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When Jayce enters his partner’s home for the first time, he realizes there are some things he doesn't know about Viktor.
For instance, upon entering the stifling studio-space, he learns Viktor has a piano. The imposing oak-wooden instrument seems to be the largest thing in the room, aside from his single bed. It's covered in dust-ridden doilies and towering stacks of hard-covered books.
He feels honored, spoiled, to experience this intimacy with Viktor. He thinks he's earned it, on account of all his one sided appetence for the man.
But that's beside the point. He's here on account of the ongoing winter blizzard outside, and none other. Despite that, he can't help leering from the door-way, trying to absorb as much visual information as he can from Viktor’s living quarters.
There are dozens upon dozens of coffee stained papers tacked to various walls, scribbled with academic notes and the odd still-life sketch. Covering every surface are mismatched ceramic cups, half-empty, waiting. A crooked pair of reading glasses sit at his bedside. Jayce vaguely recalls seeing Viktor once upon a time wearing such, but the memory is so old it feels more like a dream. He tries to picture it briefly before Viktor calls to him to remove his weather-soiled peacoat, inundated in fluffy wet puffs of snow.
He remarks about the piano as he slides off his brogues. The leather has turned soggy. They won't dry any time soon, Jayce thinks.
Viktor waves his hand in a noncommittal gesture. “It was my mothers,” flatly. Jayce doesn't press.
In the limited time he's known Viktor, his mother has sparsely been in conversation. As in, maybe once or twice. Viktor doesn't talk about her, and so Jayce doesn't ask.
She passed a long time ago, and that’s pretty much the extent of his knowledge; and now, of course, the piano.
Likewise, Viktor doesn't press about Jayce’s storm-induced trauma. This is, however, the first time he's ever had to offer respite to Jayce because of it. Viktor had realized, when he caught sight of Jayce’s hands shaking violently while locking up the lab for the night. It was an instantaneous thing; no hesitation.
“You can stay with me for the night,” he had offered, almost a whisper.
A simple OK was Jayce’s reply.
And he's shaking now too, feet planted in Viktor’s doorway, like an undead creature afraid to cross a threshold for worry of bursting into flame. Viktor does beckon him in though, eventually.
Viktor doesn't have a couch, nor a cot or floor cushions. It's certainly an odd choice of furniture prioritization, with the massive piano and all. He didn't really consider the sleeping arrangement before now. But they're friends; partners.
Sharing the bed shouldn't seem so strange, right?
Even though, for weeks (months) now, Jayce has been having strange feelings about his partner, his friend. Decidedly non-friend feelings.
A handful of fortnights past, realization struck. Jayce accepted he was in deep shit when a tickle of Viktor’s hair against his cheek produced a surprise boner. It had grown long, curling at his nape and drooping into his eyes.
Jayce had been absentminded that day, bent over Viktor's shoulder, daydreaming. The boy had a habit of it.
That close, Jayce could smell the chypre of his perfume; he didn't mean to touch Viktor, and yet. Neither mentioned it when their cheeks nearly met, nor when Jayce stiffly excused himself to the restroom.
It's not just the physical attraction though, no. Jayce has thought people beautiful before — But Viktor isn't just beautiful. To reduce him to that alone would be a complete and utter disservice to all of Viktor's most interesting features. His intelligence, his passion. All of his peculiarities. He has strange quirks and habits, like the way he twirls his fingers in his hair when he's focusing. Or, the way he laughs, sharp canine teeth flashing white whenever Jayce says something corny.
And in the way he pauses on the street, to examine fresh buds on trees or people painting portraits along the canal. In the way he cuffs his shirts, and loves confections more than the average adult. The way Viktor is unabashedly himself, despite the hardships he's faced.
Jayce admires him, deeply.
And so, he deduces that he's shaking because he is scared by his feelings for Viktor. He’s consumed by the trepidation — the possibility that he could ruin things. Losing Viktor over some tenderfoot crush would be a genuine devastation in the life of Jayce Talis.
