John/Roman

[power_of_yes]

John’s apartment in LA is more than anything he ever had in Atlanta or New York. California is an entirely different beast, and while he had been there to visit several times, it’s a whole new world trying to live there and work. He has his money, he has his experience, but he has none of the reputation that comes with the Seed name. Thus, John Seed has flourished. The smooth talking lawyer with charisma for days is a force to be reckoned with. He takes cases as they come, talks people out of prison and takes their money just as easily. He’s able to pay the rent on his own place. He’s able to live.

He never forgot his time on the Barge, though. That, he knows, would be an insult to Iris and the work that she did. He doesn’t expect Roman to join him, though. So when he sees him on the street as he’s simply on his way back from work, he pauses.

Blinks.

Surely fucking not.

“Roman?” he ventures, sidling up closer to him on the crowded street.

Comments

[betacuck]

So Roman's here now, which weird for one, and fucked up for two, but he's made the decision and ta-da. It's an overwhelming decision that has left him about as neurotic as when he decided to stand up to his dad, but but is a decision, his very own, and this time the outcome is already a little better.

LA is LA is LA, and Roman likes LA--he also likes not being on a ship, and access to booze, and a bunch of other shit. He likes the idea of John Seed, and seeing him in all his truly fucked up glory. It's that thought that propelled him to make the final decision, really. Not the fact that he could finally wrestle himself from the grasp of Waystar Royco. There's a huge part of him that wants to go back--needs to, just to see--but he knows he can't. It instantly goes away once he sees a familiar face, a familiar beard. His heart skips a beat, too, and shit, they fall together in line so easily: John in step with him like it was always planned and yeah, Roman's grinning like an idiot. He's got a T-shirt and shorts, all quiet luxury, sunglasses and a bracelet on his left wrist, hair slicked to the side instead of back.

"I gotta admit, I was definitely picturing a company car picking me up instead of having to walk. Points off, Seed. You really got to do better."

He's here. He's here and John's here and fuck, he missed him. He missed his smell. Is that weird? It's probably weird. Roman doesn't care.

[power_of_yes]

He doesn't have to say how much it thrills him to walk alongside him again, and how much it takes him not to throw Roman against the wall and have him in front of god, the LA elite, and everyone else under the California sun. He does smile underneath his trimmed beard, all predator instincts and wiles.

"Why would you warrant a car?" he wonders, somehow keeping his eyes ahead. He doesn't turn to take him in, doesn't turn to pull him close. His willpower will be spent by the end of this, but he has to put one step in front of the other like it's his goddamn job.

"It's a beautiful day and I'm only a couple of blocks from the office." He gestures to the building ahead of them. His destination. Disappeared into the clouds.

[betacuck]

"Because a private car is less tacky than pulling out the personal helicopter just for three blocks."

The desire to constantly needle Seed is winning over Roman's desire to shove him into an alley, if only for a fleeting moment: it's that look the other gives, the subtle shift in his jaw that Roman's been obsessed with since their beginnings in the hallway of the barge. But he doesn't, because for once in his life he's using some of his brain for impulse control. The back of his hand just so happens to brush against Johns as they walk, definitely not on purpose.

"I'm here now, I might as well see what your idea of interior decorating is like in your office." He missed John. He missed this. And the moment he gets John alone and in private, he thinks maybe he'll even tell the guy he loves him.

[power_of_yes]

"You want me to waste a helicopter on you to move three more blocks?" he mutters. "Come on, Trust Fund. If you're going to be a kept man, at least wait until we get home before sticking your hands in my pockets."

He gives Roman a wink, like a little private joke between them. It feels fucking good to be able to tease him like that again. And the way that hand touch makes his breath leave him is intoxicating.

He crosses the street and opens the glass door to the building, keeping it open for Roman. "Straight ahead to the elevators."

