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The kiss is feather-light, barely there.
And yet, Jayce feels on fire, head to toes. His fingers brush against Viktor’s vest – unbuttoned, tie loose around his neck – before they come to a rest on the man’s hipbone. The minty aftertaste of his nightly tea lingers on Viktor’s lips, and Jayce has the distinct feeling that he will never – ever – be able to smell that blend again without feeling the ghost of Viktor’s mouth on his own.
Viktor sneaks a hand on Jayce’s chest and pushes him back, just enough to break the kiss. He doesn’t move away, his nose bumping against Jayce’s.
“What are you doing?” Viktor’s voice is low and gravelly, barely above a whisper. His eyes search Jayce’s, for only he knows what. Has Jayce gone mad? Is he drunk? Is it a trick, a play, is he pulling his leg?
Jayce’s thoughts are slow and blurred, and they all seem to converge on the fact that Viktor’s eyes are not just amber-coloured, like he always thought, they have a green-ish tinge around the pupil. He never noticed, he never did.
“I’m… I’m not sure. Are you ok?”
Viktor furrows his brow, and Jayce feels out of his body as he raises his right hand from Viktor’s hip and smooths out the wrinkle that has formed between his eyebrows with his thumb. Jayce’s hands are rough from years of tinkering – much like Viktor’s – and Viktor’s skin is so soft under his finger that it only seems natural to let his hand fall and cup his cheek. He just hopes Viktor doesn’t notice it trembling ever so.
“I don’t know,” Viktor says, gaze darting back and forth from Jayce’s eyes down to his mouth. His pupils are blown wide, and Jayce wants to crawl out of his own skin because it is pulling in all the wrong places, smothering him.
“Can I—”
The question dies on Jayce’s lips as Viktor cuts him off with a nod and sways into him – chest to Jayce’s, left hand fisting his grey, wrinkled shirt.
The moment their lips touch again, the bottom drops out of Jayce’s stomach.
*
They had been in Viktor’s living room as per usual, the savoury smell of beef stew still lingering in the air.
The construction of a new HexGate in Bum-fuck No-where – way too late into the night for Jayce to remember exactly where – had suddenly come to a halt a few days prior, and the only words on the dispatch the HexGate techs had sent to Piltover were:
GATE NO WORK
PLEASE HELP
REPORT ATTACHED
The report in question was a scribbled piece of parchment paper with numbers and runes and data with no apparent logical nor mathematical connection. The dispatch had arrived in the middle of a banquet the evening before, and Jayce had already been three glasses too deep into Noxian sparkling wine for any of it to make sense. He had stashed it into his pocket with a tipsy smile for the Enforcer who had handed it to him and had gone back to the glazed duck on his plate, Counsellor Salo’s insufferable chatter in his left ear. Jayce had poured himself another glass.
When he had walked into the lab that morning, fingertips rubbing at his temples, Viktor had let out a snort, goggles over his eyes and welding torch in hand.
“I see you had fun last night, Jayce.”
“Stuff it, Viktor,” Jayce had groaned, dropping on his chair. “And stop… whatever you are doing, we have a problem.”
While most people would have moaned and grumbled at the mention of a problem, Viktor had perked up, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. To him, Jayce had learned, problems were not frustrating nor unwanted. On the contrary, they were unexpected presents left at his feet, puzzles to tickle his brain with, to take apart during slow afternoons and lunch breaks.
“What kind of problem?” Viktor had asked, pushing his goggles up with the back of his hand and thus leaving a streak of grease on his forehead. Jayce had smiled softly and had shaken his head in disbelief: Viktor was one, if not the most brilliant man he had ever met, always poised and buttoned up, and there he was now, grease on his forehead and a twinkle in his eyes, much like a child on his birthday.
Jayce had fished the crumpled dispatch and the “report” the techs had sent from his pocket and had pushed it towards him over the workbench.
