Chapter Text
Jayce and Viktor have been living together for two years. Roommates, Jayce calls them. A ridiculous holdover term from university; they have separate bedrooms.
It's nice. They work well together both in and out of the lab. They're both as messy as the other, but equally prone to the occasional overwhelming necessity to clean, and so while the apartment typically somewhat resembles a bombsite it's never the case that there are any concerns about hygiene. They both enjoy spending time with each other: talking, playing chess or draughts or pachisi, or simply sitting to read. And they both uphold the somewhat sacred rule that a man's bedroom is to be his own solitary space.
Which is why when Viktor blinks himself awake one morning with a distinct sense of wrongness he attributes it first to the immediate awareness that he is in Jayce's bedroom. In Jayce's bed. He may not enter this room ever, but Jayce leaves the door open during the day for air circulation and so Viktor knows exactly the contents of his desk and how the paintings are hung on his walls. And he knows for certain the rich scent of Jayce filling his lungs.
It takes him an additional minute after waking to realise where the sense of wrongness actually comes from. He attributes this to how drowsy and disoriented he feels.
He rolls onto his back and lifts his head. The muscles on either side of his neck feel tight when he does this. His body beneath Jayce's thin blanket looks too… big. When he clumsily untangles one arm from the sheets to rub his eyes, he can barely process what he sees.
Instead of his own thin, white-skinned arm, he appears to be in possession of one with thick, corded muscles and smooth brown skin.
He waves his hand in front of his face. Despite the way his mind feels lagging, there's no delay in the signal from brain to body. It moves with the speed and ease of his own arm.
Suddenly far more awake, he sits up, head reeling a little with the movement. The blanket slides down his body, only revealing more swaths of brown skin.
Frantic now, he glances around the room until he spots a full length mirror against the wall. He springs to his feet, almost tripping over himself as his brain automatically goes to correct a gait that is not at all impacted. When he stumbles to the mirror, it feels like he might be looking through it. Into the living room. Into some other part of the apartment. Because his mind simply cannot process what he's seeing otherwise.
The face staring back at him isn't his own. It's Jayce's.
And maybe that realisation should scare him, but he feels only a sense of confusion, a need to confirm what is happening right now. That this isn't some elaborate dream or curse he's fallen under. So, naturally, he slaps himself in the face.
In Piltover, he's heard people ask to be pinched to be certain they aren't asleep and dreaming. In Zaun - the area Viktor had grown up in, at least - it was more often that a friend would try to slap a person for expressing disbelief. To knock them out of it.
Knocking himself out of it doesn't work. His cheek stings, and when he blinks back up at the mirror, it's still Jayce staring back at him, slapped skin healthily pink.
“Viktor?” The voice that sounds from down the hall is not Jayce's, but it doesn't really sound like Viktor, either. The tone is his own, but the accent layered beneath is far more similar to Jayce's.
Viktor swallows.
“In here.”
The voice that comes from him is a perversion of Jayce's. The richness and roughness of it, with Viktor's own accent curling the words into something almost unrecognisable.
He hears stumbling; a one-two step that falls heavier on the second foot and is accompanied by the sound of a hand sliding against the wall. And then the door is pushed open and his own eyes are staring at him from within the frame.
The experience of looking at his own body not through a mirror or camera lens is dizzying. His jaw drops and he expects to see the same happen to the face in front of him, but the expression on his body’s face is a closed-mouth gulp.
“Well,” is all he can think to say, “this is probably not good.”
The mouth in front of him falls open now as Jayce barks a laugh, a familiar but oh-so-strange sound in Viktor's own throat. “Why do you have the accent?”
Viktor blinks at him. “How should I know? Your knowledge of magic exceeds mine.”
“You think this is magic?”
Viktor lifts his (Jayce's) hand to the back of his head. “Unless our brains have been removed and swapped while we were sleeping with no apparent surgical marks, I would posit magic to be the probable cause, yes.”
“Right. Of course.”
Viktor rocks his weight from one leg to another, Jayce's body protesting that he's spent most of his time upright cocking his hip left. It's then that his mind registers something and all the blood in his body runs cold. Subtly, he squeezes his thighs together.
“Ah, Jayce. I do not mean to alarm you,” he can't help the way his voice pitches up a little, “but I believe the magic may have altered your body in other ways.”
Jayce's (Viktor's) eyes widen in alarm, and he scans Viktor's (Jayce's) body.
“What do you mean?”
“I -” there's truly no easy way of saying it, “- I think your - your penis is missing.”
Jayce's brows shoot up to his hairline and Viktor gets to see an expression of complete shock on his own face.
“What do you… mean?” Jayce asks, voice wavering.
“I mean it's - I can't feel it.” Viktor hooks his thumbs into his waistband and closes his eyes. “I need you to - it's your body, just look.” And he pulls the pants down.
When the cool air of the room hits his flesh he becomes further aware of the missing appendage. There's the feeling in his head like it's there when he searches for the familiar sensation, but the sensation of ambient air is only over his thighs and his mons.
“Viktor…” Jayce sounds lost for words.
Viktor cracks an eye open and peers at his own face. Jayce has no look of horror or fear - he's barely even looking at his own seemingly penisless crotch, eyes mainly focused on Viktor's face.
“We've been living together for two years.” Jayce says, after a moment of apparently searching for the words. “And you didn't know I was transgender?”
