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Why Roy had agreed to coach Jamie was incomprehensible.
Yet, here he was, zooming around in the air and observing Jamie on his broom. Jamie hungrily listened to Roy explaining every little detail of how leaning slightly to the left or how the tilt of his feet would lead to the perfect execution of certain tricks and moves. Then, when Jamie performed said moves in the first go, he sent smug smirks at Roy that made it clear that Jamie thought he was outperforming Roy.
Roy admired Jamie’s form; there was no hesitation in the twists and turns he took on his Firebolt. He flew with speed and moved with an elegance Roy had rarely seen.
So perhaps Jamie was better than Roy. Nevermind that Roy had played in several Quidditch World Cups for England and had been playing with the Wimbourne Wasps for two decades, which led them to multiple League wins before he finally retired to teach Quidditch at Hogwarts - only to meet the bane of his life.
That arrogance and self-confidence brought his blood to the boiling point.
Still, nearly four months of being bothered by Jamie every Saturday hadn’t made the cup overflow yet. If Roy had to admit it, he might have grown slightly fond of Jamie. In him, Roy saw something of himself: the eagerness, the drive to be extraordinary.
Roy waved at Jamie, indicating he should land. And the little prick did. With a flourish. He tilted his broom upwards and balanced one foot in the stirrups, while he leant against the handle and crossed his ankles. Slowly, the broom descended and the bristles stopped not even an inch from the grass which let Jamie step down onto the ground as elegantly as he flew.
They walked together across the grass to the locker room. Roy spotted a sea of scarlet making its way onto the pitch. A few of the Gryffindor players had been particularly eager and asked to join in on Roy and Jamie’s training. However, after the first time only Jamie, the ambitious Slytherin that he was, remained as the rest of them realised the brutal training regiment Roy had planned for them. Now they merely watched Jamie and Roy without any jealousy but still a little resentfully.
Roy had told everyone they were welcome to join and this was the only reason McGonagall hadn’t outright told him that teaching Jamie was unethical and that he should stop. It was an equal opportunity the other teams weren’t inclined to take.
Part of the training regiment was daily runs. Both Roy and Jamie were chasers, and their lithe bodies were necessary for keeping speed on a broom. To maintain his cardio, Roy expected Jamie to run every morning. At first, Jamie had loudly complained, saying he wouldn’t run even if his life counted on it. Then, Roy said he would make his life count on it, and chase Jamie until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore and beat him blue and yellow with his broom. At that, Jamie had suddenly agreed.
They left their brooms in the locker room, ready to be polished when they returned from their run.
Under the canopy on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, they kept a steady pace, running in the shade and jumping over gnarly roots that shot out from the ground.
While Roy heaved for breath, despite his cardio improvement over the last few months, Jamie had no such problem.
“- and then he Dionysus’ed the fuck out of it.”
Roy looked at Jamie in what he was sure was a blank stare.
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Y’kno? The Dionysus Dive, mate? You did it against the Kestrels in 08. Nearly broke your Nimbus.”
“They have a fucking name for that?” Roy asked incredulously.
Jamie shook his head. He often did that when he realised, regardless of Roy’s vast knowledge of Quidditch, he’d never bothered to learn the terminology for some of the moves he performed - he just performed them and perfected them. He didn’t give a fuck what they were called.
“You’re the great Roy Kent. Star chaser for England, who knows fuck all.”
Roy shrugged as he leapt over a root that was dangerously close to wrapping itself around his ankle and pulling him deep into the forest. “Still had an offer from the Wasps before I started my seventh year.”
“Yeah, but the Wasps have nothing on United.”
A month ago Puddlemere United had reached out to Jamie offering him a place in their club. They’d been impressed with his performance since Roy had started training him, and despite their offer being for the reserve team for now, they had seemed quite promising in a swift promotion to the first team.
The whining Roy had been forced to listen to on their run the day after receiving the offer had been terrible; at the time of their offer, there were only two months until Jamie finished his seventh year. This meant, according to Jamie, he was eight months behind Roy. However, Roy hadn’t had a Roy to help him improve his form. Jamie had a Roy, which meant he was already leaps ahead of where Roy had been when he’d been Jamie’s age some fifteen years ago. Not that he would ever admit that to Jamie. There was only so much boasting he was able to deal with. And he really was proud of far Jamie had come - not everyone received an offer to join one of the best Quidditch teams in England before they had finished school.
When they returned to the locker room sweaty and worn out, Roy was ready for a shower. It was a warm day outside, the air heavy with moisture that soaked through his clothes. Even the shade of the dense trees hadn’t been nearly enough to stall the weather’s effect.