“It’s the new HexGate. They are having problems with…,” Jayce had made a vague gesture in the air, “fuck if I know, I tried to read it over on my way here, but I am either too hungover to make any sense of it or the techs over there have as good of a mathematical proclivity as of a trained circus monkey.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t be too harsh on the monkey, it is after all a remarkable creature.” Viktor had removed his welding gloves and had unfolded the dispatch with measured movements, the report falling on his lap. As he had started to read, Jayce had let himself stare. At the way his brow furrowed in concentration, at the way the tip of his nose had twitched when pouring over the half-sentences, poorly drawn runes, and seemingly random numbers and formulas written all over the parchment. Even after all those years, and with his hair pushed back in disarray by the welding goggles, and the grease on his forehead, Jayce still found him captivating. Intoxicating, even. To the point where he found himself incapable of breathing properly unless he knew that Viktor was just a few steps away from him and he was so beautif—
Jayce had immediately put a stop to that train of thought and had sat up straight, clearing his throat and wiping his clammy hands on his trousers. “So, what do you think? Got any ideas?”
Viktor’s head had sprung up, eyes blinking as if just waking up. He had stared at Jayce for a moment or two before remembering, Jayce had guessed, that he had to actually use his voice to communicate with him.
“None at all,” Viktor had smiled.
And so, their day had gone by, trying to decipher what the techs on the other side of the country were trying to tell them. They had polished off one of their blackboards to work on, and that had soon turned into two, then three. Covered top to bottom with equations and graphs and runes. Arrows, circles, and many a question mark, too.
It had soon become clear that whatever those techs were dealing with was no mere cable mix-up. It – probably – had something to do with the channelling of the energy current through the main gateways, and its dispersion flow, but, as the sun had gone below the horizon out of their huge windows, they had not come any closer to figuring it out. It was deeply frustrating.
“I give up,” Jayce had whined, head in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair. “Let’s just take the first carriage tomorrow morning and go over there, I swear it’ll be less complicated than… this.”
“Don’t be a big baby, now,” Viktor had tut-tutted. Jayce had raised his head with a sharp rebuttal ready on his tongue but the fight had gone out of him when he had seen Viktor gingerly lowering himself on the busted sofa in the corner of the lab, left hand gripping at his knee and a sour expression pulling at his features.
He’s been on his feet all day, his leg must be killing him.
Jayce had sighed, running a hand over his face. He had stood up, gathered their coats, and offered Viktor a hand.
“Alright, let’s go. If I spend one more minute in this hole I might start throwing things. Not to mention, you need to take that thing off.”
Jayce’s remark about his brace must had hit home because Viktor had jerked his hand away, a proud set to his mouth. He had raised an eyebrow at Jayce, ever so stubborn. “Go where, Jayce?”
“Yours, obviously, your raggedy arse wouldn’t make it past the entrance hall at my building, and you know it,” Jayce had deadpanned.
Viktor had stared at him for a long second before letting out a soft chuckle. He had reached up and smacked Jayce’s hand away, using his cane to pull himself up from the couch. Jayce hadn’t missed the twitch of pain of his upper lip.
“You know, Jayce, inviting oneself into another person’s house is deeply uncouth, I hope you know it.”
As if they hadn’t ended up in Viktor’s apartment most nights as of lately, after leaving the lab, so nose-deep into new research around HexTech that they had often pulled caffeine-powered all-nighters.
“I’m buying you dinner. I do have manners, V.”
Unlike Jayce’s new apartment, Viktor’s was all warm wood, forgotten cups of tea, and floor-to-ceiling stacks of scientific journals and books and seemingly every scrap of paper Jayce and Viktor had ever scribbled on. Jayce loved Viktor’s place.
A few weeks into the new year, they had wheeled one of their blackboards all the way there from the lab, in a delirious journey through the ice-slick streets of Piltover. At some point, the blackboard had slipped from their hands and wheeled down the road on its own, Jayce running at breakneck speed after it lest it crash into somebody’s shop window. Now, it took up half the space in the already cramped living room of Viktor’s apartment, wedged between the table and the small but surprisingly comfortable sofa where Jayce had spent more than a few nights in the last couple of months.
On the way to Viktor’s they had stopped by their favourite food stall, a hole in the wall tucked away two streets down from the Academy. The old lady behind the counter had chit-chatted while preparing them two bowls of beef stew and mixed greens, inquiring after their health and their work and whatnot. She had gifted them two sugar pastry puffs as they “need to put some meat on them bones”.
