Work Text:
They’ve been stuck in this room for the past three hours. Still busy handling calls with bankers, writing numbers down, updating documents, making sure everything checks out with the offer. Roman is standing, phone pressed to his ear while on hold, when he feels the wave in his bladder come back, attention dragged back to it after twenty minutes of retreat.
He takes an uneven breath, goes to sit back down. After a couple more minutes, the calls ends and Roman tries to start his next task. It’s difficult to focus. The entire room is surrounded by windows, with a perfect view of the rushing waterfall, the sound of rain against the glass, in a harmonic mental onslaught.
The ache starts to take up most of the space in his head, reading and re-reading the same sentences and figures until it all becomes nonsensical. Blurred into a gray soup. He's squirming, shifting around in his seat to try and find a position that relieves some of the pressure. Nothing really works.
What was originally a brief relapse into old habits learned in childhood ended up ten times worse, multiplying its monster heads. To avoid it, he refused the urge until the last possible second, where his body’s instincts could take over from his brain. When he was at the point of being so desperate he didn’t have time to be nauseous.
Usually, he’s good at timing it correctly. Now he regrets not going before the meeting, when he had the chance. The one in his chalet reminded him of the plane’s, but at least it was private. Safe-ish. The idea of using the bathroom inside the center had been a strong no for that reason. But.
He’s almost at a nine now, and the cabins were on the complete opposite side of the campus. A flash of anger rises, hating that they were even here in the first place, wonders why everything here had to be built a hundred fucking miles apart from each other.
Constant pressure. Sharp and heavy.
Roman gets up, ungracefully, knocking into the table. It makes Kendall look up from his iPad, asks him if he’s good.
“Yeah good, fine. Going to the bathroom – know where it is?” He hopes he does, really doesn’t want to spend any time looking for it on the huge floor.
Kendall is about to answer when he instead offers to go with him and show him, and the suggestion immediately sends the weirdest shock through him, causes him to freeze for a half beat before he recovers and shrugs with composed nonchalance. He watches Kendall stand, slow. Takes a second to organize his papers on the desk before following Roman over to the door and out into the hallway.
While they’re walking, Roman can’t help feeling like he’s being fucking chaperoned, like he’s four years old. His head is kind of spinning with it, spiking the intensity of every other sensation.
Once they turn a corner and Roman can see the men’s bathroom sign, he speeds up, rushes past Kendall into the first stall.
His belt falls open easily enough, but the shuffle he's doing is making his finger movements less articulate and coordinated, each second feeling the pull sharpen. Filling his entire body with agonizing need. His hands shake with nerves, unable to keep them still long enough to just undo his fucking fly.
He swears to himself, on the verge of panic when Kendall suddenly appears next to him, realizes the door is still swung open. He startles, his heart pounding.
“Relax, hey.” Kendall says, and then reaches for his waistband.
Roman feels his skin burning white-hot as he allows it, focused on keeping the strength in his lower muscles, feels it lessen with each spasm. Kendall releases the hook, then the button and zipper.
He barely makes it, hits the edge slightly with the stream before he stabilizes. His breath leaves him in a forceful exhale, relief flooding his brain.
“Don’t make a mess,” Kendall says then, his tone low, colored with amusement - and something else that Roman feels spark up his spine. That, alongside the rush he’s already riding makes him lightheaded, synapses going haywire, vision tunneling at the edges. Thinks he might actually black out for a second. A distinct feeling of deja vu flickers in his brain before it disappears.
x
Roman senses Kendall’s humiliation after the talk with Matsson, mood still dampened by his rage. He’s not surprised by what he decides to do next, knows his patterns like the back of his hand. What Kendall offers, he accepts. The appeal to that intrinsic part of him. He can’t even consider choosing differently. In the whirlwind of loss, he was being given a place to stay. He continues to sit with him in his room, feels that Kendall needs the company. He’s never been unable to stop feeling partially responsible for Kendall's frame of mind at any given moment. Especially now.
Kendall gets more affectionate, hands lingering on him. Looks at him in a way that gives Roman chills. There’s a voice on his shoulder yelling at him to walk out before he spirals into something uncontrollable. Things have felt weird; they’ve been dancing around it since Italy. Both of them are screwed up right now - an understatement - and the logical part of his brain knows where this leads. It’s a bad idea. Very bad.
