Chapter Text
They’ve been together for two full months now, and in that time, Roy has only spent one half-night apart from Jamie Tartt. (They’d both had a bad day, Jamie gone dickish and confrontational, Roy gone sullen and withdrawn. When Jamie snapped about having to dig yet another fucking furball out of his tub drain before he could shower, Roy’d angrily yanked his pillow out of the bed and said he was sleeping on the couch. It took him an eternity to fall asleep, but somewhere in the night, he dropped so hard that he felt surprisingly well-rested upon climbing back into consciousness, even in spite of Jamie’s slightly-too-short-for-a-full-grown-man couch. When he woke enough to register the firm weight of Jamie’s arm curled around his chest, the soft buzz of his snoring against Roy’s neck, and the full, warm length of him squashed tight between Roy’s back and the sofa cushions, Roy understood why he’d managed to sleep so well. Ridiculous man, Roy thought, and kissed Jamie’s knuckles gently, gratefully.)
Anyway, it’s been awful, which is to say that Roy has never been happier, and it’s fucking terrifying. Every time Jamie smiles that toothy, pleased grin at him, there’s a rush of warmth in Roy’s chest, and immediately following, a spike of fear so visceral that it nearly bowls him over, feels impossible to rationalize.
Jamie’s noticed. Of course, Jamie’s noticed. He’s the most observant person Roy’s ever met, which seems like something that shouldn’t be true upon first meeting Jamie, his easy grins, his trusting gaze. It’s also something that makes a bit more sad sense when you learn about his childhood, when you hold him through his panic attacks, both of which Roy has done, his heart aching and pulling towards Jamie. Needless to say, Jamie is always watching, always aware, and worse, he’s always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Roy doesn’t know how to reassure him that it won’t when he can’t even fucking look at his own boyfriend smiling without thinking the same thing.
It's a conundrum, but one that Roy is ready hand off to a higher power.
He calls in the Diamond Dogs.
“I’m fucking terrified when I’m with Jamie,” Roy says, once they all stop barking at him.
Ted blinks at him, surprised and, if Roy didn’t know better, slightly amused.
“Is it his new haircut?” Higgins asks gently. “Because I admit I was a bit alarmed myself when I saw it for the first time.”
“What?” Roy asks, frowning. “No. Isaac made him look like a queer Patrick Swayze. I fucking love it.”
Beard nods seriously.
“Roadhouse era,” he says. “I see it.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Ted says. “You say his haircut makes him look like a queer Patrick Swayze, but I always thought that Mr. Swayze—rest in peace—was at least familiar with Dorothy if not an outright friend of hers.”
Ted turns to Beard as though for confirmation. Beard shrugs.
“He was very graceful,” Higgins offers. “Almost androgynous with his movement.”
“What?” Roy asks, bewildered. “Who the fuck is Dorothy?”
“Being a friend of Dorothy is a euphemism for being gay,” Trent explains. “But much to the chagrin of my teenaged fantasies, no, I don’t believe Patrick Swayze was queer.”
“Although you might say he was a friend to friends of Dorothy,” Nate adds. “He did that beautiful film about drag queens and trans women with Wesley Snipes and John Leguizamo. What was it called?”
“To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar,” Beard says, and Nate snaps, waggles a finger at him.
“Yes, that’s it. Thank you.”
“Can we get back on fucking track, please?” Roy barks, feeling like he’s the ball everyone’s playing ping-pong with. “Jamie terrifies me!”
The coaching office goes quiet, and Roy watches the others look around at one another, trying to decide who’s going to be the first to broach the issue. It’s Beard.
“Why?” he asks simply, flatly.
“I don’t fucking know!” Roy bursts. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Things are fucking great. I mean, fucking great.”
“Erk, heh, don’t need the details,” Ted says, cringing a bit.
Roy ignores him. He never fucking gives details.
“But it’s,” Roy starts, then breathes out a frustrated breath.
He sees Jamie through the window, laughing at something on Sam’s phone with his nose crunched up, elbowing him then gesturing wildly with excitement. Roy feels his shoulders relax a bit, even as his stomach tightens.
He goes on, “Every time I look at him being happy and beautiful and fucking perfect, this wave of…of dread crashes into me.”
“What are you dreading?” Higgins asks, frowning.
Roy grits his teeth, watches Jamie point at Sam’s screen. He runs a hand back through his mullet/mohawk/sexy-fucking-chop-job, then glances up to meet Roy’s gaze. He smiles, warmer than how he’d looked at Sam, and Roy smiles back, warmer than he thinks he’s probably looked at anyone ever, save for maybe Phoebe.