Once inside the apartment, they had shrugged off their coats and Jayce had walked into the kitchen to grab two spoons and some napkins and to add a dash of chili powder to Viktor’s bowl. Jayce had learned he liked it more on the spicy side. When he had walked back into what was once a functional living room, Viktor was slumped in a chair, bent over his leg with a wrench in his hand to loosen the screws of his brace. When he had taken it off, a low moan escaping him, Jayce had tried his best to ignore how his stomach had churned at the sound.
It had started to rain at some point, the soft pitter-patter of the water against the window providing a nice background to their talking and calculating. But, well after midnight, when Viktor had already gone through a full teapot of his nightly mint tea, they had been just as slumped as they had been back in the lab. Viktor was sitting in his chair, legs stretched out and vest now rumpled and unbuttoned. He had had his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. Jayce, standing next to him and leaning with his left hand against the wooden framework of the blackboard, had been wondering for a good fifteen minutes whether the diplomatic fall-out with Bum-fuck No-where would be worth it if they were to tell them to just stop whatever they were doing, given their crystal-clear incompetence on the matter.
Viktor’s gasp had snapped Jayce back to reality.
“Jayce— Of course!”
And then Viktor had started to laugh. A full-belly cackle, at that, writhing on the chair and covering his eyes with a hand. Jayce had stared at him like he had gone mad, the sight of Viktor so unguarded turning his thoughts to mush.
“V, what the—”
Viktor had pushed his chair closer to the blackboard and had snatched the chalk from Jayce’s hand, circling the value of the energy dispersion rate.
“I know— Do you want to know how they are getting this number, those buffoons?” Viktor had asked him, a glinting in his eye and a lopsided, exhausted smile lighting up his face.
Jayce had opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, now looking at the blackboard and now at Viktor, trying to muster every last bit of mathematical prowess left in his brain at that point. And then it had hit him, and he had seen them – Viktor and himself – dealing with the exact same problem, just on a much smaller scale, a couple of years prior.
“Oh, come on! Seriously? They are—”
“Treating the alloy before smelting it!” had exclaimed Viktor, throwing his arms up in the air.
Jayce had started to laugh, too.
“We told them, a thousand times! We wrote it, like… everywhere on the blueprints!”
“I must reiterate what I said this morning: an innocent monkey should not suffer the indignity of being compared to this poor excuse for engineers!” The remark had further sent them into hysterics. Jayce was holding his side, leaning against the blackboard with his back, not caring if the chalk powder got on his shirt.
Cheeks hurting, he had lowered his gaze upon Viktor resting his forehead on the blackboard, just a few inches away from Jayce’s waist. He had a tired but satisfied smile on his lips, his eyes closed. His head was resting at an angle, and Jayce’s eyes fell on a spatter of light brown freckles just behind his left ear. A birthmark, most likely.
Maybe it had been the exhaustion, the exhilarating feeling of finally having cracked the mystery, or – maybe – plain, old foolishness, but he had slightly bent down towards Viktor, fingertips tucking one of his brown locks behind the ear and coming to a rest against the birthmark. Hovering, skin barely brushing against skin.
“Have you always had this?” His voice had come out much lower and softer and sickeningly fond than he had intended to. Viktor had snapped his head around, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape.
Everything had happened so fast, then. Jayce, partially coming back to his senses, had started to pull his hand back just as Viktor had shot up to his feet, coming to stand almost chest to chest with Jayce. Only then, with Viktor’s face a mere breath away from his own, had Jayce taken in their surroundings. The warm light coming from the two desk lamps they had lit – the strong, overhead lights always bothered Viktor, gave him headaches – casting a soft shadow to Viktor’s cheek, making his eyes glow almost golden. The soft pattering of the rain against the windows, in the quiet night. Jayce had feared the other man could hear how fast his heart was beating, hammering in his chest.
Viktor’s eyelids had grown heavy, eyes slowly making their way around Jayce’s face. Jayce had felt Viktor’s cold hand hover above his elbow.
Maybe he had leant in, closed the space, maybe Viktor had. Maybe they both had.
Whatever had happened, when Viktor’s lips had brushed his, Jayce had never felt so alive.
*
Jayce has had dreams about it, in the past. About kissing Viktor.
They were… simple, the dreams. Kissing him goodnight, just to see what that felt like. A celebratory kiss after a particularly sought-after breakthrough. Kissing him under a streetlight, after dinner. He has always imagined the kiss would be sweet, in itself. Kiss, singular. Like two teenagers who stumble upon their words and there’s that, the deed is done.
