Chapter Text
Omnes viae Romam ducunt
— All roads lead to Rome.
April 24, 2020
I-395 S
196 days to Election Day
The day dawned bright and clear, the wind was crisp through the windows, and the road before him stretched wide and open with a tantalizing prize at the end.
Finally, it was his time.
President Jeryd Mencken could be made real in six months. By this time next year, he could be sitting in the Oval Office surveying his empire, the most powerful man in the world, bringing America back to true greatness. Everything he ever wanted. It was really happening. He just had to pull off the performance of his lifetime this weekend for the deep state. Five years scrambling in local backwaters, ten years in D.C., every fake smile and carefully worded promise, the cajoling in corridors, the charm laid heavy over dinners and drinks, all the wheeling and dealing he’d done, to prepare for this moment. He was ready, he knew it. Jeryd was smart and discerning, able to take the measure of a man in a moment, and excellent at bending people to his will. And for their party, they wouldn’t have a better choice at the conference. Jeryd was more charismatic, more compelling, and more intelligent than any of the others who would show up. And more handsome, a cherry on presidential candidates the American people liked. He was a sight better, in every way, than the rest of the pack.
And it didn’t hurt that he hailed from a swing state with money from his in-laws at his back. No, even Martin Van Boring wouldn’t hold up against him, whether it was ‘his turn’ or not.
Their arrival in Virginia was timed carefully. Too early, and not only are they vultures at the feast, but rude ones too. Too late, and that’s bad manners conflated with an abundance of arrogance. Who does he think he is, Logan Roy?
Driving out of D.C. always made him feel an odd mixture of relief and vertigo. As much as the capital pushed him to be the man he needed to be, and his duty weighed on him, D.C. was home. It was where he truly felt like himself and the place that had further fueled his passion for this work. It was the place where he would reach the height of his ambitions. After the recent news, that would arrive eight years ahead of schedule.
When he returned, he would return as the presumptive Republican nominee for president. The next President of the United States, six months pending. He’d been working towards this for half his life and it was finally time. He’d been so fuckin’ giddy since the news he could barely keep up his patented poker face in committee. Jeryd was still breathing a sigh of relief that he’d contained his glee as Mark spilled the story. He’d sensed it coming since the broadcast, but…
Sometimes opportunity knocks in the middle of the night.
Or at least, a bad simile in the form of a shiny plastic talking head.
{one month ago}
When Jeryd arrived in Manhattan earlier that day for a weekend kickback, he’d expected the most scandalous gossip of the night to be the latest on whatever the fuck was going on with the president and Logan Roy. Rumors of the feud worsening along with the Cruises case, that Roy was furious with the president for not making the case disappear.
But no one really expected this, for Roy to knife the president using Mark’s hands on live tv.
Even Mark thought he could talk his way out of it.
“That fucking cunt!” he seethed, wiping his nose. “Who does she think she is? I’m nearly the top-rated hour on the whole damn network, and she thinks she can give me orders? The fucking nerve! This is what happens when you let women think they’re in charge.”
It took another few minutes of faux concerned noises to coax the story out, all the while hoping his glee didn’t show on his face. He didn’t care much for Davis, a conservative in name-only who wouldn’t lift a finger in the culture wars. No skin off his nose for the man to step down.
After ten years in D.C., Jeryd had been called a lot of names. No one had ever accused him of being short-sighted.
Under his thigh where no one could see, he tapped out a text to Aiden:
It's time. Open up the locked folder on the jdrive.
I will seize this chance by the throat, he thought to himself as he sympathized with Mark, letting the man spill more and more details, making mental notes all the while. He practically had his announcement speech drafted by the time the last Lyft left the building.
Jeryd rolled his shoulders and grinned to himself. D.C. was the center of Western civilization, the greatest city in the world, but it was hard to beat a drive on the back highways with the windows down, and good classic music on.
He double checked the mirrors then tapped through his phone for a playlist.
“Hey! Stop, let me get the—”
“Oh would you relax,” Jeryd rolled his eyes and found what he’d been looking for.
Guitar riffs crash through the speakers and Jeryd sank back into his seat, drumming his hands against the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aiden wince.
‘he’s the one who likes all our pretty songs / and he likes to sing along’
“C’mon, choir boy, unclench.”
Aiden huffed. “It’s loud. You should be focused on driving.”
“It’s fine.”
“Can I drive now please?”
“No.”
“But—”
“You always fuck the turn onto the bridge. How long have you lived here?”
“Nine–ten years.”
“And you still get boned on M Street every fucking time. Try driving like you have balls for a change.”
“We’re out of the city now—”
“No.”
“Fine. But how are you supposed to prep if you drive the whole way?” Aiden reached out to turn down the music. “It’s gonna come down to the deep state cabal and you know they’re going to push the veep. We either have to win them over or try an end run and—”
“I’m the one who explained this to you. I told you: I’m going to get to Roy. If he backs me, it won’t matter how much the others hate me.”
