girls from the bars, Jamie chalks it up to not wanting lurid pictures of himself splashed across The Sun.

And when he goes to bed alone and dreams about dark eyes watching him and callused hands on his body, Jamie doesn’t think too hard about it. It’s nothing.

* * *

Then there’s the night of Lasso’s reverse the curse ceremony at Richmond. Jamie brings his football boots and actually participates; lays bare a tiny piece of himself. Everyone looks at him while he’s talking, but Roy is staring openly. There’s a little crease between his eyebrows like he’s thinking hard. Jamie suppresses a shiver that runs up his spine.

The team goes out to the bonfire, and they sing and drink the good tequila that Dani brought. Jamie feels like maybe he finally belongs somewhere. Like he could have a home here.

All the while, Roy watches him.

The lads start drifting away in threes and fours, headed to bars and nightclubs. Jamie walks back inside with Dani but declines to go out for a drink. Instead, he finds himself in the training room. He turns the treadmill on low and just walks for a bit. He’s a little buzzed from the tequila but not drunk.

Then Roy is in the doorway and now Jamie is the one staring. He feels likes he’s been caught doing something wrong even though players are allowed in the club day or night.

“What are you still doing here?” Roy’s voice is gruff.

Jamie shrugs and kind of gestures at the treadmill. “I could ask you the same.”

Roy opens his mouth, then closes it again without saying anything.

Feeling bold, Jamie stops the treadmill and gets off, stepping close into Roy’s personal space, and kisses him on the mouth. And Roy kisses him back.

Then Roy is pulling him closer and they’re stumbling backwards until Jamie is pressed tight between Roy and the wall at his back. They’re still kissing, Roy’s hands cradling either side of Jamie’s face.

Jamie pulls back to catch his breath and Roy lets him go, but stays close so they’re sharing the same air, passing it back and forth between them. Jamie’s whole body is thrumming. He feels like he just found something he hadn’t realized he was missing.

* * *

And then Jamie is sent back to Manchester City.

He is never alone with Roy Kent again.

* * *

Jamie should be grateful. He’s getting good minutes at Man City, and the team is objectively better than Richmond ever was. He’s getting used to winning matches by a wide margin instead of fighting for every goal and using Lasso’s ridiculous trick plays to eke out a win.

But he’s not happy. He’s closed off from his team and coaches. They don’t care what he does, as long as he keeps scoring goals.

He feels like a fool for opening up to everyone at Richmond, to Roy, just for them to send him away. Lasso tricked him and he fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

* * *

The last time he sees Roy in person is the match where AFC Richmond is relegated to the Champions League. Jamie has a breakaway and is about to score when Roy takes his legs out from under him. Roy Kent. The oldest and slowest footballer in the league managed to chase him down. One final humiliation.

So, when Jamie hears that Roy’s knee is well and truly fucked from that tackle and that he’ll have to retire, he relishes the news.

And if Jamie still goes to bed alone and dreams of dark eyes watching him and callused hands cradling his face, then no one needs to know. It’s nothing.

Chapter Text

Jamie remembers when he finally made the connection. In retrospect it had been practically staring him in the face. Of course Roy Kent is a werewolf. Jamie should have known from the first time he saw him in the locker room. Christ, even in his human form Roy practically has a fur coat.

* * *

Only a small proportion of the population have the two alleles required for the recessive lycanthropy phenotype. Most werewolves can undergo normal monthly shifts by reducing stress and conflict during the days leading up to the full moon. But professional athletes fall into a category of careers that are inherently conflict-based. As such, they are required to take suppressants during the on-season to prevent uncontrolled shifting and full moon brawls between opposing teams.

During the off-season, the full moon is a taxing time for Roy. He’s always jittery for a couple nights beforehand, when the moon is waxing and almost, almost full. He can feel his wolf pacing circles and snarling to run free.

At the grocery store, he tries to ignore his wolf’s instinct to buy the biggest, bloodiest steak he can find and eat it raw. But he doesn’t have an appetite for much else, so he leaves empty-handed.

* * *

Jamie has been with Roy through half a dozen off-season full moons, and he loves it every time. Roy gets extra touchy in the days before, keeping Jamie within arm’s reach and gently bumping him with his shoulder or hip as they move around each other.