Turns out, reality is quite different. Because, in his dreams, Viktor doesn’t kiss back like a man on the brink of death, holding on to Jayce’s shirt for dear life. Nor does he bite at Jayce’s lower lip, let their breaths mingle.
Viktor runs his hands all over Jayce’s body, touching, touching. They grip his waist, rest on his shoulder blades, he sneaks one up to the nape of his neck, feeling the shorter hair there. Jayce breaks the kiss to drop his head to Viktor’s shoulder, chills running down his spine at the sensation. The room is boiling hot and freezing cold, too bright to properly hide his feverish complexion and too dark to drink in every little detail of Viktor’s face.
Jayce mouths at Viktor’s neck, inhaling deeply the soapy-clean smell of his skin. When Viktor bites back a moan, Jayce feels his knees buckle under him and all he can do is grab at Viktor’s waist – is he hurting him is he doing it too hard is he is he is he – and stumble backwards against the table, his arse pressed against it for support. Viktor’s right foot betrays him, and he comes crashing against Jayce’s chest, hands flying out to the table edge to keep himself upright, bracketing Jayce’s hips.
“Shit— are you alright?” Jayce asks him, head full of cotton. He lets his own hands wander, over Viktor’s chest, his narrow waist, thumbs sweeping absent-mindedly right below Viktor’s navel, over his shirt.
“Yes— Yes, I am. Jayce, please, just…,” Viktor nods against his cheek, trailing kisses all along Jayce’s stubbled jaw. Viktor’s lips and teeth find a sensitive patch of skin right behind his ear and Jayce can’t help the groan that escapes him, hips rutting against Viktor’s hipbone. His pants are definitely getting tighter, half-hard cock pushing against the fly of his trousers.
An overwhelming urge to get closer, and closer, and closer to the point of not knowing where his own skin ends and Viktor’s begins washes over Jayce, pulls him under. He chokes against Viktor’s lips and lets his hands fall from Viktor’s waist to just below his arse, hoisting him up. Viktor’s not heavy; his bony knees dig into Jayce’s sides somewhat uncomfortably but the sharp gasp from his mouth has Jayce’s hands almost slip from beneath his thighs. He turns, flipping them over, and lets Viktor down on the table, pushing crumpled pieces of paper and pens and probably some screwdrivers on the floor with a clatter.
Viktor leans back, right hand fisted into Jayce’s shirt to bring him forward, have him lean over Viktor. Pulls him flush against his hips, right between his legs, and Jayce’s hands clamp down on the table edge when he feels Viktor’s crotch rub against his own, the red-hot line of his cock dragging against Jayce’s. “Off,” Viktor whispers, pulling at Jayce’s vest and tie with his long, clever fingers and Jayce’s mind floods with images of what those fingers could do to him if only Jayce let him.
He cups Viktor’s face, takes his sweet time in kissing him, unhurried. He lets his tongue lick the back of Viktor’s teeth, his bottom lip, slows them down as Viktor’s fingers make quick work of his shirt buttons. When the last button pops open,Viktor sinks his hands under his shirt, let them roam on Jayce’s bare back, muscles twitching under his touch.
But then Viktor shifts under Jayce’s hands and an unmistakably pained groan escapes his lips. The sound rings loud and clear in Jayce’s ears, brain snapping back into place as Viktor breaks the kiss to lay his head on Jayce’s shoulder, a bitten-off curse stuck in the back of his throat. His face is scrunched up in pain, nostrils flared and eyes closed, his right hand holding on to Jayce’s hip for support.
“I’m, Jayce, fuck—!”
“What is it? Is it your leg, what is it, Viktor?” An ice-cold feeling of dread settles right behind Jayce’s sternum, eyes frantically searching Viktor’s face.
“It’s… it’s my back, I… fuck!” Viktor buries his face against Jayce’s neck, breath coming in hard puffs against his hot skin. “I need to lie down. I’m sorry, Jayce, I’m—”
“No, no, don’t be,” Jayce mutters in between quick kisses against Viktor’s temple, “let me— let’s get you in bed.”
