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Night City smells like shit when it rains. The old sewage system was kept together through around the clock droids with welders and so much industrial tape the rings could be counted to tell the pipe’s age. Even then, an influx of liquid pushed those old pipes to the limit.
The same could be said for Night City’s best ripperdoc: held together through around the clock maintenance and industrial tape taking the form of coffee. Even then he went to bed with a sore back and a funny smell. The apartment’s shower (which had the pressure of a watering can) did little to help. By the time he crawls in bed the entire outside will smell as bad as it is, and he’ll place those extra thick windows in his online cart.
For now, those thinner windows were vulnerable. People around here knew the friendly ‘doc living above the spiritual chick’s shop and didn’t want to risk the community’s wrath by messing with him. But that didn’t stop Misty, living on the other side of the hallway, from chaining up the bottom entrance.
But there are still no guarantees those two things will stop everyone. The intense rain, and just how deeply Viktor sleeps, there wasn’t a chance he’d hear the window slide open from the top. That he didn’t stir at a full-grown adult landing on his floor was his own fault, especially when that person is soaking and stomping across the tile floor to the bed.
“Vik…” the intruder whispers. Smart enough to wake him from the end of his bed, gently grabbing his ankles, rather than near his arms and hands. Where his most skilled weapons are. “Viktor.” They say a bit more firmly.
The bed is not prepared for sudden movement. Creaking louder than any yell Viktor could make as he shot up, sitting straight up with a hand locked into a fist. Legs pulled up and away from the intruder while he tries to figure out what the Hell is going on.
“It’s V,” The intruder says, hands up to show they weren’t dangerous. “it’s me V, don’t hit me.”
Viktor let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Reaching over to the side table for his glasses. That he still used them rather than getting some chrome was his way of reminding the world of its greatest humor: Irony.
“Hi V,” He says with a stretch, shock from the B&E leaving him awake. “You know, there’s this great new invention called a phone. You can use it to call people, send messages, have you heard of it?”
“I broke it.” They said, hands falling to their sides in an slap against their soaked legs.
Viktor has seen V in almost every state imaginable. With blood and puke, limbs barely attached by muscle and wires, and naked without a single stitch. In both the medical and intimate context of form.
He’s seen V like this too; shivering and too tired to even stand without moving into a wider stance, even then wavering on their feet. Viktor stands, taking the few steps to be in V’s space; his bare hand tucked under V’s arm, snug in the armpit to keep them from falling straight off their feet, and to keep them from making a too easy escape. With his other he held V’s head. Tilting it back just enough for the light of the window to catch their face. Aside for groans at being manhandled there were only a few bruises on them.
“I’m not hurt or nothin’,” V says. “Just real fuckin’ tired. Lost all my stuff in the water and I can’t make it back. Viktor, please.”
A mental note was made to drag out what exactly happened to V later. For now, he lets them go. They could talk all they want about Viktor’s being closer, or being too tired or any other excuse but, in reality, a warm body sleeping close by was an underrated privilege. Something V has abused time and time again, not that Viktor has ever complained. Afterall, it was never discussed what exactly “friend’s with benefits” actually covered.
“Lose the wet clothes first.” Viktor says, as if he wasn’t participating in the stripping. Rolling up and removing V’s shirt and pants with the professionalism of any worthwhile ripperdoc.
Viktor’s plan was to get some older clothes for his guest. One of the tees from back in the day, a pair of shorts that, although itchy, would at least give the impression of modesty (so long as they didn’t try moving in it). He didn’t even make it to the dresser before V flopped, face first, onto the bed. Right over the unclaimed side without even thinking about covers or modesty.
“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not.” Viktor says, waiting a few seconds for a response. When he doesn’t get one he sighs, getting to work in moving dead weight that groans at being bothered in the slightest.
With V tucked in (and his once clean sheets now smelling like old pipes) Viktor joined. Like a heat seeking missile V finds him in the mess of thick quilts and sheets. Although their arms are moist, and hair is wet Viktor doesn’t do anything to avoid being pulled into them. Being rewarded for his submission with a smiley kiss on his cheek and a leg sliding between his. A silent promise for more entertaining activities later in the night if the chance arises.
The chance never arose.
Instead, V slept through the entire night with minimal twitching. Even through Viktor’s snoring which has been described as “the closest thing to a chainsaw I’ve ever heard,” by V after only two nights together. Apparently long enough for V to forget about the romantic manners that involve ignoring your partner’s quirks.
Only knitted eyebrows showed that V heard the alarm. Quickly turned off with an, slightly overly aggressive, grab by Viktor. Try as he might, Viktor could not slip out from the bed without seeing those eyebrows knit again.
“What time…What?” V asks the empty space when Viktor finally escapes.
V has been described in many ways by many different people: As monstrous with blood in their hair and a hot weapon in their hands. Or as sexy with an opened mouth smile and heaving chest, both hands on Viktor’s shoulders to keep in down. V has even been called pitiful while bleeding on the ground, yelling curses even on the verge of tears and defeat. But now with a quilt over their head like a hood, slow blinking eyes, and a tired voice? They were downright adorable.
“Go back to sleep,” Viktor says, leaning forward on the bed. Catching V’s chin and leading them forward in a chaste kiss. “I’m going to the clinic.”
“Sorry, I’m getting up.” V says in that same tired voice.
Viktor’s hand slid around V’s jaw and to the back of their neck. Giving another kiss matched with a groan to get their attention. “V, sleep.” He orders in his own low voice.
V laid back down with a smile on their face. If it were anyone else they would have forced themselves awake, yawning and flipping off whoever dared tell them to do something. But it was Viktor, with Viktor’s voice, so down they went. Gone from the waking world before Viktor had finished dressing.
In a few hours V would walk by. “Catch you later, Viktor,” They’d say in passing. Mostly dressed but for their shirt. Purposefully waiting to be in Viktor’s office (hopefully alone, but witnesses were welcome) before pulling it down. An action asking for attention but still disguised as casual. Also a promise that, like many times before, V will pay him back.