Viktor blinks, shock overpowering the fear of accidentally leering at Jayce's naked body without his consent. “What?”
“I - I've never had a penis. You seriously didn't know?”
Viktor's eyes dart down to Jayce's (his own body's) crotch, as though that will somehow answer any of the questions running through his head.
“Wow.” Jayce snorts. “You're really, uh. Y'know, for the smartest guy I know, you can be kind of an idiot.”
Viktor doesn't even argue that. He's still reeling.
“You… I… have a, ah, vagina, right now? Is that a word you are comfortable with?”
Jayce nods. “You can look, y'know. You're gonna need to use it, sooner or later.” He flushes, colour bright on Viktor's pale skin. “To piss, I mean. If this lasts”
“Right.” Viktor says. And he looks down.
It's completely bizarre seeing Jayce from this angle. His pecs and stomach are shelves of muscle and fat that he has to curl his body to look properly past, and when he does, he sees that Jayce is telling the truth. At least, about having no penis.
His mons is smooth, pubic hair neatly trimmed. Where Viktor is used to looking down and seeing a slope out into the jut of his cock, there is instead an inward curve to meet the join of his thighs. The phantom feeling of his cock throbs. Or - not phantom, he watches the slight twitch of Jayce's genitals as he feels the arousal run through his form.
“This is… strange.”
“Have you ever, uh, seen a vagina before?” Jayce asks.
“Once or twice.” Viktor admits, slightly transfixed as his brain fills in what Jayce's body must look like from other angles. “I have had a few experiences with women - cis women, I mean. I just - I never realised.”
“I take testosterone weekly.” Jayce points out. “You've watched me do the shot.”
“Many men have hormone deficiencies.” Viktor shrugs defensively, finally tearing his eyes away from his body to look at Jayce. It's still unsettling having his own face, out of his control, looking back at him. “And I of all people am hardly in a position to question a person's prescriptions.”
“There are scars on my chest.”
“Gynaecomastia?”
Jayce gives him a disbelieving frown. “You - wow. I mean I - I have a flag. On one of the desks.”
“That's… that's yours?” Viktor winces when the frown deepens. “I did not realise! I assumed it was Sky's.”
“I…” Jayce trails off. “Is it… going to be a problem? Going forward?”
“No.” Viktor says, immediately. “I am - I am evidently a little, eh, unobservant of the identities of people around me, but there will be no issues.”
“Right. Cool.”
It’s entirely humiliating, to be honest. And completely ridiculous that he’s not put the pieces together before now, especially considering how much of his time is spent staring at Jayce’s form when he should be focused on other things in the lab.
Jayce seems to have moved on from Viktor’s foolish assumptions, though, because when Viktor shakes himself out of his mild spiralling he sees Jayce staring at his own (Viktor’s) groin like it’s just grown an extra arm. Which - ah. Can’t be far off.
He sees his own body's cock twitch beneath the loose fabric of his pyjama pants as Jayce watches on.
“You may take the trousers off.” He says. He tries not to let his voice come out as wavering as it wants. He fails.
“Are you - I mean, I don't want to, like, make you feel like your body is a spectacle or something.”
“I just revealed to you that I was unaware of a major facet of your identity. You do not need to worry about making me feel like a spectacle. You can look at my penis, Jayce.”
“Are you… sure?”
Viktor rolls his eyes. “Just take them off.”
Jayce obeys near instantly, wavering on unsteady feet as he tugs the shorts down to just below his knees and allows them to fall to the ground.
If it was odd seeing his face out of his control, it's something else entirely watching his own dick twitch without being able to feel it at all.
Mortifyingly, he realises that his body is starting to chub up, and he only hopes that Jayce either cannot tell from the angle he's at, or feel it, or that -
No. No. Viktor watches with fascination and embarrassment as his dick swiftly twitches up to half-mast. Jayce in his body stares down at his rapidly hardening cock with something between shock and awe.
“I'm sorry.” Jayce blurts. “I don't - I can't get it to stop.”
A laugh bursts from Viktor's throat, unbidden and a little manic. “It is not typically so easy to do so.”
“What do I - how do I -?
Viktor takes a breath. “It will - it will go away by itself. It is probably the experience of being in a new body. Or, eh, perhaps some sense of - I don’t know, eh -” he searches his brain for a word that might make this make more sense, “- euphoria, perhaps?”
“Right.” Jayce says, staring down at his cock. “Right.”
Neither of them move for a moment, staring down at the way the cock between them is almost at full hardness.
Viktor clears his throat. “Perhaps we re-clothe ourselves, yes?”
“Right! Right.” Jayce says again, jolting to awareness and nearly toppling over as he bends to tug up the shorts. Viktor catches him by the shoulder, shocking himself with how light his own body feels in his current hands. “Shit, sorry.”
“It’s okay. Just, eh, steady yourself.”
“Yeah, sorry. You, uh - your body is very different to mine.”
Viktor snorts. “Yeah, you don’t say. You did not think to bring my cane in here?”
“I was a little preoccupied waking up in your bed!”
“Here, let us dress and we may discuss this further, hm? I think we may be more… comfortable, that way.”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
“Do you need assistance to return to my room?” Viktor asks.
“No, no. It's okay, I - I'll manage.”
