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Chapter Text

Viktor finds the pup's profile during a late night, self indulgent scroll of FetLife. He investigates the RSVP list for his local rope club’s monthly play party. This one is themed A Trip to the Pound, fursonas and collars encouraged, find a stray or bring your pet, then bind them as negotiated.

It sounds delightful. Viktor is a good friend of the animal kingdom—both in his sexual and professional life—so he looks forward to meeting puppies or ponies or gerbils, tradition be damned. Though he mostly rigs in the spirit of ropecraft itself, and does not have a collared pet to call his own, he has participated in pet play scenes in a limited capacity: giving another dom’s puppy headpets or tossing their ball. He offered back up instruction for a naughty rabbit, suspended from the ceiling before a theoretical skinning. The rabbit had gobbled up his farmer's crops and was thus sentenced to the fate of becoming stewmeat.

All in good fun. All safe, sane, and consensual. Pet play is one of those kinks Viktor has listed on his profile as into, though he would love diving deeper. Which is why the party is an occasion he's anticipated for nearly four weeks. His current pool of play partners isn't so much the pet crowd. In fact, the majority of them are ace, so the play is strictly the art of knots and knowledge of the human body, done with undergarments or fully clothed, depending on who's present.

Viktor isn't asexual. He gets hard and wet when he rigs, and he prefers to alleviate those urges privately after the sessions are over, usually at home, but sometimes in his car in a dark parking lot, over his pants.

He is not an exhibitionist.

Nor is he a social butterfly.

Yes, he has found his spectrum-y familiars via the lifestyle, but he is first and foremost dedicated to his work, research zoologist at the Piltover Zoo. He has various boundaries regarding engaging with kink friends around town. He is not in any polycules, nor does he fuck anyone with the regularity of a significant other. He has insignificant others whom he sometimes makes out with at dance parties, or invites for one-on-one rope-tying and oral pleasure. Penetration if he really feels like letting loose.

Many would call him uptight. Reserved.

An enigma.

His platonic bestie Sky insists this isn't accurate: you're a sweetheart Viktor, you're just soft spoken while simultaneously being a perfectionist control freak.

All true. Very true. He likes the idea that he could be perceived as sweet, given his issue with resting neurodivergent face.

Enter golden_boy.

25, male, puppyboy.

Bisexual.

The only thought in Viktor's head is woof. Whew, doggy. Atta boy. Golden_boy’s profile picture is of his underwear-clad ass cheeks, a black silicone tail plug curled up through an intentional slit in the fabric. He's a generous pup who has plenty of pictures of himself, from some classic topless with boxer brief bulge, to him on all fours with his cock dangling, caged. His dick is enormous. He has the physique of a gym bro, bronzed and hairless. Golden_boy does not miss any trips to the groomer, being so clean shaven with a fade suited for the hall of barbery fame.

And that face card isn't slacking either. He has masculine, architectural bone structure with a square jaw and a sturdy brow that would make incels piss themselves. One of his pictures is him smiling wide with black puppy ears on, showing off a little gap between his white front teeth.

God, does he look sweet.

His about section reads:

Hi! 🐕

Uncollared puppytop up for adoption ❤️ Well-trained, affectionate, with a strong oral fixation. Looking for a long term master or some short term playmates. Please be nice!

It's so cute Viktor has the urge to throttle him. A man that handsome and strong having the online persona of a docile dog ramps up Viktor's urge to dominate by 10,000 units of obey me. Now there's a pet he would like to swaddle in a network of knots, his dick a bloated, red cucumber leaking juice like a burbling spring. Or forget rope, and put that boy in a kennel. Put him beneath a chair with the seat cut out for forcible pussy devourment.

Spank him, bruised and bloody.

The sheer velocity of Viktor's runaway horny thoughts astounds him—he isn't so much a sadist. But for this man?

Woof woof bark bark, as they say.

Golden_boy has RSVPed going to the Pound Party. He must be from the pet play side of things, lured into the rope club for the opportunity to expand his circle. Find a master, as he said.

Viktor indulges a little fantasy of bumping into golden_boy at the club: oh, hi, are you new? Viktor will have the home team advantage. He loves parties on his turf, a space he is entirely accustomed to, stocked with many acquaintances. He won't feel shy about locating the restroom or a preferred spot to rig. Maybe he'll even pop the question:

Are you interested in being tied?

Lo and behold, in golden_boy’s curious about section, sits the items shibari and rope bondage.

Right beside watersports and anal fisting.

Your ass or mine?

There are not enough woofs and barks in the world to encapsulate Viktor's interest in this man. The reading of his profile alone, the sight of his pictures—it has Viktor so bricked and slick that he takes out his favorite g-spot vibrator and fucks into himself until he creates a puddle on a towel beneath his ass cheeks. He feels so high, so wild and so flushed, that before he passes out for the night, he changes his looking for from friendship and community to submissive.

He RSVPs going to the party—not his usual move, being an enigma and all that—on the off chance that his golden pup has the meticulous habit of checking guest lists. Maybe he'll be inclined towards Viktor.

Only time will tell.

The night of the party, Viktor prepares by taking double the usual dose of his anti-anxiety medication. The anticipation skews his thoughts from yippee, special interest time to you're on the sexual marketplace and you might not get bought. Back to the high school days of wearing a too-tight binder on his pancake chest and wondering if the closeted jocks accepted him as a man or not. So he's truly cock and balls deep in the insecurity cesspool, the black chasm of cisheteronormative body politics.

When the benzos kick in, he's reminded that a few of his usual partners will be there, some nice safe people, who if nothing else will permit him to sip a ginger ale and watch their scenes play out. He doesn't know why the potential for the golden_boy to show gives him the rapid pulse of a prey animal, when the man has made his submissiveness abundantly clear. But any well-trained pup has the potential to snap at a squirrel under the right circumstances. His personality irl could be scores different from his world's goodest boy facade.

Viktor decides to not let an absolute stranger dictate his mood. There's no guarantee that he'll even show up—he gives the vibe of a man with a stacked social schedule, who keeps his options open and picks the best one last minute. Viktor finds the rope club events very satisfying, intimate and tidy with a devout prescription to decorum, but some folks prefer the kink events to be a little sloppier, puppy pile on the floor with implicit consent and vibes only. Blech.

Rules and permission make the experience.

Viktor grooms himself as usual, perhaps with a little more care, inspired by you-know-who. He puts a soft mousse in his curls and sculpts them into a pretty shape along the sides of his head. He wears a crisp white button-up with his favorite crimson sweater vest, and pairs it with some snug chinos belted at his waist. Nerdy professor is what Sky calls this look. Viktor likes to think it screams composed dom, but he's not hairy, buff, or intimidating enough to give daddy upon first glance. It's hard when daddy wants to both call the shots and get railed within an inch of his life.

But he looks handsome. Clean cut. Fuckable, even. Though he may not be ace, he's likely demi, requiring a somewhat of a personality connection before boarding the train to pound town. It's hard to picture himself thrown into a passionate scene with golden_boy that ends in them flustered, scrambling for a private room where they can vent their lust to completion. But it's not an impossibility.

Nothing is. The universe is random like that.

Viktor arrives at the door at the precise start time of the party, 8PM, parking then stalling in his car to time the single block walk exactly. He likes the studio when it's relatively clear and he gets first pick of a cubby from the room adjacent to the foyer. He leaves his phone plus bundles of silk rope in the cubby and opts to take his jute into the main room of the studio, an entirely open, gym-like space with many o-rings stuck in the wall and suspension hooks dangling from the tall ceilings. There are pockets of couches in the corners where the other early birds have gathered, among them Salo and Jinx, two of Viktor's longtime rope moots.

Jinx is a bratty bottom kitty cat who sports fuzzy blue cat ears, a perfect color match to the long blue braid down her back. She has enough manic rizz to make any anxious bean feel comfortable in their lack of contribution to a social circle. So Viktor is relieved to see her and sits on the couch caddy corner, while he uncoils a bundle of rope and practices mindless bolins.

Salo is perhaps the biggest knothead in the entire club, the entire tri-state area. He's a founding member and content creator whose how-to videos are usually the first to pop up on YouTube. His hands are nichely famous.

He chats at large to Silco, Jinx’s keeper, about ideas for a primal scene that will evolve into an elaborate suspension sequence. Viktor sits in his spot and answers questions as he's addressed, like how he's doing, or what his plans are for tonight. He says he's not sure—he might be more of a spectator. Though he has been meaning to try a variation of a diamond harness, so if they know anyone willing, they should send them his way. Viktor doesn't have trouble securing ropebunnies to play with, because he's not a creep and can create bindings that are picture perfect.

He mostly listens. Stays safely stationary while the room fills out. Pet events are some of the club’s most popular, because everyone likes an opportunity to get a little animalistic. There are lots of puppies and kittens and bunnies, a few ponies, some poodling furries, and even a mermaid.

“Looking for someone?” Jinx asks, when she catches Viktor craning his neck.

“Ah, no,” he lies. “Just admiring the general splendor.”

Jinx steers the conversation away into a speedy type of yammering Viktor can only half-listen to, but he thinks that that’s the point. Like having the radio or a podcast on in the background, an offering to the ADHDemons.

The other half of him nervously keeps an eye out for the golden_boy. He has the same buzz in his stomach like he did when he had a high school crush, giddy and terrified, one second away from laughing and one second away from sobbing so hard he pukes. Eventually he leaves his perch to go pee and perhaps acquire a beverage. He hasn't made any partnerships yet, so he figures he'll just watch whatever Salo or Silco end up doing.

Bladder emptied, he heads to the modest drink table, stocked with various canned beverages stuck in large icy buckets. He picks out an artisanal-looking floral soda. When he turns, he accidentally collides into a bare, beefy torso.

“Oh, shit. I'm sorry, man. I snuck right up on you.”

Viktor cranks his chin up a good thirty degrees. Smiling down on him is none other than golden_boy, as radiant in the flesh as he is in pictures. More radiant, because he’s life-sized and warm and smelly like mainstream deodorant. He gently cups Viktor's elbow, presumably a gesture to steady him. He didn't realize he was wobbling.

“Ah, no problem.”

Viktor licks his lips. This is definitely high school. His meager ability to mask flies right out the door, and he finds himself clucking out timid half-laughs while his eyes panic-roam.

“Well, I'm gonna hit these bevs,” Golden Boy says. “See you around.”

Viktor is now tasked with pretending that bumping into this man didn't rewire his brain into producing soul-consuming amounts of adrenaline. It's only seconds after Golden Boy lets go of his elbow—which burns from his touch—that Viktor remembers he could have asked for his real name, or introduced himself, or just simply said, oh, I saw you online. But no. He fumbled.

So he is gifted with a precise knowledge of Golden Boy’s whereabouts at all times, and knowledge of how he interacts in social settings, which is with a gobsmacking amount of finesse.

The smile is a permanent feature of his, as is the touchiness. He looks like he's a politician on the campaign trail, trying to win hearts with gentle shoulder claps or his arm, slung over another's shoulder. Does he really know that many people? He seemed like a newbie online, but in person, one might think this event is his birthday party. It doesn't help that he's wearing nothing but a black jockstrap, his tail plug, and some matching silicone ears. It's like a Greek God decided to get teleport into the future and get freaky with it. Like the sun is shining in the center of the room and they are seconds away from collectively worshipping at his feet.

Maddie ends up saving Viktor. She taps on his shoulder and asks if he wants to tie her, because he's looking a little lonely. It's a euphemism for standing by himself and gnawing on his cheek while scoping out the room like a startled deer.

Maddie is a friend, an equally fastidious transfemme with whom Viktor shares wonderful working chemistry. She likes being turned into a work of art while being highly communicative, and Viktor likes making art of people who are explicit with their limits. She's down to try the diamond harness, so they stake their claim on a mat close to a wall, and begin the meditative process of calculated knots.

