Chapter Text
It's nice being home.
It feels a little strange for him to be lying in his own bed after almost a year of absence. But it's nice. The mattress, in which every spring creaks so familiarly; the small dent right in the middle; the rough sheets, so carefully starched by his auntie.
A thought runs through his head: "It's as if I never left."
But he had. At the end of August last year, Viktor packed his things into an absurdly large suitcase and headed off to university in the south. Rome, to be exact. He had the opportunity to return home for a couple of weeks in the winter, during Christmas break. But the trip was too expensive, and long, and lugging that damn suitcase would've been quite the task with a cane in one hand, not to mention arrears from the first exam session…
His auntie, having listened to these and a hundred other excuses, reluctantly allowed Viktor to remain in the city until summer. As an apology, he spent the money he saved on a payphone; he missed his family, and Ximena rejoiced at every unexpected call.
Almost nothing has changed in the year of his absence. The same view of the huge olive tree from the living room and kitchen window, the same eternal renovation in the guest bathroom, the same painted stars on the ceiling in their childhood bedroom.
Around the single large window in the wall at the head of the beds, there is an old bookshelf-cabinet. The colorful spines of books evoke memories of all kinds. So stupid: they have grown up a long time ago, the bedroom feels cramped, but still just as cozy. The room is not small by any means, but Viktor remembers how gigantic it felt when he was a child, even after Jayce's mother put a second bed there for him.
Viktor glances at the other bed. It's exactly the same as his own, but the sheets aren't as fresh, the pillowcase is rumpled, and the opposite wall is covered in drawings, both on pinned pieces of paper and directly on the cream-colored surface of the wall. Just above the headboard of each bed is a tiny nail, but only one of them still has a simple wooden cross hanging from a string. Viktor took his off long ago.
"So, beds it is?"
Viktor is pulled out of his thoughts by Jayce's voice, finally emerging from their private bathroom. He enjoys living in a big house; it gives him some space. They don't have to wander down the hallway with towels in their hands, waiting for Ximena or the occasional guest to vacate the bathroom. And he's comfortable enough to share both the bathroom and bedroom with one person—his adoptive brother.
Viktor has to repeat these words quietly in his head, so as not to inadvertently offend his auntie or friend. Over the many years, they overcame the awkwardnesses and truly became a small family. Of course, Viktor still remembers his real parents, and in the nearby town where they went to school, everyone knows about their family's status.
"Let's at least try, Jayce. If it's as bad as you say, then tomorrow we can stay on the floor, okay?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you. If you don't get enough sleep, that's on you."
Jayce throws his damp towel at the foot of his bed, walks over to the window and finally opens it wide. While the darkness reigns, they are at no risk of attracting a swarm of uninvited guests into the room, having their ankles covered in mosquito bites isn’t exactly a welcoming gift they’d been looking for. Should’ve done it himself sooner—now Viktor can breathe deeply, even though the night air remains irritatingly torrid.
Jayce had been preaching all evening that this summer is the hottest one yet.
"I know I say it every year, but this time I really mean it."
Ximena had nodded, adding that the season is too dry, and she worries about the vineyards in the field and the plants in her garden. The boys looked at each other, realizing that this summer, she would not give them a break with the chores in the garden, despite the hot, dry weather. Seems they'll have to water the plants even more often.
And yet, Viktor insisted on sleeping in the beds that night. He wants to leave as much space between himself and his friend as possible. But it just doesn't feel right to stay in the guest bedroom.
The dissonance in his mind is driving him crazy. Viktor is afraid that a whole year of separation was not enough. And he's only more convinced of this when he warily glances in Jayce's direction.
His brother, adoptive, casually towels dry his hair. Not taking a cold shower before bed would be a crime on such a hot evening. Shit, looks like Jayce was right.
Viktor feels himself starting to stick to the thin cotton sheet that covers him up to his waist. But he's too lazy to take a second shower this evening, especially after a long journey.
Viktor takes back the words that nothing has changed during his absence. Perhaps, spending every single day with someone makes it hard to notice any drastic changes in each other. Growing up side by side, the two boys completely lost sight of how they've become young men.
