by Emrys Apollo
If Clive isn’t in a single room, he still manages to find time, somehow. If he's with Samson, he waits until Samson gets in the shower. Five minutes is enough to leave a message, and if he manages to catch Jarrod and actually talk to him, he explains the situation quickly and they say hello and check in and not much else. He always says goodbye when Samson comes out in a towel, getting dressed. He earns a few suspicious looks, the way he clings to the phone, unwilling to hang up, the tenderness in his voice when he says his goodbyes. “Bye, love. I’ll call you again soon. Good luck in school.”
Rooming with Robin is safer and more dangerous at the same time. Robin knows about girlfriends, and he's normal enough, unlike Samson, to let Clive talk to his girl without bothering him. He doesn’t know that the person Clive calls love and babe over the phone is a man, and he’s known to tease him for it occasionally, telling the lads how “Clive’s completely head over boots for this girl, boys, honestly - they talk every day!” But it’s Robin, and Jarrod asks about him a lot.
“How was Robin in training today?”
“He was good.”
“How did he look?”
“Same as usual, I guess. I wasn’t paying attention, really.”
Jarrod laughs, deep and rich. “You always pay attention to Bartholomew, love. That’s okay. Have you told him you love him yet?”
“Not yet.”
“You should tell him. Maybe he feels the same, Cli, and you two could be so happy together. You deserve to be happy.”
“You make me happy, baby.”
Jarrod goes quiet after that, for awhile.
“Babe?”
“You should tell him, Clive. Promise me you will, someday?”
“I promise.”
There’s not much to say after that, though, and soon Jarrod brings up an exam he has coming up that he has to study for. Clive takes the hint and says his goodbyes.
Robin and Samson tell him to bring her to some of the team parties some time. Clive just shrugs.
“She lives a couple hours away, and she’s busy studying and working and all that.”
“Well, tell her to take a day off and come hang out with us,” Samson says lightly.
Samson means well, Clive reminds himself. Samson doesn’t know that the chronic overworking is a bit of a sore spot between Clive and Jarrod, the way Clive worries about him. When Clive has so much money, it’s frustrating beyond measure that Jarrod won’t just let him help.
He smiles tightly at his best mates. “She’s a bit of a workaholic, lads, sorry. Barely get to see her myself, not going to spend our time together at a party with you tossers.”
They laugh at the implication. “Is that why he’s been in such a good mood, then? Getting laid? It’s about time, Cli, honestly, that dry spell was lasting so long, I was getting worried - “
“Well, don’t. I’m doing just fine. She and I are doing great.” Clive’s voice is curt enough that the boys get the hint and the conversation turns to something else.
Robin leaves a warm hand on his shoulder, though. “I’m happy for you, Cli. I can tell you really like her. She’s a lucky girl.”
Clive smiles at him and thinks about Jarrod, thinks about the way he talks about Robin, thinks about the fact that he introduced himself to Jarrod as Robin, the fact that he’d called out Robin’s name the first time they’d been together.
He flushes, embarrassed at the fact that his crush on Robin is still infuriatingly strong, even if Jarrod is his - his someone. Boyfriend is wrong, partner is far too strong for a few phone calls and a few days of sex, and crush feels too small for someone who likes him back.
Dates are rare. Jarrod's right - they just don't have the time. Not when they live an hour and a half apart by drive and two hours by train.
So dates are rare.
Phone calls, on the other hand, are not.
They call each other a lot, and that's where Clive properly falls for him.
He learns the sound of Jarrod's voice, happy and sad and stressed and tired and sleepy-slow and sleep-deprived.
He learns how it crackles when he's just woken up, how it sounds when he yawns across the line.
They grow into it. Eventually, Clive's talking to him one night and Jarrod's en route to a goodnight Clive isn't ready for. He confesses he's been having trouble sleeping.
“You're in bed right now, right?” Jarrod asks patiently.
“Yeah. Can’t sleep though.”
“Do you remember our day together?”
“Of course I do.”
“Think about it, Cli. But this time, think about me in the shower, on my knees. My lips, open wide for you. But you’ve got to be gentle, okay? It’s been awhile since I’ve done this.”
“Right,” Clive says, nearly choking on the word, “I’ll be gentle, Jarrod, I promise.”
“You can start touching yourself when you get hard, okay? Or even before, if you want to. Close your eyes and really imagine it.”
“I’m going to start with my hand, okay? Stroke yourself and tell me how I do it, how I touch you just right.”
“Just, you just do it.”
“How fast, babe? Do you like a little twist of the wrist at the end there? That’ll be fun when I do it with my tongue, won’t it?”
“Yeah,” Clive bites his lip, tongue heavy and clumsy in his mouth, while Jarrod paints pictures for him to jerk off to. “I bet you’re incredible at it, Jarr. Your mouth, it was the first thing I noticed about you. How fucking perfect it is.”
“I’d lick my lips as I worked you with my hand,” Jarrod says, voice smooth as silk. “Wait until you were leaking pre-come and I couldn’t stand it - I have to taste, Cli. I lean forward and lick at you, base to tip, and when I get to the tip, I swirl my tongue round you, suck the head into my mouth and really get a good taste of you.”
