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Ever since Roman got home, he’s been a bit of interference buzzing in the corner of Kendall’s eye. Lurking around corners, slinking slyly into the kitchen when he and Logan are having coffee alone, lowering and fluttering his lids in the direction of Logan’s office door from across the hall, til he catches Kendall’s eye and winks over a hard sheen of rage. Kendall would have, should have confronted him about it sooner, but he’s actually too fucking busy right now to be managing his brother’s tiny dick disease; dad’s been taking him not only to headquarters more, letting him listen in on meetings through a backchannel from his office (“it’s our secret, okay, kid? Just don’t think you’re fucking anyone here”), but getting him out to see parks and cruises too, bringing him to unveilings and having him rub shoulders with all his senior crew (once, in Miami, a cakey-faced assistant offered him the shears for the ribbon cut on the new oceanliner; Logan had nearly tremored with rage as he wrenched them from his hands, rumbled “you’re not here to be a fucking posterboy”). It’s the night Kendall finds Roman in his room, sitting criss-cross on his bed, that he’s forced to confront the issue, and fuck him for making him do it like this. “Hey Ken. Dad fall asleep early tonight?” It’s subtle enough to be missed, but Kendall knows what he’s implying. “Y’know, I know you’re jealous, Rome. But it’s hard fucking work, getting to where I am, and you’re still a kid. Just do your homework and you’ll be on the come-up.” Roman snorts, but it seems less juvenile in the semi-dark; gets under Kendall’s skin a bit. He realizes he does actually sound fucking stupid, even if that’s sort of the point. “Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s hard, lot of fucking airflow management to parrot so much bullshit with his cock halfway down your throat.” “Seriously Rome, this is embarrassing for you. You sound like a freak and you’re not generating any new content here. Let’s speedrun this conversation for the next two weeks, yeah? I’ve got a full schedule.” Roman sits up on his heels, pitching forward just slightly to where Kendall stands at arms’ length, hands loose by the sides of his legs. “Yeah, it’s old news? Then why don’t you get into bed? You too much of a pussy?” “No, you’re too much of a cunt. Move the fuck over.” Roman folds for the moment, rolling onto the side nearest to the window, still looking at Kendall. Moving past the sluggish embarrassment beginning to weigh in his throat, he falls on, kicking off the slippers he’s taken to wearing around the house (he likes the feeling of silence beneath him while he walks, though he probably shouldn’t give Roman any ideas for either of them). “You gonna fuck me now?” “Very funny, Roman. I didn’t have time to draft an NDA.” “Oh, so we are doing this? Should we backdate the NDA a bit- y’know, for all the childhood fucking?” Kendall sighs, wipes a hand over his face with just enough force for lights to splinter behind his eyes. “Y’know, there’s a limit, bro. You need to learn the limits, or dad will never cut you in on shit. Imagine if he’s taking you to a new boat launch, all investors and local officials and senior crew, and you’re fucking- coming onto them, or telling a cocktail waitress you’re legal in three of the states where dad owns property. No one wants to get glommed on by a kid like that.” “Oh, yeah, I’m Kendall and my daddy thinks I’m really pretty so I get to play dress-up with the rich men while the big engine goes weeeeeeee.” Abruptly, Kendall rises, pushing up hard enough he knows it’ll shake the bed. “You know I try to help you, Rome. I tried to tell dad you didn’t need to go to some stuffy British circlejerk, I told him to send you to one of the parks instead, have you work there for a few months, let you get out of all of this. But you know what, he can’t have you endanger his company, and that’s what you’d do, because it’s like you want people to think there’s something wrong with us.” Roman stands up now, circling the end of the bed to approach Kendall at a stalk. “Oh yeah, and how did dad react, when you told him your brilliant plan? Tell you to stop trying to suck me off, because my dick’s too small to fit in your mouth? Fuck your parks. I don’t need to get sent on a spinny-ride. I can fucking handle myself.” Kendall feels his brow lower, knows his face is starting to go slack (just like dad hates, fuck, he feels it). “Great, Rome, you can handle yourself, great, then do it. I don’t even know what this fucking fight is about. Go jerk off in your room if you’re so pent up, jesus christ.” Roman shoulder-checks him as he goes, muttering “coward” in a voice where Kendall can’t tell if he’s serious, or just making fun of them both now. He curls up and lies for a while facing the window, watching lights blink on and off across the green, groundskeepers cutting untraceable routes through the dark.