When Viktor missed Jayce's eighteenth birthday, he apologized several times over the phone. Even though only one year had passed, Viktor almost didn't recognize the man standing next to Ximena, who was restlessly waiting for him at the bus stop a couple of hours ago.
Jayce had lifted Viktor's feet off the ground before, during hugs or playful fights, but now it seemed to require no effort at all. On the way home, he talked about how he helped his mother with repairs around the house and how he had to move large stones to arrange a decorative pond in the garden. It's not ready yet, but Viktor knows that he's been working really hard, because almost a year ago, Jayce was carrying that damn suitcase with much more struggle. Moreover, this time it was packed with even more books.
Viktor himself has hardly changed; perhaps he has only become slightly longer in stature. But Jayce doesn't seem to care about such trifles at all. He keeps asking about his on-campus experience, which is understandable, since at the end of this summer, he will also be going to university. Not the same one as Viktor, but he really wants to know about all sorts of stupid and not really nuances that he needs to be ready for.
Ximena asked him not to bore Viktor with so many questions after a terribly long journey, because he was probably tired, but Viktor didn't mind. He missed Jayce's real voice. The telephone handset always distorts the timbre too much with interference.
By the time they got home, it was already getting dark outside. Viktor wanted to go straight to bed, but Ximena did not accept such nonsense and sat her exhausted boy down in the kitchen.
"Oh no, young man, that's not up for discussion!"
She and Jayce had baked an apricot pie with cream for Viktor and were ready to shove at least one slice into him, even if he fell asleep at the table. The pie was truly excellent, and not just because he was starving. Viktor does not regret the time he spent caring for the fruit trees in their garden.
Evening, pie, quiet family dinner. It reminded Viktor of something, but it took him as long as it takes to eat half a slice of pie to figure out what exactly it resembled.
He pressed his palms against the table and stood up abruptly, said, "Oh, I'll be right back," and strode out of the kitchen. Upon his quick return, two pairs of eyes stared at him, full of confusion.
"Here, I know I'm half a year late, but still..." He handed Jayce a bundle of wrapping paper, crookedly secured with tape, for sure way more than needed.
Jayce didn't wait until morning or even the end of the meal, tearing up the paper right at the table. Judging by the loud cheers of gratitude, he was extremely pleased with his birthday present, albeit belated. A matte burgundy sketchbook with gold embossed constellations made of dots and fine lines scattered across the entire cover. And in the center are halves of the sun and moon, creating a single intricate symbol. Viktor had discovered this beauty when he stopped by a bookstore to hide from the morning rain in Rome, and he couldn't resist getting it, since the item reminded him so fondly of his friend.
After a late dinner, Jayce assured his mother that he would do the dishes himself, so she went to her bedroom upstairs, but only after giving Viktor another big hug and a forehead kiss. The woman always wakes up criminally early, at dawn, and Viktor feels a slight sting of guilt for his bus schedule disrupting her routine. But he's glad he saw her today and not in the morning. He missed her so much.
Viktor doused himself with ice water, sitting at the bottom of the bathtub, and dreaming of going to bed and passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow. The drowsiness, along with the coolness, disappeared as soon as he opened the door. Viktor almost ran straight into his finally-a-roommate-again. Jayce was already undressed, ready to jump into the shower. They were equal—both wearing dark red loose-fit boxers—but Viktor felt completely naked. He made an annoyed face.
"You stink, Jayce. You sweat like a pig."
"Oh, so you think you smelled of freshness and daisies when you tumbled out of that bus?"
Viktor rolled his eyes, reached out a bit, and flipped the bedroom light switch, the yellow glow disappeared with a barely noticeable flicker. Which barely had any effect on Jayce’s stupid grin, but worth a try anyway.
Viktor sighed and headed towards his bed. He couldn't help himself and slapped Jayce on the back with a wet towel. He was ready to quickly retreat, because such antics are always followed by revenge. But Jayce simply laughed and closed the creaky bathroom door behind himself. After all, he had changed more than Viktor thought.
Of course, they haven't seen each other for so long; in such a time, you can get unaccustomed to a lot of things. Viktor was lucky to live practically alone in the dorm room: his roommate almost immediately met a local girl and constantly spent the night at her place. It took him a long time to get used to the silence, the absence of the familiar snoring from the other end of the room.