Roy waits until Jamie has turned back towards Sam to speak.
“The day he realizes he’s too good for me,” he says, and it’s an inevitability to his mind. “It’s going to fucking destroy me.”
There’s a thick, heavy silence in the office, and Roy can’t look at any of them.
“Hoo boy,” Ted breathes finally.
Ted pushes himself up out of his chair and crosses the short distance to stand beside Roy. Roy doesn’t take his eyes off Jamie.
“Roy,” Ted says. Roy glances at him but finds he can’t hold his gaze. Ted doesn’t seem to mind, just puts his hand firm and warm on Roy’s shoulder. “I’m only gonna say this once, because I truly believe that even the strongest of friendships can only handle small doses of the kind of truth bomb I’m about to drop on you.”
Roy raises an eyebrow. Ted squeezes his shoulder.
“You are about to self-sabotage your way out of the most fulfilling relationship you’ve ever had,” Ted says.
Roy whips his head around to stare at Ted. Ted looks ready for it, is staring right back in that earnest, serious way of his. Roy’s mouth opens and closes.
“I’m not—” Roy starts, then stops. “We don’t—”
Ted interrupts, puts Roy out of his misery.
“Let me ask you this, Roy,” he says, still squeezing Roy’s shoulder. “Has Jamie given any indication that he’s unhappy in your relationship?”
Roy considers this. There’s been the usual level of name-calling. That fight about the hair in the drain. Jamie had complained of being too hot while they slept last night.
“Well, no, but—”
“And aside from the fear,” Ted says, interrupting again. “Are you happy in your relationship?”
Roy considers this. There’s been the usual level of name-calling, which Roy sort of loves, the fact that Jamie feels comfortable enough to be a brat with him, to tease him. There was that fight about the hair in the drain, which Jamie had ended by worming his way onto the too-small couch and snuggling up against Roy, couldn’t sleep without him, he’d said the next morning. And Jamie had been too hot last night, but he’d kicked the blankets away rather than peel apart from Roy.
“Yes,” Roy says. “I’m happy.”
Ted hums. “Then it’s like my mama always says, Roy. You knock on enough doors asking for the devil, he’s bound to answer eventually.”
“My mum used to say not to go borrowing trouble,” Higgins says, nodding sagely.
“That’s a good one, too,” Ted says. Then, he looks around at the other Diamond Dogs. “Anyone wanna do the honours, bring us home?” he asks.
“Pull your head out of your arse?” Nate guesses, but Ted shakes his head.
“Not quite what I was thinking, but probably also applicable,” Ted says. “Coach Beard?”
“Grow up, and get over it,” Beard says, less unsure than Nate had been, but still earning a head shake from Ted.
“No, but I appreciate the callback.”
Beard tips his hat.
Across the room, Trent speaks.
“A life lived in fear isn’t lived at all,” he says, voice quiet.
Ted puts his finger on his nose and points at Trent, grinning.
“That’s the one,” he says. “And far more poetic than I’d have phrased it. Well done, Trent.”
Trent nods graciously, and Ted turns back to Roy.
“Talk to Jamie. Let him reassure you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. Y’all are two halves of a beautiful partnership, remember? Only you can prevent forest fires.”
Roy blinks at Ted.
“I was following until the fire bit,” Roy says.
“Well, that was the last thing I said, so you got most of it,” Ted says, smiling. “Anything else on your mind?”
“No,” Roy says, moving for his own office and hiking his bag onto his shoulder. “This is still fucking weird.”
“Duly noted. Meeting adjourned,” Ted says.
The room goes up in yips and barks, Roy giving his customary, flat woof before pulling open the door to the locker room. He hesitates before stepping through.
“Thanks,” he says, turning back to them.
Ted smiles, nods.
The locker room has mostly cleared out by then, but Jamie’s still sitting on the square pedestal in the middle, chatting with Sam.
“You ready, Tartt?” Roy asks, coming to stand beside him.
Jamie looks up and smiles at him. There’s the warmth, and the fear, and Roy offers his hand out to Jamie anyway. (They hadn’t planned on disclosing their relationship to the whole team quite so soon, but they’d only made it four days before Will found them in the boot room sucking desperately at each others’ faces. Will was a fucking locked vault, but he’d gotten twitchy enough anytime Roy was in the room—like he’d thought Roy would beat the shit out of him for having seen their intimate moment—that everyone was suspicious anyway, and Jamie convinced Roy it was kinder to just admit their relationship to the team than to let Will panic-flee anytime Roy got too close. Besides, they weren’t really afraid of what the Greyhounds would say. It had still been awkward as hell to announce, but mostly just for Roy, and mostly just for the fact that no one had seemed all that surprised when Jamie stepped into Roy’s side like he belonged there. Jan Maas even had the balls to say he’d thought they’d been together since Amsterdam.)