Viktor's social stressors melt away when he gets jute in his hands and an anatomical puzzle to solve. It's him and his rope and calm queries made back and forth: how's this? It's tight. Up a bit. More slack. Can I swap the position of my arms? Viktor couldn't care less who's schmoozing who as his project unfolds via the precise mechanization of his hands.

The experimental flower weave on the harness is stunning. There isn't another word for it. As he circles the rope, layers it across Maddie's chest—cloaked in a sheer, lacy bralette—the floral shape takes form. When he's finished, four flowers sit in a diamond shape framing her breasts. She looks like a kinky bouquet, all smiles, despite her arms being pinned behind her back.

When Viktor turns to get the designated cameraman to document his success, he is startled to see golden_boy kneeling amongst a small group of onlookers. Viktor hadn't realized he had attracted an audience, but he hardly ever notices what happens outside his rigging mat. When he's tying, it's him and his partner and nobody else.

Viktor ignores the golden pup. Averts eye contact to an extreme degree. He returns with Finn and continues his little ignorance stunt while the small photo op goes down. After that, Finn sticks out the untying process and captures some shots of the harness’s imprint, pink indents of rope in Maddie's pale skin.

Viktor is supremely proud: he did that. Hark, an artist is at work!

Then a large, warm palm lands on his upper back. A warm shadow stands slightly behind him and to his left.

“That was so fucking cool,” says Golden Boy. “You're really good.”

“Oh, ah, yes.” Remember the script. Stay on the train tracks. “Thank you. I have been doing this for quite some time.”

“Years?”

“A decade. Since I was in college.”

“Love that. You're a total pro. I'm Jayce, by the way. I bumped into you earlier.”

Jayce officially sticks out his hand, which means it's time for Viktor to officially turn and engage in conversation.

“Viktor,” he says. “I was the one doing the bumping.”

He gives Jayce a wimpy, damp handshake and a dearth of eye contact. He manually corrects himself staring at Jayce's tits or his pronounced bulge, and tries for his neck and ears instead.

But every body part on this creature is a divine sculpture.

Viktor's body reacts by giving him an erection. Thank god for his dick’s discretion, a blessing Jayce doesn't share. He packs so much meat in that silly banana hammock it never stood a chance to hide itself.

“So,” Viktor begins, adjusting his grip on his cane. “Have you, ah, been a dog for long?”

“It's been six months,” says Jayce. “I had this whole gay awakening thing happen and the puppy stuff happened pretty naturally after that. Saw a guy collared and leashed in the club and was like, holy shit, I gotta get in on that.”

“It suits you,” says Viktor.

“Thanks, man.” Jayce gives Viktor’s shoulder a shake. Viktor restrains a horny groan but it must read as pain because Jayce says, “God, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking touchy. I keep telling myself to remember to ask and—”

“No, no. You're fine.”

Viktor dusts off his shoulder as if it will somehow clear away the blood that pulses in his dick. He has half a mind to flee the function and fuck his hand in the bathroom, but Jayce recovers with, “Are you gonna do more of that?”

“Ah, rigging?”

“Rigging, yeah. I’m still learning the vocab. If you need a guy, I totally volunteer. I've been meaning to try for a while.”

“Well, that was a rather advanced harness. If you would like a little taste, we should try something more simple.”

“Totally, I'm down for whatever.”

Jayce stands there and cheeses like he does in all of his pictures, really living up to his good boy profile. Viktor doesn't believe in auras or energies or any new age bullshit but he can't deny that Jayce is devastatingly charming, good-looking and inquisitive, and absolutely impossible to say no to. He's a guy who gets what he wants by simply being.

This stray won't stay that way for long.

“I need to get some water,” Viktor says, “and then I'll be ready. Stay put.”

“Yes, sir,” says Jayce.

Viktor bites down a shudder as he departs towards the water station, though the raw power of the title sir ricochets down his spine and into his inflamed junk. The crotch of his briefs is almost uncomfortably slick at this point. He's on track to fully wet himself by the end of the evening.

Jayce is not only standing in the exact same spot when Viktor returns with a bottle of water, he's standing in the exact same position, holding his hands behind his back with his chin and plush pectorals lifted.

“Good boy,” Viktor says. A dommy reflex. “We can use this same mat. I need to take breaks from time to time because of my leg, but I think I'll do some basic work to start. Ties that take less than five minutes. If you like those, we can do something more advanced. And there will be plenty of check-ins along the way. I'm notoriously scrupulous.”

“Sounds good to me, man. I take direction really well and don't have a problem speaking up. So yeah. Let's start small and see what happens.”

Their concord ends with another back pat that turns into a few back circles, then Viktor instructs Jayce to kneel and surrender both his wrists. He was not lying about taking direction, which continues to operate as boner fuel, because lord above there are so many things Viktor would like to do with a pet so amiable. A collar, to start. Shoe-licking. A muzzle when he's naughty, and cunt-munching as a treat.

And he says he wants to try watersports, so perhaps some housebreaking?

Babysteps, Viktor. Babysteps.

Their first step is a double column tie that binds Jayce's outstretched wrists together.

“I fuck with this,” is Jayce's report.

“It can be used as a lead. With caution, of course.”

Viktor demonstrates by grabbing his cane and gently guiding Jayce in a circle. He follows by shuffling on his knees, looking happy-go-lucky, like a previously hidden secret of the world has just now been revealed to him.

“Not so great if you wanted to be on all fours, but for a standing pet, or a pet that's strung up on the wall, it will suffice.”

“Do you have another?” Jayce asks.

“I have dozens, pet.”

“Can we try some? Uh, pretty please?”

Jayce bats his dark lashes. Good boys get away with everything. So Viktor keeps his pet on his knees for a prayer tie, stringing his hands and forearms together in front of his chest. Jayce turns ruby red in this position, but he doesn’t get uncommunicative. He’s easy to instruct and highly familiar with his anatomy. He can tell when the rope doesn't land right on a particular muscle or bundle or nerves, and can direct Viktor to a better landing spot. The ties compliment his already devastating physique, such that Viktor imagines himself as a cartoon wolf with drool dripping from his tongue, barely able to contain his lust. He could touch this man's bare skin for an eternity and never tire, though he would certainly nut in his pants many times over.

Jayce doesn’t fare much better, especially as they transition to a hip tie. Viktor has to kneel while Jayce stands, which puts Viktor in prime blowjob position. He has no choice but to accept the increasingly hardening dick in his face, many thick inches that shoot down Jayce's chiseled thigh.

“I'm so sorry,” Jayce says. “We can stop if it's too much. You're really—” He pauses. Sighs. “Can I be straight up?”

“I may be gay, but I am also perpetually straight up,” says Viktor. “Which is just to say, yes. You may speak.”

“Okay, hell yeah. Well, you're really hot. Like, drop dead gorgeous. Add the good with your hands thing in there and I'm pretty much dying. Not saying we have to do anything about it. But I thought you should know. I’m crazy attracted to you.”

The blush that fills Viktor's cheeks is so bright and bold that it could act as a signal fire. He looks away for a moment, at a bare spot of rubbery mat. Straight up, indeed. Not the type of confession Viktor was expecting within an hour of working together. But then again, humans are visual creatures, so if his appearance attracted Jayce, it's no surprise that they would end up in this situation.

Viktor creakily rises with a boost from his cane. He would rather say this to Jayce's face and not his erect penis.

“It's quite mutual,” he says. “No need to be apologetic. I have the luxury of hiding my arousal, being not nearly as endowed as you are. But I assure you, I am equally bricked.”

Jayce smiles. His hands, bound on either side of his hips, can do nothing to hide the slight jump of his cock. And is that a dot of precum at its tip?

“You know, I'm pretty obedient,” he says casually, the world's most eloquent puppy. “But I'm also pretty enthusiastic. So you probably should be careful when you let me free. I have a humping and kissing thing. If I see someone I like, I go for it. Haven't found anyone who wanted to train me out of it.”

“Hah,” Viktor wheezes. His cock bangs with blood and he curls in on himself, riding out the swoon to stay on his own two feet.

“All good?” Jayce asks, as if he didn't just give the horniest speech of the century. This casanova knows exactly how to provoke Viktor’s tempestuous bloodstream.

“Ah, I'm trying my best to keep my cool. But it seems you're trying your best to give me genital heatstroke.”

“Is it working?”

“Cataclysmically.”

Viktor chances a direct look into Jayce's eyes and likes what he finds there: glittering gold and comfort. So much reassurance is stored in those windows to what must be a heart of pure gold. He's better in person than via pixels and labels. He's a walking miracle.

“You're a dom, right?” he asks.

Viktor nods. “Soft dom, if we’re getting technical.”

“Sick. I thought so. You're all dressed up. Plus you're doing the tying, and the bossing around.”

“Ah, yes. Bossy comes part and parcel with my personality.”

“Well, it's sexy. So, uh. If you wanna do some pet stuff after this, I'd be down. No pressure. Not sure if you like that kind of thing, but—”

“Yes,” Viktor blurts. “I’d be delighted.”

He rushes the untying of the hip cuffs, trying not to inhale too much of Jayce's dick air or make it obvious that yes, he's noticed the wet spot where he's leaking pre. As soon as Jayce's arms are free he expands them wide.

“Can I hug you?” he asks.

“Ah, yes. Hug away.”

Viktor would not describe himself as the hugging type, but he's too curious to reject Jayce, and he's immediately rewarded. Jayce deserves a trophy for his hugging acumen, appropriately firm, very soft and squishy owing to the give of his pecs. Viktor coils his arms around Jayce's middle and buries himself in his tits for a moment, stealing an omegaverse style sniff of his soap and natural body odor.

The hug is over too soon. Not that Viktor is a great judge of how long hugs should last.

“Should we hit the play area, then?” Jayce suggests.

“Of course,” says Viktor. “Please, lead the way.”

The pet play pen is up a flight of stairs on a mezzanine area, where one must unlatch a pet gate to enter. Inside the space are scattered pet beds and toys, with cushions and low couches for keepers. There's an area where keepers can prep water bowls or snacks, ranging from goldfish to cookies in the shape of dog bones.

Many pets occupy the play space. Some activities are nonsexual, like fetch and play-wrestling, but there's also some heavy petting and a few couples engaging in oral pleasure. Regardless of whether or not genitals are on display, the entire affair bonks Viktor on the head with a horny hammer, dizzying him.

“So, uh—”

Jayce scoots both himself and Viktor to the side a few paces. He keeps a hand on Viktor's waist and ducks his head down in a conspiratorial fashion.

“If you're cool with it, I was thinking of going puppy mode. All fours, kinda nonverbal except for consent and checking in. Maybe we could play fetch or something?”

“Yes, that sounds great. As long as I can sit, I'm happy to play. Would you like some water?”

Jayce nods vigorously, and Viktor gets the impression that the puppy is here and his tail is wagging. So he heads to the treat station and fills a water bowl. He slips a couple of graham cracker animals into his pocket in case they do a little bit of obedience work.

Jayce crouches at Viktor's feet. He follows Viktor closely, on hands and knees, as Viktor locates a vacant armchair to use as his center of operations. He sets the water on the floor, rests his cane against the chair’s puffy arm, and takes a seat with dog Jayce eagerly perched at his feet.

“Okay, puppy, are you ready to play?”

Dreamy doesn't begin to cover how satisfying it is to play with Jayce. Viktor has always loved animals. He identifies with little beasts that are small and crushable, easily squashed by hegemonic powers that do not care a single cent about their existence. Live, die, whatever. If rare species like the greater prairie chicken wanted to stay alive, they should try harder to not get their habitat obliterated by pre-planned communities. Ever heard of being top dog, you flightless piece of wing, breast, and thigh?

Viktor could rant about this for hours. But he is not in that type of animal-lover mindset. He's in the horny type, where Jayce is his innocent creature, and he's the caretaker.

They begin with some basic tennis ball fetch. Viktor gives Jayce some pretty cautious throws, because the play area is a little crowded and chaotic. He doesn't want to sock an unassuming kitten. Still, there are times when the ball rolls into the thick of the pet action. Other puppies notice and play-bow to Jayce, then engage in some friendly tussling: paw swats and head butts and fake nibbles.