“Michelle Ann will be there.” Aiden warned.
“No shit.”
“So…”
Jeryd scowled at the windshield. “Well if she wants to be all sensitive and emotional, she should switch parties. Not my fault she takes the talking heads seriously. She started as a comms director, she knows how valuable a good soundbite is.”
“Think that’s the problem.”
“Well whatever. Another bitter old hag doesn’t like me, boo hoo. She’s not important, Roy is.”
“But she’ll be a gatekeeper,” Aiden insisted. “She’s mad at him, sure, but she won’t let this happen without control.”
“Then I bypass the crone. End run.”
“How?”
That, unfortunately, was the trillion dollar question. A tangled problem with no immediate answer. They passed the next hour in with just the playlist to fill the car, Aiden occasionally interrupting with updates about the guest list or gossip from some of the Hill staffers.
It wasn’t until he was filling the car up with gas that the answer hit him. They’ve stopped just outside Richmond to do the old traveling court trick—knock the dust off their boots and freshen up before they make their entrance. Jeryd has a fresh unwrinkled shirt to change into as soon as the tank’s full. He was propped against the side of the Range Rover scrolling through reddit when a clip of Connor Roy came up. One of his newest pleas for attention in the asinine vanity campaign. Someone had dubbed this one with a simpering valley girl voiceover and trashy pop music. Jeryd chuckled, tapping for the link to send to Harry, then he froze. Logan Roy, a post-modern monarch, never went to these kinds of things without the full court: palace advisors, courtiers, guards… and the princes.
“The kids,” Jeryd said the second Aiden was back in the car. “I get to Roy through one of the kids. We’ve got thirty minutes to the hotel—find whatever you can on them. Except Connor, because that apple fell off the tree, rolled down the hill, and landed in a chemical waste refinery, no working with that.”
By the time they’d reached the hotel, Aiden had dug up everything he could find on the four Roy kids. Four—and wasn’t that a surprise? He’d always thought they were three. Connor had been a casualty in the divorce proceedings when Logan dumped his mother and moved on to a British aristocrat. But there was a third son who got left off the press clippings more often than not.
Besides a few fringe blog posts about the length of the family schism, there wasn’t much past this year, when Kendall Roy, the former presumed heir to the empire, had dropped a dirty bomb on his father’s head. Everything after that was either a skeptical mostly-softball piece from the lamestream media, or scathing articles about Kendall’s past with drugs and mental health issues, articles that had the stink of PR plants all over them.
But what Jeryd knew from Mark was that the family had been fractured for much longer, and his old boss Ava had had a hell of a time hushing up the worst of it with Logan’s comms director. With Connor dueling the health crisis of fluoride and vaccines, and Kendall setting off his suicide vest inside the house, Logan had turned to his daughter for legacy.
Jeryd straightened his tie in the reflective surface of the hotel elevator door. “Well that’s worst case for me. A Dem? Logan’s going to leave it all to some frigid man-hating snowflake?”
Aiden was thumbing through his phone. “She’s not a lefty at least? Her past five candidates were solid centrists. And… looks like she had a messy split with Eavis last fall—”
“Eavis?” Jeryd interrupted. “The honorable gentleman from behind the Iron Curtain? She worked for Mr. Bagel Breadlines?”
“For six months or so. His people say—”
“Hold on, let me get my English to Yiddish translator. So you’re telling me Logan’s daughter is a communist and she’s going to get it all, the entire conservative voice? Just what those people need: another media company.”
The elevator doors opened and Jeryd pasted on his public face, nods and small controlled smiles to the crowd beginning to build. He scanned the room quickly, picking out a few people he needed facetime with. Then…
He nodded to Aiden. “Mark’s here. I’m going to do a lap, then catch up with him. Find out more about the other son.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s my best shot to get to the king. Let’s pray his majesty brings all the princes today.”
***
Aiden worked the room, sidling up to the younger crowd and the few staffers who’d been allowed to attend, no doubt absorbing as much gossip as he could get. While Jeryd focused on the ruling class. He’d been in D.C. ten years now and he still wasn’t quite in the inner circle—or rather, the innermost circle. If he didn’t change that, fast, he’d never be granted an audience with the kingmaker. Across the room, Aiden was nodding at someone’s phone as another guy talked at him. He’d better turn up something useful on the kid. The Roys would be arriving any minute now.
“... points, of course more relevant than ever. The state of this country,” the man next to him tsked and Jeryd dragged his attention back around. Pat Danzen poured more money into the Freedom Future PAC than the next five donors combined.
“Although that line about cosmopolitan elites running the country into the ground…” he trailed off, his displeasure clear. No surprise a billionaire hadn’t liked that one.
Jeryd shrugged. “Aw, you know the routine. Gotta rouse the rabble out of their stupor,” he lied with a smile. “You have to get people riled up in the early days, throw them something to get the blood pumping. Give you juice to break through the pack. Then, when they’re yours, when they’ve bought the buttons and sold their souls, then you can do no wrong. After I win the nomination, I could hump a flag and they’d beg for more,” he said with a wink.
