Chapter Text
When the day comes for Roman to actually fucking go to Sweden, he wakes up in his condo with a hangover and a weird emptiness where Matsson should be. He’d dropped Roman off at the condo the night before with instructions to pack for Sweden, “fucking eat something,” and go to sleep.
Instead Roman had drunk possibly half a bottle of Scotch, lay on his couch in his work clothes with ATN blaring in the background like he needed a reminder of Tom and all the other shit going on, and not packed a single thing. The plane today would be full of GoJo people who hate him and who are halfway smart enough that Roman worries they’ll pick up on him and Lukas.
Now, his head pounds and his empty stomach rolls as he throws button-downs into a suitcase. They probably don’t wear bespoke suits at upstart European tech companies—he’d never seen Lukas in one—but that’s what he has, so that’s what goes in the suitcase. Someone will have to iron his shit when he gets to Sweden because he sure isn’t going to do it.
He’s finishing packing when Matsson texts him.
If you aren’t in a car right now, I know you didn’t do what I said last night
How does he always know? Roman never gets away with anything with him. And, not for the first time, he knows he probably should have done what Lukas said anyway.
He calls a car, grabs an energy drink, and pulls on a suit jacket. Time to trap himself in a metal tube in the sky with ten people who’d push him out if they got the chance.
Lukas and everyone else are already on the plane when Roman arrives and he has to swallow back another hangover burst of nausea as he chucks his briefcase onto an empty seat and glances quickly around at all of them.
His look around is interrupted by Matsson.
“Roman. It’s good to finally have you here.”
Roman suppresses a shiver at the sound of Matsson’s voice, right on the edge of what it turned to when they were alone. At the words, his whole focus narrows onto Matsson. Everyone must be watching, and the thought in the back of his mind unsettles him, but Matsson is what matters.
“Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t know how to fucking pack for this,” Roman says, gesturing stupidly with one hand to encompass the whole plane.
“You must be the first GoJo employee—if you even count—to show up for a flight in a suit. It’s cute,” Oskar says, with a laugh that’s echoed be some of the others.
As expected, Roman is stupidly overdressed. Whatever. In real fucking business, this is how people dress.
“Maybe you’d be a billionaire like me if you put on a a suit once in a while,” Roman says.
Oskar gives a bark of laughter at that and is clearly preparing a comeback when Matsson cuts in.
“Roman, sit. Oskar, stop being a dick. You work together.”
The command to sit snaps through Roman, and he drops into the seat with his bag on it. When he’s as settled as he’s going to get when he’s as stressed and hungover as he is, it registers that of course it’s Ebba, of all people, sitting across from him.
Her mouth is a flat line, the most neutral look she’s ever given him. Maybe that’s a win. He still doesn’t like the way she looks at him, though. It’s assessing in a way that makes him think she’s reading something he doesn’t want her to.
Matsson gives the order for the plane to take off, and they get into the air. Roman needs a drink. Some fucking hair of the dog or something. He can work after more than one whiskey if he really wants. Call it a family talent.
But they start talking about work before they’re even at the altitude when anyone can use their laptop, and Roman’s not stupid enough to think Matsson would let him get away with slipping to the kitchen now.
The conversation kicks off on a topic that isn’t how Roman wants to start the day: ATN.
He lets everyone talk around him for a while, until the conversation lands on Jeryd Mencken.
“I’ve heard that you have an in with him, Roman. Any insight on where he’ll stand on the deal?” Matsson says.
Roman fidgets with everyone’s eyes on him now.
“I mean he doesn’t like it. Big foreign business taking over a fucking huge ‘American’ one. Not exactly in line with the Mencken values.”
“Is he going to shut us down if he gets elected?” Matsson says.
Pressing his fingernails into his palms, Roman tries to grab onto the answers that he knows are in his head. For once, this is something he really can help with. Who knew he could actually help GoJo?
“You’ll have to make some concessions, probably.”
Oskar cuts in.
“Maybe Lukas will fuck him and he’ll fall in line.”
Roman recoils in his seat.
“Mencken doesn’t want to fuck Lukas. He’s not like that.”
Like Roman. Like Lukas.
Except… in that bathroom. Had there been something that Roman ignored? Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
“Everyone wants to fuck Lukas.”