Viktor nods and watches Jayce walk woodenly into the hallway. The dropped foot on Viktor's body's right leg catches on the carpeted floor a few times and he winces at the knowledge of the feeling; harsh fibers scraping at his skin. Jayce does better once he's able to use the wall for support, but his walking still comes across somewhat of a toddle as he rounds the corner and disappears down the hall.
And speaking of toddling - Viktor stares down at his own legs. Jayce's legs. Thick with muscle, thighs rubbing together as he shifts his weight to move towards the dresser. His centre of gravity is different, as are the needed impulses to shift his feet, and so Viktor is unsteady as he moves, lifting his feet in shuffling half steps at a time.
Once over by the chest of drawers Viktor places a hand on its surface. More for a psychological reassurance of support than a physical one; Jayce's body shows no sign of needing to lean against anything to remain steady.
He begins his search for clothing at the top drawer, which contains a mess of bundled white socks and a dozen or so neatly folded pairs of black briefs. It doesn't entirely surprise him that Jayce has so little in terms of colour here; he cares about his image, and keeping things simple and classy, Viktor imagines, makes it easier to keep up.
He grabs a pair of socks and underwear, places them atop the dresser, and opens the next drawer down. Neatly folded white undershirts and vests, and a pile of more colourful options; shirts with patterns that, as Viktor flips through them, remind him of the artwork in Jayce's mother's house. Jayce has only ever worn these at home. They're soft, worn in, a few with patched over holes and visible mending efforts. He grabs one of his favourites - yellow, orange and blue - and places it atop the underwear. Next come trousers, of which Jayce again has a number of identical pairs and some more colourful, comfortable ones for home use. Viktor picks out some that are, again, soft and well worn.
There's still one more drawer left, which Viktor crouches, wobbling, to open. And immediately freezes upon doing so.
It's clearly the drawer Jayce uses for his. Ah. More intimate objects. Sex toys, lingerie, rope. Far more full then Viktor would have expected, not that he's allowed himself to think on it too much.
He pushes it closed and stands abruptly, nearly toppling backwards. Jayce’s body is unbelievably top heavy, he's coming to realise.
He's not anticipating dressing to be a particularly difficult affair, but after throwing the clothes onto the bed and shuffling over, he realises the error in his anticipation. Dressing may not be an issue, but undressing? He stares down at the pyjama pants he's wearing like if he does so hard enough then they'll magically be replaced by the clean underwear without him having to take them off once more. After a few moments though, he releases a breath and resigns himself to his fate.
He tugs down the pants and steadies himself with one hand on the mattress as he pulls them all the way off, steadfast in not allowing himself to gawk at Jayce’s anatomy until he feels a strange wetness dragging over his skin where his thighs brush.
It’s cold and tacky, and he reflexively looks to the space between his legs to find the source and is once again caught out by the distinct lack of penis there.
For a moment he thinks it could perhaps be blood. That not only is he in Jayce’s body, but he’s going to have to handle the other man’s menstruation and everything that comes along with that. But there’s no blood. Even when he lifts and spreads his legs again, there’s nothing there other than a gloss that catches the light when he moves.
Oh.
Fuck.
He has the delirious thought that he’s the lucky one in this arrangement. Jayce is stuck in the body with obvious signs of arousal.
Viktor had not realised how wet he’d gotten in Jayce’s body until now.
Mesmerised and unable to really stop himself, Viktor swipes a finger over the slick coating his inner thigh and shivers at the way it soaks his skin. It’s thin; watery in a way that immediately registers as different to the few women Viktor has touched. A sick little animal impulse in the back of his skull tells him to taste, but that would be unbelievably invasive, and he already feels like what he’s doing is far too much, so he wipes his hand off on the pyjama pants and digs around Jayce’s bedside for a box of tissues with which to wipe the insides of his thighs off.
He doesn’t look as he wipes, simply runs tissue along the seam of his inner thighs and then between them, biting back the small noise that wants to escape when he brushes over the head of Jayce’s hard cock. It's like touching his own dick, but with pinpoint sensation: a smaller area with a far more intense response. He feels this strange automatic clench from a body part that has no comparative area on his own body and his mouth goes a little dry. If he'd have known prior to this point Jayce's anatomy, maybe he'd be better prepared for the sudden onslaught of new sensation and information. But he hadn't. And so he isn't.
He manages to dress with no further hassle and wanders out into the central living space of their small apartment. Walking is getting easier as he adjusts to his new centre of balance, but he's still having to manually stop himself from automatically correcting a leg that doesn't need it, and he lifts his right foot higher than necessary every few steps without thinking, which adds to what he's sure is a stride like a newborn foal.
He sits on the couch once he reaches it and grabs his notebook and pen from where he'd left them the night before with the intention of writing down a few initial theories before Jayce enters the room and he forgets the ideas floating around in his head. But he runs into an unexpected issue when his fingers close around the pen and the action feels unnatural.
Jayce's hands are larger than Viktor's. His fingers are uniformly thick and end in squared off tips with nails cut to the quick. Viktor's fingers are slim and knobbly, and he leaves a few millimetres of free nail for better purchase when doing detail-work on smaller projects. Holding the pen in Jayce's hand, between his fingers, feels clumsy and awkward. Feeling skin that would usually be protected by the length of nails brush and press against things makes him bristle with discomfort.
He makes a valiant attempt at writing out the date at the top of the page, and while the movement of his wrist is fine and the words are technically legible, his fingers struggle to keep the pen where his mind expects and the numbers shake as he writes them. Which could be in part due to the way his knee bounces as he sits. His body feels full of directionless energy if he does not let it do so.