And now, hearing the even breathing somewhere nearby, he can't seem to relax. He is too hot and begins to regret his choice. Fatigue makes him want to sob; he tosses and turns on the bed, throwing off the sheet with which he covers himself. The sticky fabric is crumpled along the wall. Viktor tries to press his whole body against the cool surface, but because of such an uncomfortable position, his back quickly begins to hurt. Resentment clogs the throat.
And the worst part is that his best friend seems to be doing just fine. He always sleeps on his stomach with both hands under the pillow, only the position of his head changing. And now he is breathing serenely, facing Viktor's bed. Even the bright light of the moon does not bother him.
How much he has changed. Where did those plump cheeks, which his mother always pinched, go? Years ago. Since when did his shoulders get so broad, round?
Viktor watches Jayce's tanned back rise with every breath he takes. He can't see his full face, a strong arm blocking the view, but he's sure Jayce pouts his lips slightly, like he always does in his sleep.
Viktor lies with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling in despair. His vision has finally adjusted to the semi-darkness, and he can make out the stars on the ceiling without much effort. A smile naturally blooms on his face, and his gaze floats further around the room.
The door is high and has no lock. He never really needed privacy, after all. Another door, in the wall on the side of Jayce's bed, leads to their small bathroom and locks just fine. It differs from the entrance one: a matte glass insert with a fine texture made it possible to understand whether the bathroom was occupied by one of the boys. Now, only the almost-too-bright moonlight breaks through it. The bathroom also has a window, a tall and narrow one, made of the same frosted glass as the panel on the door.
The drawings start from the door frame. They look so good in sunlight, though the yellowish tint from the chandelier creates such a... pleasant and homely atmosphere. The moon steals all the iridescence of it, but it’s okay, Viktor’s memory is rich enough.
Floral patterns echo the garden outside the window, stretching higher along the wall and turning into the blue sky. The paint is a little patchy, but Jayce insisted that it was intended to be that way; they were some kind of clouds. Viktor tried to argue that the clouds are actually white, not cream, but Jayce just didn't want to say that the white paint had run out when he mixed it with blue to get the desired shade. It was so long ago, many memories have faded along with the paint, but Viktor cherishes each of them, both pleasant ones and those that bring a lump to his throat.
No, he shouldn't plunge into negativity. He needs to fall asleep with a light head, a completely empty mind. He raises his palms in front of his face and looks at his fingers. The moonlight plays with shadows at the foot of the bed. Viktor raises his hand higher, and now shadows are distorted on the surface of the carved front door.
He places his right palm, and then his forearm, on the wall; the surface is cool and smooth. It's nice. He bends his leg at the knee and presses it against the wall in the same way. It heats up, and his skin starts to stick to the old matte paint. Viktor holds his breath every time the bed creaks as he moves his leg to a cooler spot on the wall.
Hands fiddle with the fabric of the sheet, crumpled under the tired body. Viktor is irritated by the rough starched folds, and he slowly pulls the sheet out from under himself all the way. He can't make any sudden movements, even if he wants to, because the springs in the bed creak awfully, and Jayce won't be happy if Viktor wakes him up with this annoying noise. It's even somehow embarrassing to complain all evening that you're terribly tired and want to go to bed, and then toss and turn half the night, unable to relieve this strange, itchy feeling. And it's not that he doesn't know how to put himself to sleep.
Oh, Viktor knows for sure what can help him relax.
But the rhythmic breaths coming from the bed next to him remind Viktor of the friend who sleeps in it. He could concentrate on it, counting his breaths, instead of sheep. But Viktor fears that this will have the opposite effect.
For several minutes, he seriously considers all the pros and cons. Jayce is asleep, right? If he's careful, the bed won't squeak any more than it did before. Viktor had been fidgeting around in place all this time, but the rustling still didn't wake Jayce. And besides, this wouldn't be the first time. After all, they're two guys who were going through puberty in the same bedroom. It would be a miracle not to catch each other "relieving tension" at least once. Of course, there was a bathroom, but sometimes he was too lazy to get out of bed.
Just like now. Viktor is tired, he's sluggish, and the pleasant prospect had already firmly taken root somewhere deep in his subconscious. Yes, he can be quiet enough. And this annoying, unnecessary sheet might come in handy.