“Except Ebba, maybe.”
Roman’s eyes had been on Oskar, but they snap to Lukas at his words. And then to Ebba when she replies, a single word.
“Lukas.”
Sharp as a knife, each syllable bitten off with force. Her eyes narrow on Lukas, mouth pinching. His head cocks slightly as the two of them look at each other.
The moment is broken by a loud bark of laughter from Oskar. But the tension lingers in the air, a few people glancing between Lukas and Ebba.
Across from Roman, Ebba stays intent on Lukas. Something is moving between them that Roman doesn’t quite know how to parse. It’s not the first time this has happened with Ebba but there’s so much about GoJo and Matsson that he hasn’t pieced together. She’s the biggest enigma.
Everyone waits for Matsson to reply. Roman wants to slide down into his seat until he disappears.
“We’ll find a way to get to Mencken,” Matsson says. He still hasn’t looked away from Ebba, though.
Finally, he turns his attention to Roman, who’s fighting the desire to slide down in his seat until he disappears.
“Roman, write me a brief of everything you have on Mencken. Think about how to get him on our side. We can’t waste the acquisition by playing this wrong.”
Nodding, Roman pulls out his laptop.
People are looking at him and he knows no one here really thinks he’ll have anything important to say. The laptop gives him the buffer he needs to separate from the skin-crawling atmosphere in here. It’s practically like a Waystar flight with the way that it’s stressing him out. Worse, probably, since the percent of people who hate him is higher.
It’s weird to realize, though, that he’d prefer the king of the plane to be Matsson rather than Logan.
The conversation turns to some subscriber numbers that Roman chooses to ignore. Probably, he should listen. Everyone seems intense about it, but Roman’s pretty sure he’s here for the Waystar and not the GoJo, so it’s fine.
Eventually, people start pulling out their own work and typing away, talking in smaller groups about whatever the fuck they’re doing (Roman still isn’t sure who half these people are and half of them are speaking Swedish anyway). Roman can’t stop himself from sneaking a glance at Ebba over his laptop screen. She has her computer out too, but she’s not typing anything. Her face hasn’t lost the pinched expression from before. It was a fucking weird thing for Matsson to say.
Maybe this is Roman’s chance to talk to her.
“So,” he says, drawing out the word. “How long have you been at GoJo?”
Her brow furrows when he starts talking.
“Since university,” she says.
He doesn’t know if it’s her accent or that she really does hate him that makes her words so clipped.
Roman is prepping another question when a text from Lukas pops up on his computer screen.
I actually meant it when I told you to work on that brief
When Roman glances to the back of the plane, Matsson raises his eyebrows at him. How’d he even figure out that fast that Roman was distracted?
The need to touch Matsson is overtaking Roman. He’s been distracted by everyone else, but he hasn’t touched Matsson in twelve hours or something like that and it feels like twelve fucking years. The weight of Matsson’s gaze on him isn’t enough. And then Matsson looks back to his phone, and Roman knows he’s supposed to work.
He flips his phone between his hands before tapping it a few times against his laptop. Ebba makes a face across from him, and when he realizes it’s annoying her, he does it again.
Matsson wants him to make friends with these people. He can’t really complain if Roman wants to get to know them.
“How did you meet Lukas?” Roman asks.
This time, Ebba keeps typing on her computer.
“I did an internship at GoJo. In the early days.”
GoJo really is young if she’s old enough to have been here in the early days.
“What was it like at GoJo in the beginning?”
The reply is fast this time.
“I have work to do.”
Jesus. He kind of does want the answer to that one.
Another text comes through.
Stop bothering Ebba. You both have work to do.
So Matsson is watching.
“Do you like working for Lukas?” Roman tries now.
The corners of Ebba’s lips turn down. She really has nailed frowning, particularly in his direction.
She’s considering him when Matsson himself appears next to them.
“Ebba, is Roman bothering you?”
Her mouth puckers further in Matsson’s direction now.
“He was asking if I like working for you.”
Matsson looks between them before deflecting
“Kitchen, Roman? I came over because I have a question for you about Mencken.”
A classic Matsson not-question. As Ebba watches, Roman jumps up with no hesitation. He starts after Matsson, worrying that he looks too eager, too transparent. But the chance to finally be fucking alone with Matsson is too exciting.