An uneven cane tap and too-heavy footfall alerts him to Jayce coming down the hall before he appears in the doorway.
“I feel like I'm tripping.” He announces as he moves to sit on the couch next to Viktor. His accent from Viktor's own mouth is still incredibly disconcerting. He's wearing oversized tracksuit pants and a loose tee that Viktor had forgotten he owns.
“You may well be if you have to walk more than two feet in my body.” Viktor gestures for him to sit.
Jayce waves him off. “I'm getting the hang of it. Getting an idea of where your pain is, too. I’m gonna make you let me massage you next time you’re struggling at work.”
Viktor rolls his eyes. “It only hurts for you because you are not used to it. I don’t notice it.” It’s a bold-faced lie, and he knows Jayce knows that, so all he gets in return is a flat look that is easily recognisable as his partner even on his own features.
“Sure.” Jayce says.
“Have you ever been told that you hold too much tension in your jaw?” Viktor shifts the topic.
“Yeah it's a stress thing. It’s always been like that”
Viktor presses a thumb just above the hinge of his jaw and hisses a little at the sharp pain that blossoms. Funny. He'd assumed Jayce's body was flawless. He'd thought, because he couldn't see any pain, that there was none there.
What was the saying? Být v něčí kůži? Walking in someone else's shoes? Something he's experiencing in the most literal way right now.
“So, what do we do?” Jayce asks. He stretches his arms up over his head and winces when he almost certainly sends a bolt of discomfort up his right side. “We can't exactly go to work like this.”
Viktor hums agreement. He reaches up to tangle his fingers with the hair at the back of his head; an action he's done since he can remember to help himself think and self-soothe, but which he finds impossible to enact on the skin-fade hair at Jayce's nape. His nose scrunches a little with displeasure at this, and he has to stifle the impulse to shake his hands out instead to recentre himself.
“We must isolate the source of this change in order to reverse it.” Viktor says. He shifts in his seat. “Are you always so… energised? I feel as though I should be moving.”
Jayce gives him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry. I've always been kinda… like that. If I'm not focused on Hextech I can't really, uh, sit still.”
Viktor hums. “Yes, I can feel that.” He picks up a pen and taps it against his knee to quell some of the feeling. “I am beginning to understand your incessant pacing.” He pauses, pen still tapping. “...we would be remiss not to, eh, make the most of this situation, though.”
“In, uh, what way?”
Viktor gestures down at himself, at Jayce's form. “Think about it, when will we ever have the opportunity again to study the experience of being in another person's body? There are so many potential hypotheses to test. Like, for example, whether food preferences are mental or physical.”
Jayce visibly brightens, a crooked grin breaking across Viktor's cheeks. It's… oddly pleasant to be able to witness on his own face.
“Oh! Coffee!” He hops to standing and winces a little when trying to stand the way he typically does strains the perpetually tight muscle of Viktor's body's right calf.
“Ah, let me.” Viktor tells him, gesturing for him to sit. “I do not imagine my body will be particularly happy if you try to walk too often.” He stands himself, more steady on Jayce's feet than he had been earlier, and moves easily towards the attached kitchen. “If you are this restless all the time, it is no wonder you're always offering to do things for me.” He comments mildly.
Jayce snorts a little. “Yeah, well. It's definitely part of it.”
Percolator on the stove, Viktor busies himself digging through the cupboards for foods to experiment with and - after an anxious realisation - jogs to the bathroom to retrieve his daily medication. By the time the water is boiling, he's come away with a box of twice-cooked biscuits and a malt loaf from his own stash of snacks, and a half-finished bar of spiced dark chocolate from Jayce’s and a bundle of herbs from the refrigerator. After taking the percolator off the heat he also pulls out the jar of yeast extract that he's partial to but that he knows Jayce can't stand and brings it and a spoon into the living room before heading back to decant the coffee and add milk and sugar to Jayce's.
While he'll readily admit to a sweet tooth where food is concerned, Viktor takes his coffee strong and black. Where Jayce has opinions on temperature and density and enjoys the sweetness and texture of milk and sugar in his drink, Viktor wouldn't bat an eye if the beans he were offered were practically charcoal. The purpose of the drink is to wake him up. The strength of the taste, he finds, is directly correlated to its ability to do so.
Without even thinking, he hands Jayce the cup containing the sweetened drink alongside the meds and lifts his own mug to his lips.
It tastes foul. Too bitter; tar over his tongue. His face twists into what is probably an expression of clear disgust, and Jayce bursts into laughter.
“Well I guess that answers that question.” He hums, reaching out to swap drinks already. Viktor does so gladly, and finds the sweetness of Jayce’s usual coffee soothing over his tongue.
Taking a sip of the bitter drink, Jayce furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side. “Huh.” He says. “It’s… not bad.”
“Elaborate.”
“It's - I don't know, it's like my brain knows it shouldn't be good, but your body is sending signals that are conflicting. It tastes… confusing.”
Viktor hums intrigue and assesses the foodstuff he’s collected on the table before them. He reaches for the herbs he’d grabbed and Jayce snorts a little.
“Are you sure you wanna try that? You hate cilantro.”
Viktor plucks at the leaves, thick fingers easily crushing crisp stems. He hums again.