Jamie bumps Sam’s shoulder before taking Roy’s hand.
“Later, mate,” he says, grinning.
“Bye, Jamie. Bye, coach,” Sam says.
Roy gives Sam a parting nod and walks hand-in-hand with Jamie through the halls of AFC Richmond. It’s sort of incredible.
“Heard you lot barking in there,” Jamie says after a moment, turning to Roy with an eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just,” Roy starts, then sighs.
He squeezes Jamie’s fingers. Thinks about telling him how scared he is, how close he constantly feels to fucking this whole incredible thing up. Then, he thinks about how his heart has always been too much to hold, how he doesn’t want to burden Jamie—beautiful, caring Jamie—by dumping all his stupid insecurities on him.
He tries for something in the middle, asks, “You’ll tell me if you’re ever unhappy, won’t you?”
Jamie scoffs.
“When have I ever not?” he says, grinning impishly.
And it’s true. Anything Jamie’s ever needed, ever wanted, he’s only ever had to ask it of Roy. Jamie had a sudden craving for his mum’s shepherd’s pie for dinner? Roy was already calling Georgie for the recipe and adding items to the shopping list. Jamie’s lucky boots were wearing out and were hell on his arches? Roy was there with the baby lotion and a killer foot rub. Jamie’s new facewash had broken him out and he felt ugly? Roy was whispering praises into his skin, reminding him over and over how wanted he is, how fucking gorgeous he is.
It isn’t just the trivial things, either. Jamie says even teasingly being called an idiot reminds him of his father, makes him feel two inches tall, and Roy apologises, never utters the word again. Jamie says it’s invalidating when Roy jumps straight into problem-solving mode whenever he vents about something, and Roy takes to asking if he just wants an ear or if he wants solutions before responding. Jamie says he needs Roy to wait about cleaning up after sex, and Roy lies there drying in their own sticky mess and holds him until Jamie feels safe enough to separate.
Any potential problem is headed off at the pass when Jamie tells Roy what he needs, and it eases something in Roy’s chest, knowing that he can trust Jamie to do that. It suddenly feels like something of a betrayal, being afraid when Jamie has only ever built him safe, caring boundaries.
He wants to apologise, but Roy’s not even sure he’d be able to explain why he was doing so. He tries to take Jamie at his word instead, believe what he says and trust that nothing’s going unsaid.
He tries to take Jamie on his actions, too. When they reach the end of the hallway, still holding hands, Jamie only lets go to step ahead and hold the door open for Roy, chattering easily all the while about the tamale recipe Dani promised to teach him.
It makes Roy’s heart do a funny little flutter, seeing the care wrapped up in that one tiny action of Jamie holding the door open for him. Then, his heart threatens to damn near burst from his chest when Jamie steps through the door after him and immediately reclaims Roy’s hand, despite being only a few paces away from the car where they’ll certainly have to let go again.
Jamie doesn’t even seem to notice what he’s done. He just walks on across the carpark, talking and holding Roy’s hand, being the same kind of thoughtlessly thoughtful that made Roy realize he wanted more with Jamie in the first place.
Roy can’t help it. He tugs Jamie to a stop and steps into his space. Jamie’s eyes go from confused to eager in a split second, and when Roy kisses him, slow, sweet, Jamie nearly melts under the touch. He blinks dazedly when Roy pulls away.
“What’s that for?” Jamie asks, his cheeks darkening a bit. Roy thumbs across them.
“Wanted to,” Roy says, shrugging.
Jamie ducks his head, smiling bashfully.
“Alright,” he says.
Then, he turns and opens the car door for Roy.
No one he’s ever dated has opened his car door for him. It’s stupid to be so touched by the gesture, Roy knows that. But his chest is feeling stupidly full of Jamie-warmth, and it takes everything in Roy not to drop to his knees right there in the AFC Richmond carpark and suck Jamie down to the base. He manages, but only by swearing to himself that he’ll barely let Jamie get through the front door before springing on him. He imagines it the whole drive, his hand clenched tight on Jamie’s thigh.
When they pull into Jamie’s neighbourhood, Jamie lets out a small, stunned breath, his gaze falling on Roy’s crotch.
“Mate,” he says, his eyes widening with glee. “Is that a fucking chub I see?”
Roy growls, presses harder into the accelerator.
The front door is not, in fact, fully closed before Roy is on Jamie.