Pat barked a surprised laugh. “Ha! Well said, well said. Going for the old ‘man of the people’ play, eh? Good work if you can find it. Hm.” He eyed Jeryd up and seemed to come to a decision, turning and beckoning someone over. A middle-aged blonde woman and a younger brunette approached. “Jeryd, this is my wife, Marta—” the blonde smiled at him, clearly a second marriage, “—and my daughter, Rachel.” The brunette didn’t smile so much as blatantly undress him with her eyes, staring down at his left hand with no subtlety. Jeryd suppressed a grimace. Classless. Aggressive women were such a turn-off. As the blonde couldn’t be more than ten years her senior, maybe Daddy’s little princess was trying to compensate with alternative male attention. He’d never met a whore without daddy issues.
Jeryd turned his charm up to full force and had them hanging off his every word. By the time Ron Petkis got up for the toast, he thought Pat would offer him either a million dollars or his daughter. Flush with success, he condescended to get Rachel a refill, which Pat seemed to like. Aiden materialized at his side just in time for the toast. He listened to Ron with half his attention, already scanning the room for his next donor—
“... the health of the republic depends on it.”
Jeryd tipped his own glass in reply. Pat excused his little trio for another group, and Jeryd was just turning to say something to Aiden when—
Wow.
His gaze caught on a young dark-haired man behind the ATN president and the ginger witch, standing on the balcony overlook. What a gorgeous boy… he’d expected to spend this weekend worming his way in to the kingmaker past the palace advisors, but… well he’d have to carve out some time for that.
“Who the hell is that?”
“No.”
Aiden’s immediate, panicked voice startled him enough to look away for a second. “Huh?”
“Anyone but him.”
“What’re you—”
“Anyone but him, please.” When he didn’t respond, Aiden sighed and looked over at the man. “That’s Roman Roy.”
“Ah.” An unexpected challenge. His favorite. “Well I think I just found my in.” He winked at Aiden and straightened up.
“No!” Aiden hissed with more urgency. “Seriously, you can fuck anyone else here, there are like eight comms staffers from the Hill who would drop to their knees in a second. But we talked about this, Connor’s nuts, Kendall’s crusading, Siobhan’s a lib. Roman is your best shot to get to Logan; you can’t. He’s not gay.”
“Neither am I.”
Aiden groaned. “You know what I mean. There aren’t really even rumors about him, just that he’s a player. And he only dates models, actresses, party girls, that kind of thing.”
Heat coiled in his stomach and he grinned. A boy as beautiful as that was wasted on women. He probably had no idea what to do with himself, no clue how good it could be to lay back and let a real man take charge of him. A real challenge. This weekend kept getting better and better.
Aiden looked at him, then buried his head in his hands. “It’s your political life on the line, Jeryd. I know what this means to you. Don’t throw it away on some piece of ass.”
“Uh huh. Hold my beer, I’ll be right back.”
***
After a surely predetermined amount of time surveying lesser mortals from the balcony, his majesty descended the stairs, accepting nods of fealty as he went, and his court following three paces behind him. Everyone tracked his path, probably calculating how best to get his attention. A few had already started to casually meander towards him. But Jeryd’s eyes were fixed on a much more enticing target. The youngest Roy prince trailed the others, his sister and her husband and some tall gangly kid, the Waystar corporate drone, and Michelle Ann’s staff. He looked bored, dragging his feet and casting his eyes around the room. As if he had no interest in what was happening here. Picking the next leader of this great nation. Must be some kind of front, an attempt at alpha posturing.
Jeryd lingered at one of the bar tables, drifting through conversations with various people of his persuasion, an up and coming podcaster duo, one of the directors of the Freedom Foundation PAC, a clerk for Justice Harris. A Kennedy cousin passed through and offered some light praise of Jeryd’s campaign announcement. One of Strom’s lackeys stopped him to pass along regards. All in all, very promising. He should be ecstatic. He was, really. But something more interesting was on the other side of the bar.
Jeryd wanted to toss back the rest of his drink and get another but he should pace himself. He’d need all his wits for this. The way that beautiful boy was chewing on his nail… Jeryd would bet the farm he knew what he did to men. Whatever Aiden had found out or heard about him had to be wrong. Or it wasn’t everything there was to know. So even if he’d only been seen with women, Jeryd had a feeling about him. He looked at him and. Well he couldn’t explain it. But he knew.
***
The next time Jeryd saw him alone at the bar, he didn’t waste a second. It was late enough people had started to splinter off to their rooms. And he’d seen a few men eyeing the prince in the same way he was, sizing him up, speculating whether he was that kind of boy… Jeryd wanted to get in before he had competition. Not that he had anything to worry about from those guys, old and showing it without any redeeming mature charm.