After Jayce recovers Viktor’s cane from behind the blackboard – how in the world did it roll so far – they cross the living room, zigzagging through dead potted plants, Viktor leaning heavily against Jayce’s side, grunting under his breath every three steps or so.
Jayce has been in Viktor’s bedroom only once before, to help a very intoxicated Viktor under the covers – fully clothed – after one too many drinks at one of the handful of Academy’s parties they had both attended. Now, he doesn’t bother with the small lamp he knows is on his bedside table as, knowing Viktor, he most likely hasn’t changed the burnt lightbulb since he first told him it had gone out three weeks ago. There’s enough light coming from outside the window to navigate the space, and Jayce has always found situations like this to be better dealt with in the dark.
He walks Viktor to the edge of the bed, careful not to have him trip over a pair of discarded shoes right beside it. Viktor sits down with a choked huff, hand tight like a vice on Jayce’s forearm. Without giving himself time to properly think it through, Jayce drops on one knee between Viktor’s legs, gently prying the other’s hand from his arm.
“Let me.”
As his shaky and dumb fingers make their way down Viktor’s shirt, undoing the buttons – slipping here and there and please don’t let him notice please please –, Jayce feels Viktor’s gaze on his face, searching, searching.
“You don’t have to do this,” Viktor murmurs. He doesn’t sound sad or pained, now. Just, tired. Exhausted. Jayce wants to pull his face down and kiss him senseless and cradle him in his arms, tucking him away in his chest. Safe, protected.
“I want to.” It’s surprisingly easy how those three words roll off his tongue, even if his voice wavers ever so. He pops open the last button on Viktor’s white shirt and slowly pushes the garment, along with his Academy vest, off his shoulders, helps Viktor’s arms out of the sleeves.
It’s not the first time he sees Viktor in his back brace. In all these years working together, Viktor has asked him to help him out with a modification or two in places he couldn’t reach on his own. Jayce has always made light of that, seeing how uncomfortable and fidgety Viktor would become every time he had to ask. The hard set of his jaw, eyes not quite meeting Jayce’s. The brace is a mix of leather and metal and cotton and whatever Viktor has happened to get his hands on during the years, cutting and sewing and reshaping the original brace the doctors gave him.
Jayce raises his hands to cup Viktor’s face for a brief moment, left thumb sweeping over his knife-sharp cheekbone. The warm, orange-y hue of the streetlights pours in from the window in the corner of the room, casting a soft shadow on half of Viktor’s face. Jayce’s breath gets stuck high in his throat when Viktor turns his face into Jayce’s palm, breathing in and out and squeezing his eyes shut. He tries to ignore the way his heart trips over itself in his chest as he slowly lowers his hands from Viktor’s face to the top of his brace, fingering the first buckle until it comes undone.
One by one, Jayce works all the straps free, and when the last one is pulled loose a stifled groan escapes Viktor’s throats, half-pained and half-relieved. The skin underneath is ruddy and a little sweaty, harshly marked by the brace. Jayce, hand resting on Viktor’s thigh, watches in silence as Viktor slips out of it, hangs it on a peg next to the bedpost.
“Better?”
He keeps his voice low. He is sure that anything louder than a whisper will send glass shards all around them. Viktor nods, strokes the back of his neck, hair sticking up.
“Yes. I still need to put my feet up, though.”
Jayce wastes no time in untying his shoelaces and slipping off his boots, careful not to jostle Viktor’s ankles. He leaves his socks on, shuffles back so that Viktor has enough space to pull his legs up on the bed. He does so with a sigh, shoulders relaxing into the pillow pushed against the bedpost. Jayce stands up, wincing at the loud pop his knees let out, and plops down on the edge of the bed, next to Viktor’s lap. He lets his gaze wander, on Viktor’s hips, the light trail of hair disappearing below his belt. The front of his trousers is no longer tented; Jayce has visibly softened, too. He turns his head, looks at his feet, hands between his knees.
“Do you need me to stay?” he asks, trying to keep his tone light. He feels a downright coward, putting the burden of the decision on Viktor. Running, always running. He feels split open, raw skin and exposed nerves.
“Do you want to stay?” Viktor nudges him with his left thigh, a slight push against the small of his back. His voice is undecipherable. Does he want Jayce to stay? Or is he trying to get rid of him in his infuriatingly poised manner? What if he—
Another nudge. “Get out of there,” Viktor says, half-hooded eyes fixed on Jayce’s face. Boring a hole in the side of it. Staring right through him.