He can't share a bed with Viktor, not tonight, not ever. For all intents and purposes, Viktor is his best friend, and you don't get hard sleeping next to your best friend. It's horribly embarrassing at best, and a violation at worst.
He'll have to sleep on the floor.
Jayce is nearly in a fugue state when Viktor nudges him towards his bed and ushers him to sit. He's adjacent, gangly and awkward on the piano stool. Looking around, it truly seems to be the only chair in here. Viktor must not have many guests.
He looks like a crumpled up paper-crane, but when Jayce pleads to swap spots, Viktor refuses. He sips from a mug of stale coffee, plucked from somewhere amidst the clutter, while Jayce warms his hands with a fresh cup of tea procured by Viktor.
They vacantly chat for a while, watching the storm blaze on through the lone window in the room. There's a comically small potbelly coal-stove that Viktor tends intermittently, but Jayce knows the potency of the flames will turn the room sweltering shortly. And they do; the room is more than comfortable within the hour. Warm enough to have Viktor removing layers, abandoning his knitted sweater and woolen socks. His fitted cotton undershirt is snug enough to see the outline of his waist, the jut of a hip.
Jayce can feel the already anxiety-tense muscle in his thighs twitch when Viktor leans to feed the stove and his top rides up, revealing a smattering of beauty marks.
Jayce thinks he sees Viktor glance over his shoulder in his direction, but the room is dim and Viktor moves like a cat.
He casually pulls the shirt back down as he sits, and they continue on.
When Jayce's tea is nothing more than leafy dregs at the bottom of his mug, he breaks.
"Do you play?"
Viktor looks confused for one whole second but then the lines in his forehead smoothen once more, and he shrugs.
"It's more of a keepsake, than a hobby," he says, eyes drifting to the subject of conversation. Now that Jayce is closer, he can see it's missing a few keys.
"I played, when I was young." Viktor says after a moment. "I was terrible." Sheepishly, he grins. Jayce can't help but to match the expression.
It's an endearing thought, to imagine the most perfect person you know being wholly terrible at something. Especially, someone so brilliant as Viktor. Jayce could scarcely picture a single skill the man would fail at. Even with the knowledge, the image cannot form.
"Would you play for me now?" He requests, impish. Viktor bristles, but acquiesces with some begging from Jayce.
They sit, crowded aside one another, while Viktor's knobby fingers knock incorrect keys. He can hardly read the ancient sheet music, which he had moments ago pulled from beneath a stack of floral hat-boxes; 'Also my mothers.'
Jayce makes an attempt at steeling himself, an encouragement for Viktor to keep going, but he can't stop the burbling laughter that spills out when Viktor misplays again and begins swearing profusely in his first-tongue.
He gives up eventually, content to retire for the night.
Jayce can see Viktor is tired; he's familiar with all of his tells by now. When he tucks his chin to his chest and pulls in a deep breath, Jayce notices right away. He punctuates his exhale with a soft hum.
Despite his obvious fatigue, Jayce stays silent, in an attempt to prolonge their time together.
He wants this impromptu sleepover to last forever, in fact.
He selfishly hopes that he'll get lucky and the snow will cancel their next-day plans.
At this moment, Jayce can't think of anything in that lab more interesting than being in Viktor's home.
And besides that, Jayce has no desire to trudge through an icy wasteland in order to blow a few hours at their place of study. Not when they’re perfectly capable of doing clerical tasks from Viktor’s bed.
He can picture it: an explosion of sleep-rustled hair, lounging in Viktor’s micro-quarters, drinking that toothsome milk he likes and enjoying their alone time.
But Jayce feels perhaps he’d be imposing. Viktor has been incredibly gracious so far; Jayce doesn't want to steal away any more of his peace.
It's become late, nearly the witching hour when Viktor says they should get to bed. Time has passed swiftly, silently. It always does between them.