“Yes, but you enjoy it. I think it will be a good parallel to the coffee experiment.”
Bracing for the soapy taste he usually experiences from the plant, he pops the leaves into his mouth and grinds them between his molars.
Jayce was right. It’s confusing. Mentally, he’s geared up for the familiar unpleasantness of the plant, but the flavour over his tongue, while still not something he’d eat by itself, is… good. The base notes are the same, but the more forward taste is enjoyable, rather than antibacterial, despite what his mind is telling him.
“Oh.” He says. “I see.”
“Right!” Jayce smiles. “Okay, I want to try more stuff.”
Viktor reaches for the notebook again to record their findings. His letters shake less and less as his mind adapts to the physical differences between his hands and Jayce's, and by the time they've reached the malt paste (which tastes almost like burnt rubber on Jayce's tongue) his handwriting is almost back to his usual standard.
The food hypothesis segues into listening to music to determine whether the body has an influence on taste (it doesn't appear to, though Jayce's ears seem more sensitive to volume than his own). And that in turn moves into visual media and books (both apparently more mental than physical).
And then Jayce broaches sensation.
“You're ticklish, right?” He asks.
Viktor narrows his eyes. “...yes.”
“I'm not.”
Viktor’s eyes narrow further. “You are proposing we tickle each other.” He states.
“Don't act like it's weird, it's just like the other stuff!”
And he's not wrong. About the second part, at least. Viktor looks down at his (Jayce's) hands.
“It is weird.” Viktor gripes. But he leans forward on the couch to be closer to Jayce. “I am most ticklish along my ribs and on the soles of my feet.”
Jayce lifts his hand to his own side - Viktor’s hand to his own side - and digs his fingers in. When seemingly nothing happens, he frowns down at himself. It’s such a Jayce expression, lip jutting out, completely foreign on Viktor’s own face. Viktor snorts.
“You cannot tickle yourself.” He says.
“Hm? Oh, shit, right.” Jayce laughs a little. “So, uh, you try.”
Viktor gives him a look that he hopes shows how unimpressed he is by this scenario, but shifts on the couch to be able to reach out to Jayce.
He hesitates for a second. While he's fully aware that it's Jayce in there, disconcertion is shifting rapidly to discomfort as he leans closer to his own body.
“Go on.” Jayce says, apparently still eager, looking down at his own hands with interest.
Viktor steels himself, closes his eyes, and lunges for Jayce's sides. When he makes contact and digs his fingers in, Jayce squeals loudly, ringing in Viktor's ear. He wasn't aware he could make that sound. Regardless, he keeps tickling until Jaycees squeaks morph into laughter and he regains his wits enough to speak.
“That's - fuck, ah - I g - ha - get it now. Okay.” He wheezes through giggles. “Fuck, y - ha - you can stop!”
Viktor snorts a laugh of his own as he pulls away and opens his eyes. His own face is looking at him with a flush and Jayce’s slightly crooked smile.
“So it seems tickling is physical.” Viktor states. He reaches to make a note of this.
“Well hold on.” Jayce says, breathless. “We can't just test it one way.”
Viktor is half through a responding right when Jayce lunges. Reflexively, Viktor pulls back and lifts his arms in front, but Jayce manages to snake boney fingers into his armpits in the split second before his reaction.
Viktor yelps and tenses in anticipation for a feeling that never arrives. Sure, it's uncomfortable having Jayce digging into his ribs, but it's nothing more than that. Just the pinch of skinny fingers
Jayce seems to notice his lack of response, because he pulls away a little and gestures excitedly. “So it is physical. That makes sense, I guess. It's more motor-based. Autonomic impulses. So maybe it's the nerve placement that determines whether someone is or isn’t - or sensitivity.”
Viktor hums. Jayce is still somewhat leaning into him, his own body sharp and angular against Jayce’s muscle and curves. He smells, strongly through Jayce’s nose, the anise of his own medicated shampoo. His body seems to relax at the scent, muscle memory. Like either his mind is responding positively to the proximity of his true form, or Jayce’s body simply… does this, in Viktor’s presence.
The entire rest of their day is taken up by experiments of various kinds. They discover that Jayce's sensitivities to sound and light are almost entirely bodily, and that while the sensation of pain is physical, Viktor's threshold still exceeds Jayce's excessively regardless of body. They each retain only their own knowledge, including of language, which Jayce seems disappointed by.
“I don't know, it would just be fun to suddenly know your language.”
“Unfortunately it seems you must study to do so. And you are unlikely to find a teacher - do not look at me, I’m not giving you lessons.”
By the time evening rolls around they've exhausted pretty much every avenue of study that Viktor can think of, other than the ideas that he's been batting away all day that have involved their differences in anatomy. He's had to use the bathroom twice in the day they've been like this, and both times he awkwardly, along Jayce's instructions, wiped himself without looking and redressed. The feeling of a shorter urethra is something he has not mentioned aloud, though he's noted it in his journal.
They're lounging on the couch, eating dumplings Jayce had prepared with the intention of being their lunch in the lab, when Jayce sighs and speaks up.
“What do we do if we don't wake up back in our own bodies?” He asks.
Viktor tilts his head and swallows. “Well,” he begins, “there is nothing to suggest that we will, in the same way that there was no warning before this occurred.” He takes another bite of soft dough. “I propose we sleep, and if we awaken still in this, eh, predicament, we will focus our efforts on rectifying it.”