“Out of where?” he asks, bracing himself and turning his head to face Viktor.
Viktor raises his left hand, pointer finger poking him in the middle of the forehead. “There,” he says, “you start thinking and thinking, and I get tired just by looking at you.”
“Sorry,” Jayce chuckles, wringing his hands.
A carriage rattles by down in the street.
“The question still stands, Jayce.”
Yes, Jayce wants to scream. Yes, he wants to stay and kiss Viktor again and spend the rest of the night with his nose buried in Viktor’s hair, legs tangled together. Because for the past year and a half – maybe even longer than that – every waking moment spent in Viktor’s presence has been torturous and wonderful and agonising, because every time Viktor casually brushes his hand or his knee bumps into him when they are sitting close to one another Jayce feels like chewing on exposed cables. Because he gives up sleep and makes up lame excuses just to spend another hour or two with him every chance he gets, because when Viktor’s not around Jayce feels himself getting smaller and translucent and not quite there. And he’s never told him anything about all this because sometimes it’s too big to hold in his own stupid, big hands, and he couldn’t possibly dump it all on Viktor. And now Viktor’s got him cornered, and he’s giving him a way in – is he giving him a way in? – and Jayce is seconds away from throwing up.
“I want to stay,” Jayce says, turning his face towards Viktor, “I’d like to stay, and sleep and do whatever you want to do. And, in the morning, I want to take you out to that place you like that sells that ridiculously expensive sweetmilk and buy you a cup because it’s the only thing you can stomach first thing in the morning that doesn’t make you sick, for some reason.” A pause. “And if you don’t want any of that, and if I read this all wrong, you can just kick me out right this second and I promise I’ll forget anything ever happened, if that’s what you need to keep working together.”
Viktor’s eyes have never left Jayce’s face during this monologue of his. Unreadable, as always. Almost squinting at him in the dark.
“That was quite a speech, Jayce.”
It sounds jarring to Jayce’s ears. A poorly oiled cog getting stuck in the mechanism.
“Are you making fun of me?”
It comes out meaner and more bitter than Jayce intends it to be, but he feels too raw and cut open, a body on the surgical table, to be beating about the bush.
Viktor flinches. “Am I— What? No, Jayce, I am not.” He makes a frustrated sound, something between a huff and a petulant sigh. “I’m serious, that was... Way more than I expected.” He slowly reaches out with his left hand, takes Jayce’s own hand and turns it over, palm up, so that his thumb can trace the lines there. “To be quite honest, I would have been happy with a simple ‘yes’.”
There’s a ringing in Jayce’s ears, persistent and obnoxious. His head feels thick with molasses, brain sluggish and kind of stumped. Viktor does want him to stay. He slowly closes his fingers around Viktor’s, raises the other man’s hand to his mouth and places a kiss on the inside of his wrist. Viktor’s gasp is strangled, barely audible. Jayce scoots closer to him, not letting go of his hand. Holding onto it, like an anchor. His other hand comes up, as if of its own will, and Jayce lets it rest on Viktor’s chest, right above his heart. He feels it beating under his spread fingers, a steady thrum.
Jayce can’t help but startle when Viktor leans his forehead against his, noses brushing. When he speaks, Viktor’s voice has a tinge to it that makes Jayce’s insides flip over.
“Do you need a written invitation to kiss me again or can that brain of yours figure it out on its own?”
Jayce takes a deep breath, oxygen burning hot inside his lungs, and falls in headfirst.
It’s easy, to submerge himself in Viktor. To crawl under his skin, feel its warmth. Viktor’s lips are slow and purposeful against his, hands grasping and pulling at Jayce’s shirt. Jayce’s shoes come off at some point, and he finds himself laying on the bed next to Viktor, pulling the other man’s thigh over his hip.
“What do you want?” Jayce slurs against the top of Viktor’s head, as Viktor laps at his neck, teasing the skin with his teeth. Jayce’s hips buck at that, grinding against Viktor, breathless.