“Jayce,” Viktor calls from a cramped bureau at the foot of his mattress. “I do not own any clothing in your size. You’re…” he gestures between himself and Jayce, “big. Bigger than me.” It's punctuated by a cough.
“It's okay, V. I can sleep in my uniform,” Jayce shrugs, sealing it with a smile to assure Viktor it is indeed okay.
Viktor throws a hand in the direction of Jayce, nose scrunched in discontentment. “Absolutely not. You can sleep in your undergarments, I do not care.”
Before Jayce can remark that he cares, Viktor has ended the conversation. The bureau door clicks shut as Viktor slinks beneath his duvet, and lays facing Jayce. He's pressed close to the wall, seemingly waiting.
With quickness, Jayce undresses down to his briefs. He avoids eye-contact, back turned to Viktor as he trips over his own feet in his best attempt to speed the effort along.
He wants to be embarrassed, for Viktor to see him like this, but Viktor did ask — nay, command — Jayce to undress. It's Viktor's home. Jayce will do as he's told; he's a good boy like that. Respectful.
When he's finished, he reaches for a spare pillow from Viktor's nest of bedding.
"What are you doing?" Viktor asks, incredulous. He almost sounds offended.
Jayce pauses, staring down at him. "Borrowing a pillow?"
"For the floor?" Viktor's mouth is twisted into a moue of disapproval. "Do I have cooties? Is that what it's called? Germs?"
The tension in Jayce's chest breaks just a bit with the laugh he releases at that. He can't tell Viktor 'No, it's because I'm super into you and my dick will get all weird about it if I sleep next to you.'
So he resolves to lie a bit. Just a white lie.
"No, it's not that — I just thought, y'know, I'm big. Your bed is…"
Hardly even a lie, really.
"Small?" Viktor finishes. He's grinning, but Jayce can't shake the feeling that he's miffed him somehow.
"It's better than the floor, Jayce. Please." Viktor pats the bed beside him.
Jayce can't argue with Viktor in his own home. Even though, this is a perfect set-up for all of his worst fears to actualize. No — he's a grown man; he can control himself, gods dammit!
When Jayce pulls the blanket away to join him, his breath is nearly knocked from his chest.
Viktor is waifish, peering up at Jayce. He’s softer, thinner than Jayce knew, a concave abdomen and long, willowy legs. The fat of his chest is startlingly meager, stunted permanently by a malnourished childhood. It would be soft in Jayce’s palm.
His hips are slim, framing a wavy happy trail above his white cotton skivvies. There are moles scattered across his bare chest, his arms, along his legs. He’s a beautiful sight. When did he take his shirt off? Nevermind his shirt — where are his pants?!
Jayce wonders idly if Viktor typically sleeps nude.
He realizes he's staring. Maybe it was never possible to avoid this — being so attracted to his partner. Anyone in his position would be.
But he can't run now.
He must accept that he will get hard, and Viktor will end their relationship. He will get hard because he's a disgruntled, selfish pervert, and worse — a terrible friend. He knew if he shared his bed, the result was predestined; the loss of Viktor. But he wants it anyway.
He wants to be pressed up against Viktor, scenting his hair and rutting in the curve of his back as he lay silent, sleeping. Wants to sink into his fist and finish in the tawny hair dusting Viktor's lower abdomen.
No. No, no, no!
Jayce breaks out of his trance, jaw ticking. So far, he has managed to be ‘normal’ around Viktor; nearly a year now, in fact. Sure, maybe the intensity of his feelings has doubled in the last handful of months. And yes, he's gotten hard in Viktor's presence a few times.
But that happened before he liked Viktor, too! He's a young man. It happens; Viktor must know this — he's never made a point of commenting on it, at least. Though Jayce usually flees as soon as it occurs, so it's possible Viktor has been obvious all this time.
It doesn't matter.
He knows he must be capable of continuing his charade, if he’s fared until now.
If worst comes to worst, he'll escape to the shoebox that Viktor calls his 'powder-room'.