Jayce snorts. “I'll give us this: we're handling this way better than most people probably would. Maybe, uh, a little too well, even.”
“We are scientists.” Viktor shrugs. “And even if we were not, I would hardly liken us to most people.”
Jayce rolls his shoulders and the discomfort in his face sparks an idea in Viktor's mind.
“Turn around.” He instructs. “And take off your shirt?”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
With a look of confusion but not one of distrust, Jayce turns and slips the tee over his head.
Faced with his own spine, Viktor pauses, fascination freezing him in place. While they've been in this predicament almost twelve hours now, he hasn't really paid attention to his own back in that time. His body from here is still novel. It's stranger than looking at his face; this view is not one he's ever been able to have without the aid of at least two mirrors.
He's taken by the way his shoulders slant. The lean muscle in his back that ripples under thin, pale skin as Jayce rolls one of his shoulders until it clicks. He admires himself almost as if he's looking at a machine. A mechanical shell he's familiar with but that he's never been able to assess in this manner before. He's surprised when the thought crosses his mind that he looks good from this angle.
It's dreamlike to reach out and touch. His hand - Jayce's wide palm and darker skin - makes contact and he feels the heat and softness of his own flesh. There's a mole right above the crease of his armpit on his left side. Jayce gasps a little as Viktor runs fingers over the curve of his scapula and then down the crooked path of his own spine. When he reaches his hips he allows his second hand to join the first and situates them either side of his lower lumbar. When he's pretty certain of his positioning, he holds fast the fingers around his hips and digs in with his thumbs.
Jayce makes a noise of shock that swiftly devolves into a grunt of pain and finally, when Viktor feels knotted muscle slip from beneath his thumbs, a low groan.
“Fuck, Viktor, that feels tight.”
“It has occurred to me,” Viktor tells Jayce as he resituates his hands, “on from your comment earlier today, that I am in the unique position of being able to target the exact points of my pain without straining my body.”
“Yeah.” Jayce breathes as Viktor attacks another spot. “That - ah - makes sense.”
Viktor loses himself in it for the next few minutes. He finds every spot he knows in himself to be uncomfortable and digs into them, to the groans from his own throat in front of him.
“It would be better for you to be lying for the next portion.” He frowns, trying to reach around Jayce to the crease of his thigh.
“Ri-right.” Jayce clears his throat. “D’you wanna move to your room, then?”
Viktor's mouth goes a little dry at the way it sounds. How he’s considered that question in other circumstances.
“Yes, that would work best.” He says, clearing his throat when it comes out strained.
“Alright, lead the way.” Jayce gestures.
Viktor stands, offers Jayce his cane, and moves awkwardly down the hall to his bedroom. As the day has progressed, he's finding it easier and easier to move in Jayce's body, an ease he hopes he won't need past today.
It's the first time entering his own room all day and immediately he sees in the messy sheets and open drawers the panic Jayce had gone through that morning. The duvet looks as though it's been caught on a foot and dragged around to the mirror, the mirror itself crooked against the wall, like Jayce had used it to hold himself up.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to leave a mess.” Jayce says, sheepishly.
“It's no problem.” Viktor assures him. “Let me organise the bed and you may lie down.”
Jayce makes a noise of agreement and stands in the doorway as Viktor organises. It's a novel experience to be able to both bend at the waist and knee as he reaches to pick up the sheets and remake the bed. Once he's satisfied, he turns and gestures for Jayce to get situated.
“On my back or front?”
“Front.”
It’s a strange sight, watching Jayce awkwardly maneuver his body onto the mattress. Gangly limbs and flat ass and all.
“Oh.” Jayce lifts onto his elbows and looks down at himself. “Should I take the brace off before I lie down?”
Viktor blinks. “You put on the brace?”
“I - I mean, yeah. Should I, uh, not have?”
“No, no. You should. I just wasn’t - I didn’t think you would necessarily want to.”
“I mean, you - you wear it every day. It's like a part of you. And I can really feel the difference it makes like this, it's a lot easier moving than it was when I first woke up. I think I have an idea for an improvement to the knee joint though now that I've experienced it myself.”
Viktor is speechless, caught in the feeling of being seen, but he manages to move his body regardless. He reaches out and pushes up the loose cuff of Jayce's trousers to release the buckles of the brace, spurring Jayce to shift into position to assist. Once the brace is off, Jayce gives him a nervous smile and stiffly returns to lying.
“I'm going to just use, ah, oil.” Viktor says, face heating slightly as he reaches into his bedside drawer for the oil in question. He tilts his body to block any potential view Jayce might have of the rest of the drawer’s contents. “I will try to warm it, but I'm sorry if it's cold.”
“I can handle a little chill.” Jayce snarks, nervous energy still evident in his tone.
Viktor rolls his eyes and, instead of pouring the oil into his palm to warm it up, he pours it directly onto Jayce’s back, snorting a little at the yelp that elicits.
“Ass.” Jayce grunts, turning to give a glare with very little heat behind it.
“Quite.” Viktor agrees. He slides his hand through the oil and watches the hair on his lower back distort and spring back slowly, darkening as the oil soaks each strand. “I’m going to dig in around the hips and thighs, then move down to the calves. Once I’ve finished, I’ll get you to roll over.”
“S - uh, shouldn’t I take the pants off fully, then?”
