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"Roman Roy for Jeryd Mencken," he chimed the words that feel like they've been strung and impossibly knotted together. It's useless, he knew, they knew him. He'd stood in that spot and said those words enough times to know that the words meant exactly as he'd arranged them.
Like clockwork, the person behind the desk nodded their head and gestured for him to follow. He was passed off through two sets of security before being walked through the final door and left to himself.
He waited for someone to come around at the sound of the door but no one came. "Hello?" He looked around.
Empty; no wife, no kid, not one of Mencken's personnel hammering away on computer keys and bringing phone call after phone call or stacks of paperwork to their boss. Instead there was an all too quietness that left roman taking his steps carefully as he navigated the already charted and mapped apartment. Twist and turns all too familiar as he took a peek in the kitchen area before down the hall where he knew the bedroom was.
An open invitation laid begging in the form of the cracked open door, something he held no hesistance for.
He let himself be obliged. The door opened with no noise and only a view.
Layers of clothes littered the room from the rucked up covers of the bed to the desk chair. A suit jacket over the chair, a vest on the floor, a wrinkled tie thrown over the best post; Roman followed the story before approaching the main attraction.
"Oh, did I miss the threesome?" He casually remarked.
Mencken turned his head towards him from where he stood, a pair of black slacks hung on his hips, beltless, as a pair of just as dark socks covered his feet; the whole thing complete with a white wrinkled button up, half untucked, half undone, collar half up and half down, and hair that looked it had a hand ran through it a time too many.
A smile grew on his face from Roman's voice alone as he cradled a glass of any presenting alcohol in hand.
"What's stopping you at just three?"
Roman gestured towards the bed. "Not big enough."
A playful but displeased look crossed Mencken's face. "Plenty of floor room."
"Rough on the knees," he excused, walking towards the small table off to the side holding the decanter that no doubt contained what Jeryd was drinking.
Mencken looked down, catering a smile as he turned and slowly walked towards him. "But you know that already," he teased, pouring himself another glass. "Scotch?" He asked, already pouring a second glass and ushering it into Roman's hand.
"Don't mind if I do." Roman followed his lead. Eyes to eyes, gaze meeting as he took a sip from his glass and Jeryd did his.
"So…?" He started, making sure Mencken's attention was on him. "Is there a reason you called me or is Jeryd Mencken really diving for the press' imagination. I can imagine the headlines now, youngest son to Logan Roy or play toy to Jeryd Mencken?"
"One and the same, no?" There was a quick quirk to his eyebrows as he brought his glass up.
"You're in control."
Mencken's grin only grew, an arresting breath to follow like he agreed all too much. "Only your doubt counts, doesn't it?"
"Does it?" Roman countered.
He laughed. "Besides, there's something I wanted to tell you."
"Oh? Phone not worthy of your words?"
"Thought it'd be better delivered with a smile," he gestured, bringing his finger to his own lips, "in secret."
Roman straightened his back and took a breath. "A smile indeed," he muttered. "Don't tell me I have to beg for it."
"You would like that." He took another drink from his glass, savoring it.
Roman bit the inside of his cheek. "So?"
"You're safe."
"Safe?" His eyebrows furrowed. "Safe as in safe safe, wrap me up in a blanket with a warm drink, safe? Or safe as in, fuck me up against the head board and have your shoes on as soon as your finished and out the door, safe?"
Jeryd cocked his head. "Sounds like a trick question to me. What really makes you feel safer?"
"Depends on who's doing what."
"Let me reiterate a story then." He placed his glass down, fingers circling the rim. "We've gone far, you and me; I might even say that we've crossed The Road."
Roman scoffed, looking down.
"You don't agree?"
"No, just…" he shrugged. "You're an agreeable person."
"And?" Jeryd pushed.
Roman pressed his tongue against his cheek. "We never got to that, into the bar, part of things."
"Not good enough for you?"
"What? No. Good—It's good, plenty good, plenty good. Just…" he danced around his words. "Things might not measure up."
Mencken took a step forward. "Is this what you're afraid of?"
"No. Me? No, I think this is pretty good." He raised his glass, making a show of taking another agonizing drink. "It's more for, well… the outside, in," he explained, stepping into Mencken's space. "Things get a bit warped when looking through windows."
He stepped forward, a quick pat laid to Roman's shoulder and said, "I'll have them tinted." In the as a matter of fact voice he supported.
He walked past him, leaving roman gripping the glass in his hand. Hoping for it to shatter, but he knew the glass was too thick, it wouldn't shatter beneath his grip and dig into the soft flesh of his hand; every little cut exposed and burning as blood mixed with scotch. Though, the fantasy feeling had very little difference to the words he and Mencken continued to exchange.
He loosened his grip on the glass. "Tinting doesn't fix a problem."
"I can give you more." Mencken's voice came from behind him.
"More is just more…" he took a breath. "More won't be enough."
"Do you want me to give you enough?"
Roman turned around to face him. An undesirable feeling crawled down his throat as he stood; speechless and undesirable himself.
Jeryd smiled, pleased, and possibly something of entertainment in his posture. "Love is a serious mental disease, Roman," he stated.
"Armchair diagnosing?" Roman moved closer. "Didn't know we were doing that now."
"Should the story end there?" Mencken gestured. His glass hanging from the rim with just the tips of his fingers holding on.
"I don't agree."
"I thought I was an agreeable person?" He cocked his head, an ever growing sly smile on his face.
"Well…" Roman closed the distance between them. "Those who tell the stories, rule society." He pushed himself into Jeryd's space
"Eager aren't we?" He teased.
"At the heels of your feet."
Jeryd chuckled and a part of Roman felt like the hand around his throat loosened enough for him to take an extra gasp of breath.
There was a breath, a step from Jeryd, before his hand was clasped over Roman's shoulder, his side pushed onto his front as he leaned over, his mouth a breath away from his ear and his weight pushing dangerously against him.
"Aren't you a fun toy to chew on?" He muttered, tightening his grip.
Roman waited for the desired pain but settled after a few seconds when nothing came. "So I've been told."
"Keep yourself solitary then," he stated in the same manner an order would be given and followed. With another pat to his shoulder he pulled away, switching his glass to that hand. "To me and to you." He brought it down and gently tapped Roman's glass, before taking a drink.
Roman cocked his head with a pleased grin, looking Mencken in the eye as he brought the glass to his lips. "To you and me."