Jayce lays down, wordless; he’s tensed up, flat on his back, like a bug stuck upside down in the sun. The stove flickers dimly in the corner of his eye, left abandoned for the night.
Jayce had figured he probably wouldn’t sleep much anyway, so tending the fire wasn’t a burden. Viktor hadn’t asked.
But they often had a way of doing that; Viktor not needing to say something for Jayce to understand, to offer. Inextricably aware of one another.
The room becomes increasingly cloaked in shadow as the minutes tick on. The tempest outside obscures the warm glow of the street-lanterns into little more than an illusion.
Jayce stares at the cracked stucco of the ceiling in silence, considering if it would be easy with Viktor. Romantically, or whatever.
He thinks it would be. Sleeping just like this, closer maybe, hopefully, every night. Viktor would probably snore, what with his fragile lungs and a spectacular case of asthma. But Jayce is a heavy sleeper, so it would be okay.
It hurts Jayce a little to be this close, with the awareness that this delusion is meaningless fantasy.
Viktor’s voice startles him in the dark.
“I can feel you thinking over there, Talis.”
His voice is quiet, sleepy.
Jayce lets out a nervous laugh, knotting his hands together atop his stomach.
“Uh, no I just can’t sleep," he fibs. “I’m a bit cold.”
“Liar!" Viktor barks. “You are like a furnace. If I am warm, you are too.”
Viktor doesn’t prod further, but Jayce knows what’s left unsaid.
What’s on your mind, actually?
"Yeah," he chuckles softly. "Sorry. I've just been thinking a lot lately. Stress, probably." It's yet another lie, straight through his teeth. Viktor remains silent. In the dark, Jayce can feel Viktor reach out for the hand resting at his center, before he squeezes it gently and drifts into sleep.
The air has grown colder and the room is dark as pitch. The sky outside is moonless, the heavens eclipsed by a heavy veil of snow.
Only the dying embers of the fire provide any respite from complete darkness.
Jayce had fallen asleep, forgetting to tend the fire. A string of drool disconnects from his pillow as he tentatively turns his head, and is met with a face-full of soft, wavy hair.
Viktor is pressed right into his chest, with one arm slung across his ribs. The bareness of his skin warms Jayce. One scrawny leg is hitched up over his thigh, and there, pressed against the meat, is a distinctly wet spot. Ah. Jayce must be dreaming.
It's not shocking, whatsoever. He dreams of Viktor very often. In these deluded imaginings of his slumbering brain, Viktor is a forward lover (which is a bit ironic if you ask Jayce, because Viktor is kind of flighty in the waking world; perhaps they are not mutually exclusive).
Never demanding, but assertive. Viktor always seems to know exactly what he wants. It's a trait Jayce is a bit envious of. But mostly, it's just another thing about Viktor to admire.
Jayce's brain lazily flops between a fantastical dream where Viktor grinds against his bare thigh, smearing his skin with slick, and reality, where he begins tiredly jerking off next to his unconscious lab-partner.
He can barley move against Viktor's sleeping form. His grip is unrelenting around Jayce's midsection, arm twitching as Jayce jostles it with his own.
The wet glide of it is distorted beneath the thick bedding, but not enough. Jayce's unawareness wanes.
The danger of the situation lies here, in this fact: Viktor is a feather-light sleeper.
And unfortunately for Jayce, Viktor wakes immediately. It was the movement first, followed by the hushed sighs of Jayce's labored breathing. The rustle of the blankets, the shutter of Jayce's chest. Viktor isn't naive. He had known right away.
He's momentarily unsure if Jayce is asleep; in the blinding darkness, he listens. He can feel his clit slowly, embarrassingly, chub against Jayce's leg. Viktor's fingers twitch where they rest over his thudding heart.
He considers moving, rolling away. Waiting to see Jayce's response.
He can't help against the hitch in his throat when Jayce's leg shifts against his groin, and before Viktor knows it, everything spirals. Jayce had been asleep after all. Close to it, at least.