[betacuck]

"I do," Roman says automatically, but it doesn't matter because John says that nickname he hates (but he loves) and Roman's heart melts, just a little. He's got it bad for the former cult leader, and it doesn't even process how exactly fucked up the situation is: John's here, and Roman's here, and he's long since thrown away shit like 'logic' when it comes to life on the barge and people like Seed.

Roman'll even go to the elevator without a fuss, even, because maybe he actually cares about John. A little. A lot.

"You know you have to give me the tour, right? Show off your digs, motherfucker."

[power_of_yes]

"It's a law firm. I'm sure you've been in one or two in your time," he mutters. He swipes his card and punches the near-the-top floor, and then when the elevator doors close, he slides closer and wraps an arm around his waist. It's needy and desperate but possessive; some things really haven't changed with him. He's a reformed man, but he's still John Seed.

"I'm not going to show you anything if you're being an entitled little shit."

[betacuck]

And Roman leans in automatically, because John doesn't ask he just does, and that's a lot easier (even now) for Roman's neurosis to handle, even if he's getting better at it. His eyes narrow, playful, and he gently checks his hip against John's.

"That's the part you like most," he argues, and there's a familiar giggle that bubbles up in his throat. It's better to focus on this shit, too, then the inevitable fact that he's going to need a job.

"It's it's good, y'know. That you're making fat stacks. It's, uh, it's nice. Are you doing it Jesus-free?"

[power_of_yes]

"I have an image to maintain," he reminds him, not moving away. In fact, he moves closer, watching the numbers on the elevator very carefully.

"I go to church on Sundays, but - no more cult shit."

And there's something comforting about being able to go to church and just - exist. Once upon a time, John Seed had a normal relationship with God and his own spirituality. That's something that the Barge had only started to heal, and he's trying to reconcile that now that he has his life back.

"Don't worry. I won't make you come."

[betacuck]

So John's good. He's doing good. He's fully healed, sure, but there's something else that takes Roman a split second to put into perspective: he's growing. He's transforming, maybe, even if he's definitely the same batshit tattooed guy that broke Roman's nose on their first meeting. He's finally become himself.

Weird, how he doesn't feel jealous. Well--he does a little, but it's not full blown envy: it's something else, something Roman can't exactly touch on. He's not sure he knows how. He's not sure he knows what, just that his heart skips a beat at the way John holds normalcy with a soft reverence that Roman has never heard before. It's beautiful. John's beautiful. It's touching. He needs to ruin it before it becomes too sincere.

"Really? I was kind of hoping you were. I mean, that is mostly why I'm here."

This elevator ride is taking too long. Roman's seriously thinking of pressing the emergency stop button anyway. Fuck, he just might.

[power_of_yes]

"Oh? And I thought you were here because you wanted me to tell you how pretty you look."

He likes this banter. He likes this friendship. He likes this.

The elevator dings before either one of them can make a bad choice and he steps out, instantly away from him but the air of wanting is left. He lingers too long when they pause and he walks too closely. No one else will notice a damn thing, but John feels it. He's aware of every movement Roman makes. He's aware that he can't touch him. Not even a glancing bit. Not until they reach his office.

He gets them through the front with a charming smile. "Friend of mine," he tells the receptionist as they breeze through, into the office with wide windows.

"I insisted on a corner office and a pretty assistant," he explains in a mutter.

[betacuck]

Roman waggles his fingers at the receptionist, grin wide as he slips through just like that--he's precious cargo, he's a friend of John's--and seems to have the supernatural ability to keep pace with John and not fall out of step despite having no idea where they're going. Roman's always, always felt at home in office buildings as much as he complains about them being a cage. He's spent his entire life under halcyon lights and heavily air conditioned floors, and an office building is an office building is an office building.

Maybe this one's a little bit better than others, though. John's in it.

"She's cute," he observes. "She let her hair down from that bun when you demand a blowjob?"

The only thing that sucks is that John isn't touching him. But Roman isn't either, not really, because of that silent understanding they both seem to have, a mutual agreement. Neither of them want to fuck up what John has. Roman giggles.