But before they showered, Roy and Jamie brought their brooms outside.
Behind the pitch, there was a secluded area with a view over the forest. Here they sat down on a bench and unpacked their broomstick servicing kits.
When Roy had explained to Jamie that taking care of his broom and polishing it was more important than learning tricks, as his connection with his broom was established through attention, Jamie had called him Mr Miyagi and told him not to be so intense. At the blank look Roy had given Jamie - a common occurrence by now - Jamie shook his head and muttered something about purebloods and being uncultured, which Roy duly ignored.
He’d done exactly what Roy had requested, though. As such, Roy found himself regretting the moment in time he’d told Jamie to follow his every demand.
It led to him sitting next to Jamie, watching him gently stroke along the grain of the wood of his broom and evenly applying the handle polish so it reflected the light of the sun while he mouthed off to Roy, mostly by reminding him of his age.
Underneath his training clothes, and in the intense sun, Roy started to feel warm. He was sure his cheeks were red from blushing but his gaze didn’t stray from Jamie’s elegant fingers and their movements as they pulled him into a hypnotising lull and tightened his trousers slightly.
“Roy?”
The sound of his first name in Jamie’s smug voice finally made Roy look up at him. He realised how close they’d come, Roy’s broom resting in his slack hands, while he’d leant forward as he observed Jamie.
“You lost your hearing, old man?”
The smirk on Jamie’s face irked him enough so he grabbed a fistful of Jamie’s hair, surprised at the softness, before he pulled him close and smashed their lips together, shocking both of them with the move. Jamie was fast to respond, though, happily opening up for Roy’s assault.
Their brooms were quickly forgotten, Jamie’s still by the bench, but Roy’s had rolled down on the grass and out of the way.
The kiss evolved into a fight for dominance; Jamie grabbed at Roy’s shirt, dragging him in to keep him there. However, Roy’s fingers tightened in Jamie’s hair, while his other hand wrapped itself around Jamie’s throat, squeezing gently, but enough for his breath to hitch.
Then Jamie bit down on Roy’s bottom lip.
Roy wrenched away from Jamie, the spit-slicked and red lips a very tempting sight. But Jamie’s attitude needed to be punished. He grabbed Jamie by the shoulders and turned him around on the bench, bringing his knees down onto the ground and pushing him forward over the seat. Jamie’s palms took the brunt of the fall.
Roy situated himself between Jamie’s legs and pushed the fabric of his trousers down, limiting his movements.
For a few seconds, he stared at the bared flesh in front of him, the sculpted muscles of Jamie’s arse as close to art as they came.
Jamie reached behind him, grabbing for Roy, but instead, Roy took both of Jamie’s wrists in hand and placed them firmly onto the bench.
“Keep your hands on the bench,” Roy said, not letting go until Jamie dug his fingers into the edge of the bench, his fingernails gouging crescent-shaped marks into the soft wood.
Then Roy dragged his palms down Jamie’s back, feeling the muscle under his shirt. When he finally reached bare skin again, one hand grabbed the shirt and the other slowly dragged down between Jamie’s cheeks.
While Roy couldn’t see his face, he could hear the hitches in Jamie’s breath as he rubbed his thumb over his hole. The soft skin was so inviting and it relaxed under Roy’s touch so he pushed the tip of his thumb inside. The dry skin caught his thumb, halting the movement.
Roy leant over Jamie’s back and reached for the handle polish. He drizzled some at the top of Jamie’s crack and trailed it down between his spread cheeks to the furled skin with his index finger where he pushed all the way in, the polish smoothing the way.
A cry was forced out of Jamie, and he arched his back at the sudden intrusion. “Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, his forehead falling onto the bench.
Roy grunted in satisfaction and withdrew the digit before pushing it back in again.
It didn’t take long for Roy to find Jamie’s prostate. Jamie clenched around him and Roy pushed firmly down onto the bundle of nerves, eliciting another cry.
Jamie shoved backwards onto Roy’s finger in a desperate move to get more of him inside him. And who was Roy to deny him?
Pulling his finger out, much to the protest of Jamie, Roy drizzled a little more polish onto Jamie’s open hole, before pushing two fingers against and into him. He curled them slightly, aiming for that nub of pleasure.
Part of him didn’t just want to give Jamie pleasure, but instead make him work for it, so the curious part of him that wanted to see how far he could push Jamie demanded “fuck yourself on my fingers,” in a gruff voice.
He watched the muscles shift in Jamie’s lower back as he writhed on the bench, rolling his hips. The movement dragged Roy’s fingers over his prostate, which caused Jamie to whimper beautifully.