Before he can retreat, Jayce freezes. Every muscle locks as he becomes fully aware of the situation at hand.
A jolt shoots down Viktor's spine at his own sudden awareness, face heating instantaneously. His scalp prickles. A pit forms in his gut. Why had he let that go on? More startlingly, why doesn't he regret it?
The room is deathly silent for a beat, before Jayce breaks it with a whisper: "V…you awake?"
By now, Viktor can see ever-so-slightly, the outline of Jayce. His hair seems to be mused from sleep, and his eyes flutter rapidly.
As if to reply, Viktor simply reaches down, replacing Jayce's burning hot hand with his own.
"Viktor-" Jayce begins, voice jumping.
Poor boy. He barely has any time to process the ways in which his nightmares have manifested. How, in the end, his body betrayed him. Just as he had suspected it would.
"Let me," Viktor interrupts. "Please."
Jayce feels his cock twitch under Viktor's grasp. He's conflicted, between his shame and his desire.
He's been known, on occasion, to follow after his desires in a rather…reckless, sort of way. For months, it's been essential that he not be reckless with Viktor.
But now, Viktor is asking him to indulge in his licentiousness. To deny him would be madness. He's a bit delirious with sleep, yes — but he's not a complete fool. This is what he's wanted all this time anyway, isn't it?
He shouldn't overthink; whether Viktor likes him, or this is just a weird, horny favor…he doesn't know.
Jayce let's his head flop to the side, close enough to feel Viktor’s breath mix with his own; it's acerbic, from the shitty foreign cigarettes he's dependent on. Jayce wants to suck on his tongue.
"Okay," Jayce agrees.
Beside him, Viktor’s eyes are embarrassingly eager; not that Jayce can witness it. Viktor is a bit glad for it.
Jayce feels a cautious hand cradle his erection, and then that hand is traveling down to kneed his balls, before returning to rub him through the cotton. It's too much and not enough, and Jayce can feel his heart steadily picking up pace.
In his bleary-eyed panic he seeks grounding. Hushed, he calls out for Viktor, and nuzzles his nose against his companions in request. Viktor lets out an endeared huff, in understanding.
Their mouths meet in a shy, tight-lipped press, but the kiss steadily becomes a clash of lips on teeth, lips on lips and teeth on teeth, and then tongue, tongue, tongue, tongue, tongue.
They're pressed together like two big sardines in a tin can. As Jayce squirms into Viktor's hand, his cock-head breaches his briefs and the sensation triggers a pitiful whimper. Everything becomes rougher, as Viktor shoves the garment down and grips Jayce in his hand. It's sweltering, and so much better without a barricade.
"Viktor," he gasps between sloppy kisses, "Is this okay? Are you sure-"
"Yes," Viktor grits, voice almost harsh, before he corrects himself. More softly this time, "Yes. I want it; I want you."
It. You. He wants me, Jayce thinks, reeling. It feels like a confession. Sounds like one, anyway. Perhaps a little overthinking is okay.
"Tell me you want me too. I need to hear it," Viktor's voice is soft, and a bit strained. "Please, Jayce."
Jayce can see Viktor's expression perfectly in his mind, as if it were daylight. Thin lips pressed into a thinner line, amber eyes pleading. It's a rare expression he wears, one intended to mask the softer, more tender parts of his being. The parts he tries hard to hide — or protect, maybe.
Jayce presses his mouth into Viktor's own, and he can feel the apprehension ease from his lips. He pulls away. "I want you, Viktor. I've wanted you."
Adequately assured, Viktor continues.
Jayce's cock weeps profusely with the deluge of attention. He hasn't been touched by another person in how many months…five? Or was it seven? He can't recall.
He stopped fucking around when everyone started to look like Viktor, in his head. When they came, it was in Viktor's voice, with his accent and his soft, breathy moans.
