Work Text:
Gerri slumped on her sofa, sipping her martini. She had been through days of paperwork, legal documents, and crisis management since Kendall dropped his bomb. Once the words started running together and swimming around on the pages in front of her, she had no option but to take a break. As she sat up to squirm around a bit to get the ache out of her back, her phone rang. Again. She thought she might cry.
Checking the screen as she grabbed the phone, Gerri let a small smirk creep onto her face. Roman. She couldn’t believe how much she was hoping he’d called just to waste her time. She answered. “Roman.”
“I can’t fucking process information anymore. My head is just full of fucking…noise. People talking to me like they’re Charlie Brown’s mom. Ugh. Fuck.” Roman paused, apparently expecting a response.
“This must be very hard for you,” her voice brimmed with venomous sympathy. “Having to be a grown up for a change. Maybe even do your job instead of prancing around, waving your limp dick at people and expecting a pat on the head.” His breath hitched, and her mouth curled. “Roman, you’re nothing but a –”
“Wait –” he started.
She stopped, worrying that she’d read him wrong for once. “Yes?”
“Can I –” he cleared his throat. “CanIcomeover?” The words spilled out of him and landed all at once.
Gerri blinked a few times, startled. Roman was an increasing presence in her rooms or chalets or other accommodations when they all traveled together, but he’d never been to her home by himself. Why did this seem like such a big deal?
They spoke at once.
“Neverm—”
“OK.”
“OK?” Roman asked.
“OK. Do you know where—"
“Yes! I’ll be there in 45!” He sounded giddy, childlike. Gerri couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she ended the call.
She bit her lip and considered if she should be doing something. She was still in her work clothes, minus the blazer and shoes, which had been replaced by a pair of alpaca-fleece slippers. Her lipstick was worn away, and she thought about reapplying, but it seemed almost counterintuitive to make an effort for Roman. For all the guidance he needed, being around him could sometimes feel so effortless. She decided to stay where she was, sipping her martini and watching the Roy trainwreck on the news.
It only took 35 minutes before her doorman called to announce the arrival of Roman Roy. Eager as ever. She hoped he didn’t threaten his driver into breaking any laws getting him there so quickly. When she opened the door to find Roman on the other side, he grinned at her, shoving a bottle into her hands and breezing past.
“Wine?” she asked, closing the door behind him.
“Yeah,” he shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know, come to someone’s house, bring a sacrifice or some shit.” He seemed unsure standing there, looking around the place. Gerri waited a beat, then gestured to the sofa. He looked grateful to be given something to do. “Got any whiskey?”
“Sure,” she replied, and went to the bar to pour him a glass. Her back was turned, but she could feel his eyes following her as she moved. He continued to stare as she turned and made her way back to the couch, handing him the drink. She sat down and picked up her own glass.
“Uh...cheers,” he said hesitantly. They clinked glasses softly and sipped. As the silence continued, Roman’s eyes began to dart around the room again. He bounced his leg up and down, clearly unable to tamp down his nervous energy. Gerri sighed and decided to put him out of his misery. She drained her glass and put a hand on his knee, causing it to still. Roman looked at her.
“Follow me,” she said as stood. It was not said harshly, but it still carried the tone of an order. Roman smirked and fell in step close behind her as she walked him to her bedroom. When they arrived, she stopped and turned, pondering her options. She enjoyed her games with Roman immensely, but they had a tendency to, for her tastes, be rather, well, brief. So far, their sporadic “playtimes” reminded her a bit of taking the occasional hit of nitrous at sleazy millionaire parties in the early 90s. Being with Roman was kind of like doing a whippit: thrilling, disorienting, euphoric, and over in a matter of seconds. Gerri wondered if she could get a bit more out of him this time.
“You just gonna make me wait all night, Ger?” Roman quipped, but his voice stuttered. Gerri pursed her lips.
“Take off your shoes and socks and get on the bed. On your back.” She watched him carefully. They’d never done anything like this before, and he looked surprised and slightly dubious at her instruction. “Rome,” she said, softer this time. “Just trust me.”
Roman nodded his head vigorously and went to the bed to sit down and take off his shoes. Gerri smiled and opened a dresser drawer, pulling out a red silk scarf. When she turned back to the bed, Roman was moving to lie back with his head on the pillows. His eyes fell to the scarf as she moved to sit next to him on the bed. He gulped, and she raised a playful eyebrow. “Arms up,” she commanded. He grinned up at her and raised his arms above his head, letting his fingers play along the iron headboard.
She threaded the scarf through the bars of the bed frame and looped it loosely around his wrists, securing them with a bow instead of a knot. “You might want to go back to the Girl Scouts to refresh your knot-tying skills,” Roman goaded. “I can get out of these no problem.” He started to wriggle one of his wrists, but Gerri stilled his arm.
“I know,” she responded plainly, reaching down and cupping his chin a bit more firmly than necessary. “This is not about me restraining you. This is about you showing restraint. The scarf is merely there for encouragement, but I expect you to keep your hands where they are because I’m telling you to. Understand?”
Romans eyes went dark and his jaw slackened. God, he had no poker face at all. He tried to nod but was impeded by Gerri’s grip. “Y—” he couldn’t seem to get sound to come out. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he finally answered. Gerri smiled at him.