Before Viktor has time to finally decide whether the prize is worth the effort, his right hand is already settled on his lower abdomen. He exhales noisily, unable to hold back because his hand is unexpectedly cold after its prolonged contact with the wall. Even tired, Viktor does not want to rush the moment. Nails scrape along the path of coarse hair under the navel, the muscles under the skin tense up, and Viktor smiles contentedly.
He takes things slowly. This is not like in adolescence, when the body persistently demanded relief. Now it's just a way to exhaust himself, to reboot his restless mind before bed. Therefore, he sees nothing wrong with allowing himself to indulge a little. Not as much as he could afford in the solitude of his private dorm room, but more than he had previously allowed himself in Jayce's presence.
Fuck, he shouldn't be thinking about him, while the index and middle fingers of his left hand touch his parted lips. The pads of his fingers press on his lower lip, forcing his jaw to open a little wider. This is an element of imagination; sometimes it's nice to imagine that it's not his own hands touching his body, but someone else's. Viktor doesn't think about whose exactly, it doesn't matter. But these hands are persistent; they are gentle, but at the same time determined to take what is theirs.
In the dorm, he learned a lot about himself and his preferences. He had absolute freedom of action, no need to hide in the one shared bathroom on the entire floor, trying to deal with his arousal as quickly as possible, while listening to the loud knocks of other students waiting for their turn on the door. No, he could carelessly twirl naked in front of the full-length mirror on his closet door. Not just at night. He liked to watch the setting autumn sun dance in the dust particles of the stale air of the room and the dark strands of his hair. In the sunlight, they shimmer golden, and it is beautiful. In early autumn, when the summer tan had not completely disappeared, he looked especially good.
He listened to the music that was always playing in the next room, swayed his hips left and right, and then back and forth. Viktor looked in the mirror and felt as if he was seeing someone else. The young man on the other side of the glass was not ashamed of his nudity; he was confident in his own magnificence. Viktor imagined that this whole performance was not only for his own eyes. But standing in front of someone else, would he be able to behave the same way?
No, he looked absolutely ridiculous.
The foggy marks on the mirror looked just as ridiculous, and they disappeared quickly enough to keep Viktor from overthinking his actions to the fullest extent. He just wanted to know if another person would feel disgusted about kissing him.
Viktor had been embarrassed by his impulses, covered himself with his hands, smiled blissfully at his own reflection, and shamelessly fell onto the bed. Curiosity had a tendency to take hold of the young man. So he'd spread his legs and pose.
At first, he did so while still covering himself, as if teasing someone in front of him. Then, slender fingers danced over the surface of his skin, counting the moles on his stomach and chest. Ticklish.
A whirlpool of thoughts and ideas swirled in his head. Is he beautiful enough? Maybe if he tilted his head back a little and looked from under his fluttering eyelashes, he would be more attractive? Oh, should he try shaving?
Viktor looked at himself, discovering both flaws and pleasant details, like in the form of birthmarks on his buttocks. He tried to ignore the grotesque scar running along his right thigh, and sometimes, on the contrary, he examined it as if under a microscope.
There are days when he can't make himself wear shorts that aren't long enough, even if it's blazingly hot outside, being too aware of the unsightly fused skin and mutilated muscle tissue underneath. He is more forgiving of the thin scar on his chest, just on the right side, and the tiny spot a bit lower almost looks like a birthmark. But that doesn't mean he's willing to walk outside of the house shirtless. This one has healed much more neatly, and yet, under the fingers, it feels smooth, unlike the one on his thigh. The skin is not as sensitive as the area surrounding it, and the contrast is too pronounced.
Viktor could never figure out if he was actually pretty. Slowly dancing in front of the mirror, he enjoyed what he saw. But he will never be able to believe that someone else will find delight in such a picture.
He remains beautiful until the very moment someone else glares at him. These gazes simply cannot be interested in the good sense of the word, merely puzzled with "what's wrong with him?" But not his gaze.
In his presence, Viktor can be unashamed of his body, only of his immoral thoughts. This stream of filth and sinfulness fills him every time like a flood, starting with innocent memories.