Jayce stole the imagined sounds from instances of Viktor being in pain, for later use; unforgivable, really.
He blames it on his prolonged celibacy when he cries out prematurely, body contorting as he comes across his own stomach. It spurts across Viktor's hand, which has stilled in surprise. That's gotta be record speed.
When Jayce opens his eyes, the room remains dark. He can hear Viktor's rapid breathing. He wants to see him.
"Viktor — Viktor," he repeats, kissing him again as his left hand caresses Viktor's face. A thumb slowly brushes the mole beneath his eye. He can't see it, but he's sure it's there; sure as the sun rises and the ocean-tide recedes.
"I want to see you."
"Okay," Viktor whispers, disappearing from bed.
Jayce can't locate him at the other end of the room, in the shadows. It's really quite impressive that he manages to find exactly what he needs, in complete darkness, without aid from his brace nor cane.
Suddenly, he's a blur of light by the kitchen sink.
He returns to the bedside, placing a small milk-glass oil-lamp on the table there.
Jayce can just see him, in the low light. His hair appears windswept over his forehead, fluffed out like a birds-nest. He looks incredibly handsome, as usual.
Viktor quickly shucks his underwear off, which pool around his feet in a tangle. Jayce looks him up and down in the firelight. Those narrow dipped-hips, with a dark thatch of hair above his considerable, swollen clitoris.
Soft hair dusts his inner thighs, all the way up to his belly button.
Faintly, Jayce can make out the permanent pressure marks along his right leg — courtesy of the too small, too stiff brace he conceals daily beneath his trousers.
It's dreadful to watch him shivering, afflicted with goosebumps and an increasingly impatient gaze.
Jayce should really load the stove, but he's preoccupied with more pressing matters.
"What can I do, Viktor?" It comes out hushed, a little nervous.
Viktor's eye shine in the glow of the fire. Evenly, he replies, "I want you to fuck me, Jayce. What else?"
Jayce nearly gags on his own tongue. Get your fucking shit together, Talis.
He cannot, for anything, bungle this golden opportunity.
Composing himself, Jayce arranges Viktor onto his back, with gentle guidance and ample reassurance of his comfort. A pillow is shucked below Viktor's weaker knee. Somewhere in the mix, Jayce's briefs are tossed to the dark abyss.
He frames Viktor between his arms, a protective shield against the cold air.
Viktor's fingers roam across Jayce's shoulders, his collarbones, biceps. Anything he can get his grabby hands on.
Jayce is panting against his rosy, flushed cheek, as he ruts against Viktor's sharply cut hip. His fingers wind down Viktor's shuttering tummy, before gently dipping against his cunt.
Jayce has big hands, with thick fingers and an array of scars from too many over-confident hammer swings.
He slowly works Viktor's little pink cock, delicately rubbing the foreskin back and forth over the most sensitive of his nerves. Viktor writhes helplessly, his gut twisting in pleasure.
His face is twisted up in ecstasy, eyebrows pulled together, his small mouth forming a perfect 'O.'
Jayce is particularly fond of his face; his comeliness. He's all sharp angles and lopsided smiles, with his thin, sloping lips and a crooked nose. The beauty-mark just above his mouth is Jayce's favorite feature.
In the low light of the lamp, he looks like an oil painting.
As Viktor edges closer to his orgasm, he grasps at Jayce's shoulder, cleaving sharp red lines into his skin. It doesn't hurt; if anything, it only spurs him on.
"Jayce —" he cries out, "To je dobré! Prosím, ošukej mě!"
Viktor wiggles his hips, crushing Jayce's bare dick between them with startling, desperate urgency.
Jayce has got absolutely zero-fucking-clue as to what Viktor just said, but the tone fills in the blanks. Besides that, his expression of pleading impatience says more than words can.
Jayce lines himself up and slowly, carefully, fills Viktor's soft, wet heat.
There's barely any resistance as Jayce seats himself to the hilt. Viktor's insides are warm, and velvety soft.