Jayce is incredibly mouthy. Not vocal, but a profuse user of tongue. He loves licking other dog's faces and sniffing their pits. He even enters into some amicable ball scenting with a stocky, hairy leather pup whom Viktor recognizes as Vander the rottweiler.

When Jayce circles back to Viktor, he promptly sticks his maw in the water bowl and slops liquid everywhere while he slurps. He pulls up, chin dripping, and smiles at Viktor.

“Good boy,” he says. He gives Jayce some thorough head pets. Jayce leans into it and makes a happy belly-rumbling noise. “Would you like a treat?”

Jayce nods, so Viktor fishes a cracker from his pocket and extends it in a pinched forefinger and thumb. Jayce slobbers all over Viktor's hand to secure the treat, an absolutely unnecessary make out with his fingers. Viktor pictures that level of gusto put between his legs and has to stifle a moan. He's soaked. Crossing and uncrossing his legs is masturbatory torture.

“Should we do a little training?” Viktor asks, commanded by his cock-for-brains.

“Woof,” says Jayce.

“Very well. Sit.”

Viktor loves a power trip. He wishes he knew what the world had in store for him when he was a gangly teen with obsessive fantasies about world domination. He used to maladaptively daydream about being a transhuman robot who willed bullies to do his bidding via hivemind style telepathy. Little did he know, he could combine both his dreams of domination and his sexual proclivities. Junior year of college was a hell of a time, when he went to his first rope night and got called sir, ushering in a rewiring of his brain to maybe I am as powerful as I want to be.

And now, he has an absolute studmuffin poised at his feet, who eagerly performs every task Viktor dictates. He did not lie about his training. He is excellent at sit, stay, speak, and a command that probably existed before this, present. That is, turn your ass towards me and arch your back. Viktor explains the command to Jayce, and he completes it. He bares his hairless ass cheeks towards Viktor, such that his cock and balls really burden the sling of his jockstrap, like they might pop out of their elastic-rimmed enclosure.

Viktor has to consciously stop himself from rubbing the crotch of his pants. He could masturbate here, if Jayce was down to be the stimulus for it. If Viktor commanded Jayce to keep his head down for ten minutes, it would be over and done with, no asking required. That would be treacherous, though. Nonconsensual. Viktor either has to man up and ask, or give up on orgasm.

He tries to form the ask while distracted by the fact that Jayce waxes his butthole, and that it’s actively puckering around his tail plug. Their feelings are mutual, so it really shouldn’t be so hard. It’s just that Viktor isn’t really built for fucking with other people’s eyes on him, even though he’s accustomed to seeing other people do it. Other people are doing it right now, on the section of the pet pen that’s mostly cushions.

“To me,” Viktor says. He can stall for time. Make more tricks happen.

Jayce turns and sits at Viktor’s feet, bent knees spread, weight resting on his hands between them.

“You’re a very good pet,” says Viktor, cupping Jayce’s cheek. Then, like a strike of lightning—

“Do you know the command suck?”

“Yes, sir,” says Jayce, nodding. “Very well, sir.”

Viktor pushes his thumb past Jayce’s lips. “Suck this, pet. Like you mean it.”

Jayce delivers what must be the same technique he uses for head on Viktor’s thumb. It’s aggressive, mouthy, and tongue-filled. He bobs his head up and down those two inches of flesh as if they're ten inches, something worth choking on.

Viktor has two inches. Two inches that are rock hard in his briefs. The exercise is a proxy, of course. Jayce would have to be daft not to know it, and he has to know, based on the way he looks up at Viktor beneath his lashes while he works. While he commits so wholly to the thumb-sucking procedure that drool slinks down Viktor’s wrist.

Viktor concedes. He’s not made out of metal. He’s made out of meat.

He slips a hand over the crotch of his pants and presses into his cock. Not a full on jerk, but a modicum of pressure to alleviate its aggravated state. The movement attracts Jayce’s eye. He whines onto Viktor’s thumb, watching the hand between Viktor’s legs with his brows stitched upwards.

“You must be hungry,” Viktor teases.

Jayce doesn’t answer with words. He answers with a series of slurps over Viktor’s fingers. He licks up his own drool from the sensitive skin on the interior of Viktor’s wrist. He licks beyond that, up Viktor’s forearm, seemingly for no other reason than to bring his head closer to Viktor’s lap. Then he begins to sniff. He sniffs the inside of Viktor’s thighs, up and and up, until his nose presses against the hand that shields Viktor’s groin. Viktor removes it, opting to slide his fingers between Jayce’s puppy ears.

“Good,” he says, when Jayce’s nose rams into his cock. “Good boy, yes.”

This is a very natural instinct for dogs—sniffing genitals. Viktor can’t claim to be disturbed by it in the slightest. Sure, it isn’t great for a pup to do it to guests and strangers, but Viktor already sees himself as more than that. This pup is his. It’s important that they build a bond, and this bond will be built with scent.

Viktor uses what grip strength he has to push Jayce’s face down. He arcs his hips upward to meet the gentle push of Jayce’s nose and mouth. The heat of his open maw is a new, humid sensation that lapses through his cotton slacks. Jayce attempts to gnaw at Viktor’s cock and cunt, whining, as if he’s mouthing one of those toys with a treat tucked inside.

When the very first hint of potential climax hits, Viktor pries Jayce’s head away.

“Wait,” he gasps, breathless.

Jayce is out of breath too. A rosy color blooms in his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he says. “I should have asked. Got a little carried away. You smell really nice.”

“No, no. It’s good. I liked it.”

“But we should stop?”

“Ah, no. We don’t have to, ah—”

“I really wanna keep playing, for what it’s worth. Although, uh. It’s getting dire.” Jayce glances between his legs, where his cock sits so stiff it no longer hangs, but bounces mid-air.

“Do you want to come?” asks Viktor. He can’t beat around the bush anymore.

“Is that on the table?”

“Well, I almost lost it mere moments ago, so, yes. I believe so. If you are so inclined.”

“Yes, please,” says Jayce.

Viktor can hardly believe he’s negotiating this, a scenario that he played in his head multiple times before the party. It seems incalculable that his natural reservations meet the fantasy of rawdogging on night one, but stranger things have happened, and he's perfectly prepared.

“Ah, only over the clothes though. If we stay out here.”

“Wanna cuddle then? Maybe kiss? See what happens?”

Jayce glances at the piled up cushions beside them. There is plenty of space for the two of them, if they wanted to stake their claim.

“That sounds lovely. Will you lead me, pet?”

Jayce trots away on all fours and circles around on a nice cushy mat, roughly the size of a twin bed, with good clearance from other couples on either side. Viktor lays down his cane and accepts Jayce’s hand for guidance as he eases himself onto his butt. Then he fully reclines alongside Jayce, so that they face each other.

It’s minorly nerve wracking. Viktor has good old-fashioned butterflies in his stomach, which checks out. It would be disingenuous to say he didn’t have a raging crush on this man. Viktor can count the times he’s done this—cuddle in public—on one hand.

Jayce makes it feel natural. He sets a palm on the swoop of Viktor’s waist and dips in for a kiss. He’s an artisan of lipwork. He moves his lips in a variety of gentle patterns, interspersing them with minor nibbles and a tasteful amount of tongue. Viktor is aware of himself taking the backseat, responding to Jayce’s motions rather than leading, which he appreciates. Jayce is a dog. He’s orally inclined. Viktor can’t shake the feeling that he’s mouth-to-mouth with the hero from a romance novel who somehow plummeted to the irl. He’s passionate without being overbearing. He’s a fucking pro.

The kisses transform seamlessly into a full makeout, wherein Jayce positions himself above Viktor, though he doesn’t rest his weight on him. Jayce supports himself on his elbow while using his other hand to pet Viktor. Nice pets, long strokes along his waist or circles on his back. He caresses Viktor’s cheek and slips his fingers into Viktor’s hair. He slides his thigh between Viktor’s legs, bearing down on Viktor’s groin with the firm swell of his quad, close to where it connects with his knee. It is the perfect firmness of flesh for Viktor to grind against.

So he grinds. Jayce is quick to meet him. He urges his cock against Viktor’s belly. The warmth of it runs from Viktor’s pelvis to the center of his ribs. Impossibly sized, which is why this is good. This is sexy. Low stakes and maximum coverage. Viktor is desperate for it.

He reciprocates Jayce’s touch by holding Jayce’s waist. It’s a cautious touch at first, light fingertips with no downward force. He feels the same trepidation as if he were touching an artifact in the Louvre. They offer each other a few tepid humps, slow and deliberate.

“Is this good?” Jayce breathes the words directly into Viktor’s open mouth.

“Very good,” says Viktor.

“Good. Good. I want—can I keep going?”

“Please do. You can be more, ah, forceful. If you would like.”

That triggers a minor hesitation in Jayce that makes Viktor's heart skip a beat. He worries he's crossed a line, but Jayce is quick to speak.

“Can I give you a scenario?” he asks. “Like, some roleplay?”

“I’m all ears.”

“So, uh, pretend we’re at the park, right? And I’m a dog, and you’re a person, and I smelled you from far away. And you smell really good. So I jump up on you and knock you to the ground by accident, but I’m a dog, so I’m just following my instincts. And my instincts are to kiss you, and, uh, hump you.”

“Should I resist?”

“If you want. I don’t mind if you’re mean, either. You can call me a bad dog. But I’m going to keep going until you like it. Nothing crazy, just like, the same kissing and humping. But we pretend it was an accident.”

“I like that idea a lot. Very much so.”

“Sick,” says Jayce, smiling. “Just say the word if it’s too much.”

“I certainly shall.”

The concept is genius. A little consensual nonconsent that doesn't involve penetration is Viktor’s idea of a fun Saturday, and he didn’t even have to do the heavy lifting of ideation. No, a dogman fell out of the sky attuned to Viktor’s exact horny wavelength. He’s deferential yet assertive—dogged, one might say. He acknowledges Viktor as a master but maintains his own sense of control. In this case, the notion that he could barrel Viktor over and hump him like an overzealous pup.

Jayce full-sends their scene. His kisses go from romance novel passion to sloppy and wet, with less lip and substantially more tongue. He doesn’t play coy about his hard dick—he bucks into Viktor’s gut so hard that Viktor loses his breath. In fact, the authentic dog experience launches sensory disarray, so disorienting, so erotic, that Viktor doesn’t even think about the words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Down boy,” he puffs. He puts up a fight by grabbing handfuls of Jayce’s pecs and rutting against Jayce’s leg. “You naughty dog. You absolute feral beast.”

Jayce groans into Viktor’s ear, stunned for a brief moment wherein his cock pulsates between their bellies. But he is a needy boy who can't resist his instinct for more than two seconds. He resumes humping, with strokes pressed so deep into Viktor's belly he worries somehow Jayce has gotten inside him the science fiction way.

“I’m so sorry,” he pants. “I’m so sorry. I can’t help it. I’m really sorry.”

Viktor tries to stay fake-mad. But the initial surprise at Jayce’s vigor yields to a pleasurable surrender. He’s just a pup. He doesn’t know he’s being bad. And does it really count as bad if Viktor enjoys his affection? He’s never had his face licked with such exuberance. Viktor doesn’t even like being wet, but there’s something about the rapture of it all, the all-consuming nature of being abruptly mounted.

Viktor lets himself be overwhelmed. He lets Jayce lick where he wants because he likes, because it makes his cock throb against Jayce’s leg. Viktor holds Jayce’s neck, grinds against him, and pants, “You’re a bad puppy. Nothing on your mind but rutting.”

“I know,” Jayce whines. “I’m sorry. I need—this. I need—” His brawny arms slip beneath Viktor and cinch his waist. “Will you let me—can I finish—please—I’m so sorry—please—”

“Is that what you want? A little puppy orgasm?”

“Please.”

“I’ll let you have it, but I need you to hump as hard as you can. Can you do that for me, puppy? Can you be good for me?”

“I’ll be good.”