Usually, his patience did not last long; unchained admiration slid along the reflection lower and lower, and his fingers greedily opened him for someone who had never been and would never be in that dorm room. Trying hard enough, he forced himself to believe that it was not his own hands that caressed the pliant body. Had anyone seen him at that moment, he would have burned with shame. But it's so nice to imagine…
Viktor licks his phalanges, his tongue slides familiarly between his fingers, scratching against his overgrown nails. His other hand has already crawled under the fabric of the loose underwear. Viktor is still soft, but that's okay, a quickly fixable situation. He knows exactly how to touch himself in order to feel good. His eyes roll back as the fingers slide deeper into his mouth, and he nearly coughs but withholds himself in time. No noise allowed.
He got used to privacy too quickly and easily. When you don't have to hold back, and the moans in the next dorm room are louder than your own anyway, what difference does it make? And yet, there was something about the sense of danger. As it is now.
Viktor fights the urge to turn his head and make sure Jayce is asleep. But to stare at him, while the fingers of one hand tickle the back of his throat and the other's comb through the coarse hair on his pubis… Is wrong. He tried to run from it this whole year.
His fingers finally leave his hot mouth with a barely audible squelch, a thin thread of saliva stretching from his chin to his chest. Saliva cools the skin, and sensitive nipples quickly harden from the temperature contrast. Meanwhile, his right hand massages the scrotum, lightly squeezes the testicles, and Viktor pushes his hips upward. The bed creaks treacherously, and Viktor cannot contain a quiet, irritated cry:
"F-fuck…"
He needs to control himself. If he goes to the end, then losing his head along the way is simply unacceptable.
His cock is finally fully hard, and Viktor doesn't want to think about the fact that it's partly due to the fact that he's not alone in the room right now.
"What if he wakes up? What if he notices? What if he catches me?"
These and dozens of similar fears buzz in the heated consciousness. They are not scary. They excite more than frighten. And that's the thing that does make it all scary.
When he left for university, he hoped that he would be able to calm down. Being away from home, he would meet new people and perhaps find new, healthy interests. And at first, the plan worked: studying took up all his free time.
Viktor knew it would be difficult, but to his shame, he was completely unprepared for the workload, which is why he was forced to spend the winter holidays with his head buried in textbooks. In a way, he was glad. After all, what if not distance should have cooled the feelings he had experienced for as long as he could remember?
An innocent addiction was born on the day Viktor, at that time still Reveck, went to the second grade of their small rural school. That same year, his future best friend entered the first grade.
Viktor approached him after class, and the boy proudly showed him his drawings until the parents came to pick them up. It was only after several weeks of getting to know each other that Jayce admitted that he was terrified of talking to any of his classmates. And when a boy a whole year older than him became friends with him, it gave him a boost of confidence. Such a silly "let's be friends?" marked the beginning of the strongest friendship of their lives. Jayce beamed with happiness every time Viktor waved his hand early in the morning before class. And Viktor went to school with even greater enthusiasm, because the sunniest boy in the world was waiting for him there.
Viktor didn't want to share his friend with anyone.
Adults found this behavior endearing. But it was only adorable when they were kids. They were getting older, but Viktor's addiction never went away.
In high school literature classes, he learned the complete meaning of the words "falling in love." Jayce couldn't understand why his best friend didn't hug him as often as he used to. And Viktor hoped that his addiction looked like just a very strong brotherly love. Everyone around them referred to them as brothers. Viktor, however, considered this term to be a cruel joke of fate, but he was compelled to keep his resentment to himself.
His mother and brother would be extremely disappointed if they were to find out about the feelings of the one whom they had welcomed into their home and cared for over the years. They are best friends, siblings, and excessive care and tenderness are not strange. Is it strange when you feel comfortable around your family?
This is a wrong desire; he should not open his eyes. He should not peer into his face in the darkness of their childhood room. Jayce has changed a lot during Viktor's absence, but Viktor has remained the same.
Just like before he entered university, he lies in bed and gropes himself until sparks appear before his eyes. As before, he tries to convince himself that he physically needs a relief in order to relax, to finally fall asleep. He will not admit it even in the silence of his own mind, for acceptance would surely deafen the consciousness.