Jeryd stalked across the room just as one of these lesser men had the same thought—Jeryd warned him off with a glare, moving faster, then he was sliding in next to his target at the bar, leaning down on his elbows to put them on the same level. No more time to strategize or select the perfect opener. But the boy didn’t even bother to turn and see whoever sat next to him. Jeryd needed to make him look.
“Hey man, what’s up.”
Sup. What’s up?! He cringed internally even as he kept his face blank and scrambled to recover.
Next to him, Roman Roy finally ripped his eyes away from his phone, and looked him over, a restrained double take as he seemed to recognize Jeryd. Jeryd straightened back up. Well that was gratifying.
“Oh okay yeah… it’s the ghost pepper.”
Jeryd stiffened. Was that… a dig, a swipe at his silver hair?
“The spicy new flavor. Mencken,” Roman added with a smirk, dropping his phone to the counter and lifting his drink back up to his mouth.
‘Spicy new flavor’? As he smirked over a glass of whiskey to draw attention to his mouth? More flagrantly coquette than he’d expected, and so quickly. Jeryd glanced away and scratched his nose, recalibrating his approach. He was down to go for it if Roman was. They were already in a hotel, Jeryd could have him naked and screaming in ten minutes if that’s what Roman wanted.
“So what’s your deal? Most people here wanna fuck me or kill me.”
“Ooo wow.”
Jeryd looked back at Roman. “What about you?”
Do you want to fuck me? It didn’t get any more direct than that.
After a beat, Roman turned. The angle of his body shifted so he was no longer facing Jeryd, open and inviting, but closed off.
“I always found it hard to care about politics.” With a derisive twist to his mouth and a flick of his hand, he dismissed Jeryd. He could see Roman mentally discarding it, moving on, the mission lost in a matter of seconds as he rummaged around and popped some peanuts into his mouth.
Panicking, he cast around for a new approach. Had he been too forward? Roman had turned fuck-me eyes on him so quick, he hadn’t… but maybe the boy wanted a little seduction.
He sucked in a breath and touched his mouth again, containing his nerves as much as he could. “Well listen, here’s my party trick, right,” he paused for Roman to meet his gaze, and made sure to hold it a beat, let the interest spark again. “Tell me who your enemy is, and I’ll tell you who you are.”
Tell me who you are
Roman was making him work for it and he didn’t mind, even after a day of flirting his way through the GOP donor class to get a chance for consideration. Jeryd liked a challenge and Roman was nothing but challenging. Even now, his eyes went wide and his mouth curved in surprised glee. This fucking guy, his face seemed to say. Condescending. A step from laughing at Jeryd outright, his lines, his party tricks.
It took every bit of strength he had not to reach out and drag Roman to his knees, and punish him for that bit of lip.
You little brat.
Even his mental voice sounded too fond by half.
“Okay…” Roman drawled then gave him a sarcastic wink and shook a finger at him. Close but no horseshoes. Try harder, Roman was saying.
“Put a pin in that one. Uh. I’ve seen your poll numbers, man, you’re dark-horsin’ it.”
Or maybe he just wanted to talk business. Fuck. Jeryd nodded on autopilot while he scanned Roman’s face for more clues. No. No, right? He couldn’t be uninterested after eyeing Jeryd up and down like that. But what was his type, what did he like? What kind of move did he want from Jeryd?
“People are buying your whole…wssht?” Roman made a zippy sort of noise, flapping his hands to indicate Jeryd. His whole person, politics, or campaign, it wasn’t clear. Didn’t matter.
“They better buy it,” Jeryd started, “or I’ll send ‘em to the gulag.”
He waited with his breath held.
He was only left in suspense for a second before he saw laughter dawn over Roman’s face and Jeryd was so fuckin’ relieved he got it right, he let out an involuntary breathy chuckle.
“Oh okay,” Roman drawled, his eyes glittering, “now we’re talking.”
Ah. Alright. So they’re dealing in edgelord business flirt. That’s fine, Mr. Roy. One of Jeryd’s specialties. He was even better at parlaying that into real foreplay.
“No, no no no, no work camps. Y’know, like, summer camps.”
“Summer camps, but with beatings, right?”
“Ohh no no no, no beatings, shh,” Jeryd hushed him in a stage whisper. “No beatings.” he winked outrageously.
Bingo
Roman giggled around the thumb in his mouth, a shared joke, both of them finally on the same fucking page. Yes. Jeryd rapped his fist on the bar as he giggled with Roman, trying and failing to drag his eyes away from Roman’s mouth. Patience.
Dusting his hands off, Roman went back to his drink. “Well this is nice. A couple of cool guys having some disgusting fun.”
“Mmm.”
A little thrill ran through him. That was flirty, that was—he wrestled it back. He’d pushed too fast at first. Clearly, Roman wanted to pretend this was about business for some plausible deniability. The boy wanted a slow seduction. Fine, sure, Jeryd could do foreplay. If Roman wanted to be chased, if he wanted to bat his long lashes then demur, tease Jeryd until Jeryd pinned him down… Jeryd was more than happy to play that game.