When Roy gets extra jittery, Jamie pushes him down onto the bed and massages Roy’s shoulders and back until he makes a satisfied rumbly noise in his chest.

Roy also gets very interested in scenting Jamie, pressing his face into Jamie’s throat or armpit or groin and just inhaling his scent, mouth open and breath hot against Jamie’s skin. It was awkward at first, but now Jamie just relaxes into it and listens to Roy breathe.

* * *

Jamie doesn’t hear Roy come back inside after his full moon run, but he wakes up to a warm arm slung around his waist and Roy’s face pressed into the back of his neck. He'll be zonked out for the morning and early afternoon, so Jamie grabs his phone to browse Twitter while he waits for Roy to wake up.

When Jamie shifts position, he can see that Roy didn’t make it to the shower before he passed out. His arms and legs are dirty from running barefoot outside . . . and is that a twig in his hair? Jamie smiles to himself. The bedsheets were overdue for a change anyways.

* * *

When Roy wakes up, Jamie is sitting up in bed next to him, tapping away on his phone. Probably Tweeting or texting Keeley.

Roy closes his eyes again, but Jamie has already seen him.

“Hey Roy?”

Roy grunts.

“Y’know how you can do a partial shift when it’s not the full moon? When you’re not on the suppressants?”

Roy cracks an eye open to look at Jamie. He’s not wrong, but it’s not really a conscious shift. If a werewolf is provoked, there might be a flash of canines or claws, but it’s generally seen as a social faux-pas and a serious lack of control. On the pitch, it will earn you an automatic red card for violent conduct.

Jamie grins wickedly.

“Do you think you could knot me?”

“Fuck, Jamie,” Roy closes his eyes again. “You watch too much porn.”

“But that’s not a no?”

“I’m going back to sleep. It’s too early for this.”

Jamie wiggles until he’s lying down again. “I guess it’s a bit of a grey area before full-out bestiality.”

Roy thinks Jamie sounds far too excited about that. He gets the feeling he won’t be able to avoid this particular conversation forever. But it can wait until later.

Chapter Text

When Roy asked Jamie to move in with him, he expected Jamie to bring more stuff with him. A lot of Jamie’s clothes have already made it to Roy’s, where they fill his closets to bursting. Even Jamie’s collection of shoes is so extensive that Roy had to buy a special shoe cupboard to put by the door.

So when Jamie shows up on his doorstep with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and two cardboard boxes by his feet, Roy is surprised. He cranes his neck to see past Jamie, half expecting to see a moving truck pulling into his driveway. But there isn’t.

“That’s everything?”

Jamie shrugs. “Most of my stuff is here already.”

He brings his boxes inside.

* * *

Roy starts the kettle as Jamie opens the first box. He pulls out an expensive-looking blender and a tub of protein powder and puts them on the kitchen counter.

Next, he removes an even more expensive-looking blow drier and some toiletries. Roy can see the fragrant shampoo and conditioner that Jamie likes, a waxing kit, and a small store’s worth of lotions and oils. Those get moved into the ensuite bathroom upstairs.

From the duffel bag, Jamie removes a stack of video games and a tangle of cords. He dumps them by the TV and console in the living room. Everything else in the duffel is clothes, so Jamie runs upstairs again to put them in the bedroom.

When he gets back downstairs, Roy hands him a mug of tea. Jamie likes his milky, Roy takes his with honey.

Jamie opens the second box and pokes around a bit.

“I guess I don’t really need to unpack this stuff. It’s all from when I first left home.”

Roy feels like he’s missing something. “Don’t you have sheets and towels? Or dishes?”

“No,” Jamie shakes his head. “Furniture and all that stuff was included with the house. I just moved in.”

Roy hums. “Well let’s see what’s in this box, then.”

The first thing Jamie pulls out is a carefully folded Manchester City blanket. Roy makes a face.

“That can stay in the fucking box.”

Jamie grins.

There are a few more things in the box. A framed photo of Jamie’s mother with a small photo of her parents tucked into the corner of the frame. A Gameboy and some loose games. A couple old footballer magazines.