It's just a physical need. He did not think about Jayce's fingers deep inside him as he sat through the astronomy lectures. He went to the dorm every evening to review material for exams, not to fall on his bed in front of the mirror and imagine what he would look like on top, below, on his back, on his knees, or drooling with his face pressed into the pillow. In his fantasies, there was no room for just one face, body, or voice. Hell, he failed during the fall semester finals week, not because he had his head in the clouds; he just... the curriculum turned out to be unexpectedly difficult. Yeah, that's it.
It's a physical need. He is drunk with arousal, and this excuse is his eternal companion in life. Blaming the clouding of judgment for disgusting thoughts saved him from psychosis all this time, so why not follow the habits firmly entrenched in the subconscious?
His right hand wraps its fingers so sweetly around almost his entire length.
Jayce is bigger, thicker. I know. I've seen it.
Viktor starts with very modest movements; he doesn't want to break into too fast a pace, because the bed will definitely creak, so rhythmically and obviously that if Jayce does wake up, he will be able to understand from just the sounds what exactly his friend is doing. And Viktor knows that he won't be able to stop. The closer to the edge, the greater the risk he will be willing to take.
Therefore, it is better to go slow and steady. He knows that this will eventually turn into torture. His hand will start to hurt, and he will have to switch it to the other colder one, which will delay the much-needed relief even further. He can't thrust his hips up to meet the fist, but his legs are tense to the limit nevertheless. He has to pay attention to them too, in order to avoid painful cramps in the calves. He is his own executioner.
Viktor's thumb is all smeared in a slimy, hot liquid that collects in droplets on his sensitive cockhead. He wants to lick it. How can he deny himself such simple worldly joys of life? His own savoriness is so familiar and pleasant that it makes him feel uneasy. How many times has he tasted himself? To clean up the mess or just for the sake of it, to feel something viscous and salty on the tongue. How often had he refused to use towels or take a shower, only to feel what it was like to swallow with greed and gratitude.
At first, it was disgusting. Viktor had to spit it out, and the excitement instantly evaporated. The bitterness, the strange mucus, the uneven texture, all this did not want to be swallowed on the first try, causing more of a gag reflex than a hint of the possibility of a second orgasm. But eventually, he got used to it. And it turned out that the murky liquid can be used in very interesting ways.
During his time spent at the university, Viktor's body became accustomed to the fact that the first orgasm is just a warm-up before the main course. But here, in the silence of the now-too-small room, disturbed by Jayce's breathing, he is forced to give up his usual entertainment. This is not entertainment. It's a need.
He just needs to relax and finally fall asleep. What time is it? He's probably been tossing and turning for too long because the moonlight has already changed its position in Jayce's bed. The strip of white light no longer frames the serenely sleeping face; it has moved further, caressing the small of his back, lightly stroking the hem of the underwear, too shamelessly. Viktor certainly is not jealous. And he's definitely not offended by the moon for refusing to reveal Jayce's face to him anymore.
He shouldn't look. But for some reason, his neck is already aching from such an uncomfortable angle. Viktor clenches his fist in his underwear, pinches the bead of his nipple with his other hand, and his mouth gapes while his eyes hungrily bite into the unconscious body on the next bed.
Viktor wants to imagine Jayce there, in the shadows, watching. That he was waiting for the moon to finally retreat so that he could peer into the thin silhouette that can't fall asleep, without the risk of being caught.
Oh, Viktor, you stupid, silly boy. Lost in your own feelings, alone in your disgusting, socially condemned desires. Not only does he dream of another man putting his hands on Viktor's pale body, but the man in question is him. How foolish and nauseating it is to even think that Jayce, his sweet and gentle Jayce, his caring, delicate, understanding, pure Jayce, would stoop to such a level of sin. Unlike Viktor, he listened to sermons in church when he was a child. He knows what is good and what is bad.
And Viktor can only succumb to his appetite, no matter how deviating it may be. He is weak in essence, unable to resist, and he will burn in fiery Gehenna with absolutely no regrets.
Jayce will never understand why Viktor bites his lip until it almost bleeds as he watches him in the dead of night. Why his eyebrows meet on the bridge of his nose, the wrinkles between them tremble, and his eyes roll back of their own accord. This is something Viktor will have to take with him to his grave.