“I thought I was supposed to get to know my colleagues!”
Roman’s following Matsson to the little kitchen area.
“Not by asking questions about me. And not to Ebba. She doesn’t like to chat.”
There’s something weird about Matsson’s tone, and Roman wants to dissect it.
“Yeah, I fucking got that message. What’s her deal?”
They’re in the kitchen now.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not ‘doing’ anything but what you told me to do.”
“I think I told you to write a brief on Mencken.”
“Did you really pull me back here to talk about that?”
Roman reaches for Matsson to pull him in and kiss him. Now that they’re alone, it’s the only thing on his mind. He shouldn’t need anyone but he needs Matsson. It outweighs his fear of anyone else on this plane catching them. They aren’t Roys. He’d probably survive.
But Matsson steps out of reach.
Roman tries to follow him, but Matsson stops him with a firm hand against his chest.
Does he want Roman to beg?
“Please. I’m crawling out of my skin here.”
“So you’re acting out to get my attention.”
Roman waves it away.
“You don’t have to make it sound like that. I’m not five years old or some shit.”
Before he finished speaking, Lukas points to the floor in a now-familiar cue to Roman. This time, Roman balks like it’s the first day.
“But—“ he gestures to the main cabin of the plane, full of Matsson’s employees.
“Don’t think about them. Focus on me.”
Matsson tilts his chin toward the ground, expression growing more impatient as Roman doesn’t follow the order. Roman sighs and sinks to his knees, hating himself a little but needing Matsson more than he needs to like himself.
“If you’re going to be bratty to get to me, I’m not rewarding you. But I will remind you where you belong, and I think that will help.”
Matsson leans back against the tiny kitchen counter, casual as if Roman’s not kneeling in front of him in the middle of a plane with half his execs.
“I’m not being bratty or whatever,” Roman cringes as he says the word.
“You were late, you pushed Oskar again—“
“You can’t count that one against me. It’s going to keep happening,” Roman protests.
“And then I gave you work to do and you decided bothering Ebba was more important.”
“What did you mean when you said that about her?”
Matsson ignores the question.
“Roman. I told you to do your job. I told you to be on time.”
Matsson’s voice is even but it’s got an undercurrent of frustration that spikes into Roman. A thought strikes him when he hears it.
“Can I make it up to you? We can close the door.”
Now that he’s on the ground already, Roman only wants one thing. He can’t hold back the eagerness in his voice. Sitting here is the least jumpy he’s felt all day but the need for Matsson burns in his blood.
Matsson reaches a long arm toward Roman and runs his thumb over his lips. When Roman’s mouth opens automatically, Matsson finger slips in and presses against his tongue. Roman embarrassingly has to stop a moan from escaping, which is fucking horrifying. What is wrong with him?
“You really do want it.”
This time, Roman does make a sound, something meant to be a yes but smothered by Matsson pressing a little firmer against his tongue. The weight is so close to what Roman wants but not it.
Matsson shakes his head.
“If you behave, I’ll give you what you want when we get to Stockholm.”
This is an eight-hour flight. They have like six hours left, Roman is pretty sure. He won’t last that long in an enclosed space with Matsson and not allowed to touch him.
“I’m going to die waiting that long.”
“Well if you don’t behave, you’ll have to wait longer than that.”
Fuck this. It’s going to eat Roman alive. He would have called his own PJ to fly by himself if he’d realized how excruciating this would be.
“Fucking fine. I’ll behave or whatever.”
A smile comes onto Matsson’s face finally, the first sign of anything good that Roman’s gotten today. Briefly, Matsson runs his fingers through Roman’s hair. But before Roman can really enjoy the touch, he pulls back.
“Up,” Matsson says, gesturing toward Roman again.
Part of him doesn’t want to get up. If it would keep Matsson’s attention and keep Roman from having to sit out there in the middle of everyone, he’d stay for the rest of the flight.
He does it though, knowing it’s the first step toward his promised reward from Matsson. Roman had told Matsson before that he’d try to be better but maybe he doesn’t fucking know how to do that.
When he’s standing, he takes one more chance, trying to reach for Matsson to kiss him once. Again, Matsson steps away.
“Later. If you’re good. Now go do the job I’m paying you for.”
