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Here’s the thing. The finance guys are fucking easy. Stewy can nail them from ten paces - every cliche in the book, right? Patagonia vest, mint Juul pods, Airpods in their ears. The cooler ones wait at food trucks and pretend like they’re slumming it on Liberty Street, like they aren’t going to get fucked up on cocaine and bottle service at 1Oak or the Standard over the weekend. They’re so, so easy. It barely takes anything — the merest suggestion that selling your soul ought to be worth more than $80k base and a variable bonus and weeks of sleeping under your desk to hit the late work minimum.
Getting a managing director isn’t far off. It’s all simple: a few slick moves will make the boss notice. If you’re careful, you’ll get away with insider trading. You’ll escape the SEC investigation. You’ll walk away with more money in the world than you could ever need.
The lawyers? He doesn’t even have to try.
Stewy’s got New York. He’s good at it. He greases the wheels, gets souls, knows how to talk the talk and walk the walk. Old-school demons rely too much on fire and brimstone; there might be no atheists in a foxhole but there are a hell of a lot of them gathered on the trading floor. He makes sure he wears the suits, the overpriced sunglasses. Enough flash to show he’s got money. He cleans the fuck up on Wall Street. The investment bankers want money. The private equity guys want power. All he has to do is make deals. All it takes is your soul.
Kendall’s different.
Stewy went for him early. Logan Roy sold his soul to the Devil long ago, but he’s held off collecting so long that it’s starting to eat him from the inside out. His kids are harder. Roman laughed in their faces. Siobhan said not yet. Connor, they didn’t even try.
Kendall said no. They tried him young and Kendall said no, and so they sent in Stewy. The top brass told him it was a promotion — if they couldn’t get Logan, take what was theirs, then they wanted at least one of his children.
At first, Stewy bides his time. Boarding school seems too obvious, and Kendall’s pushing against the boundaries of who he is. He wants to reject it. He does more drugs than he should. Stewy sighs and keeps an eye on him. It wouldn’t do to lose Kendall to ordinary temptations when his soul is ripe and ready for bigger things.
College is easier. He watches Kendall's slow seduction: drugs, sure. Sex. Everything a young man in Cambridge could want, at his fingertips, paid for with daddy's money. Stewy gives into temptation and fucks Kendall during what Kendall thinks is their junior year. It's not even part of a deal — he just wants to. Demons are allowed to be hedonistic too, right? It’s not Kendall’s soul, but it’s enough for now. They’re both too high for it to be good, but it’s satisfying
He tells his superiors he's made progress. That he's getting closer. Logan's grooming his son, trying to set Kendall up for when his bill comes due; soon they’ll have the Roys utterly and completely.
He says nothing of what it’s like to have Kendall for himself — all that taut rage and intelligence, how Kendall can look at something and pull it apart — all aimed at Stewy’s ancient frame, dedicated to making them both feel good in a drugged, hedonistic burn, until they both come apart. It’s never real, not like it could be. Even in his worst binges, Kendall is careful not to go too far. He’s the Roy scion and Stewy is, to all appearances, from old money. They can’t get caught.
Things happen. They graduate; somehow, Kendall graduates with honors, and Logan is late to the ceremony. His mother doesn’t show up. Stewy gets a job with a hedge fund and starts taking souls again, feeding on them, lush and rich. Kendall meets Rava and dries out, until he doesn’t. He goes to Shanghai. Logan trusts him, then he doesn’t, then he trusts him again. Shiv tries to branch out and work in politics. Roman does whatever the fuck Roman does — Stewy’s never been that interested in him, though his soul is delicious . Kendall comes back to New York. He tries to take over the company with a vote of no confidence, fails. Stewy helps him, like any friend would help. The deal isn’t written in blood. When Kendall falls through, it’s a normal betrayal. He isn’t breaking any oaths.
God, Stewy thinks, before he reflexively winces at the oath. They would have been such a good team.
Hell inches closer to Logan, wrapping its warm arms around him, dragging him in.