Still, he doesn’t resist when Kendall pulls him in, when he’s rough undressing him, sees how hungry he is for it. He fucks him like he needs to, and Roman takes all of it, absorbing his brother’s anger and grief. There’s a sense of pride about it, to show submission in the way only he can, wonders if Kendall thinks he could replace this. Focuses on the pain of his hands digging in, likes the way his brain turns off when he’s underneath him. He’s distracted from all his bad Dad thoughts and Con’s messages. Thoughts of morgues and decomposition and dark bathrooms.
x
Roman syncs up with him around the midday point, right as Kendall finishes reviewing the first half of the pitch, delegating the next tasks to the assistants.
He struggled to focus earlier and went a bit overboard with the drinks. Empty LaCroix cans and Pellegrino bottles are studded around the prep room, and Roman can feel them when he leans forward, the full ache he’s been holding for the past hour.
The tight schedule means he gets two breaks - the rules. And he’s done well at obeying them, providing another layer of legitimacy to what they’ve settled back into. It’s familiar to act as an extension of his brother. That’s the core of it, the exchange he always made. Kendall felt a loss of control. Roman gave him his.
They wrap up, waiting for the room to clear before Kendall motions for him to follow. Roman jumps up immediately, the two of them starting the trek to Roman’s office. Kendall’s worked up; Roman can tell. Doesn’t think it’ll take long. After all his failures and fuckups lately, this is something he gets to win.
Once they make it inside his office and in his private bathroom, Roman is the first to move. He reaches for Kendall’s dick through his pants, rubs over it a few times and enjoys the way it gets him to react before he sinks down to his knees on the floor. He’s feeling the adrenaline pumping between them, the feverish need for release. Another wave surges forward then, the sharpest one he’s felt. He yanks Kendall’s pants down, freeing his hard cock and taking him deep inside his mouth. Kendall seeks leverage against the sink and groans, nails sliding along Roman’s scalp.
He comes hard, fast, pushing rough into his throat and Roman tries his best to swallow it all as he finishes. He notes in his head that it took a full minute less than last time - an improvement. His hands twist in his lap, digging his nails into his palms at the sense of urgency that’s radiating through him. He waits for Kendall’s signal, for the grip on his hair to detach.
Roman is panting as he stands, wobbly on his feet as Kendall swiftly undoes his fly. Grants his reward.
x
It’s late when Kendall finally stops working. Just the two of them remain in the room, packing up the rest of the materials. Roman is caught up in the anticipation, knows what’s next. He feels that he’s displayed pretty model patience for this last stretch, satisfied with his commitment. They’re cutting it close though, felt it catch up to him a little while back. His scratching and pinching techniques have lost their general effectiveness.
He's sure Kendall notices, doesn’t miss the way his gaze trails over him - can feel it without looking. Then he sees Kendall throw on his jacket and zips up, grabbing both of their stuff off the table like they’re about to leave.
“Where are you at?” Kendall asks.
“Uh – ” Roman gets it then, what he wants. His unending loyalty test, seeing how far he can push. “Fuck, um.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to cut through the fog in his brain, feels his heart rate pick up substantially. “Seven?”
Roman catches the way Kendall’s brow lifts, then the corners of his mouth do the same before it’s masked. “It’s not that far. Yeah? C’mon, let’s go. Driver’s already outside.”
Okay, fuck. Okay. It takes a second to process - skipping the end of day office visit and instead heading straight back to Roman’s. This isn’t familiar territory. As much as it freaks him out, it triggers goosebumps all over his skin. He nods and follows Kendall out of the building.
Thankfully, the driver is indeed parked there with the ignition running when he and Kendall make it out to the front. He gets in first, Kendall sliding in beside him and closing the door. He starts estimating in his mind how long it would take to get to his apartment with the current traffic level. Six to eight minutes, maybe. Sitting down takes away a lot of the urgency, but the pressure is still high, demanding. He draws his legs close together, tapping his fingers on them as Kendall confirms the address.
Once they’re in motion, Roman turns to look out the window, rolls it down a quarter of the way to let some fresh air in. The urge shrinks some, gives him a small amount of relief.
Five minutes pass. He’s starting to squirm a little bit. Harder to keep his breathing steady. The constricted space makes it worse, trying to sit still normally, each moment stretched inside his perception. Can’t distract himself from the thought of what they're still engaged in, and where. The press of the seat belt across him is starting to add to the discomfort, the lack of air he feels even with the window open.
His fingers dig into his leg during a rough turn off the highway, forces him out of his stiff position in the seat. He adjusts afterward, heart pounding. Feels the level jump another half point.