Now the fuck-me eyes returned in full force as Roman raised his glass back to his mouth.
Jeryd cleared his throat. Slow.
“So, uh… do you guys know yet?” Roman’s face went from slutty to stumped. “Who takes over,” he added.
There was a beat, then Roman’s face fell. Even as Roman shifted away, signaling another misfire, Jeryd was already kicking himself.
“What’s that?”
“When they send the old battle toad off to the hoosegow.” Humor, he thought, Roman likes ‘em witty. “Your dad? Admiral Grope Boat?”
With every word as he tried to bring back that grin, Roman closed off instead, his face becoming unreadable.
“Yeah, no. That’s actually not happening.”
“Ha HA,” Jeryd forced a big fake laugh, trying to draw Roman back into the shared joke. “Yeah that’s right, that’s right, no. That’s the line. Stick to the line. That’s good.”
He clucked his tongue and picked his drink back up, affecting an amused nonchalance he sure didn’t feel. As he took a swig, he looked at Roman out of the corner of his eye.
The fuck-me eyes were back and hotter than ever, but with an edge of something else. Interest. Real interest, beyond the surface attraction sizzling, a recognition. Right now, Roman saw him and something clicked. He was hooked.
Jeryd needed to step back or he’d end up fucking the boy over the bar. Chase, he reminded himself, Roman likes to be chased. He wants to play his little innocent act and watch you pant. Jeryd didn’t mind. He was an excellent hunter.
He gave Roman another outrageous wink and walked away, sure to brush against his side as he passed him, and he was rewarded with the faintest inhale as he did.
Whiskey ran down his throat but Jeryd could barely taste it. He was too busy savoring the taste of victory.
***
The next day started late, everyone too hungover to make much of a go of it before lunch, then of course, there was the obligatory round of golf.
But as late afternoon wore into evening, Jeryd worked the room, putting to use every skill he’d honed over the last decade, flattering and cajoling the power players in equal measure. Jeryd Mencken at his most charming, dangerous self yet. As pernicious as kudzu. He’d arrived here as a long shot, but by god he’d leave here as the leader.
It was going well, he could feel it. Feel the interest perk around him as the reality of Boyer settled in. Bland boring Boyer who hadn’t had an original thought since his first election. A sad, limp man led around by his nose. But as things accelerated, as the mood shifted the more people saw of the veep, Jeryd kept an eye on the more tantalizing goal: that beautiful boy, the Roy prince. As he talked to the others, he watched him out of the corner of his eye, working the room for his own goals, whatever those were. Their conversation last night had gone so well, Jeryd had tried to catch him today, but with this many moving pieces, there wasn’t much he could do, short of grabbing him by the elbow and pulling him away.
The more he caught Roman staring at him before jerking his gaze away, the more he was tempted to do it. The boy had an uncanny ability to slip away the moment Jeryd moved close, then he would glance back over his shoulder. Coy, taunting. Roman was practically daring Jeryd to shove him to his knees. Roman couldn’t be more obvious if he had a sign on his forehead saying ‘wreck me’. Who was Jeryd to refuse a plea like that?
***
As soon as Mark saw Jeryd, he cut off the man standing beside him and crossed to Jeryd’s table. Mark greeted him with a handshake-shoulder pat combo, his hand holding on for an extra beat before he let go.
“Hey man, good to see you.” He smiled his primetime news at nine smile, all gleaming unnaturally white teeth. “So! Exciting, isn’t it? What, uh, who all have you talked to? I’m hearing good things on the street…” Mark trailed off and winked.
Jeryd smiled back but took on a humble tone. “Oh, I’m just pleased to be in the conversation. Talk about the real issues affecting Americans.” Mark snorted. “But, uh, mm. Seems as if God has given us a golden opportunity to shift the boat in a more rightward direction. With Davis on the way out, it’s a chance for the base to have a voice, finally.”
“Yeah, I saw your segment on FVA, great stuff. I keep telling Cyd we need to have you on ASAP but she wants to wait to see how this weekend shakes out.” Mark rolled his eyes, then snapped his fingers at a waiter and pointed to his empty glass. “Anyway. Did you see the show Thursday? I mentioned you. What’d you think?”
“Oh it was great. Great stuff. Punchy, smart.” Jeryd hadn’t had time for another episode of Mark’s echo chamber last night as he was packing for the weekend. “You always have a great take.”
“Nice work, by the way, the line about Davis being soft on Big Tech.” Mark grinned toothily at him. “Logan is going to eat that up with a spoon.”
“I know,” Jeryd smirked. Hadn’t been hard to see where the winds were blowing. “So hey—what’s up with the Roy princeling?”
Mark frowned. “Huh? Oh you mean Kendall? Well I don’t know the details—how Logan ever forgave him after the bear hug—but then Kendall’s sneak attack, I—”
“No,” he interrupted, “the youngest. Roman. What’s his deal?”
“His deal?”
“Yeah. Tell me everything.”