Jayce nestles his slobbery mouth in the crook of Viktor’s neck as his thrusts become furious. It’s an animal pace that before this, Viktor had never encountered. It takes him by surprise. It takes him out his head and into his body, where it is not a deliberate choice to climax, but an inevitable reaction. Each push against Jayce’s leg is agony, coupled with his strong hold, with the bulk of him, whimpering and desperate.

“Oh god,” Viktor moans, as orgasm grips his core and spills out by brute force. “You can—I am—”

Jayce lets out the human equivalent of a howl, if howls were a tad more pitiful and quiet. His body tenses over Viktor, and it is no shocker than he’s nutting, given the fortitude of his dick’s pulsations between them. When he’s finished, he collapses on his side, but doesn’t let go of his capture of Viktor’s waist. They catch their breath simultaneously and conjoined.

Viktor feels out-of-body. He hardly ever divorces himself from his own self-consciousness, from his superhuman awareness of his every thought and every move, and every sensation brought upon him. He just shared an orgasm with a stranger. A very handsome one, no doubt, but a stranger nonetheless. It doesn’t feel like it, though. For some reason, each interaction with Jayce has felt familiar and comfortable, like they don’t need to speak everything aloud to understand the other’s thoughts.

Chemistry is the layman’s term for this. They are compatible.

“Whatcha thinking about?” asks Jayce. He moves sweaty hair away from Viktor’s face to behind his ears. He is clearly fishing for eye contact, so Viktor permits it.

“I am reflecting on our experience,” says Viktor.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Quite so. It was rapturous, for lack of a better word.”

“Cool. Yeah, that was insane. In a good way. You really do drive me crazy. Thanks for letting me go for it.”

“Thanks for coming up with the idea. It was brilliant.”

Jayce shows off his pearly whites, a pristine display of grace and good naturedness. Viktor is thinking some insane, fucked-out thoughts, like good god, I need this man's phone number. How soon can they meet up again? Does he want to get a drink? At a quiet bar, not a raucous one. Would he like to come over? Would he like to go off leash again, directly into Viktor's cunt?

“Well, I hope we get to do this again sometime,” says Jayce.

It is the socially acceptable version of what Viktor is thinking, something he couldn't seem to vocalize. A self defense tactic, because the moment he imagines the concrete future, his thoughts race. He dreads the idea of standing up, walking around with cum pants and pretending his world isn't tilted on a new axis. Walking around without Jayce, as if Viktor wants anyone else at this point. He is catastrophically codependent after a single play session.

“You look worried,” says Jayce.

“Oh, ah. I don't want to offend you, but I may have to leave after this.”

“Word? Just not feeling it?”

“No, I—I don't usually play like this. So intensely. To completion. The best coping mechanism I can think of is going home and changing into fresh underwear. I fear I may also have an anxiety attack, if I see you, ah, play with other people. A personal problem, really.”

“I won't,” Jayce says in a rush. He strokes Viktor's cheekbone with his thumb in a compulsive loop. “I can stay with you, if you want. All night long. I think I'm good now, like, sexually. Or we could dip together. Did you drive here?”

“Ah, yes. But I'm not mentally prepared for a second hangout tonight. I want one, if you want one. Perhaps another time?”

“Dude, yes. Please.”

Jayce taps their foreheads together. Viktor pictures an anime mind-meld situation where their thoughts and moods are transmitted telepathically, which does seem to be happening, no vague magic required. He feels so utterly understood that he not only wants to change his underwear, he wants to peel off his skin, some weird exposure urge, like he's been too seen, so he may as well strip to his guts.

“Can I walk you to your car at least? It'll give me some peace of mind. I'm also gonna need your number, and a text when you get home safe. Is that cool?”

“Very cool,” says Viktor.

They head to the cubby room, where Jayce nonchalantly hangs dong to change into a pair of ultra-short shorts and a cropped tee that exposes a slutty strip of chiseled midriff. He insists on carrying Viktor's bag for him and lending him an elbow of support. It's like having a service dog, something that Viktor has considered in the past.

When they make it to Viktor's car, Granny's old Buick, Jayce lingers by the driver's side door. He asks politely for a kiss goodbye after texting over his number. It feels oddly like a boyfriend kiss, the type that has Viktor's ears blushing and heart quivering. He requires a few minutes of deep breathing with his hands clenching the steering wheel before he's able to drive away, and he does so to the soundtrack of Enya, the most soothing music in his rotation.

By the time he gets home, he has no energy to spare except to shower and collapse into bed, with his phone inches from his face.

He types out a reply to the message hey, it's jayce 🥰

Home safe. Thank you for the lovely session.

anytime!! really!!! hmu when you're ready for another ❤️

Viktor can't conjure the stamina to respond a second time, so he heart-reacts to the message, feeling like the relationship is moving at lightning speed. He hardly ever heart-reacts Sky, and they've been besties since college. He doesn't want to fully extinguish the excitement of the evening, so he bops around social media rather aimlessly, until he sees an email notification from FetLife. A friend request from golden_boy.

Wasting no time, it seems. Quite like him.

By the time Viktor accepts the request, Jayce has already scoured his page and liked every single photo, all six of them. Viktor doesn't put his face on his profile, and he doesn't show much skin, aside from his neck and wrists. As a rigger and a gentle dom, his hands are his most important feature. Jayce leaves a comment under the picture of Viktor holding a leather riding crop.

next time? 🥺

Viktor smashes his phone screen to nose and forehead and laughs like an infatuated fool.

To be discussed… he replies. Then he tosses his phone to the far end of the bed and sticks his face into a pillow, with the slight intent to suffocate himself unconscious. He ends up smiling and giggling and literally kicking his feet.

He's found himself a partner.

What are the odds?

Chapter Text

God, Viktor is hot. After the Pound Party, Jayce lays in bed, hugging an oversized pillow and gobbling up his FetLife profile like it'll disappear if he scrolls too slowly. Like he'd delete his entire account because Jayce put the moves on way too quickly, as usual, and now he needs a polite way to cut Jayce out for the rest of eternity. 

That entire event was nerve-wracking. Jayce could hardly eat all day because of the anxious high of visiting a new place with new people and being totally untethered. He had a couple of acquaintances going but those were folks who had already partnered off a long time ago, lifestyle veterans, firmly collared and titled and one-hundo-p not on the market. 

Jayce thinks getting a collar and an official keeper would pretty much be the best thing ever, just short of getting a wedding ring. Something that could happen way faster because people are always looking to have sex, and way fewer people are looking to settle down for life. Just the way things are these days. And these days, Jayce doesn't think he wants a partner who isn't cool with the dog stuff. His anxiety has never been more under control since he learned how therapeutic it was to become a dog every now and then. He turned his walk-in closet into a sort of den, for fuck’s sake! With a human-sized dog bed and everything. He can't get rid of it. He has to find someone who gets it. 

Basically everyone in the scene gets it. As far as pups go, Jayce is actually pretty popular. After each event he gets tons of follower and friend requests. He's well-liked by every gender, which really diversifies his pool of potential masters and mistresses, but the biggest problem is the demi thing. Jayce will play fetch with anyone nice enough, but it doesn't mean one ball toss gets him hard. Or even dozens of tosses. If the attraction isn't there, it isn't there, and there's not much Jayce can actually do about it. 

Except go to more parties. 

Jayce checked the Pound Party's page obsessively before the event. A warm-up technique to memorize faces and names, likes and dislikes. If there's anyone out there looking for a submissive pet, he mentally catalogues them, makes note to approach them. It was the day-of that he noticed the_arcane_herald, a slender gay guy with no face pics but a lot of hands and body. He was tall but tiny, always wearing professional looking pants belted at his waist, drawing attention to the fact that it was grabbable. Jayce could fit the entire circumference of him in his bare hands. 

He was a dom. 

Better yet, he had no submissive.

Jayce tried not to goon too hard over a stranger, but he kept fantasizing about them meeting, about the Herald slapping a collar on him and keeping him close all evening. In the end, Jayce ended up creeping way too hard, literally stalking the poor guy to the beverage table. He got so spooked, like who wouldn't be startled by a six foot five muscular dog with no attention to personal space. Jayce mentally jumped off a bridge ten times while vacantly smiling, hoping he didn't totally botch whatever theoretical entanglement they could have shared. 

It worked out in the end. All too well. 

So now he's in bed, staring at the words To be discussed and the heart reaction to his last text. God, he's laying in on thick. He basically shoved his number down Viktor's throat because if Viktor drove off after what they did together and never messaged him again— 

Well, Jayce knows better than to threaten suicide because of one disappointing social interaction. He's beyond that time in his life. It would just be a thorn in his side. Late night thoughts of Viktor tying other people up, or Viktor with another dog, having the time of his life. Jayce wishes he could beam his feelings directly into Viktor's head without them seeming insane. This does not happen often. What they have is really special. 

He's going to live desperately from one interaction to the next. 

He initiates the next one. He can't resist. Viktor says nothing for two weeks, and Jayce is pretty sure it's over. He really can't suffocate another potential mate this early on in the game. He has to give others room and space because crowding them is unhealthy and unsexy and blah blah blah. Two weeks has to be enough for Viktor to regain his oxygen. It's a pulse check, that's all. A very innocent one. 

There's a munch at a bar close to the rope club. No particular theme, just drinks and good company, not that Viktor has RSVPed. Jayce takes a leap of faith and messages Viktor the link. 

maybe ill see you there??? 🤩

I will consider it. 

Cool. So, Viktor pretty much hates him. It's good to get confirmation early on, even though Jayce nurses a stab wound straight to his heart. He still shows up that night because he's not supposed to dwell on things like minor rejection. This can't be counted as major, no matter how much it feels like it. 

He wears a casual outfit, short khaki shorts and a knit polo, a gold chain that he wishes was locked around his neck permanently with Viktor as the keyholder. Jayce gets to the bar fifteen minutes after the official start time, with no word from Viktor, and no ability to be chill about it. He orders a watermelon margarita slush and stations himself close to a street-facing window, where he can watch passersby and ensure that none of them are Viktor. He isn't as good at chatting as usual because he's pretty distracted. He hangs out in circles to listen without participating and scope out the door. 

He nearly chokes on his own heart when Viktor walks through it. 

He comes alone, cane in hand, his other arm crossed to hold his elbow. His eyes dart corner to corner while he chews on his lip. Jayce breaks from his current group and offers a two-armed wave big enough to attract a rescue helicopter. 

“Yo, Viktor!” 

He sweeps Viktor's bony frame into a big hug before he can think better of it, but knows he's done bad when Viktor goes rigid. Not an ounce of reciprocation, just a startled wheeze. 

“Shit,” says Jayce, releasing him. Viktor reels on his heels, looking dazed, probably because Jayce squeezed the blood flow from his brain. He gently braces Viktor's shoulders to prevent a total collapse. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m so glad you're here.” 

“Ah, yes. I am.” 

“Do you want a drink or anything? A place to sit?” 

“Both, please. I'll take a Shirley Temple.” 

“No booze?” 

“No booze. It doesn't mesh well with my medication.” 

“Gotcha. Yeah. How about over here?” 

Jayce figures that sitting is probably the top priority, so he guides Viktor to a booth in the corner, his palm set on the small of Viktor's back. Being this close to Viktor again is like taking party drugs in college. The feel of his body. The smell. He doesn't seem to use detergent with artificial scent, so his clothes smell like fabric, like the wool of his vest and the cotton of the button-up beneath it. His hair smells the way it did at the party, the essence of Viktor, with a small amount of product and an intoxicating amount of human. 

Viktor definitely picks up on Jayce sniffing his hair, because he cranes his head backward and gives him an inquisitive look. 

“Sorry,” Jayce says again. “You smell really good.” 

“Never beating the dog allegations,” Viktor replies. 

Jayce smiles. He feels really seen. “Never, man. It's my calling in life.” 