He doesn’t know when exactly Kendall finds out who he truly is. Kendall can be good at hiding shit even when he wants to be, even from demons. It’s a habit left from being a drug addict, Stewy thinks. Kendall spent so much time forcing himself into functionality, proving he could run a division, proving he could run a company, like it was going to matter when the Devil got his hands on Logan Roy.
Here’s how Stewy wins.
Kendall comes to him after Greece, after whatever his fucked up family decides on their fucking obscene yacht. “It’s me,” he says, no preemption, no ceremony, no nothing at all. His voice has that peculiar hollow quality it had during the worst of his addictions, and Stewy knows he shouldn’t recognize it. Care. This is the moment of his fucking triumph, after all. Kendall Roy, here for the taking. Kendall exhales. “I’m gonna do the press conference. It’s me. They need someone.”
“They need the firstborn son.” Stewy tilts his head, watches.
“That’s—”
“You know just as well as I do, Ken. Connor’s a limp-dick nothing. You’re the one they need.” He smiles, and it feels like a razor is cutting his mouth. “Why are you telling me? I told you, I don’t want the extra board seat.”
“No.” Kendall looks up, looks him in the eye. He looks very old, somehow; Stewy is thousands of years old and he is surprised by it. “That’s not the kind of deal I’m asking about.”
Stewy nods, slow. “What do you want?”
“I know about the deal my dad struck.” Kendall shrugs. “I know you know what's happening. I know he’s been holding you off. I know you’re gonna come to collect. The — the stroke, man, the puking, plus the coverup, everything — once I realized, it stacked up.” His smile is very chilly. Stewy’s almost proud. “And I don’t give a fuck. He’s not the only one who did it to get ahead, is he? I said no to some of you all before, and now I’m sure what, exactly, I turned down.”
“That’s your dad’s soul,” Stewy can’t help but point out. They’ve had plans down in Hell for Logan Roy for a long time. The plans are not pleasant. Even Stewy, who has been around for a while, winces. Hell can be so beautifully creative when it tries to be.
“He made a deal.” Everything about Kendall is perfectly aligned. “I graduated magna cum laude from business school. I know what it means when you renege on a deal. It means next time, some motherfucker’s gonna come for you, and you deserve it when they do it.”
He’s not just talking about business school — the failed takeover, the whole plan. Deals with private equity and deals with the board.
“Some motherfuckers,” Stewy says. “Not the worst way we’ve ever been described. We’ll take it.” He places his hands flat on the table next to his plate. The food was delicious, and expensive. It doesn’t matter one fuck that he doesn’t need to eat. It makes a point, anyway. “What kind of deal are you asking about, Ken?”
“There still a friend card here?” Kendall smiles, but it’s mirthless; it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have some stuff for the press conference. I don’t have enough if I’m gonna get the job done.”
“You don’t want to throw yourself under the bus for dear old Dad?”
“If that was the plan I’d be asking for a different kind of higher power.” Kendall puts his hands on the table too, palms up. “Here’s the deal, Stew. I need enough. I go up there. I tell the truth; you guys remember what the truth is, right? I already have some of the fucking documents but I’m sure there’s more. I do that, how much longer can Logan hold you off? I know you want him. I’m just his — his kid. His second-born son.”
It’s enticing. Not just for how it’ll drive Logan further towards them, but because it’s Kendall , offering himself up, ripe for the slaughter. Stewy wants the feather in his cap.
The Roys, bought and sold by Hell. What a beautiful thought.
“I don’t want your soul,” Stewy says. His eyes gleam, unholy in the dim light — he’s sure of it. But hey, he’s about to win. What better time to show Kendall what he really is? “I want you.”
Kendall sits back, stunned. “What?”
“I want you.” Stewy looks at him. He can taste the truth of it. He wants Kendall. Not for Hell, not for his masters. He wants Kendall all to himself. The hardest nut to crack, right? Everyone else caved, and Kendall held out so deliciously for so long. “Give yourself over and I’ll give you everything you want. You wanna take down your dad? Here I fucking am.”
