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"Do you want to fuck me?" Jamie asks Roy in the middle of the fruit and veg section at Tesco.
Roy gives him a what-the-fuck look, then adds for the sake of clarity, "What the fuck?"
"Pretty simple question, mate. Need me to explain what fucking is?" Jamie deposits a bunch of bananas into the basket hanging from Roy's arm.
"Put those back, the organic ones are on sale." Roy thumps the bananas against Jamie's chest, making sure his hand absorbs most of the impact so he won't end up having to buy them anyway. "Why the fuck would I want to fuck you?"
He knows before the words have fully left his mouth that he's going to regret phrasing it as a question, and sure enough, Jamie immediately launches into a lengthy monologue about his facial features, football prowess, workout routine, skincare regimen, and dick size. Roy lets him go on embarrassing himself until someone with a child starts to wander into earshot, at which point he intervenes.
"No, I don't want to fuck you. Shut the fuck up and get me a cucumber."
"All right," Jamie says, with a very clear "your loss" tone to his voice, as he moves to pick up a cucumber from the front of the bin.
"No, get it from the back. They try to hide the freshest shit."
Jamie wrinkles his forehead. "That don't make sense. The fresh ones are the ones people want to buy."
"Yeah, that's the whole..." Roy stops and shakes his head. Keeley told him about "spoon theory" last week and he immediately resolved to stop wasting all his goddamn spoons on this twat. Results have been mixed so far. "Never mind. That one's fine. Are we out of spinach?"
"You are out of spinach," Jamie corrects him. "I don't actually live in your house, y'know."
"Weird, must've been some fucking ghost ate it all." Roy puts a bag of spinach in the basket, then grabs a second for good measure. "And blended it up with god knows what, and didn't wash the blender or the glass. Can't've been you."
"You kidnapped me!" Jamie protests. "Like two hundred times! I've literally never gone over to yours of me own accord, you always just grab me and throw me in your car. Can I get ginger? I couldn't find any this morning."
"No, there's some in the freezer." Roy pauses. "Why the fuck are you propositioning me for sex in the middle of Tesco?"
"I'm not prepositioning, just asked if you want to. And we're nowhere near the middle of Tesco, we're all the way down the end. Your car's, like, right there." Jamie points at the wall separating them from the car park.
Roy crosses his arms, though the intended menacing effect may be somewhat dampened by the shopping basket dangling from the crook of his elbow. "You're not propositioning me? If I'd said yes, you'd just have gone 'oh, bad luck then!' and done nothing about it? Then why even ask?"
"Thought it might explain a few things. The kidnapping, for one." Jamie's face lights up. "Blueberries! I'm getting some and you can't stop me, I've got money of me own and I want blueberries."
"They're not in season," Roy grumbles, and then scowls even deeper when he registers that Jamie's just dramatically lip-synced the words along with him and is now bowing and blowing kisses to absolutely no one. "Fuck off."
"Mmm, blueberries and ginger," Jamie says dreamily. "That's tomorrow's smoothie sorted. Anything else?"
"Don't think so." Roy takes his list out of his pocket to make sure before heading for the checkout.
"Can't believe you still use paper for that," Jamie comments, jogging to catch up. "What year is it, mate?"
"Same year as the last eight times you've said that. You really ought to be able to believe it by now." Roy sets the basket down at the self-checkout.
"Can I scan the—"
"No."
"Then can I bag the—"
"No."
Jamie pouts. "Why do you even bring me along if you never let me help?"
"Because you're the only one who knows whether I've got any fucking spinach." Roy scans and bags everything with practised ease. After decades of autograph requests capped off by a few years of nonconsensual selfies, he's got extremely efficient at any task that has to be done in public. Jamie waits behind him, ostentatiously tapping his foot so hard he's really just stomping. Roy ignores him.
"You've never thought about it, though?" Jamie asks as they're leaving the shop. "What it would be like? Me arse is perfect, you know."
Someone passing them going the other way nearly crashes into the door frame. Roy wishes one of them were wearing a scarf so he could gag the little bastard. "If we really must talk about this, can we do it in the car? Talk about it in the car," he hurriedly amends, catching the beginning of Jamie's shit-eating grin.
"Sure, sure," Jamie says breezily, and then he doesn't even bring it up in the car at all, just yammers on the whole time about some fucking tick-tock cocktail trend he can't try because of Roy's draconian dietary restrictions. Roy fully tunes it out, as usual. Hopefully he's forgotten entirely.