Jayce picks out the corner booth because it means that once he secures Viktor's bev, he can slide onto the wooden bench and sit right next to his man. He doesn't sit too close, he doesn't want to smother Viktor any worse than he already has, but he sits close enough that when he drapes his arm on top of the bench, Viktor is captured within his wingspan. Good. Very good. An instant dose of tranquility. 

It's not a date. Jayce is aware. Other people immediately fill in their enclosure and make small talk, because Jayce sports a sticker nametag that announces he's a munch newbie. His compulsion to meet and greet takes over, so he introduces himself, and tries to introduce Viktor, but the poor guy could not possibly be making himself any smaller or quieter. If Jayce couldn't feel the warmth radiating up from Viktor's body he might think Viktor had simply disappeared. 

Jayce makes the executive decision to kinda end his other convos, offering a nothing burger of small talk while angling his whole torso towards Viktor. People get the memo and drift away, leaving Jayce and the object of his affection. Well, Viktor isn't an object. He's a living and breathing human being, who may be mistaken for a work of high art. 

He sits still, a little hunched, sucking in his cheek to make it even more contoured. 

“You hanging in there?” Jayce asks.

“I don't usually do these things,” Viktor answers. “I am not a bar man.” 

“Oh, word. I've been doing a lot of them. Putting myself out there and everything.” 

Viktor makes a face, so Jayce asks, “What's that face for?” 

“My worst nightmare,” says Viktor with a nervous laugh. “Putting myself out there. In a large, crowded bar. I took twice my usual dose of anti-anxiety meds and my nervous system is still trying to convince me I'm being chased by a wolf through the woods.” 

Jayce doesn't say, hot. I'd love to chase you down. He thinks about it very hard, but he replies, “What made you come?” 

Viktor quirks a fluffy brow. “I think you can guess.” 

“Uh, me?” 

“Yes, you.” 

Viktor gives Jayce's right tit a playful boop, the type of initiated touch that rockets him to the lovey-dovey moon. He smiles at Viktor, so stupidly starstruck. He drinks up every drop of eye contact that Viktor affords him, tiny flits between sips of his bright red drink. 

“Can I be honest?” Jayce asks. 

“Of course.” 

“I don't really want to be here. I want to take you on a date, just the two of us. I kinda went crazy after that party. Like. You're on my mind a lot. I didn't want to overwhelm you, because when I catch feelings, well. I don't catch them. They run over me like a semi truck. I know we started strong, like sexy and everything, but I don't think I'm feeling very casual. So, you should probably know that. If it's too much, you can just tell me to kick rocks and I'll be fine. I guess what I'm trying to say is I would definitely take this to the next level. Casual isn't really something I'm good at.” 

Jayce can tell by the movement of Viktor's wide eyes that he's not actually looking at him, but that he's gone inward. He's a very internal guy. Very thoughtful. Like he's always doing mental math and only a fraction of his calculations come out of his mouth. 

“Are you asking for a single date, or are you asking to go steady?” 

Oh boy. Well, Jayce has been envisioning a collar and a wedding ceremony, a total compulsion, he's absolutely delusional, and he knows that. Tears swarm in his eyes. He feels caught in the trap of Viktor's directness. An under-the-spotlight feeling. 

“A date to start?” he replies. “And we go from there? Are you looking for that kind of thing? Sorry, I just—I don't know if I'm doing this right.” 

“Doing what right?” 

“Uh, kink, I guess? I don't know how the steps work exactly. I'm just following my heart here.” 

“No, no,” says Viktor. “There isn't one formula. That's the beauty of the thing. Every relationship is different. Some prefer play only, and some prefer the romantic aspect.” 

“Which are you?”  

Viktor fidgets with his straw, stirring the lingering ice cubes in his otherwise empty glass. Jayce wishes Viktor's profile had more information about his love life, like if he's aromantic or married to someone else outside of the scene entirely. They're basically strangers. Jayce is making all sorts of assumptions and then dumping them on Viktor's shoulders. He can't help it. If there's a bandaid to be ripped off, it needs to happen ASAP. Too long in the maybe zone and Jayce is gonna dive off the deep end. 

“I don't date very often,” Viktor says. “I had kind of given up on it. Too messy. Too complicated. Easier to stick to rope, to scenes with concrete limits. The matters of the heart…they are far more treacherous.” 

“Right, totally. I feel you. We can keep feelings out of it, then. I don't mind just doing play. Or nothing, whatever.” 

“Jayce.” 

Viktor rests his hand on top of Jayce's. He had been tapping a little rhythm with his fingers, something mindless. He stops under the gentle weight of Viktor's palm. It feels like a popper, a flood of full body calm. 

“What I am trying to say is that I am not proficient at dating, so if we do date, you'll be dating an amateur.” 

“I don't mind, I—” 

Viktor cuts him off with a look. “I have strong feelings too. I am very wary of them. Whatever we do, I would like to take it slowly.” 

“Slow is cool,” says Jayce. He knows this to be a fact, even if his brain begs him to operate at warp speed. Slow is the right answer. He's prone to rushing things and ruining them. “Want to meet up in a week? I'll take you out. I can pick you up, take you wherever you like.” 

“How do you feel about sushi?” 

“Oh, I fuck with sushi heavy. It's a date?” 

“It's a date.” 

Viktor smiles at him—a cute, lopsided thing that smacks of shared conspiracy and contentment. 

“Can we kiss about it?” Jayce asks. 

“Ah, one kiss only. Here.” 

Viktor pokes his cheek. Jayce presses his lips to that exact spot and savors the few seconds of skin-to-skin contact. His internal organs mosh within the confines of his ribcage. 

He scored a date. With Viktor, babe of the century. 

He cannot fumble. 

He would never recover. 

Jayce does not freak out about the date. Not to the extent that it debilitates him, which sometimes happens. He makes it to work every day of the week—chemical engineer at a biotech company—and only spaces out in the lab once every hour or so, usually while the centrifuge is running or during the team round-up. 

He jacks off every night, one to two times, using nothing but his imagination and pictures of Viktor's fully clothed body. With the power of his mind, he strips Viktor naked. He imagines his mouth on Viktor's cock, his tongue in Viktor's cunt, his tongue lapping at Viktor's ass. He wonders how many rounds Viktor can last, how many orgasms he can eat out of him before he begs for mercy, before he decides he has to put Jayce in his place. 

Jayce can't get the riding crop out of his head. At St. Mary's the nuns used rulers and sometimes switches, banned by the time he made it to ninth grade. Dad favored a belt. 

Viktor does impact play. He likes cages and bandages and gags. Jayce is pretty sure Viktor would tie him and then flog him if he asked. That plus a cuddle sesh would hit tremendously. 

Not that they hash out anything like that before their date. It's all daydreams and night dreams and masturbatory fantasy. Jayce thinks slow is really good, a nice exercise in restraint. It's hard to be feeling so horned up in both his cock and his heart. He wants the sex part and the romance part with Viktor. 

So a date is a good first step. 

As soon as Viktor opens the door, Jayce compliments his stunning beauty. He is always put together, with snazzy sexy professor outfits, his floppy brown hair styled effortlessly. He kisses the back of Viktor's hand—keeping it tame—and escorts him to the passenger side of his car. Chivalry is a good go-to method of winning your date’s heart. And a good thing for a dog to do. It really showcases obedience and loyalty.

He pulls out Viktor's chair at the restaurant, and makes a mental note when Viktor orders a coke. Next time he'll say the order himself and spare Viktor the effort. Jayce sticks to soda water with lime—better to stay clear-headed and in tune with his macros, no matter how much he craves filing the edges of his tattered nerves with alcohol. Luckily, he's in good company. He accidentally spills his water glass reaching for his bundle of silverware, and has to sacrifice his napkin to mop up a tiny puddle, blushing an absolute inferno. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I get nervous when I have a crush.” 

Viktor lets out a curt laugh. “I can relate. I fear my heart may leap out onto the table next, and there's no way a napkin would repair that damage.” 

“Open heart surgery would be an insane bonding experience.” 

“Here's hoping that will wait until date three.” 

Jayce lives for Viktor's wry little smiles and the way he sips his coke after each of his dry quips. He's desperately funny. He has Jayce laughing himself goofy when he regales him with a tale of a rigging mishap, wherein his bound partner ejaculated on the floor and Viktor slipped in it. Viktor laughs about it now, but at the time, he couldn't walk for three days. 

“Do not come on the floor, got it,” says Jayce, and he pantomimes writing on the palm of his hand. They get into a flirty flow as the apps arrive, and then a platter of nigiri and sashimi to share. Jayce is reminded of the chemistry they shared on their first together, and that he didn't completely hallucinate it. It's really easy to be around Viktor, to laugh with him, to converse back and forth and forget every care in the world. Pretty people have that effect. Romance does. Viktor rubs his ankle against Jayce's as they feed each other rolls from their chopsticks, and it's like nothing has ever existed but them, together, two souls sparked up in the darkness of the universe. 

Jayce hasn't even given a single thought to the end of dinner until Viktor brings it up. They've gotten to the last few plump pieces of tuna that they keep offering to each other and refusing. Jayce wouldn't mind sitting here with a bellyful of fish until the end of eternity, as long as he had Viktor to stare at. 

“Are we going to have sex tonight?” Viktor asks. 

The word sex in public makes Jayce blush like he's a fifth grader. Or maybe it's the frank way that Viktor addresses it. He didn't even give Jayce a sly opportunity to ask for drinks at my place. Fucking or not fucking. Simple as that. 

“Yes to sex,” he answers. 

“Then tell me, Jayce.” Viktor almost purrs it. He's in his flirty element and it's turning Jayce into molten lava. “What did you fantasize about for our next scene? Be honest, pet.” 

“Hah.” Pet. In public. Viktor's coke must have had some serious rizzmax mixed into it. “I was thinking, uh, about your…” Jayce looks over his shoulder. He ducks closer to the table and lowers his voice. “I was thinking about eating you out. Like, two orgasms, maybe three. Like so many you can hardly see straight. And then you get mad at me, because I should have stopped, but we both liked it so much I kept going. And then you, um, use that riding crop.” 

“Can you come from impact alone?” 

Jayce shakes his head. Not that he knows of. He can come from butt stuff, dildos and plugs and fingers, but he hasn't had a partner to do further experimentation with. Viktor digests this information while playing a persistent game of footsie, rubbing his ankle along Jayce's calf, in a slinky, cat-like fashion. 

“But you've done impact play?” 

Another head shake, which this time, makes Jayce feel like a virgin. He’s been a virgin for six months learning all this kinky stuff. 

“Not really,” he says. “Just a taste. A couple of spanks at a play party. As an adult, I mean. As a kid, well, let's just say my dad didn't hold back with the belt.” 

“Yikes,” says Viktor. 

“Yeah, it is what it is. I have a lot of Catholic baggage.” 

Viktor processes this with a few slow motion nods. 

“Well,” he says, “we probably don't have time to unpack all that.” 

“No presh. I pay another guy to handle it.” 

Jayce winks and waits for it to click with Viktor. When it happens, he lets out a sweet little chuckle, tipped with a half-smirk. 

“Don't we all,” he muses. “Here are my thoughts—I like the overstimulation idea very much. I say we start there, and then perhaps I give you a few test taps. Nothing major. If you like it, we can keep going. If you don't like it, we stop. Do you have any idea of how you'd like to get off?” 

It feels weird to be doing this at a restaurant, next to other couples, and not super far away from a family of five, grandma included. Jayce also feels quizzed. Like he's gonna somehow fail the test of when and where are you going to nut, which is not unlikely. His dick can be unpredictable at times, hence the transition into kink from his prior world of vanilla, where he was expected to be aggressive and hump his hard-ons away with very little flourish. The frat formula. Heteronormativity. 

The kink scene changed things for him in a good way. Mostly the word submissive. He thinks of it as an unburdening. No need to be the rational decision maker, the moves-putter-onner. Ironically, he’s still an assertive puppy. But he’s a puppy. There isn’t an expectation for him to have all the answers, just the expectation that he's adaptable, that he listens, that he wants to be a good guy deep down and that inherent morality needs to be an axiom of the dynamic. 