He’s a demon. Kendall shouldn’t look so surprised. The Seven Deadly Sins are what they traffic in. Sure, normally he deals with greed, but everyone's allowed to branch out now and then.
“For how long?” Kendall asks. His hands fly to the collar of his shirt, long fingers elegant against his own throat.
“What?”
“How long do you want me?”
“Oh.” Stewy considers. He hadn’t meant to make it seem negotiable, but there’s fair and there’s fair . “I think you know, Ken.”
“Not forever.”
“No.” Stewy thinks some more. This isn’t big enough — it’s already in motion. Kendall’s got some of the documents, and the media’s got the taste of blood. This isn’t worth a soul, and he’d be lying if he said it was. There’s twisted honesty in the work he does. You can’t be giving up perfectly good souls for nothing, or no one’s going to want to sell them off. “One night,” he says. “Tonight. But I’m not letting you off easy.” He’ll get enough from Kendall to keep him going. “If this wasn’t fucking over dearest Dad, we’d be making a different kind of deal.”
“I know,” Kendall says.
Throwing Logan under the bus won’t kill him, but he’s going to need divine intervention to get out of it, and he doesn’t have a lot more to give. And the shareholder meeting was going to go Stewy’s way no matter what. Some of them he got the demonic way, but a lot of them he got the old-fashioned way.
“Is it—” Kendall swallows. “You gonna fuck me up, Stew?”
“What, the side effects from fucking a demon?” Stewy laughs. “I mean, the feedback’s been good. I have very satisfied customers.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Don’t worry, man. You’ll be around to try and fuck me over another day.”
“That was business,” Kendall says, the exact same dead tone he used when he said, my dad’s plan was better , before he knew what exactly Stewy was.
“And that’s why I’m not mad.” He shrugs a little. “It’s sex, but more. You think sex on drugs was good? With Naomi, or whoever else you picked up? You gotta try sex with a demon. It’s like getting fucked by lust, man. All I hear is that it’s worth it,”
“Don’t act like you don’t get something from it too. You're not human,” Kendall says. “A long time ago — a long time ago I thought it was about money. Or power. It took me too long to realize. But it makes sense. That's the shitty thing, it's. You told me there is a friend card. And I thought, hey. Oldest fucking friend.”
“Demons don't have friends,” Stewy says. “It's kind of a thing.” He smiles, razor sharp. “I've got a human form, but inside, baby, I was cast in hellfire.” He says it flippantly, like he’s saying this suit is custom Armani .
“Fine,” Kendall says. “Fine. You get me, we have fantastic fucking sinful sex, and I get the documents. And you can take whatever you want to Sandy, and keep working on Dad, or — Shiv, Roman? I don’t care.”
Stewy extends his hand. “It’s a deal, man.”
They go to Kendall’s apartment, which is stark white, giant windows showing off the New York skyline. He still hasn’t put in the kinds of personal touches that most people, even the worst ones, have. Stewy knows, from two decades of knowing Kendall, that Jess is the reason a competent decorator got hands on the place.
Kendall sits down heavy on the couch and pulls a baggie of coke out of his pocket, cuts lines ruthlessly with his AmEx card. He does two, shakes his head back and forth. Lifts his eyebrows — “You?” he’s asking.
Stewy nods, acquiesces. “It has an effect,” he says, responding to Kendall’s unasked question. “If I let it.” And he does let it. Working on Wall Street for so long has given him a taste for the finer things, and Kendall can always, always be counted on for good coke.
“Then let it.” Kendall watches until Stewy does two lines too, the same as him. “Okay.”
It’s always been impressive, how sometimes Kendall is the most clear-headed, when he’s on drugs. Impressive and depressing, if Stewy was anything else. He watches the cold light in Kendall’s eyes and wonders — this is what it took to say no all those years. Stewy knows he must not have been the only demon to ask.
The coke starts to kick in and he lets it. Kendall’s doing some more. There’s fucked up, beautiful efficiency in how he cuts the lines, like he learned it young. Another benefit of slumming it on Wall Street, really; they’ve got the best drugs. No one in politics can compare.