Viktor wets his lower lip, anxious at the idea of his near-naked body being visible to the both of them once again. “Ah, yes, I suppose that would be… a better idea.”
Jayce maneuvers awkwardly onto one knee, not putting pressure on his weaker leg, and Viktor assists him in shuffling the trousers off until he’s once again in a pair of Viktor’s simple white briefs. When he lies back down, the oil over his lower back has slowly made its way to the waistband and soaked a greenish stain there already. The skin of his right leg is criss-crossed with pink indentations where the brace sits. Not bruised, thanks to the padding over the structure of the orthosis, but he knows from the past few years of wearing this that the lines and the colour will remain for the next twenty minutes or so.
Once he gets started, it’s remarkably easy to think of this as something other than what it is; he is, of course, intimately familiar with the body beneath his hands.
It’s something like mapping out an automaton to run his fingers over himself and press and rub at all of the spots he knows hurt. Like pressing gears into their correct placements, wires into the proper ports. His hands work quick and smooth and Jayce’s grunts and whines in response are minimally distracting as he loses himself to it. His reaction to the noises when it does come is conflicted; despite the knowledge that these are Jayce’s sounds, sounds so close to what Viktor imagines he might make in other circumstances, they’re fed through a throat that has them coming out with the distinct tone of Viktor’s own voice. He nearly recoils at one point when digging into the arch of his foot has Jayce groaning in a way Viktor knows he himself does when he comes - slightly horrified while arousal coils simultaneously in his gut at the fact Jayce just made the noise Viktor makes when he comes.
“Roll over.” Viktor says, short and quiet once he’s reached hip. Jayce’s voice rumbles through his chest. He feels that ache in his groin.
“Uh. Right. Yeah.” Jayce’s voice is muffled by the pillow. He appears to take a second to steel himself before rolling left and resituating. After the past half an hour or so not looking at it, Viktor is once again faced with his own features. His cheeks are pink, and his bottom lip looks swollen, like Jayce has been worrying at it to minimise the noise he’s been making. Viktor averts his eyes and focuses once again on his own legs, descending back into the headspace of a mechanic as he digs his thumbs into the lean, tense muscle over his shins and hears Jayce hiss. He is once again so absorbed in his work that Jayce’s sounds more or less fade into the background and he pays attention to very little but what’s under his palms. Until he slides his hands up the right thigh and comes head to (quite literally) head with a quite significant problem.
His cock is hard. Contained and restricted by his briefs but very clearly more than half erect and leaking enough that there's a translucent patch on the thin white fabric.
He doesn’t realise that his hands have stalled in their movements until Jayce pipes up, sounding as mortified as Viktor feels.
“I - I’m sorry, it won’t go away.”
The fear in his voice - as though he thinks he's somehow done something wrong here - has Viktor pressing a hand to his hip in reassurance instantly.
“That’s okay. It - I should have anticipated that this may happen again, I’m sorry. It’s an intimate position, sometimes it - the body can respond to that in different ways. I will - you can cover yourself and we can, ah, sit and read, perhaps, until it goes down.”
“Right. I - thanks.”
Viktor busies himself collecting the both of their current books from the living room, ignoring the way his heart feels like it’s pumping right in his throat, and once he returns Jayce is tucked in beneath the sheets, hands in his lap.
He wordlessly hands Jayce his tome and perches awkwardly at the end of his bed to open his, feeling out of place despite the fact this is his own room.
It's maybe twenty minutes before Jayce speaks up. Viktor has been struggling to pay any attention at all to the words in front of him.
“It's - I think it's gone.” Then a beat, while Viktor keeps his eyes on his page. “Thank you for the massage. It - it seems like it's really helped.”
Viktor swallows and looks up, finding his own face pink and uncertain.
“I'm glad.” He smiles.
“I didn’t realise how, uh, lucky I have it.”
“Hm?”
“With the boner… thing.”
Viktor just looks at him.
“I just mean -” Jayce hurries to explain, “- I didn’t realise it would be so hard to hide when you’re, uh, aroused. Y'know?”
Viktor should probably cling on to a different part of that statement, but all that comes out of his mouth when he opens it is -
“Are you often aroused in situations you must hide it in?”
Jayce’s face goes even more pink. “I mean, I’m, uh - I’m on hormones. They kinda…” He trails off and his eyes widen. “Oh, fuck. It’s my hormone day.”
Viktor once again just blinks.
“My testosterone injection, and my - I’d usually take it this evening.”
“Ah. I see.” Viktor shifts on the bed. “I am no stranger to needles, if you would like to administer it for me?”
“Yeah, I just - I usually take my - doesn’t matter. We can just, ah, do the shot.” Jayce laughs nervously as he scrambles to get out of the bed, almost tripping over his dropped foot. When Viktor hands him the brace, he fastens it clumsily and mutters a thanks before leading them both back down the hall to his bedroom.
Jayce is quiet while he gathers his things, sitting Viktor on the bed while he draws up a quick-moving oil into a disposable glass syringe.
“What exactly is the medication?” Viktor asks.
“Synthesised testosterone esters in a carrying oil. Castor, I think.”
Viktor smiles a little, watching Jayce methodically draw air into the syringe to replace one capped needle with another before pressing it all back out.
“And I suppose you have the exact esters memorised?”
“Decanoate, isocaproate, propionate and phenylpropionate.” Jayce lists instantly, before smiling sheepishly. “I tried to synthesise it myself once, but it’s, uh, pretty different to synthesising a hex-crystal.”