Mark glanced around the room until he saw Roman, then looked back to Jeryd. He was baffled. “Uh, there’s not much to tell? Logan brought him back from L.A. about a year and a half ago, right before his stroke. He was running Waystar Studios, or, as I’ve heard it, Frank Vernon was running the studios while Roman ran around Bel Air with blondes and blow.”
“Hm.” Jeryd kept his face blank, hoping Mark had more. If there were any of those rumors, he’d be sure to say in as much scathing detail as possible.
“But, uh,” Mark stared at him as he tried to figure out what Jeryd was searching for. He said nothing and waited. Sure enough, Mark started babbling again to fill the silence. “I don’t mean to sound harsh, of course. Word is he’s Logan-lite, more than the other kids. Culturally and politically aligned, at least. We won’t get any of that woke shit if he’s the one who takes over and I’d bet he keeps ATN in fighting form. Logan’s been pushing that—shrew,” Mark spat and cast a dark look at Siobhan. He was still sour then.
“So why is the old man pushing her instead of him?”
“Anyone’s guess.” Mark shrugged. “Kendall knifed him twice, Connor’s a joke, and Siobhan doesn’t match the culture. So there must be a reason he won’t put Roman in.”
Jeryd sipped his drink, watching Roman across the room talk to a group. From the sly expression on his face, and looks of poorly-concealed delight from his audience, Jeryd could only assume some deliciously nasty gossip was afoot. So the boy knew how to play the game. More and more promising. He still hadn’t made eye contact, despite Jeryd checking him out so blatantly. Either Aiden was right about him, or… he liked to be chased.
Oh Jeryd loved a good chase.
He let Mark ramble on, nothing else useful as he’d moved on to talking about his favorite topic: himself and his ratings. Mark still hadn’t managed the numbers of his predecessor. Clearly not a sore spot or anything. But the monologue of the deluded wannabe at his side was a perfect cover, allowing him to keep his target in sight, track him around the room. Jeryd watched him circulate, no doubt spreading wilder and wilder tales about President Davis (he’d already heard one in passing yesterday, something about Davis putting his dick on the Resolute Desk?).
Roman had a group of unimpressive old men laughing, eating out of the palm of his hand, when he darted a look to the other side of the bar, where Jeryd stood with Mark. As soon as he saw that Jeryd was looking back, he tore his eyes away. Jeryd took three long drafts of his whiskey to try to distract himself.
But he couldn’t stop staring. How many men have you had? he wondered. A couple? A hundred? How many times have you played up like this until they took you?
Usually he liked his conquests coy but knowing. Roman seemed like that. What he was on the surface. But then Jeryd looked closer, further into his large liquid eyes, and he saw something quieter. A kind of innocence. As if he truly doesn’t understand the effect he has.
Jeryd needed to get his hands on him soon or he was going to lose it. Fuck the media tycoon at the next table, fuck the presidency, just let him get a taste of this pretty young thing.
***
Later, when he staged that bit of kabuki for Logan—an audition of the ratings gold sound bites he could be counted on to deliver—he made sure to tee everything up perfectly for the king. He’d worked the room, had Mark and Aiden plant seeds, and petitioned the prince. He was ready for his big number. Gradually, Jeryd had edged in, making sure the three of them, the finalists, were poised in front of the judges’ table. He wanted Roman to have a good view and he kept his good side to Roman’s eyeline. Roman jumping in on his side to swipe at Salgado, echoing Jeryd’s exact words, was an unexpected bonus, one that made him even more confident of his chances to get Roman naked later. He’d worried when Ms. Snowflake Sourpuss started in on him, but Roman rolled his eyes behind her back and mimed a jerking-off motion when no one was looking.
After he dropped the ‘fuck ATN’ bomb and the dust settled, he waited. He felt the electric zing of energy he always did after a good performance but he was craving one critic’s review more than the others.
He didn’t have to wait long.
“Sooo…” Roman sidled up next to him and Jeryd moved automatically, turning so he faced Roman full-on without making him talk to the side of his face. Unambiguous body language, DTF. Roman moved to mirror him. His thumb brushed over his lips, back and forth, making a display of himself and Jeryd was already so horny about it he couldn’t think. Tarty little thing, begging for someone to own him, to shove him to his knees and put something bigger in his mouth. He could almost feel those lips around his cock.
“If I, uh, wanna talk later…” Roman trailed off expectantly.
Only a decade on the Hill kept him from dropping his jaw in surprise like a rube.
He hadn’t anticipated it—Roman had been so cagey, playing the ingénue, flirting as if he didn’t realize the effect he had. But so direct, after all the coy pulling away? Just, ‘hey wanna fuck later?’
Jeryd cleared his throat. “I’m on 14. At the end of the hall, 1442.” He paused but Roman wasn’t saying anything. “I’ll be up late.”
He smiled, slow, with intent, and Roman ducked his head, shy again with Jeryd’s attention on him.