“More,” Jamie whispered and looked over his shoulder and up at Roy from underneath his lashes. He bit his lip and Roy’s cock pulsed his trousers. He wanted to bury himself in Jamie so badly and fill him up with his come. The seductive look Jamie was sending Roy indicated he wanted the same.
But for all of Jamie’s mouthing off, Roy didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, his gaze was caught on the broom balanced on the bench next to Jamie.
“You want more?”
Jamie nodded eagerly.
“Of course, you fucking do.” Withdrawing his fingers from Jamie, Roy roughly shoved Jamie’s head down and pushed his knee in between Jamie’s legs, spreading them further. He grabbed the broom. It was well-oiled and shiny. “You’re so fucking eager for it. Because it’s me, innit?”
“Yes.” Jamie’s voice was embarrassed. His fame made him well-versed in recognising worshipping stares, and he understood that people, like Jamie, were drawn to him.
For Roy, it was alluring. He’d always been fascinated by talent, as well, and drawn to it, and in the last few months, drawn to Jamie. Discovering this mutual attraction was something he wanted to exploit. And he knew, because of Jamie’s youth and perhaps slight naïvity, he could do mostly anything to him, and Jamie would let him, even beg him for more.
Depravity, thy name is Roy.
He balanced the broomstick on his shoulder, letting a stirrup hug his neck, while he guided the tip of it to Jamie’s hole with a hand near the end and one halfway to the stirrups.
In front of him, Jamie was a sight to behold as he opened beautifully for the broom handle and his skin stretched around the grained and smoothed wood, swallowing it whole. If only he could, Roy would immortalise this moment.
At the cold handle being pushed into him, Jamie stiffened and looked backwards again. When he saw the broom his eyes widened. Roy took a chance and pressed further in and grabbed one of Jamie’s cheeks, pulling it to the side to get a better view. In front of him, Jamie sobbed and his mouth was agape, heaving for breath, but instead of scrambling away from it, Roy saw the black of his eyes widen and he bore down into the bench with his elbows, inching back onto the smooth handle.
“Fuck, you love this,” Roy whispered reverently, fixing his eyes on Jamie’s face, the expression there willing and nearly feverish with need. Roy helped him along and thrust the broomstick a little further in, before withdrawing it, fucking Jamie with the handle in a steady rhythm. “You’re taking it so well.” Jamie preened at the compliment.
Roy was mesmerised at how Jamie’s rim expanded around the girth, a wet squelching sound following the motion.
“Touch yourself,” Roy said when Jamie’s groans turned into greedy mewls, and his clutching hands on the bench threatened to loosen.
Before Roy had finished his command, Jamie reached down to grab himself. His breath was coming in short bursts, and Roy could see the tension in his shoulders.
On a particularly rough thrust, Jamie hoarsely screamed out his pleasure to the trees and birds surrounding them, shaking under the onslaught of the handle as he sprayed the ground underneath him. He slumped down on the bench, all energy removed from his limbs.
Roy was so hard in his trousers that he carelessly threw the broom on the ground, Jamie whining when it landed on the bristles first, a snap indicating one of them broke from the fall. He pulled his trousers down his legs and shoved off his pants, freeing his achy cock. The head was almost purple from excitement. He grabbed himself in a harsh grip, pumping his cock eagerly and pushed it against the pink, puffy rim of Jamie’s arse. Seeing the oily skin glinting in the sun and knowing he’d just fucked Jamie with his broom brought Roy over the edge with wrenching shudders. He painted the pale skin of Jamie’s arse, white lines of come landing on and dripping into the open hole.
Before he questioned himself, he pushed his length into Jamie, catching the come on his skin and feeding it into the tight heat of him.
He slowly pulled out, watching how Jamie’s rim dragged along his cock like it wanted to suck him back in. So he gathered more of his own come on the tip of his cock and pushed forward again, and Roy hoped it was harsh enough for Jamie to get bruises on his hips from where the bench dug into him.
Underneath him, Jamie whimpered at the sensation.
Roy leant forward, grinding into Jamie, wanting to get his come as deep into him as he could.
“I’ll keep you like this,” he warned. “On my cock, where everyone can see you. If you’re lucky, I’ll fuck you with the broom again.”
“Promise?” Jamie’s voice sounded vulnerable and hopeful at the same time.
“Maybe I’ll fuck you with both at the same time.”
Jamie thumped his head against the bench with a despairing groan and Roy’s imagination ran away with him, filled with obscene thoughts of what he would make Jamie do.