Roman follows Matsson back into the main cabin, where a few people are sleeping but most have laptops or tablets out and are working.
There’s nowhere to sit except going back to Ebba, so Roman accepts his fate. Maybe Matsson will fall asleep or something and Roman can ask her more questions. He’s sure she knows more about Matsson than anyone else. Oskar probably does, too. But they both hate Roman.
Back in his seat, Roman scoops up his laptop and opens his blank document for the Mencken brief. Roman actually does know a lot about Mencken. This might be the most helpful he’s been at GoJo yet, other than making their CEO happy by getting him off every day.
Matsson has stopped to talk to a group, expression serious as he listens. After, he comes and bends next to Ebba, speaking Swedish and pulling her laptop closer to look at what she has on screen. She gives him a dark look as she clicks to something else and shows it to him. Matsson shakes his head, pointing at something that she has written.
He says something tense to her and Roman realizes exactly how disadvantaged he is not knowing Swedish. Until now, he’d been on home turf that had turned upside down and shaken around in some fucked up way but this would be new.
When Matsson’s gone, still looking frustrated, Roman takes a chance.
“You in some kind of trouble?”
Ebba turns to him, a bit of her intensity from the conversation with Lukas slipping away. Her eyes stay narrowed on him, though.
“Lukas needs to let me do my job. He’s in more trouble here than I am.”
“What is this job you really need to do?”
“If Lukas wanted you to know, he’d tell you.”
Roman will never get anywhere with her. He needs to do his job, he guesses. Trapped here for hours and Matsson off limits. He starts typing out the things he’s learned about Mencken, leaving out the way he’d looked at Roman in that bathroom, which has taken on more meaning of late. Mencken had probably recognized what one fucking million people had before Roman saw it himself.
He’s working but can’t quite rally his focus. Matsson is ten feet away and Roman needs to be good, something he’s never been in his life.
Then, Oskar calls to him from where he sits across the plane.
“I met with Gerri Kellman yesterday. What’s her deal?”
Matsson let Oskar of all people talk to Gerri? Roman assumes Oskar does his job well despite his awful personality, since Matsson is a good businessman. But still, Gerri is a risk.
Also, is this some kind of test? Did Matsson put Oskar up to this?
Roman digs for an answer that won’t violate his promise to Matsson.
“Gerri does what’s right for the company but really what’s right for my dad.”
“She seems like a cold bitch,” Oskar says, laughing slightly.
“You have no fucking idea,” Roman says on a reflex, ten times more bitter than he means to.
His hands clench into fists until his nails dig into his palms. He doesn’t need to look to know Matsson’s watching.
“So it’s like that?”
Roman has to swallow back a wave of nausea.
“I’m paying you both for something, and I know it’s not this conversation,” Matsson says.
Oskar laughs but pulls his computer back onto his lap. Roman’s too wound up to work. What Matsson’s paying him for isn’t really this. He gets an idea. A fucking great or terrible idea.
Before thinking about it too hard, he pushes out of his chair and heads for the bathroom. He locks himself in and unzips his pants. It only takes a few strokes and thinking about kneeling for Matsson earlier to get mostly hard. He hasn’t done this since he stopped sending them to Gerri, but it’s second nature to take out his phone and snap a picture. He types the message: This is the job you pay me for. There’s one second of doubt as he texts it to Matsson, but he’s already pressed the button. He made himself sound like some kind of whore, like fucking Willa, but he’s not far off.
He waits a minute, trying to straighten his hair in the mirror and seeing if Matsson replies, even just to yell at him. But nothing comes through.
When he goes back out in the cabin, some part of Roman worries that everyone can see what he did on him, but no one even really glances at him as he makes his way back to his seat. Matsson doesn’t text back and doesn’t even look up from his computer at Roman when he walks by and looks back.
What does that mean?
Roman knows he’s supposed to work on this project, so he opens it and pretends to work. Still nothing from Matsson.
He types out some bullshit about the alliance between Mencken and his dad, Ravenhead, ATN—the stuff that Matsson probably won’t like given how he wants to make ATN less partisan. It’s hard to suppress the urge to write around how much his dad pushes the politics one way or the other. There’s no reason to keep family shit quiet now.