“Maybe if you can manage not to fuck this up like you do everything else, you’ll get a treat.” Gerri ran her thumb over his bottom lip, feeling his sharp intake of breath. She let go of his chin and reached up to brush some hair from his forehead. “Not that you’ll be able to do this, of course. You’re just an incompetent little rodent who can’t even control his own impulses.” Roman whined and shifted his pelvis around, trying to find some friction as Gerri carded her fingers through his hair.
“Look at you,” she continued and moved her hand down to lightly grasp the back of his neck and hold his jaw. “You’re pathetic. Can’t even get your rocks off like a man, not until you get a good scolding from Mommy, right?” Roman started to buck his hips a little, grunting. Gerri could feel her own arousal thrumming through her, and she let a finger trail down to the collar of his shirt and opened up the top button to graze her nails over the newly exposed skin. She saw Roman’s knuckles go white where he was gripping her headboard. Good boy. She undid the next button.
“You’re a rotten, useless little maggot, aren’t you?” Her eyes moved from his chest back up to his face. His face was pleading, and eyes nearly black with arousal and struggling to focus on her. “Answer me!” she demanded. Another button.
“Yes, yes. Ungh!” He was holding onto the headboard like his life depended on it, and he was humping the air in earnest now. Gerri couldn’t deny how much she enjoyed this power over him, after a lifetime of tiptoeing around men’s egos, where else could she find such beautiful unrefined, unquestioning obedience. Maybe he was giving her exactly what she needed as well. She took some time to explore his bare chest. Her fingers grazed a nipple. “Fuck!” he gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Writhing, sniveling, sorry excuse for a human being,” she spat. Her hand slid back down his chest to finish unbuttoning his shirt, revealing more, somewhat pasty, flesh. God, why was that turning her on? Her other hand clutched her own thigh tightly. She considered moving it between her legs, giving herself some relief, but she didn’t want to give him that. Not yet. Not tonight. As she undid the last button, Roman’s shirt fell to the sides, exposing him, making him look even more vulnerable. Gerri placed her palm on his stomach and slid it upward toward his clavicle.
Roman let out a long moan. She saw his hands flex against the headboard, then regrasp it. “Aren’t you even a little bit ashamed of yourself, you disgusting little weasel?” Her nails scraped red trails down his sternum. He couldn’t stop moving, bucking his hips with increasing abandon. “Poor little rich boy." Gerri pinched a nipple and appreciated the responding grunt. "Turning yourself into a pitiful slut the second you get a grown up’s attention.” She pinched harder.
“Pleeeeeeeeeeease,” he whined, tears forming at the sides of his eyes, still shut tightly.
Gerri stilled her movements and smirked. “Please what?”
“Ugh-hgh,” Roman made an aborted sound. Like he wanted to ask for something but wasn’t sure it was allowed.
She was feeling generous. “Do you want me to touch your cock, slime puppy? Is that what you want?”
He nodded so hard, she was worried he’d give himself whiplash. “Yes,” he gasped. “Please, please!”
Her hand moved down and she lightly glided her fingertips over the skin just at the top of his pants. “Hmmm,” she teased, enjoying the sound of his whimpers. “I suppose you’ve been a good boy. You didn’t try to touch yourself once this whole time. Just like I told you.” Gerri unbuttoned his pants and could feel him hard and straining against the material. Roman was clearly trying to keep himself still for her, and as a reward, she unzipped him without any more taunting. There was a wet spot where the head of his dick was pushing against his boxer-briefs. She traced the outline of his dick with a finger, letting the sound of his responding groan fan the flames of her own arousal.
Gerri pushed Roman’s underwear down just enough to let him spring free. “Fuuuuuuuck,” he sobbed.
For a moment, she didn’t touch him again, just content to watch his cock bobbing against him, dripping all over himself. “What am I gonna do with you, Roman? You’re such a wretched little shit. Look at you, making a mess of yourself, and no one’s even touched your pathetic little dick yet.” His cock jumped at her word, the thin string of precum continuing to ooze from the head. He was moaning continuously, and he gave her a look of such pleading that she couldn’t help feel sorry for him.
Wrapping her hand around Roman’s cock, Gerri was taken aback at how hard he was. There was no way he’d last much longer. She gave a light pump, and he made a choked noise. He was ready to blow at any second. She thought again about whippits and giggled. Roman’s eyes flew open. Her laughter was the final straw, the last humiliation he needed. He came violently, anchoring himself to the headboard, shaking it, bucking up into her grip, coating his stomach and her hand with strings of white. Gerri watched it all, her eyes absorbing the sight greedily, storing it, saving the memory to enjoy later.
When his breathing began to slow down, Roman slipped his wrists free of the loose hold of the scarf and lay there for a few moments with his eyes closed, recovering. Gerri took the time to pull a few tissues out of the box on her nightstand and wipe her hand clean of him. She studied his relaxed face and smiled fondly. He opened his eyes, and looked at her with such open affection, she almost had to look away. “Can I stay?” he asked softly.
She brushed some hair from his face. “In the guest room,” she said gently. She still felt too protective of herself, of her time and space to just hand it over to him, but she could take a step for him. For a second, she wondered if he’d be hurt by her answer, but she should know better by now.
“OK,” he grinned. “I can do that.”
She looked at him, feeling…something. Thrilled, disoriented, euphoric. Still. It had been more than a few minutes. There was something else there too. Warmth. This could actually be better than a whippit.