A lot of it is about surrender, to both his desire and to his partner. As a puppy, his humping doesn’t have to end in fucking raw, or even getting out a condom. He can indulge his oral fixation without having to supply an erection. If the erection happens, cool. It was super cool when it happened with Viktor, that they came up with a little scenario on the fly that yielded two concurrent climaxes. Pretty much a dream scenario. 

It’s just to say Jayce doesn’t feel pressure to offer up the nastiest scene he’s ever imagined, because he hasn’t imagined things getting that nasty. He wants to build a bond with Viktor more than he wants to get up in all of Viktor’s orifices. He’s sure they’ll get there. But for now—

He regresses to the puppy part of his brain. 

“Is it lame if I ask for a handjob?” 

He glances to Viktor's hand, poised on his water glass, magazine quality, with silky smooth skin and fingers that look dextrous enough to devastate. Viktor then examines his hand, stretching his fingers in front of them, the way a newly engaged fiance would do with a ring in their finger. He wiggles them. A total tease. 

“A slow or fast one?” Viktor asks. 

“Um, medium? Like maybe tender, after you smack me however many times. Like it'll be my reward for taking punishment.” 

“Mm, yes,” Viktor agrees. “I like that idea a lot. I believe we have our scene, pet.” 

Sharing a smile with Viktor is Jayce's new favorite thing, ever. His are more rare which makes them a million times more valuable. 

“Your place or mine?” Jayce asks. 

“Mine,” says Viktor. “That’s where the crop lives.” 

When they arrive at Viktor's place, Jayce is too hard to hide it, because they hold hands for the entire car ride. Viktor's hand. The hand that will be all over him soon. They're so close to getting in each other's pants and junk and there won't be a ton of guesswork. They have a blueprint to work from, which is basically the sexiest thing ever. There are few things Jayce loves more than a plan, better yet if that plan involves a handsome man and a handful of orgasms. 

Viktor has a cute first floor apartment that really confirms his status as a dashing academic. Like damn, this man reads. His living room has two walls of bookshelves, crap tons of fiction and nonfiction, and a lot of straight up textbooks. Jayce can't help but to pop the question, “Are you a professor?”

They need to roleplay that pronto. 

“Ah, no,” Viktor answers. “Research zoologist at the Piltovan Zoological Society. Though my proper title is doctor, if you feel inclined to formality.” 

He tips his head towards a framed PhD: Viktor Sokol, Doctor of Philosophy, in Zoology. Woof. Jayce only got as far as his Master’s degree and that was an uphill battle of ADHD and dyslexia, diagnosed after twenty years of scholastic struggle. His brain is wired weirdly, and that’s okay. Wired towards brainiacs too. He isn’t judgmental of himself when the sight of Viktor’s diploma ramps up the I-need-to-eat-you-out-immediately quotient, as if intelligence is stored in the birth canal.

“Good with animals, huh? That checks out.” 

Jayce secures Viktor at his side by slipping a finger into a belt loop on his low back. A little collar for his finger, he thinks. Something to keep him close.  

“It's always been my calling,” Viktor returns. “I feel more camaraderie with animals than human beings most days.”  

“So you’ve had a lot of pets, then?” 

“A couple of cats, yes. I mostly prefer to visit creatures in their own habitat.” 

“I was asking about human pets, V.” 

“Oh.” Viktor looks dead ahead as red color rises in his cheeks. “I have never had a pet like that. Too human even in animal form, I suppose.” 

“But you're curious, right? About pet ownership?” 

“So inquisitive, Jayce.” 

Viktor lightly bumps his hip into Jayce's left haunch, which he takes to mean, stop prying, you're killing the vibe. He settles for more monitored snooping. Viktor has the tiniest TV mounted on one of the shelves, which appears to only exist to be a bigger screen for a Switch. His floral couch is covered by a few knit throw blankets draped elegantly over the arms. It is all very orderly, well-dusted, no matter how antique looking his furniture is. He has a vase with fresh daisies atop a doily on his coffee table. Apparently somewhere in here there's a cat named Rio, “but it isn't likely you'll see her.” 

Viktor’s bedroom is also very tidy, with a beefy, old fashioned bed in the center, covered by a tightly tucked quilt. He has matching nightstands, one of which has a little white machine on it. Oxygen concentrator. COPD. Viktor grew up in Zaun, he says, do the math on that. The math is guaranteed respiratory issues. A real shame. 

Not the hottest small talk. Jayce can't seem to locate his usual conversational material because too much blood has diverted to his dick. Viktor’s room reeks of him, of clean cotton and his organically scented grooming products. Jayce is in Viktor’s territory. The very atmosphere is tinged with crush. He covers himself with his hand, as if it does anything but make his predicament more obvious. At the very least it provides a crumb of calming sensation. 

“A little desperate, I see,” says Viktor. 

Jayce lets out a tepid laugh. “Don't tease me. I'm two seconds away from snapping.” 

“Oo, frightening.” 

Viktor gets too close. Close enough to smell. Close to enough grab. 

“Hands off yourself, please,” he says. “I want to look.” 

Jayce sticks his hands behind his back and interlocks them, then adjusts to stick-straight posture, chin up. The proper way for a respectable man to stand. And he is a respectable man, a man capable of restraint. Viktor, meanwhile, is an absolute flirt, who may as well have gotten his PhD in Torment and Teasing. He knows what he’s doing when he grazes the backside of his fingers against Jayce’s achy bulge. There’s no way Jayce could get off with featherlight touch, with the circling of fingertips, and the gentle cupping of his entire package. It is nothing but a display of how perfect his hand is, how Jayce’s climatic future rests in his pretty palm. 

“Viktor,” Jayce warns. 

“Shall we begin?” 

“How rough can I be?” he asks. 

“Ah, gentle-rough,” says Viktor. “You can play-act aggression, but I can’t sustain much actual torque or impact. Be extra careful removing my brace. Ask for help if needed.” 

“You got it, Doc.” 

Jayce initiates dog mode. He gets to shut off the overthinking part of his brain and just be really physical, really in tune with his body and the body of his partner, and there is nothing more he wants in the universe than to worship Viktor’s corporeality. He picks Viktor up by his waist and tosses him back into the bed, but he follows to catch Viktor in a soft landing. Low impact, with his arm curled around Viktor’s midsection. He knows he’s got Viktor where he wants him, because Viktor lets out a startled oh, and his breath picks up like it did during their first make-out. 

Jayce makes a show of undressing Viktor, kinda pretending that he’s using his mouth to strip off each article of clothing. He nuzzles Viktor’s crotch while his hands work on his belt and zipper. He lifts up the hem of Viktor’s sweater vest with a bite, but uses his hands to remove it, because it’s too nice to turn into scraggly scrap yarn. He does, unfortunately, pop a button off Viktor’s shirt in his haste to undo it. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll get you a new one.” 

“It’s—fine—I—can—” 

Viktor is flushed and panting, wriggling beneath Jayce’s hands with each of his movements. He can’t help holding the entirety of Viktor’s waist and admiring its trimness, the way his pale skin clashes against Jayce’s tan. Viktor lets out a small keen of agony, his splayed thighs trembling like the wings of an insect. 

Jayce is pretty good at reading people, and he’s picking up on Viktor’s exhilaration. Good. Jayce wants him like this, as worked up as he is, desperate for even a grain of physical contact. Viktor likes the dog experience. The enthusiasm. He’s as squirmy as he was with Jayce’s face nuzzling his crotch. 

For the brace removal, Jayce calms down a bit, and accesses the part of his brain that coordinates his thumbs. It's a little enrichment puzzle, undoing the clasps and velcro. He gently lays it beside the bed. 

Then Viktor is naked except for tiny black boxer briefs that cling to his skinny thighs and protruding hip bones. But the shorts have to go. Jayce snags the waistband between his teeth and successfully jerks the shorts over Viktor’s butt, knees, feet. Viktor exhales a series of, “Ha—ha—ha.” 

Jayce knows where the desperation is coming from when he puts himself back between Viktor’s spread legs. His cock pokes out from a wild triangle of dark pubes. Below it, his swollen cunt drips. Really no fair that hides this bounty, when Jayce is forced to put his bulge on display for all the world to see.

Viktor will pay in the form of orgasm, of course. The best punishment there is for staggering beauty. 

Jayce shifts back on the mattress in a crouched position, his face inches from Viktor’s bright red junk. It’s kinda like the moment before dinner where you’re supposed to pray, to thank God for the bounty of the meal. A little reverence before the gluttony. 

“Have you ever been with—” Viktor gasps. “Do you know how—” 

No more human Jayce. No more questions and answers. What’s in front of him is all that matters. Flesh as a living canvas. He sucks up Viktor’s cock first, because it looks the most needy, twitchy and puffy, and so, so tasty. It’s a perfect mouthful. The right size for Jayce to swirl his tongue around its girth. He sticks to predictable circles for a while, then branches out to letters, numbers, arcane symbols of his own design. 

They don’t need actual language here. Jayce can read the slight buck of Viktor’s hips against his mouth, or the two clenched fistfuls of quilt on either side of him. Viktor is giving him the universal signs of pleasure, which happen to be Jayce’s favorite method of communication, his love language, the surest sign that he is a good man doing good things.  

He slips a finger inside Viktor and is rewarded with the consistent clenching of his wet, silky flesh. Jayce unleashes a moan into Viktor’s cock. It’s clear from the cadence of his contractions that he’s close. Each pump of his finger triggers faster movement, greedier movement, something Jayce chases. He works with Viktor’s body, with his hungry cunt and pounding cock. He sucks and slurps and fucks into him, not extremely fast, but so steadily that the result of his diligence is inevitable. 

Jayce swallows up a major orgasm. Viktor thrashes a bit, ramming his hips up, then retreating, as if he can’t decide to run away from Jayce’s lips or jump straight in. When Viktor’s body relaxes, Jayce eases up, unsuctioning from Viktor’s cock. It’s a really pretty cock, especially now that it’s spent, ripe red and shrinking, sensitive to lapse of Jayce’s breath against it. 

Jayce licks the mess off his finger, inhaling through his nose. He loves the bouquet of cunt. It tastes more like meat than dick, even though dick is allegedly meatier. Not so in Jayce’s books. Viktor’s got a whole feast down there, an ecosystem of skin and flavor, incubated by the dark hair surrounding the whole situation. 

Which is why Jayce doesn’t hesitate to begin round two. Round two is slower. He’s over the initial excitement of must devour cock and can now properly worship the rest of the action, from perineum to pubis. He works his tongue in lazy but thorough strokes, ensuring that most complete scour of Viktor’s substance. He wants to drink all the slickness from his folds, from the rippling skin at the entrance of his hole. He ignores Viktor’s cock for this part: the clean-up, the drink-down. He doesn’t really care how this part ends, but he needs this part, the part where he commits Viktor’s cunt to memory. Taste memory, scent memory, and feel memory. His tongue learns every smooth edge of him and pokes into him. Viktor’s walls shroud him and undulate, a very welcoming sensation. To Jayce this means Viktor is ready. 

He can take more. 

Jayce pumps his tongue inside Viktor. He presses his nose into Viktor’s cock and grinds against it, pins it while he mouth-fucks him below. Viktor is less active this time around, limp in bed, letting out small whimpers while his body responds below. That’s good. He doesn’t want Viktor getting too worked up or exhausting too much energy. Round two can take a while, because Jayce likes it that way. He likes holding Viktor in a state of suspense—will he nut again? Can he force himself to do it? 

This isn’t about forcing, though. It’s about inevitability. Jayce is proud of his mouth. It’s his finest feature, his favorite lovemaker. He will sit and lick Viktor’s cunt until his body is ready to surrender again, which will happen, because there’s always the potential for another orgasm. Jayce is guaranteed to solicit it. He’s not in a hurry for that reason. He licks and licks, pushing through the ache of his jaw, because he feels the tension rising in Viktor. Jayce slips his hands beneath Viktor’s thighs to rest on his belly. Viktor’s knees curl tightly around Jayce’s shoulders and bow in towards his head. Viktor threads his fingers through Jayce’s hair, but they remain slack, not seeking control. 