Jamie blushes when he pulls out the last thing. Staring back at Roy, arms crossed and glowering, is himself. He’s about ten years younger and wearing his old Chelsea FC kit. Roy thinks it must be from around the time he won the Champions League with Chelsea.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan.”

“I told you I had a poster of you!” Jamie says indignantly. “And anyways, this is from before you got old and slow.”

Roy puts an arm around Jamie’s waist. “You keep playing footie for another ten years and then we’ll see who’s old and slow.”

Now it’s Jamie’s turn to make a face. He piles everything back into the box, except the photo of his mother and grandparents, which goes onto a bookshelf in the living room.

Roy thinks he might have to buy a poster of Jamie when Richmond wins the Champions League.

Chapter Text

Roy and Beard are about halfway through drills with the team when it starts raining. It’s coming down in sheets as the staff scramble to bring equipment inside. Lasso cheerfully cancels the rest of training, singing a song about robins in the rain as he leaves. If it were anyone else, Roy would think they’d lost their mind, but this is par for the course with Lasso.

Despite the rain, some of the lads stay on the pitch playing 5v5 with their positions shuffled around. From what Roy can see, Jamie is in the goal while Isaac takes shots. They’re all soaked through, but Roy lets them be since they seem to be having fun splashing and sliding around.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Roy is finishing some paperwork in his office when Will rushes in. He’s wide-eyed and dripping wet.

“It’s Jamie.”

That’s all it takes for Roy to drop his papers and pound down the tunnel onto the pitch.

* * *

Will said Jamie slipped on the wet grass while diving to block a goal and landed hard on his outstretched arm. A trip to the hospital reveals he broke his left collarbone and wrist.

Jamie won’t be able to play in any more matches until the physios clear him. And of course it’s his dominant side, so he’ll be completely useless for the next few weeks. Roy has a headache already.

* * *

By the time the discharge papers are ready, Jamie has been securely packaged into a sling and plaster cast for his collarbone and wrist, respectively. Roy helps Jamie get his hoodie on over his head and right arm pushed through the sleeve, leaving his left arm tucked underneath. He leads Jamie to the car, buckles him in, and drives them home.

After another painkiller and a piece of toast, Jamie passes out. Roy updates Lasso then heads up to bed as well.

* * *

Too early the next morning, Roy wakes up to Jamie poking him in the shoulder.

“Roy, I have to pee.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall.” Roy closes his eyes again.

Jamie huffs. “But I’m left-handed.”

Roy is having trouble understanding why that’s relevant. Then he gets it. “I’m not going to hold your dick for you, Jamie. Just sit down to piss.”

* * *

When it’s a reasonable time to wake up, Roy helps Jamie tape a plastic bag over his cast so he can shower. He complains the whole time about having to wash his hair one-handed. Brushing his teeth is another ordeal.

Roy rolls his eyes at Jamie’s whining but makes his tea the way he likes it and helps him get settled on the couch with a cushion for his arm and one of his trashy TV shows on. While Jamie’s hair is still damp, Roy does it into two little braids on the top of his head so it will stay out of his face. For once he’s grateful that Phoebe had wild hair as a toddler.

“I’ll make you soup.”

“I can still eat solid food, Roy. I’m not ill.”

Roy glowers at him. “You’re getting soup.”

* * *

After a week of lounging around the house, Jamie is restless. Lasso told him he could return to training after two weeks as long as he doesn’t overdo it. Roy can’t wait. Jamie’s pacing back and forth is driving him to distraction.

“Why don’t you go have a wank? It might help you relax.”

Jamie groans. “My wrist, Roy.”

“You never switch hands?”

“No.” Jamie scrunches his nose. “It doesn’t feel right.”

Roy rolls his eyes for the millionth time this week. “Want me to help?”

That perks Jamie right up.

Chapter Text

Roy woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Literally. It’s unusual but not earth-shattering. He and Jamie had gone out drinking the night before so maybe that explains it. He trudges over to the bathroom, still half asleep, to splash his face with cold water. His eyes fly open when he feels smooth cheeks.

Jamie Tartt’s beardless face stares back at him in the mirror.

“What the fuck is going on?”

* * *

The first thing they both notice is the body hair. Or in Roy’s case, the sudden lack thereof.