Roman nodded at the floor. “Cool, uh. I, uh, I’ll see you later then.” Then he rushed off like the floor was on fire.
Slowly Jeryd let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d have that boy begging for it if it was the last thing he did.
***
When the knock finally came, it was earlier than he expected, about ten o’clock. He thought it’d take much longer for Roman to work up the nerve to come here for a fuck. Promising all the same.
Jeryd rolled his shoulders, breathing deeply, then he checked himself in the mirror. Hair still perfectly in place, clothes crisp. He’d already rolled his sleeves up as he waited, showing off a little forearm. There was coke in the fridge and lotion in the bathroom, and his ties were on the dresser, if they needed them. He turned his head side to side, feeling a satisfying pop in his neck, then he pulled open the door.
Outside, Roman was glancing around the empty hallway, touching his mouth again. Jeryd felt his cock twitch. Fuck, maybe he’d just reach out and grab—
“Hey, uh. Dad wants a chat.”
Jeryd was halfway to verbalizing his explicit acceptance of Roman’s offer before he heard him. Ah. Logan. He deflated a bit. Logan was, of course, the reason he was there, why he’d done all this and approached Roman in the first place. The road to the White House would be illuminated with the glow of ATN screens. But a let down all the same, less sweet without the Roy prince on the table.
“Yeah?” he finally said.
“Yeah,” Roman grinned.
Roman led the way to the elevator. When he caught the boy darting another glance at him under his eyelashes, still toying with his mouth, Jeryd decided it wasn’t over yet. Business first, then they’d see about Roman’s oral fixation.
As he followed Roman, his eyes kept dropping to Roman’s ass, the indecent tailoring that left no doubt about what was under there. And Jeryd couldn’t help but see it as yet another sign. The boy was gorgeous and he knew it, and didn’t mind showing it off. If Roman wanted to use business as a cover, the plausible deniability so he could flirt, Jeryd would indulge him. To a point.
But if Roman didn’t give it a rest with those fuck-me eyes, Jeryd would not be held responsible for his actions. One way or another, tonight would end with that beautiful boy naked in Jeryd’s bed.
***
April 26, 2020
194 days to Election Day
It was a beautiful beautiful day. Jeryd whistled as he threw his bag in the backseat, waving goodbye to a few people lingering in the parking garage pretending not to watch him. For some strange reason, he now had so many more friends than when he’d arrived Friday. Imagine that.
That part of it started sooner than he expected. Logan’s photo op had done exactly what he wanted: declared his choice to the entire assembly without saying a word. As soon as the camera clicked, every eye had been fixed on their group, loyalties realigning in moments. Jeryd wanted to bask in it like sunshine, but he’d been almost too distracted to notice. Roman stayed at his side through the entire thing, smelling of Jeryd, and when he glanced down Roman’s collar, he could see the beginnings of a bruise at the base of his neck. A bruise in the shape of Jeryd’s hand. If he hadn’t had Logan Roy and every GOP decider staring at him, he would have dragged Roman off for another round.
Even then, he’d been on autopilot, smiling and shaking hands and nodding, all the while thinking of Roman going home like that, Jeryd’s mark on his skin and it wouldn’t fade for at least a week.
He wondered how soon he could get Roman under him again. Aiden would have to be in charge of that now, unfortunately. The presidential candidate wouldn’t be able to manage his own schedule under the deluge of events and travel.
The sun was shining weakly, spring struggling to break through the last hold of winter, as they drove out onto the highway. Aiden was already frowning into his tablet, fingers flying, no doubt arranging the next month of campaign stops and press.
Jeryd snapped his fingers near his face and Aiden jerked in his seat.
“Hey. Put Roman on my calendar for next weekend.”
“No.”
“What was that.”
Aiden sighed. “You can’t. We need to campaign, and hit six stops in a day on the weekends. You won’t have time.”
“Aiden—” he warned.
“Best I can do is two weeks from now, Baltimore.”
“Less attitude, yeah? This is part of your job.”
“Is it?” Aiden mumbled under his breath.
“Hey,” Jeryd warned.
“Sorry.” Aiden put the tablet down and looked at him. “It’s just… I don’t understand. You don’t really do this.”
Jeryd snorted.
“I mean,” Aiden added hastily, “not repeats. This is going to be much harder to manage. You’re barely going to have time to see your family, much less some—anyone else.”
“Fucks sake, Aiden, I’m telling you to carve out an hour every other week, not block me off for a weekend getaway or something. You worry too much.”
“It’s just… him though?”
Jeryd clenched his jaw. “The hell does that mean?”
“He’s…” Aiden shrugged. “He’s not that attractive.”
Surprised, Jeryd let out a laugh. “And you’re such an expert? What’s your type in men?”
Aiden flushed and looked away from him. “I didn’t mean—! I just think—whatever! I don’t get it.”
“Oh I know. You don’t have the taste to appreciate what he is.”
Aiden gaped at him, speechless for a few minutes, then shook his head and went back to his tablet. “Gosh if I didn’t know better…” he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.