There is nothing Viktor could do that would stop Jayce from thrashing his tongue inside his ever-tighter hole, or from mashing his nose into the perky heat of Viktor’s cock. He applies more pressure and he increases the feral motion of his tongue. When climax hits a second time, Viktor squeaks his release. The reaction in his limbs is more violent than the first, and he sustains a good thirty seconds of eclectic jerks. 

Jayce ignores them. He goes for a third round straight away. Figures they can dovetail of this wave of pleasure for hours, for as long as the night allows. If it was up to Jayce he'd never move his lips from Viktor's divine hole. Each lick is a declaration of adoration, so Viktor needs to experience every lap, no matter how loud he moans. He squirms beneath Jayce’s mouth and his hands become more active, lightly yanking his hair. 

“No, no, no.” 

Jayce pretends he doesn’t hear, because he can’t imagine anywhere he’d rather be than facedown in Viktor’s pussy, lapping up his abundant juices. No doesn't mean anything if Jayce is having a good time, giving Viktor what they both know he wants. 

That is, until Viktor digs his heels into Jayce’s shoulders and kicks himself backwards, out of tongue’s reach. 

“Down boy,” he scolds with a pointed finger. “Naughty.” 

Jayce whines. He hates when nice treats are taken away. Truly, he didn't do anything wrong, because what’s so bad about coming? 

But Master must be really disappointed in him, because he climbs out of bed. He's a bit of a wreck, shaky on his two feet as he tugs his shorts back over his hips. He opens up a big wardrobe beside the bed. From it he pulls out a riding crop, a black wand with a small swatch of leather at its tip. 

He brandishes it mid-air, first directing it at Jayce, then down towards the floor. 

“Out of bed,” he commands. “Strip.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Jayce huffs. He hauls ass off the bed and tears his clothes off so fast it's a miracle they don't rip in half. He can't fuck up more than he already has. Obeying commands will win back trust, even if he's still fated for payback. 

“Bend over the edge of the bed. Now.”

It's not great that Master is so vexed. Jayce hasn't seen him pissed off like this. The arm he uses to brace himself against his cane quakes. His legs quiver. His voice doesn’t sound nice at all, and his facial features are warped to convey anger. Jayce cannot disappoint him again. So he folds in half over the bed, his face in the quilt, his ass up in the air. His cock isn’t mashed against his belly, it’s pressed down the edge of the mattress, isolated out in the open. It pricks with excitement when Master runs the tip of the crop up the length of his thigh. 

“Naughty, naughty pup,” he teases. He goes so far as to prod Jayce’s achy balls. “Look how excited you are about acting up.” 

Jayce whimpers. It’s true. Eating Master out gave him a raging erection, one he hasn’t touched, not once. And now he can’t touch it because he’s gripping the quilt, afraid of being in even more trouble than he already is. It’s bad to touch yourself. Really, really bad. Like a sin that God hates as much as being gay. If Jayce can’t be good for God, he can definitely be good for Master. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “Please. I’ll do anything.” 

“How about two lashes?” 

Jayce nods—that sounds merciful, if anything. He deserves a hundred. 

He feels the impact before he hears the snap of leather against skin. His left buttcheck lights up with an intense burn that shoots fire through his nerves. It leaks from the point of contact across his ass, up his spine, and most ferociously into his cock. 

“More,” he says. 

His cock hurts, being full of blood as it is, but this is the only way it will get better. The only way he’ll be able to feel something. 

The only way he deserves to feel something. 

The second blow is more blissful than the first, because his brain is already addled, already primed to react. The excitement of it hums in him, tunes his cells to a thrilling frequency of penance. Pain is like a cloak that says the scales are adjusting. You are being hurt to make things right. It's a drug, being righted. Which is why Jayce gasps, “More.” 

“More? How many can you take, pet?” 

“Ten.”

He wants twenty, thirty, one hundred. But ten is the only number he can effectively vocalize in the moment. Ten is the easiest number. The lashes come at an uneven pace. Sometimes Master strikes the same cheek twice, sometimes he alternates. Sometimes he hits a little higher or lower, closer to the thigh, and sometimes he smacks the same spot twice. He waits different times between each, probably for no other reason but additional punishment via suspense. There’s no way he doesn’t notice the excruciating bloat of Jayce’s cock, and the way it jerks with each strike. Jayce deserves this amount of exposure the same as how he deserves to get hit. It’s all part of the lesson he must learn. 

He doesn’t notice his nose getting clogged or the tears that leak from his cheeks, because the more important fire burns below. It’s the only thing there is, and he needs it like he needs oxygen. He needs it to be bigger, to hurt more, to prove himself. 

But the lashes stop. 

It can't be over already. 

“More,” he whines, “Please. I want another, Sir. Please. I’ll do anything. Make me good. I’ll be so good. I’ll be the best dog you ever had, really. I promise.” 

“Jayce.” 

It’s soft, not angry. Auditory calm. The next thing to collide with Jayce’s skin is not the sting of the crop, but a gentle hand. Viktor smooths his palm over the tender glow on Jayce’s right haunch, up to his lower back. He rubs small circles there. 

“That’s plenty for today, pet. You did very well. I think we should wind down now.” 

“Are you sure—I’m good?” 

It sounds pathetic, high-pitched, childlike. Jayce hates the words the second they come out of his mouth. He wipes the gunk from his face into Viktor’s quilt and hides there, tamping down the urge for an actual sob. He can’t hold himself together. His dick got crazy hard while he got smacked around, and he loved it, and he showed too much of himself. His guts are spilling out all over Viktor’s freshly laundered bedding. He may as well piss on it. Puke on it, or worse. Crying on date one. 

Not the first time it’s happened, but usually means there won’t be a second date. 

“Jayce, I need you to listen to me,” Viktor says, stern. “To me, and nothing else. Can you do that?” 

Jayce nods. 

“Good. Get in bed. Lengthwise, under the covers. Like you’re going to sleep.” 

Okay. One command at a time. Jayce can handle that. He convinces his muscles to lift him up just enough to get into the bed. Beds aren’t difficult to operate. Once he’s in the correct position, he tugs the quilt out from its tucked state, and slips beneath it. He feels an odd sense of accomplishment for something so simple. A little lightness blossoms in his chest. An internal smile. 

“Very good,” says Viktor. “Now—how do you feel about lavender?” 

“Like the smell?” 

“Yes.” 

“I fuck with it.” 

“Good, good.” 

Viktor rummages around in his nightstand before joining Jayce in bed. He passes him what looks like a small pillow, the size of his hand. It has a heft to it and makes a rustling sound—definitely not filled with feathers or cotton. 

“A rice baby. Lavender scented. If you like, you can put it on your chest.” 

Say less. The moment he drops it onto his sternum, floral notes drift up into his airways, and he teleports to a spa. He remembers how to breathe at not only a regular cadence, but a relaxed one, much slower and deeper than normal. When Viktor slides into bed next to him, the calmness factor quintuples. He puts himself beneath Jayce’s arm, nestled skin-to-skin at his side. 

“Oh my God, this is perfect,” Jayce says. He didn’t realize how freaked out he was before until this moment, a stark contrast to the frenzy of whatever happened with the riding crop. In both scenarios his dick has stayed hard, but he likes this new vibe. This vibe is good. 

“May I touch you?” asks Viktor. 

“Please. Yes. Anywhere. Gentle.” 

The vibe gets even better when Viktor begins petting him. They are soft and sweet touches, the type for a beloved dog, that amble over his chest and abs, around his hips and upper thighs. Viktor avoids Jayce’s dick, and somehow, the absence of touch there makes him grow even harder. His body is so fucking needy when it comes to Viktor. 

“May I?” he asks. 

“Yes, please,” grits Jayce, assuming he’s referencing the game plan, which includes a happy ending. He hears a plasticky click and a squirt. When Viktor’s hand encircles his shaft, it comes with the sensation of a warm, comfortable slickness. 

“I prefer almond oil for this task,” says Viktor. “I hope you don’t mind.” 

“That’s cool,” says Jayce, on autopilot. He doesn’t really wanna chit-chat anymore, not with Viktor’s hand closing down on his meat. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at it, but he’s been hard the entire time, purposefully putting himself on the brink of pleasure but denying it. It’s a habit—fighting whatever his dick wants. He doesn’t actually want to be in charge of where it goes or what it does most times. What he wants is what's happening to him right now: laying back, chugging lavender, not moving a single muscle while a baddie whacks him off. He can feel free to revel in the goodness of it, because it’s being done to him. His reward. 

“That's it,” soothes Viktor. “You did so well for me, Jayce. My very good boy.” 

“Am I?” 

“Of course, pet. So devoted to me, and so brave during your punishment. You can let go whenever you want. I'm not in a hurry.” 

Viktor is a pro with his words and his hands. He keeps a firm rhythm as he works up and down, but he adds little flourishes of pressure, flicks of his thumb over the tip or right under the rim. He doesn’t seem rushed at all, which is good. The word medium comes to mind, and Jayce gives thanks to his former self for doing him a solid. Negotiation is Him. He doesn’t want tortoise-paced torture and he doesn’t a lightspeed milking. He wants to be close to Viktor, wallowing in the moment, getting his dick fondled without feeling rushed. He likes savoring every slight squeeze or gesture, knowing that each little jolt of pleasure will accumulate. They stack on top of each other until each touch becomes a flash of welcome fire. Jayce leans into the feeling as the flashes crash more quickly into one another. Heat pools in his upper chest. His breath goes shallow and snags. 

“Hey, V, I’m—” 

He comes while held snug in Viktor’s fist, panting, seed jutting onto his abdomen. It feels like the second best nut of his life—the first being the one he shared with Viktor at the rope club. He feels like he’s very much in love. He feels like Viktor is the only person he wants in his life, the only hand on his cock. Jayce knows that he can never, ever give up a man so attentive, talented, delicious. 

Viktor is his everything. 

“Fuck, I love you.” 

Viktor’s hand goes away, and Jayce hates it. Viktor offers him a bunched wad of tissues. 

“For the mess,” he says. 

“Right.” 

Jayce wipes himself down with blush scalding his cheeks and tears terrorizing his eye sockets. He did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do. The worst offense. This is why we can’t have nice things, Jayce Talis. He needs to figure out how to leave, even though that’s the last thing he wants. He wants to live the rest of his life with Viktor in arm’s reach, and that’s a big fucking problem. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Viktor asks.  

“Uh, talk about what?” 

“You said the L word, Jayce.” 

Jayce lets out a stunted laugh. “Sorry. Force of habit.” 

“Ah, were you in a serious relationship before this?” 

Kinda, yeah. Mel and him lasted ten months before he became too stifling. Her words. The breakup was unpleasant and led him down the path he’s currently on, hanging out on sexy websites and meeting people who accept him as what he is, a highly affectionate canine. 

“I fall in love with everyone,” Jayce says. “Or I guess, certain people. I imprint and obsess and then I suffocate them. So. Sorry in advance. Like I said before, my feelings are a semi truck. And unfortunately, you’re standing in the middle of the highway.” 

“I’ve never been in love,” says Viktor. 

Jayce tries not to hear, I hate your guts, get out of my sight. What he wants to say is, I do not take it back, I love you, I love you, I love you, let me pour that love into you your for the rest of your life, and at some point you will definitely love me, you only deserve love, you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met and I’ve known you for barely a month. 

He puts that sentiment in as concrete terms as possible: 

“I really want to go steady with you.” 

“I would like that.”

Angels sing when Jayce scores the sight of Viktor’s bashful smile, aimed in his direction. 

“For real?” he asks. “No bullshit?” 

“No bullshit,” he says. “I am enraptured by you. I believe you would make a great companion, for as long as you would wish to have me. I think we have something very special. Very singular.” 

“Thank God I’m not crazy. Fuck.”  