No such luck. Back at home, after they get the shopping put away, Jamie turns halfway around to cock his arse at Roy and says, "Here. Have a grope."
Conserve your spoons, Keeley said. Notice where you're using them up and make deliberate choices. Roy clenches his jaw. "Get out of my fucking house, you lunatic."
"Go on," Jamie presses. "Give her a lickle squeeze. Just one, then I'll give it up."
"You fucking won't," Roy grumbles, but he has always wanted to know what that thing feels like, so he grabs it and digs in his fingers as hard as he can. He's anticipating either a yelp of pain or silently gritted teeth. Instead, Jamie fucking... moans.
Roy stills. He wasn't expecting that.
"Liar," he says, a little more softly than he means to. "You fucking were propositioning me."
"I weren't," Jamie insists, but his blown pupils tell Roy everything he needs to know.
"You were. You want me to fuck you." He squeezes again, more exploratory than vicious this time, and is more surprised than he's ever been in his entire life to find himself starting to get hard.
Jamie is watching his face intently, eyes half-lidded, tilting into Roy's touch. "Good, yeah?"
"Yeah," Roy says, overwhelmed to the point of blunt honesty. "It is good."
Slowly, tentatively, Jamie wraps his fingers around Roy's wrist, drags Roy's hand up to his lower back, and slides it down again underneath his waistband. It starts to slip between the layers of pants and trousers, and Roy readjusts to maintain contact with Jamie's skin.
"Fuck," Roy whispers, following the line of the curve. He snakes his arm around Jamie's waist and slips his other hand in too, kneading the warm flesh of both cheeks like bread dough. Jamie steps in close to give him a better angle, pressing their bodies together. They're both unmistakably hard.
"Calling me a liar," Jamie says. He's clearly trying for a mocking tone, but it's not working. "Tell me again how you don't want to fuck me."
Roy squeezes again, getting his fingertips right into the crease of Jamie's thighs. Jamie moans again, burying his face in Roy's shoulder, and Roy can't even think through the rush of blood to his head. "Apparently I fucking do," he admits, to himself as much as anything, and Jamie drags that sinful fucking mouth up his neck and kisses him.
Roy's never thought about kissing Jamie, not once, but he's thought plenty about the shape of that fucking mouth, and he's finally realising why. Fucking Christ, this does explain a lot. He lets himself get lost in the physical sensations, refusing to think it through, because if he starts thinking he's going to start panicking, and he doesn't want this to end.
Jamie breaks the kiss and says, "Do it quick before the freakout hits, sofa, let's go." He tries to steer Roy down the hall.
"No," says Roy, and takes a moment to enjoy the look on Jamie's face before he finishes, "Not on the fucking sofa. Bedroom, now."
Jamie tries to bolt for the stairs with Roy's hands still down his trousers and nearly breaks Roy's fucking wrists.
*
Jamie sprawls out naked and sweaty on Roy's bed, arms and legs spread so wide there's barely room for Roy next to him, and says, "Have you washed the blender since this morning?"
"I'll kick you out starkers," Roy warns. "Fucking try me."
"You said I have to drink a protein smoothie with fiber in after every workout," Jamie whines. "How'm I supposed to do that with no blender?"
"Wash," Roy says, slowing down the pace of his words to accommodate the limitations of Jamie's tiny brain. "The fucking blender. Yourself."
"I can't, it's sharp!"
Roy stares at the ceiling until he's got a handle on the strangulation urge. That's at least three spoons gone right there.
"Come on," he says, standing up. He heads to the kitchen with Jamie trailing behind, wearing not a stitch between them, and Jamie watches with interest as he pours out the water he left soaking the blender pitcher, refills it halfway, adds a squirt of dish soap, sets it on the base, and turns it on.
"I'm not drinking that," Jamie says when he turns it off. "That's just dirty soap, 's got no fiber at all."
Roy dumps it into the sink again, rinses out the suds, and sets it back on the base. "There. Make your fucking smoothie and never leave this shit crusting up in my sink ever again."
Jamie is already digging through the freezer without a single syllable of gratitude. "Can't find the ginger," he complains, moving the ginger out of the way to look behind it, and Roy silently retires to the lounge to reflect on his life choices.
*
Jamie breaks the blender trying to blend an entire frozen ginger root. Roy takes ten deep breaths and heads to Argos for a new one.
"How do you feel about nipple clamps?" Jamie asks as they're walking in.
Conserve your spoons, Roy thinks, and takes a detour to the clothing section for a scarf.