Roman nearly jumps out of his skin when Matsson calls his name from the other end of the cabin. Oh, Christ. He won’t say anything in front of people, right?
“Roman! Send me what you have on Mencken.”
Fuck.
“It’s not ready.”
Matsson cocks his head in a way that broadcasts loud and clear that he knows this and knows why.
“Send it to me anyway. We’re brainstorming ATN strategies tomorrow.”
So this is how Matsson is playing this.
As soon as Roman sends it, Matsson is in the doc, clicking around and assessing Roman’s work. But he doesn’t say anything or send any messages. This is going to kill Roman.
Roman spends the rest of the flight reading LinkedIn profiles for people on this plane in an incognito browser. Like half the execs are there. Almost everyone is Swedish. Most are tech backgrounds, basically no one with media like him. Maybe he actually does serve something here. It’s crazy that Ebba has basically never had another job, but it could be why she’s so close with Matsson.
Finally, they land in Sweden. Roman’s flown all over the world, and this flight felt longer than going to Hong Kong.
Matsson says, loudly enough for everyone to hear, that he’ll take Roman to his hotel since he’s never been to Sweden. If these ruses about them going everywhere together are working now, they’ll stop soon. He wonders if Matsson is even taking him to his hotel for real. Matsson slings Roman’s suitcase into the car himself, expression inscrutable.
He doesn’t say anything until the car starts moving, just considering Roman, who stays quiet for once in his life. Certainly for the first time today.
Roman feels himself slowly curling into the seat oddly the car as he waits.
“Well you really are the brattiest brat I’ve ever met.”
Roman cringes.
“You don’t have to say it like that but everyone knows I’m fucking annoying. If you really researched me, you’d know that.”
“I’m well aware of your reputation but you’re exceeding my expectations.”
What does that even mean?
“Am I like, failing as your sub or whatever?”
This BDSM language still feels fucking embarrassing to say out loud but call it what it is.
“I didn’t say that, I’m just trying to figure out how to fix this. I really like our arrangement, but I can’t do this forever.”
“No one can stand me forever. That’s kind of my whole thing,” Roman says, falling on the wrong side of the joking/vulnerability line. He should open the door of this car and roll out. That’s what Kendall would do.
“No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m thinking about why you’re doing it so I can make the right consequences.”
“You don’t have to fucking psychoanalyze me.”
Matsson doesn’t dignify that with a real response.
“You want my attention, like I said on the plane. You’ve always wanted that.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“No. You want my attention and you want me to dom you. Tell you what to do, be a little mean maybe.”
“Can you just tell me what you’re going to do?”
Matsson has his arm stretched out along the seat back but not touching Roman. He could, though. His arms are long enough to reach across an SUV seat.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing. What the fuck—“
“I’m going to drop you off at your hotel and then I’ll see you tomorrow. If you text or call me, I won’t reply until the morning.”
“I flew across the fucking ocean for you and I can’t see you tonight?”
Now, Roman really does start regretting what he’d done. Because he can’t take his first night here being away from Matsson.
“If you act out against the boundaries I’ve clearly set, I’m not giving you attention.”
“There’s got to be something else. Please.”
Begging didn’t work on the plane, but Roman’s desperate enough to try again.
“We need to correct this behavior of breaking the rules with work specifically. If you still want the GoJo job, act like you want the job.”
Roman needs the job.
They’re winding through the streets of a city he’s only seen a few times, but nothing could tear his attention from Matsson, who has that intense look he gets when he’s laser focused on something. Roman does want Matsson’s attention but this analyzing shit sets him on edge. Or maybe it’s the idea that he hasn’t touched Matsson since yesterday and he apparently has to wait until the morning. He’ll die.
“Fuck. Fine. OK?”
Roman hates how desperate he sounds.
“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
When Matsson finally reaches for Roman, running fingers through his hair and sliding a possessive hand down the back of his neck, Roman’s breathing slows for a second. Matsson’s intense look fades to reveal a bit of his smile. The stupid one that Roman thought about after meeting him, months before Roman had any idea about himself or Matsson.
In front of the hotel, Matsson uses the hand to pull him closer, pressing his lips against Roman’s and kissing him so hard that he stops breathing again. Roman tries to follow when Matsson pulls away, but Matsson stops him.