Clive tries to choke down a moan but it comes out anyway, slightly muffled, but unmistakable.
“Good, Cli, keep touching yourself for me,” Jarrod croons, “I take more of you into me mouth, and my cheeks go hollow - “
“You’ve got great cheekbones,” Clive says softly, imagining them as he strokes himself slowly, wanting it to last, wanting Jarrod’s voice in his ear as long as possible, “the second thing I noticed. I could picture you sucking my cock nearly as soon as I saw you, I was that desperate.”
“Next time you come round, then, okay?” They leave the date up in the air because Clive’s training, and he gets called up to the UK side every international break and Jarrod’s working, he barely gets a day off, and half of that’s because he signs himself up for way too many shifts and he’s going to kill himself working this hard, Clive worries about it all the time -
“Babe?” Jarrod’s voice breaks him out of his train of thought, and it’s such a dear voice, so familiar. Clive smiles a little as he hears it.
“Hm?”
“Next time you come round, yeah? I’ll suck you off. I might not live up to the picture you’ve got in your head, I’ve not had a ton of practice recently, but we’ll try it and see how it goes.”
“And then I’ll suck you too. Don’t want to just take, Jarr, and it’s only fair. But I’ve never given a blowjob before, so full warning.”
“Mate, as long as you don’t use your teeth, it’ll be fine. Most lads are just grateful to have their cocks in a warm, wet mouth. Doesn’t matter how experienced or not experienced it is.”
Clive laughs a little. “Anyway, your cheeks go hollow, then what?”
“Then I suck you, babe, what else? Up and down, up and down, going a little further every time, until I’ve got all of you in my mouth, your balls against me chin. I choke on you a little bit, until I manage to get it under control, and you put your hands in my hair, guide me through it. Babe, not too fast, yeah?”
“Of course not,” Clive says breathlessly, jerking himself a little faster and imagining Jarrod’s lips wrapped around him, his short, soft hair under his hands.
“I hum a
round you, and you can feel it, the vibrations of my vocal chords round your cock, and it’s like a vibrator, almost, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced - “
“Oh, fuck, Jarr, I’m so close - “
“And then I swallow around you, and it’s that tight squeezing feeling, baby. You know, like how when I come and you’re inside me and you feel that tightness? It’s like that, Cli, and it’s the most perfect feeling, and you can feel it building, love, can’t you?”
“Yeah, Jarr, I feel it - “ he lets out another choked moan, and then doesn’t bother muffling it, letting Jarrod know exactly how much he’s appreciating this.
He hears something it, across the line. Jarrod. His breath is quickening, too, coming out in slightly rushed exhales, and Clive realizes he’s touching himself at the same time.
“Are you - you’re enjoying this, Jarr? Touching yourself to me voice over the phone?”
“Of course. I’m tired, too, baby. Need to sleep, same as you.” Clive can hear the smile in Jarrod’s voice, and it’s almost as strong a stimulus as his breathing, as his soft whimpers and moans coming across the line and growing in volume.
“You taste so good,” Jarrod whispers breathily, “feel so good in my mouth, Cli, oh my god.”
Clive can’t take it anymore. He comes, moaning loudly as he does. “Babe. Jarrod, love, thank you so much, I needed that.”
Jarrod lets out a louder whimper, a soft gasp, and he’s coming too, or at least Clive thinks so.
“Me too,” he says a moment later, confirming Clive’s thoughts. “Better get to sleep soon, before the prolactin wears off. Good night, love.”
“Night, Jarr.” Clive hangs up the phone and wipes the come onto a tissue before rolling over and promptly falling into dreams about Jarrod giving him a blowjob in the shower. The dreams shift, to a quickie in the locker room while the rest of the lads are away or warming up, or fucking Jarrod in the showers, after his teammates have all gone home. Seeing Jarrod in the stands, wearing his kit and smiling for him. Only for him. Jarrod on his back in bed, wearing Clive’s kit backwards, so he can see his surname across his chest, his number large across his chest and stomach.
He wakes feeling rested, for once.
Robin comes up to him after practice a few days later.
“Er, Kendra's going to be out of town for awhile. And I'm not - I'm not sure I want to be alone.” His voice rises at the end of the sentence, nearly a question.
“Come stay at mine,” Clive offers instantly, regretting the words as soon as they're out. It’s instinct, at this point - they always do this when Robin’s girlfriend goes away, even before he’d started dating Kendra. He doesn’t like being alone, and Clive had always loved having him around - he didn’t much like living alone, either, and Robin’s his best friend and his Robin. But things have changed now, though. Now that he has Jarrod. He’s finally wrapping his head around the idea that Robin’s straight and uninterested, and now this. The timing couldn’t be worse, but he can’t find the words to take it back, either, so he just fortifies himself for a tough few days.
Robin's smiling though, glad to accept the offer, so Clive can't have messed up that badly. If Robin’s happy, Clive’s willing to undergo a little internal agonizing. He’s done it for years now anyway.
Robin moves in for awhile. Days turn into a week.
Two weeks.
Three.