“Anything you want to give.” Viktor’s kisses falter for a moment when Jayce lowers his right hand down his front, fingertips brushing against his skin. Jayce stops just above the waistband of Viktor’s trousers, waiting. “Yes,” Viktor breathes against his lips, looking straight into Jayce’s eyes as Jayce undoes the buttons and slides his hand inside, palming Viktor above his pants.
“You have no idea how beautiful you are.” Jayce’s voice is barely a whisper, forehead pushed against Viktor’s, humid breath on his cheek. A long drag of his fingers tears a stuttering moan out of Viktor, quickly followed by a curse as Viktor’s hips push against Jayce’s hand, seeking friction.
“You never told me,” Viktor bites out, eyes scrunched close and hands fisted in Jayce’s hair. It’s true, Jayce never told him, and that’s on him. Maybe, maybe if he had found the courage to do it sooner, maybe it wouldn’t have taken them these many years. He could have told him how every accidental brush of their hands had Jayce’s heart beat faster than usual, or how Viktor’s tuneless humming during their tinkering sessions in the lab had quickly become his favourite sound. How their nights at Viktor’s place had been the only few oases in a life Jayce felt slipping quicker and quicker from his control.
“I should have had, every day.”
He pushes at Viktor’s shoulder, pushes him back into the green sheets. Jayce settles between his open legs, leaning on his forearms not to crush the other man under his weight, and dips his head to Viktor’s sternum. His nose traces an aimless path from one tiny mole to the other, little brown dots scattered on Viktor’s chest, and he makes sure he leaves a kiss on each one of them. Small, reverent kisses that soon turns open-mouthed and wet and something else, spurred on by Viktor’s choked gasps, skin breaking out in goosebumps.
Jayce makes his way – kissing, biting, licking – down Viktor’s front, hands running up and down his sides, soothing his shivers. When he reaches Viktor’s unbuttoned trousers, he buries his nose in his crotch, Viktor’s cock straining under his pants, now ruined and wet.
One of Viktor’s hands lands in his hair, pulling. “Jayce.”
Jayce can’t help the groan escaping his lips. “Please, Viktor. Please, tell me I can—” he breathes out, almost a whine, fingers flexing against the other man’s hips.
“Fuck, Jayce, yes.”
Jayce wastes no time in sliding Viktor’s trousers off his legs, careful not to hurt his knee, pulling his pants along with them. He tosses the garments somewhere behind him, not caring where they land, and when his eyes rake over Viktor’s naked body the air is punched out of his lungs. Because Viktor’s lying there, on his bed, long limbs and burning eyes, and Jayce has never seen anybody quite so beautiful.
He gently pushes Viktor’s thighs further apart, hooking his left arm under his right leg for support, before he dives in and laps at the thin layer of sweat where his leg and hip connect. Viktor’s hand is back in his hair, the other one fisted in the sheets.
“I want you to watch me,” Jayce whispers against the soft skin of Viktor’s inner thigh, and he doesn’t wait for a response before turning his head and putting his lips to Viktor’s cock. Jayce gets lost in it: the motions, the taste, the gasps and groans coming from Viktor. Viktor, whose eyes are fixed on Jayce, jaw slacked and chest heaving. Jayce brings Viktor’s right leg over his shoulder, hands roaming over his thighs and up his chest, wrapping around the root of his cock, squeezing lightly.
As Viktor pants faster, hands spasming in his hair, Jayce’s efforts double, every suck longer and deeper, working his tongue around him.
“Jayce— Love, you need to pull off,” Viktor grits out, and the pet name rolling so easily off his tongue has Jayce pull back in a haze, heart beating out of his chest. Viktor pulls at his shoulder, his bicep, until Jayce is half-draped across his chest again and he’s able to kiss at his chin, his lips, tasting himself inside Jayce’s mouth.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Viktor says. He almost sounds aggravated by the fact and Jayce can’t help but drop his head on Viktor’s chest and laugh softly. His shirt, trousers, and pants join Viktor’s somewhere on the floor and soon he’s back lying next to the other man, his face close enough to Viktor’s to feel the ghost of his breath.
“Alright there?” Viktor asks, raising his hand to cup Jayce’s face, thumb swiping over his cheekbone.
“More than,” Jayce says, voice muffled in Viktor’s palm as he turns his head and places a long kiss in the centre of it. He slides his right arm around Viktor’s waist, pulling him flush against him. Viktor’s cock drags against his and Jayce lets out a low moan against the other man’s cheek.