“If you’re good,” he starts, a sentence that’s becoming familiar in Matsson’s voice. “You’ll get a reward tomorrow.”
He pulls Roman in to kiss him once more.
“Did we just shake on that? Was that a binding agreement?”
“Go. I’ll see you in the morning,” Matsson says, pushing Roman toward the SUV door.
Roman goes, stopping to yank his bag out of the trunk. Matsson booked this hotel, so he has no idea what he’s getting into here.
His suite is nice, on par with Matsson’s New York one from the last few weeks. It has a more modern look from the kind of places the Roys typically stay, like a fucking metaphor for being at GoJo now. He suspects that’s a Matsson thing, though. For a guy who looks like a Viking, he sure loves “looking to the future.”
Roman chucks his bags on the floor—he can unpack later—and throws himself on the couch. He wants to pace, walk off the tension of the plane ride and the fucking frustration of not seeing Matsson tonight.
Actually, frustration gives him an idea. He could jerk off, if Matsson is really going to hold out on him tonight. He didn’t explicitly say not to. Previous conversations would indicate that it’s against the rules, but he could.
He plays with the idea for a second. It has a certain appeal. But he didn’t like how it felt to have Matsson disappointed in him. Before, he’d been trying to be good enough for his dad, who never thought he could be anyway. But Matsson actually thinks he can, which twists something in Roman. Even when it seemed like his dad was offering him more of Waystar, everyone knew he didn’t actually think Roman could do it. No one thought so. Not his siblings. Definitely not fucking Gerri.
So Roman won’t jerk off, even though he wants to. And he won’t text Matsson and point out that at least Lukas should admit that Roman’s text on the plane was funny. Although, Matsson said not to text or call. Roman could email.
He shakes the thought out of his head. He wants to keep this job. The actual work job, not the other stuff, though he wants to keep that too.
So he decides to write actual good notes on Mencken and then, when he’s done with that, on the intersection of Mencken and ATN. For all that it seems like Matsson knows more than god, he clearly needs the primer on the American politics that he’s thrown himself into. Roman knows he can be useful. All of Waystar and all of GoJo, except Matsson himself, thinks he’s useless. And maybe he is, but he can do this, at least.
He emails Matsson again with the updated doc. This time, no response and no Matsson in the doc.
It’s not that late—eleven—but it feels much earlier to Roman’s New York–trained body and with the knowledge that he could be with Matsson right now. Fuck. His skin is tight with need for Matsson. He immediately dismisses the thought of trying to sleep. That won’t happen anytime soon.
But he doesn’t know this city, that he agreed to come to because he was some rich fuck’s toy now. He’ll start bashing his head against the wall if he stays here. He tries to look up bars or clubs but he doesn’t want any of this shit that will be full of 19-year-olds backpacking through Europe, so he pulls up his email instead.
Why the fuck not.
He types out an email to Oskar, hating every word.
Hey. You know any fucking places a guy can get a drink around here?
He paces the apartment in the meantime, instant regret coursing through him. But a reply comes in three minutes anyway.
You’re asking me? Don’t you have someone you can pay to figure that out?
Roman doesn’t think about his reply before he sends it.
Who else do you think I’m going to ask? Ebba? I don’t think so.
Another quick response comes.
You’re so attached to Lukas, he could fucking do it.
Fuck. The reminder that people noticed him and Matsson sends a wave of disgust through him. Oskar knows Matsson well enough to probably figure this shit out, and he hates Roman enough that it’s not info Roman wants him to have. He shouldn’t have started this email chain anyway.
Fine. If you don’t want to prove this city doesn’t suck, that’s up to you.
It’s only two minutes before Oskar sends a list of bars with no commentary this time. Roman doesn’t thank him, just books a car to the first one and hopes that Oskar isn’t pranking him.
The bar is dark and seemingly exclusive. They let Roman in when he flashes his ID and his credit cards, but no one points him to a VIP section. Maybe a return with Matsson would get him there. The light are low and the people look expensive. Oskar hasn’t steered him wrong. He gets a whiskey in a cut-glass tumbler, trying not to hunch over the bar while he traces a finger along the edge of the glass.
It would taste better with Matsson next to him. But it’s better than sitting alone in a hotel room.
He turns on his stool, scanning his eyes across the room. So, this is Sweden.