"Hot."

[power_of_yes]

John laughs as he rustles the blinds, closing them shut with a snap. Three different sets of blinds. Snap, snap, snap. Then he turns on his heel to Roman with a laugh, opening a cabinet to reveal a very expensive set of glasses and a bottle of bourbon. In fact, everything in the office is expensive. John might be redeemed, but he never lost his love of the finer things. Plush, upholstered chairs. Mahogany desk. And yes, a corner view.

"She doesn't," he scoffs. "She doesn't like to redo it. She'll touch up her makeup, at least. That lipstick isn't the sort that stays. I really should just get it for her myself."

He wants so desperately to take him, to push him up against the wall, to bite down into his shoulder and claim him.

He picks up a glass with delicate fingers, deliberately drawing out the moment.

[betacuck]

John's made a name for himself, and that's something Roman feels a strange tickle of proudness about. The ol' bastard did it, got away from his family, from all that toxicity, and he's here with a swanky view ranking in the millions. Impressive. That desk looks like actual wood, even, not the cheap bullshit you get on amazon. Roman's not a woodworker by any means, but he knows subtle taste and quiet luxury like the best of them, his clothes being a prime example.

He makes a small noise in the affirmative as he sees the bourbon get placed into view, making grabby hands like a toddler, fully aware the blinds are closed so they can have their own privacy. It never really felt like they had full privacy on the barge. Probably because the barge was way too fucking crowded. Probably because Roman had been even more of a bundle of anxious nerves on the barge about this shit somehow than back home. Whatever. It's them.

Fuck the rest.

"You would know about makeup, you nancy," he teases, and his eyes are absolutely riveted on those alarmingly elegant hands, peppered with tattoos that Roman's envied. There's something about how strong the commit to ink John has that Roman admires. Even if it's because John's fucking batshit.

That's fine. Maybe Roman's batshit, too. His brows lift, and after a few paces to close the gap between them, Roman has no issues taking up John's space just to be as annoying as possible while he pours.

"You know the booze goes in the glass if we're going to drink it, right?" he whispers. Just a reminder. He moves a hand up to wrap around John's hand so they're both holding the glass. It's stupid, but it's a nice excuse to touch him.

"Like you actually have to pour it."

[power_of_yes]

John doesn't move. His feet are frozen to the floor, his legs stiff. There's nothing but the feeling of Roman's hands on his. He keeps gloves on for court, every bit of ink covered for the sake of professionalism. Because of that, he's starved for any sort of touch, any kind of attachment.

But there's a deeper part of him that knows it's because it's Roman, that there's nothing more that he wants. He steps closer. "Then you pour it out, Trust Fund," he mutters, glancing down, eyes then flicking up to meet it. "Do a goddamn thing for yourself once in a while, hm?" He doesn't let go of the glass. Doesn't pull his fingers away from Roman's.

"Or you could kiss me and get it over with."

[betacuck]

It's difficult for Roman to bite back a remark, but by God he does it. Mostly because John has stepped into his personal space and the room is practically crackling with electricity and actually? He deserves this.

The shorter man leans upwards, decides he's doing this because he wants to, not because John Seed told him to, and presses his lips greedily onto John's. The hand that was on the glass almost immediately drops as he grabs at that stupid expensive shirt and pulls him even closer as if it's some sort of way to say fuck you, Roman already moving hips as close to the other as possible. He doesn't care about anything but proximity, a sting of adrenaline rushing through him.

[power_of_yes]

The glass clatters against the rug, but John's so far gone that he isn't thinking about it. He just returns that kiss, the beginning of the end for him. It's been so fucking long since he's kissed anyone; he plays and he toys and he teases, but he hasn't actually been with anyone else since the Barge. This will be his undoing.