Clive gets used to it, falls back in love with the person Robin is. That’s maybe the hardest thing about being in love with his best mate. He can’t even comfort himself with the thought that he’s only in love with the idea of Robin. He knows Robin. Better than almost anyone. Better than he knows Jarrod. Better than Kendra knows Robin. So of course Clive loves having him around, loves that Robin cooks for him, loves that they fall asleep curled up together on the sofa while watching TV, loves everything about it.
He and Robin are best mates, as they’ve always been, but there's an intimacy that comes from living together, a sort of exquisite physical and emotional intimacy that only makes Clive love him more.
Jarrod calls a few times, and Clive's maybe a bit distracted. Once it’s because Robin’s asked him where the wooden spoons are, and he’s thinking about it, because he must have one, surely - Once it’s because they’re watching a film and Robin’s whining about having to pause it because he doesn’t want to miss any of the dialogue. Once it’s because Robin’s asleep on Clive’s shoulder as they both lounge on the sofa.
The conversation is awkward every time. Eventually, he mentions that Robin's staying, and Jarrod picks up on the hint. They still talk, now and again, just to check in, usually, because Clive can't say anything romantic in front of Robin, not without feeling completely stupid.
Sometimes it’s awkward because Robin picks up the phone. He gets calls at Clive's house, too, from his parents and his grandparents. He picks up the phone when Jarrod calls, too, a few times, despite Clive's rush towards it.
“Lad called Jarrod on the line, Cli? Says he's a mate of yours from school, but he sounds like a Scouser, man, I don’t know - “
Clive takes the phone call, with an eagerness that Robin notices with a quirked eyebrow.
“Tell him,” Jarrod says softly, now and again, each time he calls during those three weeks, “tell him you love him, Cli.”
They're curled up on the sofa together one day, watching a match Clive had taped of their next opponent, and Clive's pointing things out about the side, where the flaws are and where it's strong.
Halftime comes around, and instead of fast forwarding to the second half, Clive sits back and looks at his best friend. There’s no shift that lets the light shine into his hazel eyes and light them up a thousand different colors. Robin’s hair doesn’t even have product in it. He’s just barefoot on Clive’s sofa, wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants and Clive can’t help it. He's devastatingly in love with him, and the words are going to choke him if he doesn't set them free.
“I love you, Bartholomew,” he says quietly, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings.
“I love you too,” Robin says easily.
Clive swallows, hard. “No. Robin. I’m in love with you. My - the person I talk to on the phone and call babe and love and sweetheart - that person isn't a woman. I love you.”
Robin stares at him for a moment, gaping.
“You're gay?”
Clive nods. “I love you,” he says again, quietly, clinging to the words - the truest he's ever spoken. He almost can’t stop saying them now. He’s finally sharing himself with Robin, his truest self, and it’s the most incredible feeling, even if he’s paralyzed with fear at the same time. He doesn’t even know how he can exist like this, ecstatic and terrified all in one, stomach tying itself into knots.
Robin leans in and presses his lips to Clive’s. His lips are warm and dry and hesitant, as if he isn’t sure how to kiss, even though Clive happens to know he’s an expert. It’s as if he’s starting over, almost, learning how to kiss Clive, and Clive knows enough to let him take this at his own pace.
He grows more comfortable fairly quickly, letting out a soft sound at the way Clive’s stubble and facial hair scratches at his smooth jaw, and suddenly, Clive's laying back on the sofa and Robin's on top of him, kissing him harder and sliding a hand under his shirt to rest against his stomach.
“But you have a boyfriend - “ Robin whispers against his mouth. Clive’s heart leaps into his mouth. All he can hear is Jarrod’s voice in his head. I don’t want to be your boyfriend, Clive. He can hear it all, Jarrod telling him he couldn’t live in his home and cook him dinner and go to his matches.
Robin, of course, already did all those things. Besides, Clive was in love with him. That was the beginning and end of the story, wasn’t it? Jarrod was the hot fling, and Robin was the Prince Charming at the end of the book.
Clive shakes his head. “I don’t. He’s not my boyfriend - we’re just friends. We hook up sometimes, and I like - I like talking t
o him, but - but he’s known from the beginning that I love you. He knew the first time we fucked that I was in love with you.” He leaves out the ugly bits of the story. That Jarrod had been gentle, that he’d been a good kisser, that Clive had called out Robin’s name while they’d been together.
“I’d like to meet him sometime,” Robin says softly, kissing him again, hand traveling up Clive’s chest until he’s gently brushing his thumb over Clive’s nipple, catching the way Clive’s breath catches at the touch.
“They’re sensitive, aren’t they,” he marvels, smiling as Clive nods.
“Very.”
Robin pulls away a little, pulling Clive’s shirt up insistently and letting out a pleased hum when Clive lets him take it off completely.
He leans back down and wraps his lips around one of Clive’s nipples, eyes dilating as Clive whimpers and shifts from the attention, legs parting so that Robin’s hips lay squarely on top of his.
“You happy to see me, Cli?” Robin teases, blowing gently onto his nipple and watching it pebble as his saliva dries before grazing his teeth against the sensitive skin.