It's too quiet in the bedroom, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. The crickets sing outside the window, but the moist, filthy sounds still strive to fill the entire room. Viktor is afraid that the scent of arousal will displace oxygen, because it gets clogged up in the nostrils, causing saliva to flow so abundantly that Viktor hardly manages to swallow. There will definitely be a stain on the pillow.
And not just on the pillow. Viktor feels his cockhead sticking unpleasantly to the fabric of his boxers. It irritates the skin, but is it worth the risk for comfort? If Viktor lowers his underwear, will he be able to cover himself quickly enough if Jayce suddenly wakes up?
It's worth it.
Viktor admires the way his cockhead shines as it disappears between his fingers every now and then. The way the foreskin stretches in the lowest point and then comes together at the very tip, collecting the precum into one large drop. How can he resist? He stops moving his fist for a couple of seconds and brings the index finger of his free hand to the slit. He touches it only for a moment, a light -tap- and a string of clear liquid stretches down from his finger. Another -tap-, a shudder throughout the body, and a squelching sound too obvious to be accidental.
He continues his gentle movements only when a sticky finger lands on his tongue. He draws his lips around the phalanx, pinches the head of his cock with two fingers, and tries to blink away the tears that are so inopportunely welling up in his eyes. He wants to soak in the view of the next bed.
Viktor looks at the fleshy thighs, at the way those loose boxers ride up slightly. He wonders if, from a different angle, he could see the skin of the lower part of the buttocks? Viktor knows that Jayce always has that subtle tan line. He knows how low on the small of his back it starts. He knows where it ends. But he wants to take a closer look.
The two of them often went to the lake, splashed in the water, and sunbathed when they finally got tired enough. Jayce always spent a little more time in the water, and when he did come out, Viktor tried to pretend that he didn't pay much attention to his swimming shorts slipping down a little. Viktor loved to sunbathe because the sunburns hid his telltale blush when Viktor's gaze lingered on the tiny light stripes of healed stretch marks on Jayce's thighs. They both have imperfections, though Viktor's come out as intrusive.
But now he is so far away, and the light of the moon is more likely to blind him than to allow his eyes to catch even a single detail. Therefore, Viktor is content with everything at once.
He imagines a lot of things that he will regret in the morning. He will reproach himself only for fantasies, for such wrong thoughts that are hidden behind a deceptively innocent look. How will he even have the decency to look Jayce in the eyes in the morning, after yet another fall before his carnal desires at night?
He'll ask to pass the butter and won't flinch at all as his right hand brushes over Jayce's fingers ever so slightly. They'll have a nice breakfast, discuss plans for the day with Ximena. Jayce will promise her that they'll help her in the garden, and meanwhile, Viktor will panickingly try to remember if he washed his hands well enough in the morning. He'll bring a glass of cold milk to his lips and try to discern the aroma of soap on his fingers.
It has become so commonplace that he has to remind himself of the immorality of his actions. He is obliged to shame himself every time he looks at the broad back for way too long. Jayce doesn't like to wear shirts in the summer heat, and Viktor repeats another mantra over and over.
Viktor is not a Catholic now, not as much as he used to be, but his sense of guilt is truly divine.
His neck aches from such an unnatural angle, his right leg is about to cramp, and the pain in his lower back turns into a stabbing one. Viktor is too tense; this torture lasting forever is driving him insane. He stops moving his fist altogether, which takes all his willpower. But it's okay; his thumb, which rubs the very tip too aggressively, is more than enough. The palm squeezes his blood-filled arousal, and Viktor feels the flesh throb under the tender skin.
He is already balancing on the edge. He spreads his legs slightly apart, his gaze fixed on Jayce's waist. Oh, how nice it would be to wrap his legs around it and squeeze it, to press that strong body closer, into himself, to be filled so properly. To feel not only his own warmth and stickiness. Not his own palm on his dick. Jayce could wrap his fist around Viktor's entire length so easily. The skin is probably rough, not like Viktor's, even considering the calluses from the cane. Rougher.
Viktor squeezes himself harder, his thumb scratching the sensitive skin with the edge of the fingernail, harder, harder. Would Jayce be rude? Would he fight with himself like Viktor does every day? Unlikely. And if Viktor begged him for it? Jayce wants to be good, he wants people around him to like him, and he loves to help everyone. Especially his brother. Non-biological brother.