One hand snakes around his waist, tugging him closer, demanding now. "How much did you get fucked while I was gone, hm?" he hisses softly, pulling away from the kiss just enough to grin down at him. "How much dick did you suck before you got to graduate?"

[betacuck]

It's the words, it's the grin. Roman feels almost punch drunk from the one-two combination, that grip on his hip an old, familiar weight that's reminding him exactly how much he missed what's his.

And John is his, His with a capital H, and Roman breathes out and offers a sneer, looking right into John's eyes as his hands move from that shirt down to the other's belt, undoing it with complete precision like he'd been dreaming of the moment they parted ways.

"You wanna know if you match up, Jesus Freak?" He challenges. It's a button to push, one that's easy to do since they both know nothing compares. "Maybe you won't like the answer."

[power_of_yes]

"I know I will love the answer. I just want to know how much to take out of your hide," he mutters, making no move to stop him from undoing the belt. Or anything, really. He's closed the blinds and the only things that can see him now are the birds, and they certainly aren't going to gossip.

He traps Roman's face in his hands, fingers pressing into his jaw. "You're such a fucking slut, Roman Roy. But I've missed your evening pictures." That time when Roman texted him directions, told him what to do, and John was spread out in his bed taking those orders so perfectly - fuck. He thinks about that far too often.

[betacuck]

The force behind those fingers, however light the pressure is, sends a thrill to Roman's body as the smug smirk retreats into something else, flitting in between micro expressions as he eases the other's belt open with a satisfying, if subtle sound.

Fuck. He missed this.

"Norton helped me out at first. And Angelo." His hands are dipping down now that he has access, sliding fingers down to brush at John's cock through the fabric of his underwear, reveling in it.

"You'd hate Angelo," he murmurs, leaning into the other's hand on his face, looking directly at John with confidence he never seems to find with anyone else.

[power_of_yes]

John lets him see how much that affects him, how much he's missed this. He closes his eyes a moment, but regains his composure, grinning as he keeps one hand on his jaw and the other around his waist. "Oh? What's his sin?" he mutters, that grin turning a touch warmer.

He rocks his hips forward, almost imperceptibly, encouraging him along.

"Did you let him fuck you?"

[betacuck]

"No," Roman's temporarily distracted by that grin, that stupid mouth on John's stupid face. How good it looks like this, not on the barge but in a corner office with a view.

"I asked Norton and him to fuck and I watched," he explains. His voice is as casual as he can make it, which isn't very when his lips are half-parted and his voice is gravely with excitement, palming John's cock for a few brief squeezes before he finally dips his fingers behind the waistband.

"Angelo's sin? Envy. Slept with Neal, once. Astarion, sort of. Thought of you every time."

[power_of_yes]

"I bet you looked good," he says, voice deep with want. He can't hide it now, his playfully feigned indifference crumbling with each movement of Roman's goddamn fingers.

"I haven't fucked anyone since I came back," he confesses, which is the easiest confession he's ever made.

"Hard to get in the mood when all I see is your fucking face."

[betacuck]

Roman looks surprised at that, hand still cupping the other's cock, a brief moment of panic on his face despite their rather intimate stance together.

"No one?" John sounds smooth when he says it, confident. It's unexpected.

"I thought we had a like--you know, we could..."

[power_of_yes]

His grip gets tighter, a warning to not stop his hand or move it away. "Don't worry. I wanted you to fuck other people. So you'd realize just how fucking good you have it."

And he grins a lecherous grin, dragging his face close to kiss him

[betacuck]

God, that kiss tastes so fucking good. Roman leans up into it, tilting his face to further angle himself, the familiar pressure of John's hands on his jaw nothing but pleasurable. He's temporarily unable to speak, thoughts and words drowned out as he pulls apart just enough to nip at John's lower lip.

He's not going anywhere. His other hand pull sharply on those finely tailored pants, tugging them down for easier access to John.

"I thought of you every time," he admits it only because John did, too. "Thought of your legs wide open for me."