He flits his eyes toward Kendall and sees he’s already watching him, meets his glance for a quick second before switching back towards the window.
Roman is grateful for the cloak of night as he feels his entire body get hot, every one of his senses wired, dialed up to ten. His teeth knead the skin of his knuckle in his mouth.
Finally, the car rolls up to his house, stops just past the gate. Another jump.
They head inside the garage, and Roman finds himself panting slightly at the door. He reaches for the keypad, punches in the code - hits one number wrong the first time and has to start over.
Kendall is right behind him, his hand squeezing his shoulder. Feels the press of his dick against his ass. It overpowers his brain, the need to fulfill the promise he made, to be good.
He gets it unlocked, and they rush inside, the slam of the door pulling the last thread of restraint apart. Kendall pushes him into the nearest wall immediately, kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket off before he works on his belt. Roman does the same, then drops to his knees in front of him, reaching up to help him out the rest of the way before Kendall stops him with a hand on his wrist.
“No, get up. Turn around.”
Roman looks up at him, feels a heavy drop in his stomach and a shockwave that follows as it registers. They haven't done it this way yet; knows he won’t have the amount of control he’s used to, catapulted into another level of risk that sends his nerves into overdrive. His heart pounds in his chest as he rises to his feet and turns around. Almost instantly feels the pressure in his bladder return. The adrenaline is making his hands shake.
In a single moment his pants are undone and pulled down to his thighs along with his underwear. He hears the pop of a bottle cap, then the slick sound of Kendall stroking himself.
He’s not prepared for the spasm that hits when he feels wet fingers dragging over him, draws a high sound out of his throat as Kendall adds pressure. He’s filled with two quickly, one right after the other, works them in messily, rough.
Before the wave completely dissipates, Kendall is pressing inside him, left hand tight on his hip. It’s slow, feels the level of all-over fullness increase steadily. The sting is working in tandem with the throbbing ache radiating bigger and hotter, the intensity of it threatening to break him. He pulls out for a brief second, and the next thrust slams into him so hard he’s jostled into the wall, bumps the side of his face.
He half gasps, half squeaks as he does it again, isn’t given time to readjust. His vision blurs, feels him deep, lungs growing tight in his chest from holding his breath.
Kendall lets out a low moan in his ear, speeds up. The strain of his muscles is getting sharper and more noticeable, feeling the exhaustion from the constant effort. Gravity pulling everything downward. His angle adjusts and the sensation creates the largest spasm yet, shoots up his spine.
“Fuck,” Roman grits out, his belly tightening before the wave finally fades out. It takes a long time, feels the urgency in his teeth. The torturous ache that’s in his legs, his temples. “Ken–”
“Hold on, I’m close,” he breathes. “You did so good today. Fucking perfect.”
The praise is a temporary balm on his senses, finds the extra bit of will he needs to make it through the next wave. He’s getting shaky, desperate; a disorienting blend of need and madness flooding his brain. Each movement Kendall makes at this point is directly affecting the urge, impossible to get away from. The alarm bells start ringing, feels himself growing hot and cold with panic.
Kendall’s fingers dig into his skin, wrapping his arm around Roman’s waist to keep him where he wants. He comes then, gripping tightly onto him, and Roman feels the full weight of his forearm pressing down, right over his bladder. A white flash blooms behind his eyelids when he feels a leak make it out, a full-body flush spreading. He tries to stop it but there’s too much pressure, the gate already open. His last ounce of control shatters.
Tears spring to his eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer relief. It feels like coming. Better than coming. Like leaping off a cliff. Breaking the surface after being underwater. He’s gripped by the sensation traveling through his limbs, feels a strong wave of heat in his face and chest, in the palms of his hands. His vision is glazing over, mouth slack, Kendall still rutting inside as he soaks the floor beneath them.
When it’s over, he doesn’t move - has to use all of whatever’s left of his brainpower to keep himself fucking standing.
He eventually gets to the point of regaining awareness over his body and his surroundings, hears the hall shower turn on. He glances down at his ruined pants, feels the wetness clinging the fabric to his skin. He sees the mess on the floor, the patch on the rug.
Kendall steps back out then, bath towel in his hand. He gets a pang of embarrassment that doesn’t bother him much in his current state, a high still buzzing through him, wild mix of emotions he can’t pinpoint. Still feels like he should say something. He looks down, back at the rug.
“That kinda sucks. A $2 million oriental I literally just bought, actually. 19th century. Super rare. Good deal.”
“I’ll get you another one,” Kendall answers, hands him the towel.