Jayce moves slowly, primarily to ensure Viktor's comfort; but, also because he doesn't want to blow his load too fast again.
Each slow drag against Viktor's insides tightens Jayce's core — it's an active effort to continue.
Viktor pants a repeated mantra of "ach, ach" and "ano!" as Jayce thrusts into him.
He doesn't have to speak Viktor's language to know this means: feels good.
Naturally, Jayce keeps going. He alternates his pace, hips rising to meet flush with Viktor's. They slap together quietly, a chorus of wet squelch's and unknown words flying at both ends (Which, come to think of it, is the first time Viktor has heard Jayce speak his mother's native-language. It's an overwhelmingly attractive surprise).
Jayce's cock feels considerably larger inside Viktor than it felt outside, but the slide is effortless and smooth. Every hot, veiny inch of him is stuffed into Viktor's fluttering cunt. He let's his hips fall open, panting feverishly, as he reaches between them to rub at his twitching clit.
The angle lets Jayce drive into his cervix, bumping the tender organ and stealing the breath away from Viktor. It's overwhelming and so devastatingly good.
Jayce stutters, as his ability to keep it together slowly fades. His hips cant up into Viktor repeatedly, filling the studio space with an obscene chorus of plapping skin.
The bed grows increasingly wet, as slick breaches the hot, clenching seal around Jayce's cock.
They're perfect. Together.
Combined like this — joined at their most sacred of places. But not just now; always. Two pieces to a whole. Meant to be.
When Jayce opens his eyes and looks at Viktor, Viktor is already staring at him. His head is tilted back into the down pillow, eyes half-lidded and mouth askew in ecstasy. He looks utterly debauched.
In that moment, it's over for Jayce. His lower abdomen knots in pleasure, as he ruts wildly into Viktor and keens into his ear.
He thinks he hears himself say, "I love you, V."
Which of course, would be a cataclysmic mistake. Because Viktor doesn't love Jayce. He's just helping him; acting as the fundamental, necessary evil.
Helping as a friend, any friend, would do.
"Jayce —" Viktor nearly shouts, before he squeezes Jayce's arm with serious force. Instinctively, Jayce stills.
"Jsem tvůj," he says, voice breaking. "I am yours, můj drahý."
Jayce releases a breath of relief he didn't know was trapped, and comes inside of Viktor.
Viktor clings to him, desperately, one hand tangled in his hair. He shakes uncontrollably, tensing around Jayce and licking up into his mouth.
They stay there, stiflingly warm, for a moment. Jayce rolls off Viktor then, asking "Is your leg alright?"
Viktor smiles softly, eyes drooping something fierce. "Yes," he says.
They fall asleep in the pooled heat of the bed, pulses pounding.
In the morning, Jayce loads the stove full of coal and cooks some bacon. The smell is overwhelming, and it's beyond smokey.
When he opens the window to clear the air, a gust of snow and freezing rain rushes in. He slams it closed, and decides to open Viktor's door instead. Just for a few minutes.
Viktor watches silently as all of this occurs, equal parts terrified and entertained. The bacon is crunchy, and all it's fat has burned away. But they eat it anyway. Butter-saturated toast and the sickly sweet anise-milk Viktor enjoys wash it down.
The academy is (thank the gods) closed for the day, while the city is continuously besieged by snow.
They spend the day in Viktor's rats-nest of a bed, but unlike in Jayce's maladaptive, they're not doing any clerical work.
Instead, they play old board games and watch films projected onto the wall. They ask each other ceaseless, nosey questions. Jayce tells Viktor about why he hates snow, and Viktor plays more shitty off-key piano.
At the end of the day, when Jayce is readying to depart, he says "I love you, V."
It's not accidental this time. His voice doesn't shake. It's an admission, free of guilt.
Viktor's smile is beaming when he throws his arms around Jayce's neck and smooshes their lips together in a jumbled kiss, before he pulls Jayce back inside once more.
What's one more night together?