Finally, finally, he kisses Kendall, and Kendall opens his mouth, lets Stewy push in, lets Stewy bite his lip and wrap a hand around his head and try to swallow him whole.
This isn’t the first time they’ve fucked. But Stewy barely counts what happened at Harvard, both of them high out of their minds. Kendall wasn’t bought and sold then. Kendall didn’t belong to him. Kendall’s soul was untouched. Back then wasn’t bad, but this is better.
He touches Kendall, lets Kendall touch him with cold hands. He knows Kendall’s mostly trying to figure out if he’s real. Stewy kisses him and makes it harder than any kiss they’ve ever shared before, nothing like when they shotgunned weed in college. Kendall gasps and kisses him back and Stewy can taste it — his soul, tinged with desperation and need
They fuck in Kendall’s big luxurious empty bed. Stewy opens him up, Kendall on his hands and knees, then slides in, sets a hard rhythm that has Kendall gasping and scrabbling for purchase on his sheets.
He knows he’s touching Kendall more than he’s touched anyone else he’s slept with recently. If Stewy wants sex he goes and gets it the human way, picks up men and women in fancy bars. He looks young and he looks like he’s got money. He doesn’t have a problem.
Sex after he’s gotten a soul is always better. It’s the hedonism, maybe. The ownership. Stewy’s glutted on it, on Kendall , on every noise he makes. It hasn’t been this good in, fuck. Years, maybe. He grabs Kendall’s head and turns him so they’re kissing, drags his mouth down Kendall’s neck, careful not to leave a mark. Can’t have any of the Royco PR flacks coming at him tomorrow for something as teenagerish as a hickey. He bites Kendall’s collarbone instead, low, where it’ll be covered by his shirt and suit jacket. He kisses Kendall’s skin and tastes salt.
It takes some time, doubtless because of the drugs, but he gets Kendall moaning on every sharp thrust, arching back to meet him. Stewy thinks, for one bizarre, uncharacteristic, sentimental moment, if it would have been nice to see Kendall’s face. It doesn’t matter. Kendall only says his name once, right before he comes, but it latches in Stewy’s chest like a small flame.
Stewy comes once Kendall’s done and lets it overtake both of them. He exhales, grabs too hard onto Kendall’s waist. That’s another bruise, one more to add to the collection: Stewy’s fingerprints, purple and aching against Kendall’s skin. Under him, Kendall collapses, spent. They lie there for a few minutes, but there isn’t much to say. History’s history, and they’re both closer and further apart than they’ve ever been. “Tomorrow,” Stewy says. “Everything you need will be on your breakfast bar.” He smiles. There’s no joy in it. He presses cold fingers to Kendall’s lips. “When you go to your little press conference you’ll have everything you need.”
“Who are you to renege on a deal,” Kendall rasps. He gets up, naked, finds his drugs and cuts a few more lines. He does them like — not like a starving man, not like a desperate one. He just does them. “Fuck, man. I just made a fucking deal with the devil.”
“Oh, I’m not the devil.” Stewy stretches. “If you made a deal with the devil, Ken, you’d know .” He gets his clothes and gets dressed. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll see myself out.”
The next morning, two hours before the press conference, everything Kendall needs is in his living room, including several files he absolutely was never, ever supposed to see.
Stewy watches on television, from Greece, where he’s supposed to be. Sandy is next to him on the yacht. They’re eating calamari. Stewy doesn’t even like calamari. They’re in Greece and eating shitty calamari, what’s even up with that. On screen, Kendall is sitting up, almost but not-quite straight. There are dozens of flashbulbs going out and he looks at them, unphased.
“Good morning,” he says. “I have an announcement to make about wrongdoing at Waystar Royco, in advance of the upcoming shareholder meeting.” He pauses. “I have been asked to explain my own role in the managing of illegality at the firm and associated coverups, and it has been suggested I would be a suitable figure to absorb the anger and concern.”
Another pause.
“But.”
The noise in the room conference swells to a sharp peak. Stewy smiles, and turns the volume up.