“You’re so smooth, like a fucking dolphin or something.” Roy looks unsettled. Jamie waxes everywhere.

Jamie nods enthusiastically. He’s sort of petting his (Roy’s) chest absentmindedly. “How do you wear this sweater everywhere? Don’t you get hot?”

Roy glowers.

“Oi, don’t do that with my face! You’ll give me wrinkles!”

* * *

Jamie whines all the way down the stairs about Roy’s bad knee.

Roy takes advantage of Jamie’s 20-something-year-old knees and goes for a run. It’s glorious. He comes back after ten kilometres, dripping with sweat.

“Your endurance is shit.”

Jamie sticks out his tongue. “At least my knees work.”

* * *

They decide not to tell anyone about their identity crisis and just wait it out.

Roy makes a stir fry for dinner. Jamie clumsily chops vegetables with his left hand until Roy points out that his body is right-handed.

They’re clearing the table when Jamie asks.

“We’re going to have sex, right?”

Roy shrugs. “If you want to.”

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Roy! I think it might be mandatory to have sex when you swap bodies with someone, as long as it’s not with your dad or your sister or something.”

Roy raises his hands in surrender. “You’ve convinced me. Anyways, I’m sure I can put these knees to good use.”

Chapter Text

Fuck, Roy is tired.

The Greyhounds are playing the Boars tonight, and they’re taking a beating from the league’s most notorious team. The Boars are known for their violent tactics and dirty plays. Their fans join in, jeering at the Greyhounds from the sidelines.

It’s games like these that make Roy wonder why he hasn’t hung up his skates yet.

* * *

By the third period, the Greyhounds are down 2-0. They are almost certainly going to lose this game, but they keep fighting to maintain some dignity.

As captain, Roy has been fishing his players out of fights all night. It seems like every time play gets going, Roy can barely move down the ice before the ref blows the whistle and everything stops again. It makes for a very slow and tedious game.

Colin’s been out since he took a stick to the face in the first period. Somehow the ref decided the Boars didn’t need a high-sticking penalty for that one. In the second period, O’Brien swapped out for Zoreaux after Isaac and one of the Boars collided in the crease and went crashing down onto the goalie.

Roy is hoping they won’t have any more serious injuries before the game is done. Then they can shake hands with these barbarians and get on the bus back to Richmond.

Play starts again and Jamie wins the faceoff, pushing forward down the ice with the puck. He’s making good progress. Dani helps clear some space for him to shoot on goal. Jamie winds up for a slapshot and sends the puck flying into the bottom corner of the net. It’s a clean goal. The buzzer goes off, and the back of the net lights up red.

Out of nowhere a Boar comes from behind and cross-checks Jamie into the boards.

Before Jamie has a chance to get up, Roy is barrelling down the ice. He drops his stick and yanks off his gloves on the way, discarding them on the ice. Roy grabs the Boar by his jersey collar and punches him in the head.

He keeps going as the Greyhounds pound their sticks on the board in encouragement. The Boar gets a few good ones in, but Roy is too amped up to feel them.

It takes two linesmen and a referee to pull them apart. Roy is breathing heavily. He can feel a loose tooth in his mouth.

Jamie skates over and they bump fists.

“That greasy fuck knocked my implant out,” Roy complains. He wiggles the false tooth with his tongue.

Jamie grins at him. “You got him better. I think his nose is broken.”

The ref interrupts to give Roy a penalty. But it’s worth it. Roy collects his gloves and stick on the way to the penalty box.

They still lose, but it’s 2-1 thanks to Jamie’s goal. When the game is over, Lasso doesn’t even reprimand him, just gives him a tight nod and sends him to get his split cheek butterfly stitched closed.

* * *

Once the team is showered and changed, they load onto the bus. Jamie has his ridiculous little headband on. He gestures for Roy to sit beside him.

Jamie pulls out his phone to watch his shitty reality TV shows and Roy opens his book. His left knee is resting against Roy’s right knee.

“Hey Roy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come to yours tonight?”

Roy rolls his eyes. “Of course you can, you prick. You’ve spent the last two nights at mine, and I drove you to the bus this morning. Were you hoping for a formal invitation?”

The little shit just smiles and goes back to his TV show.