Jeryd felt his hackles raise. He knew Aiden wasn’t pulling some catty move, but he still didn’t like the presumption.
“The West has really lost its way. Greeks and Romans founded the concept of the older male, young male mentor bond. Most of our law can trace its origins to the Magna Carta and the Senate of the Roman Empire, but when it comes to cultural norms, everyone acts like it’s a step too far, and, unfortunate name aside, the practice of—”
“Please, I’m begging you, I don’t need the pederasty lecture again.”
“Then don’t act so ignorant. This was a perfectly acceptable practice by our forefathers, and we’ll be damn lucky if our own empire lasts as long as theirs did.”
“Do I ever try to stop you from picking up guys? No. It’s just… it’s a much bigger risk to keep it going, I know you know that.”
“Oh is this beyond your competency?”
“No! Fine, I get it, you like him, I’ll—I’ll figure out how to make this work.”
“Like him?” Jeryd snorted. “It isn’t a crush. I’m not taking him to the sock hop and out for a milkshake after. This is about two powerful men and a complementary relationship. We can each bring things to this partnership, and in turn, I can guide him through this world. He’s well-suited for it. I’m sure he’s grateful for the benefit of my experience.”
“Uh huh.”
“High-status men often have this kind of relationship. It’s mutual admiration and respect, like minds. Sex is a natural component of that.”
“So that’s how you square things away internally. Your mentee doesn’t count as cheating on Sarabeth.”
“Careful,” Jeryd snapped. “I value you, but careful. No one is irreplaceable. Knowing about my private life does not give you the right to comment on it.”
Aiden fell silent and Jeryd ground his teeth so he didn’t say anything worse. He didn’t know where this attitude of Aiden’s had come from all of a sudden. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken someone back to his room at a political conference.
“They’re not comparable,” he added finally. “Sarabeth is my wife. That’s her title, she carries out a very important role. She operates in a separate sphere. Fucking men with whom I have shared philosophical interests has nothing to do with her.”
“Does—” Aiden stopped himself short. No doubt swallowing some ill-advised opinion. “I mean, should we discuss any additional protocol for discretion? If you’re going to continue seeing Roman as we campaign, there are significantly higher risk factors for a presidential campaign and traveling in areas we don’t know or control. Not to mention the massive liability of another public figure.”
That was just a degree or two shy of insubordination, but better. He didn’t care what Aiden’s personal opinions were, as long as he did what he was told.
“Fine. Not now. I want some quiet for the rest of the drive. We have another meeting in an hour.”
Aiden settled back in his seat and pulled out his tablet, rapidly pecking away at his calendar. That would probably keep his attention absorbed the rest of the trip.
The smudgy blue mountains off in the distance didn’t distract him as much as they usually did. Aiden’s choirboy morals had soured his mood. Jeryd drummed his hands on the steering wheel. He needed a palate cleanser. He’d been on top of the world this morning.
Carefully, his eyes darting between the road and his phone every few seconds, Jeryd found the album he was looking for and started it.
Tension he didn’t realize he was carrying eased, his shoulders relaxing back into the seat, as the familiar notes of the Foo Fighters filled the car. Better. He wanted to go back to feeling as good as he had that morning, Roman tossed over him like a delicious weighted blanket, so soft and easy in his arms, pliable to Jeryd’s will. The way he’d made Jeryd chase him the night before then begged so sweetly… he was a maddening combination of hard-to-get and easy. God he couldn’t wait for the next time he’d get Roman alone. Watch the insouciant façade slide off his face the minute Jeryd closed a door behind them and unzipped. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted anyone so much. But he’d get there.
Jeryd always got what he wanted.
hello / I’ve been waiting here for you / everlong
***
March 19, 2021
1600 Pennsylvania Ave
Washington, D.C.
Love at first sight was a fairytale, a rosy illusion playing on the silver screen so the masses could let their brains melt into warm Technicolor slush until they were numb and the world was a little softer, more bearable. Delusion could be kinder than reality, for sheep.
Fairytales held no stock with him. He was a man of action and philosophy. He didn’t fall in love at first sight.
But he knew. From the moment he saw him across the room, that dark-haired slip of a man smirking down at all of them, somehow above it all even in a room full of deciders… Jeryd looked at him and felt the knowing settle into his bones. In an instant, he felt sure that he had to have that man, he knew what they could be.
Fairytale had nothing to do with it. Jeryd saw him and chose him and went after him, every step resolute, every word and action a stitch in the fate he wove between them. He created the tapestry of them with intention. Everything they shared born of Jeryd’s choice. This was no clash of the cosmos or divine intervention. What existed between he and Roman was deliberate.
God hadn’t given this to him, he’d taken it.
Just as Jeryd had done whatever he needed to get Roman, he would do anything necessary to keep him.
Jeryd rolled his shoulders back and steadied himself. Then he lifted the phone on his desk and spoke.
“Send him in.”
***