As if that makes any fucking difference.
Viktor hates himself because the coil in his lower abdomen bursts too suddenly. Burning streaks splash across the heated skin and pool on the caved-in belly, the seed flowing into his navel. He even feels it on his chest. Or is it beads of sweat? God, he's so hot. Viktor didn't think of pressing his open palm to the slit because his brain simply malfunctioned. It stopped sending signals to the body, forcing him to freeze. Involuntary shaking causes the creaking of the bed to echo throughout the room. Viktor's mouth is open in a silent moan as his tongue presses against the wet finger, the skin of which is already wrinkled from all the moisture.
Viktor hates himself because his mind paints a glistening glare where Jayce's lidded eyes are. He knows that his friend is sleeping soundly. Viktor watched him the whole time, without taking his eyes off. He breathes just as calmly, his back rises rhythmically, his hands are still under the pillow, one of them covering the lower half of his face. Nothing has changed.
But the glare.
Viktor is losing his mind. He peers into the darkness, and the darkness seems to stare back with Jayce's eyes. It grabs him in a vice and pushes him into the abyss, over the edge, and Viktor falls, reveling in every second.
With tears in his eyes and drool on his chin, he keeps his gaze fixed on the next bed. He allows himself just a moment to believe that Jayce is actually watching. Viktor can finally fully imagine what it's like to perform in public. When he is admired not only by his own eyes reflected in the mirror. Viktor has no control over anything but his vocal cords. He is used to moaning without holding back. He has to push his tongue into his throat, straining his neck muscles to keep even the slightest sob from escaping. It's as if he's breaking free from the leash that was pulling him by the neck, choking. His heels press into the mattress, and his hips, searching for any stimulation, desperately thrust into his fist. Viktor squeezes out the last of the pleasure, not caring about the mess that he only smears around more.
He indulges in the fantasy completely: he was seen, he wasn't judged, he isn't abandoned, and he is still loved. Viktor tries, he really tries, his best not to whimper. But he is rapidly drowning in overstimulation; he is ready to suffocate, to keep going until it becomes completely unbearable, and then some more. Until orgasms bring only pain, so sweet, so necessary.
But now is not the time nor place, no matter how much Viktor would like to give in to this thirst to the fullest. He was almost ready to destroy everything. This is not okay. Distance was supposed to help, to dull the feelings, to shatter this veil of idealization that Viktor grew up with. To think about it, they spent almost their entire lives, which isn't that long, but still, together. Viktor hasn't known a day without Jayce since he was adopted. Is it logical that an unhealthy attachment can only be cured by a long-term separation? Yes, it was difficult at first, but then Viktor got used to it.
Not a chance. It's even funny how the plan, which seemed brilliant at first glance, failed so miserably. He became mired in endless fantasies, neglected his studies, unable to focus. He didn't overcome withdrawal symptoms, but found a new drug, cheaper and more accessible. And now, having injected the pure obsession in his bloodstream again, after so much time, he loses his mind.
He is hot, desperately short of oxygen, and yet he is trying to catch his breath. He convinces himself that once is enough, and he should sleep. And indeed, fatigue suddenly becomes way more obvious. And with it, comes realization.
He was too reckless. It must not happen again, not like this. The creaking of the bed would have awakened even the dead, but, to Viktor's relief, Jayce did not move. He is incredibly lucky, and Viktor fears that he has squandered all his good fortune for this summer in one night.
Was it worth it? Every damn second. He knows perfectly well how unforgivable his actions are. But he does not seek forgiveness: the only one who can give it will never know about Viktor's biggest sin. He will not dare to tarnish the other's innocence. He made a promise.
Viktor falls asleep, tightly hugging the dirty bed sheet, which he carefully wiped himself off on. The remaining cum dries to the skin of his abdomen and thighs. First thing in the morning, he will lock himself in the bathroom and carefully wash this sheet with his hands, sitting under a stream of cold water. He will rub with a rough washcloth until the skin turns red, trying to wipe away all the shame and depravity off his remorseful body.
In the meantime, he turns his face to the wall, rests his forehead on the cold surface, and tries to fall asleep, listening to the soft breathing of his brother.
Non-biological brother.