Viktor snorts. “Yes, I imagine so.”
Jayce huffs a laugh and approaches, stiffly lowering himself to kneel at Viktor’s feet. “Your turn to take your pants off. Or just pull them down, if you want.”
Viktor nods and does so, pulling them down to his knees and watching Jayce map out a spot, which he then wipes down with alcohol and shuffles to sit closer to. He's obviously leaning to the side to take his weight off his weaker leg.
With the alcohol dry, Jayce uncaps the needle, depresses the plunger just until a bead of liquid teases escape from the needle’s end, and puts pressure upwards on Viktor’s thigh with his free hand.
“Breathe in.” Jayce instructs. Viktor follows. “And out.”
With the exhale Viktor feels the familiar unpleasantness of needle through muscle and winces despite himself.
“Yeah, it sucks. I'm sorry.”
Viktor makes a noise that's supposed to be reassuring, but his voice catches. “I have had many injections in my life, but that still fails to make them a pleasant experience.”
Jayce hums agreement. The plunger on the syringe fully depresses, and he pulls it free with one even draw and releases the skin above. Practiced.
“That shouldn’t bleed, but I’ll grab something to cover it anyway.” He lifts himself slowly and shuffles over to the chest of drawers across the room, where he goes about disposing of the used items and digs around in a small bag.
“Are you usually this quick when injecting yourself?”
“Ha, no. I usually glare at it for a couple minutes before I actually try anything. I hate it.” Coming back to sit on the bed now, he hands Viktor a small, star-shaped adhesive bandage to cover the injection site.
“Are there no less invasive methods?”
“There’s a topical serum, but that would be daily and you know the hours we keep. I’d never be able to do it on schedule.”
“Mm. I see.”
Another huffed laugh from Jayce. “I should have guessed you didn’t know about me from the lack of questions.”
“I’m sorry, is it too invasive? I can stop, I don’t mean to pry.”
“No, no. It’s fine. It’s more that… you’re always trying to learn about everything around you, I guess. When Sky started using that new insulin monitor, you spent like an hour quizzing her about it.”
Viktor winces. “Ah, that was probably a little much, wasn’t it?”
“I think she was just happy to have your attention.” Jayce says, an air of teasing to the words. “What I’m saying is that I don’t mind; ask whatever you want.”
“Are you certain? We can drop it entirely, if you’d rather.”
“No. I'd rather you ask.” Jayce knocks his shoulder against Viktor's. “It's nice. I like explaining things to you.”
Viktor returns the gesture playfully. “Ah, so this is about your need to feel smarter than me.”
A light shove this time from Jayce. “Sure, yeah. I don't get many chances for that, y'know?”
“It's hardly your fault that I am the smartest person in Piltover.”
“Mmm… third.”
Viktor gapes. “Third?”
Jayce is very clearly biting back a grin. “After me, obviously.”
Viktor narrows his eyes. “And who else?”
“Heimerdinger.”
Viktor curses Jayce out in his native tongue, which feels strange in his current throat, unused to voiceless frictives as it is. “Intelligence only counts if you use it. Heimerdinger does not count.”
Jayce is close to laughter now. “He'd be able to engineer everything we do twice as fast if he put his mind to it.”
“Yes. If.” Viktor grumbles. “He would have done a great many things if he'd put his mind to it.”
“Alright, alright. I'm sorry.”
“You'd better be.”
“It's getting late, we should probably try sleeping.” Jayce hums, stretching his arms upwards to a litany of pops that would be concerning from any body other than Viktor's.
“Mm, I suppose so, yes.” Viktor scratches at his chin. Jayce's five-o-clock shadow has rapidly grown to more of a stubble length throughout the day. Viktor can barely grow a goatee within a few months, and it's strange and itchy to feel the coarseness of hair over his cheeks.
“Do you wanna, uh, sleep in our own beds, or..?” Jayce trails off.
“Ah.” Viktor considers. “I suppose it would be best to match bodies to beds, yes? In the hopes that we will wake up in our own of both in the morning.”
“Right, yeah. Good idea.”
Viktor stands and tugs his trousers back up to his hips. “I will go and brush my teeth. Is there anything more of your medication I should be taking tonight?”
“No.” Jayce's answer comes almost too fast. Nervous. “No, just the shot. Night, Viktor.”
“Good night, Jayce.”
Cleaning his teeth with Jayce's toothbrush for the second time feels just as strange as the first. As does watching Jayce’s face in the mirror as he does. The movement of his cheeks as the brush passes within them. The glisten over his lips after he spits.
He swallows. This may be the last time he has this chance. Tomorrow he will hopefully return to his own body, never with this excuse again.
He lifts his hand and presses his thumb to Jayce's lip, feeling it give beneath the digit. Thicker and fuller than his own. Wet with saliva. He allows his fingers to unfurl and cup his cheek as he strokes softly over his mouth. His breath comes shaky. When he glances up in the mirror, Jayce's pupils are noticeably blown in the bright bathroom light.
He drops his hand and turns sharply away from his reflection.
Returning to Jayce's room, he refuses to let himself think as he strips to his boxers and slips beneath the sheets in the dark, closing his eyes against the shadow of his partner's room.
Despite himself, all he can think about as he drifts off is the warmth of the bed and the scent of Jayce surrounding him.