They find a rhythm, slow, unhurried. Viktor holds Jayce’s face close, fingers buried in his hair, foreheads pushed together. Jayce runs his hand all over Viktor’s back, feeling the metal bolts along his spine, touch so light it sends shivers down Viktor’s back. Jayce tries to voice how close he is but all that comes out are incoherent gasps against Viktor’s lips, hips stuttering. Still, Viktor seems to get the idea, one hand falling down to Jayce’s bum and squeezing, rutting quicker against him.
The orgasm is easy. All Jayce needs to do is take a deep breathe, eyes unfocused and lost somewhere on Viktor’s face, and he’s gone. He doesn’t scream – thank Gods –, nor does he cry or anything of the sort. He buries his head in the crook of Viktor’s neck, leaving messy kisses all over. He distantly feels Viktor tugging at his hair – he’ll go bald by the time he’s forty, if he keeps this up – and whispering Jayce’s name as he spills against him. Viktor goes limp in his arms and Jayce, ignoring the wet and sticky mess between them, pulls him tight against his chest.
They stay still for what feels like hours, breathing in each other’s air, noses squished together. It’s Viktor the one who pulls away, gently pushing Jayce back enough to untangle their legs.
“We made quite a mess,” he yawns, grimacing as he runs his hand over his belly and then wipes his fingers in the sheets.
“That we did.” Jayce feels warm and boneless, the tendrils of sleep pulling at him. He rolls on his back, left hand splayed on his belly, raising and falling with his breathing.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep, Jayce.” Viktor’s voice is almost threatening. “I refuse to sleep in a wet spot, thank you very much.”
Jayce chuckles and cracks his eyes open, gaze shifting towards Viktor. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, naked back to him, running a hair through his hair. There’s a purple splotch under his jaw that Jayce does not quite remember putting there.
I could get used to this.
The thought sends a pang through his heart, chest constricting. He doesn’t think Viktor’s ready for that conversation. Neither is he, probably. Not tonight, at least. For tonight, he just wants to lay back down and pull the man in his arms and wake up in a few hours with their faces pushed together, morning breath be damned.
Jayce pulls himself up, scooting behind Viktor, a leg on each side of him, and wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him back against his chest. He drops his head to Viktor neck, breaths in.
“You get fresh sheets, I get a washcloth?” he murmurs against his skin. He knows Viktor keeps his spare sheets in the back of the closet, just a few feet away from the bed. The bathroom is at the other end of the corridor, and without his brace Jayce doubts he can go more than a few steps, even with his cane.
Viktor turns his head, places a kiss on Jayce’s forehead, at his hairline. “Alright.”
Jayce thinks he should feel uneasy, walking bum-naked in Viktor’s home, but he can’t find it in himself to be. The house feels warm around him, the distant rustling of Viktor changing the sheets comforting in a way that makes his heart swell. In the bathroom, he grabs a washcloth from Viktor’s shower and cleans himself up, taking his time. He rubs gently over his stomach, behind his neck, over his penis. He rinses it in the sink with warm water before wringing it and carrying it back to the bedroom.
Viktor is sitting down again, stuffing a pillow in a clean pillowcase. A second pillow, Jayce notices, one already lying against the bedpost. He feels a dumb smile creep out on his face. He walks over to the bed and bends down at the hips, capturing Viktor’s lips in a soft kiss. “Clean up, I’ll finish.”
They settle under the covers, Jayce keeping a respectful distance, which is soon crossed by Viktor, who settles on his stomach, left leg hitched up and arm slung possessively across Jayce’s chest.
Jayce knows they have to talk, and he knows Viktor knows, too. And he knows it will be uncomfortable and bare and raw, and it will feel like being flayed alive the whole time. Because carving his heart out from his chest and placing it in Viktor’s hands might just be the death of him, for good. But, for now, he can enjoy this. He can turn on his side and brush a stray lock out of Viktor’s eyes, and that will be enough. And, in the morning, he will buy Viktor his sweetmilk and they will walk to the lab, and then they will have lunch and dinner and do it all over again, whatever this is.
Yeah, I could get used to this, Jayce thinks, closing his eyes and nuzzling closer, letting himself be lulled to sleep by Viktor’s steady breath at his side.