Jayce gathers Viktor’s delicate body against his own, with Viktor’s head tucked beneath his chin. He distributes a substantial number of kisses into Viktor’s sex-mussed hair, and takes deep rips of the scent, sweaty and victory-smelling. Well, Viktory. That’s what he would call the soaring feeling in his chest, the head-to-toe lightness. 

“Can I call you my partner?” Jayce asks. 

“Partner,” Viktor repeats. It sounds so pretty with his accent. “I prefer this term, yes.” 

Partner, partner, partner. 

Jayce is the luckiest guy in the world. 

Chapter Text

Jayce heads home around midnight. He's very gracious about Viktor's need to recalibrate without a sleepover, alone, even though he offered to stay the night because cuddling you is hitting like molly. Yes, the oxytocin did indeed hit. It's a powerful substance, nothing to mess around with. 

Which is why they come up with some rules. Firstly, they define what going steady means, because this isn't the fifties and they aren't using the term boyfriend. To Viktor, it means one date a week, with perhaps one to two additional hangs in public forums, events like open roping night or bar trivia. Perhaps a shared lunch downtown if it feels right. 

Then there's texting. Jayce admits he's a bit of a bombarder when he gets into a relationship: 

“I’m a good morning and good night guy, probably a good afternoon one too. What are you up to, how are you feeling. All of those. I like staying in touch.” 

Viktor contemplates this. He's not really a texter unless he's using Discord, because for some reason it's easier to rapidfire correspond with the friends that live exclusively in his phone. Is it a little hasty to set up a microserver with just him and Jayce? 

Yes, yes it is. But Viktor does it anyway. 

The next morning, he creates their own little digital hangout spot, with channels for selfies, scene ideas, shower thoughts, and a particular channel for urgent. Messages that should be tended to within an hour of receiving, like date night logistics or god forbid, medical emergency. Because Viktor cannot handle the notion of slighting someone for failing to react to a meme in time. He is capable of engaging with the important stuff, absolutely. He wants to be in contact with Jayce, because already Viktor has the codependent sensation of needing that man within leash length 24/7.

The primal triumph of he's in my server. 

Mine.

Jayce says he made a Discord account a while back, for grad school and gaming, but it's collected dust since work and friends took over, after he got his Master's. Chemical engineering. Very impressive, though he seems shy about it. Maybe it's their five year age gap. Nothing criminal. His frontal lobe is really hitting its stride. 

Just to say, he joins the server enthusiastically, user goldenboy, who selects an actual picture of his face as his icon. Insane behavior, but expected. It's about 8AM when this happens, so he immediately heads to the salutations channel and messages: 

good morning gorgeous 🥰
thank you for setting this up!!! putting in the most!! 

No problem at all. Welcome! 

The channels fill out that week. Servers are meant to be living ecosystems, adaptable to fit the particular needs of its participants, and this particular hub, Jayce & Viktor, suits their purposes very well. Viktor's fast favorite is the selfie channel, because Jayce dumps a historical archive of selfies, ungodly amounts of selfies, an accumulation of years. There are gym selfies, OOTD selfies, lewds, and of course, nudes. So many nudes. So many levels of hardness. There are pictures that read as painting quality, soft dong, statuesque posture. Then there are pictures of what could only be Jayce mid-jerk. 

me when i think about how you taste 🥵

Enter the gooning channel, complete with a VC counterpart. Viktor feels like a teenager when he sends messages like I'm so wet rn. But Jayce is very fun to sext with, very scent and taste centric, and so complimentary it awakens a demon in Viktor. Or rather, Jayce is the first person to truly see this demon, who has lived with Viktor since he hit puberty. Jayce has a little bit of an underwear fetish. Probably a body worship thing too, because Viktor can't help pathologizing the endless stream of adoration Jayce throws his way. 

how wet? he's always asking. show me please 🥺 

He likes shots with Viktor's legs spread, the crotch of his boxers clearly dark with grool. He likes inside shots, boxers off, a shiny stripe down their center hem. He loves true nudes, cunt out, cock out, slick and desperate and comparatively hairy. Viktor finds these shots hard to take because of a lifetime of dysphoria and dysmorphia and any other condition that primes him to hate his body. Girly, he often thinks of himself, especially when there's a picture of his wimpy nub right below Jayce's god-rod. He doesn't take pictures of genitals for that reason—disgust, and disgust at his disgust, like come the fuck on, your gender is not up for discussion, Viktor!

so sexy uggbgngjfhfhfh is Jayce's usual reply to such photos. want my mouth on you asap 

Viktor uses his favorite tool in the arsenal—where his anatomy pales, domination saves the day. The euphoria of power is worth a thousand monster dongs.

Then kneel for me like a good boy and suck.

This makes the sexting worthwhile. This makes sexting easier than actual sex, because of the digital barrier, risks feel less risky. It isn't more than a week into their new rhythm that Viktor drops the D-word for the first time, having picked up on Jayce's affinity towards authority figures. He likes calling Viktor Doc, seemingly as a little joke, but he also loves Sir, and has let slip looking edible, Professor. 

So one night Jayce sends a message to the goon channel:

late night jerk please 🥺 

Viktor's circadian rhythm is thoroughly adjusted to the bedtime wank, something it seems Jayce does to soothe himself to sleep. Sometimes Viktor participates, sometimes he talks Jayce through it, half hard but in no particular mood to make himself too sticky. 

Tell me where it hurts, says Viktor. 

Jayce sends a picture of himself in bed, clutching his engorged meat. 

can't fall asleep like this 😮‍💨

Looks painful. 

i need a hand 

Is that right? 

i’ll beg 
you know i will 

Then beg. 
Beg for Daddy's hand.

It isn't the biggest risk—Viktor has memorized Jayce's list of kinks from FetLife and daddy kink is there, plain as day. But Daddy hasn't made an appearance in their own dynamic, not until this point. It feels electric to type the word and send it, like he's opening a new door. 

And like he does crossing any threshold, Jayce hurls himself through it with an inhuman amount of gusto. 

please daddy 🥺🥺🥺
please please please 🥺🥺🥺 
im so hard for you 🥺🥺🥺
please make it go away 🥺🥺🥺
ill do whatever you ask 🥺🥺🥺
ill be so good 🥺🥺🥺
please daddy 🥺🥺🥺
please 🥺🥺🥺 

Jayce's virtual begging is a little gratuitous but somehow flattering. Viktor gets off on this lovely stud turning privately pathetic in the sanctity of their server. So he hops onto voice and guides Jayce through touching himself, relishing the fleshy slap of his strokes. He gets very subby, borderline littlespace with it, complaining about how he feels so hot and so icky.

“It'll go away if you keep touching yourself, pet.” 

“I'm trying—I’m trying—I’m trying—” 

Viktor idly prods the crotch of his boxers while he listens to Jayce come, a release that sounds quite devastating on his end, punctuated by the gasped phrase, “Thank you, Daddy.” It takes a few minutes for him to catch his breath, and Viktor worries he's accidentally thrust Jayce off the sub cliff again. There might be tears and he won't be there to be a voice of reason or purveyor of aromatherapy.

Jayce seems to self-regulate eventually. 

“God, that was hot,” he says.

“Is that so?” 

“Super so, V. The Daddy stuff…woof.” 

“I thought you might like it.” 

“Love would be a better word.” 

“I'll keep that in mind, pet.” 

Viktor walks a tightrope of trepidation and glory. On one hand, he's spoken for. He's always craved companionship and often felt himself unworthy, a sentiment he has indeed over-intellectualized into cognitive roadkill. He doesn't know if he can be what Jayce wants him to be, because he's still in the process of learning about Jayce. That's the scary side of being spoken for: are they moving too fast? Jayce quickly fills a gap in Viktor's life he didn't know he had, hours of his day that he spends in contact with his man. He supposes that a good portion of that comes from the redirect of masturbation into mutual masturbation, but he also reads less, texts Sky less, and devotes a freakish amount of time to sitting on his couch, one hand on his phone, the other stuffed in his pants. 

He is aware of himself as a part of a realtime explosion, a hormonal onslaught, riding the endless aftershock of romance. Whirlwind. He understands the term. He understands that he has indeed been swept off his feet, for once by choice. When Sky does check in on him, the only way he can frame his current omental state is love drunk, though he hesitates to wield the actual word. 

“I am caught in the chemical tide of infatuation,” he tells her. “Apologies if I am more absent than usual. I believe it will pass quickly, and that the initial effects will wear off. I hope to stabilize within a few months.” 

Sky's response? 

“Oh, Vik. Down that bad already? No, no. Don't apologize. You look so happy. Enjoy it.” 

Viktor does. He leans into the thrill of the conversations held in the scene idea and date night channels. For their next night out, Viktor offers the idea of full penetration. Jayce has mostly referenced mouths and hands when approaching the subject of sex, and Viktor wonders if he isn't being tactful, waiting for Viktor to offer up his own orifices. 

How do you feel about penetrative sex? 

oh i fuck w it! 

A non-response in Viktor's books. Jayce knows that Viktor prefers bottoming, given the nature of their discussions, and the fact that it's posted publicly online. But Viktor doesn't want to be the one begging for cock. If anything, he'd demand it. 

So if I tell you to fuck me, you would? 

god yeah…oh my god 
it's just 
uhhh 

Jayce types for five nail-biting minutes. 

i was trying to find the right way to say it
it makes me nervous haha 
performance anxiety i think 
in college i was kinda slutty because i thought i had to be 
and now im kinda going the opposite direction?
if i put too much pressure on myself i tend to fuck things up
feels like im a teenager again yk?

Oh god. They should not be having this conversation over text. Viktor would rather unpack this while in each other's arms, because it sounds like Jayce is experiencing liberation from a compulsory masculine dom complex. Being bisexual and cis, this phase seems to be hitting him a bit late, but better late than never. Viktor feels like he is a safe person to guide Jayce into true expression of self. 

Would it help if you were in dog mode? Or just generally submissive?

probably yeah 
maybe we do it at my place? i have all my stuff here 
and if you take the lead 
that would be really cool 

They decide make date night a takeout and fuck-in affair at Jayce's downtown apartment. Viktor makes it abundantly clear that he is not married to outcomes—yes, he wants Jayce balls deep inside him, deep enough to lobotomize via the pelvis, but he can settle for fingers or tongue or even a dildo, no judgement. Intimacy is the goal, not orgasms. Orgasms are just a perk of pawing at each other long enough. 

Jayce lives in a very cosmopolitan new-build complex, close to all the cool spots, according to him. He meets Viktor in a lobby that looks hotel-like and rides the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. His apartment is neat but sparse, with mid-mod furniture that's all very matchy. He has an eye for coordinating color, like the earthy colors of his curtains and the tasteful geometric pattern of his area rugs. He does not turn on the big scary lights, because he doesn't seem to have any. Scattered in the open living space are a series of standing lamps, one of which is a large metal arc that terminates in a golden orb. 

This orb hovers over Jayce's shoulder when he settles into the couch next to Viktor. Jayce passes him a homemade Shirley Temple that lacks the comforting glow of Red 40. It's the actual dark red color of cherries, because Jayce used the luxury brand of maraschinos, as well as fresh pressed lemon and lime juice. 

“Good, huh? I practiced before you got here.” 

Viktor is glad he's already sitting, otherwise he would topple to the spotless floor. Jayce is a natural romantic, so charming Viktor wonders how he ended up in a fairytale, and hopefully not the kind that ends in murder or suicide. This is the sanitized kiddy kind: an ultra hot guy and a preternatural amount of suaveness. He's so attentive and considerate. He commits Viktor's preferences to memory, sometimes preferences Viktor doesn't know he has until they're being trotted out in front of him. 

Look, I care!

How could Viktor resist him? 

“To die for,” he agrees. He nuzzles into Jayce's neck and kisses the thumping pulse in his throat, one of the key spots that gets his boy going. Jayce lets out a half moan, half laugh. 

“Babe, chill. You're gonna get me bricked before dinner.” 

Of course, Thai food is on the way. A restaurant Viktor hasn't tried but Reddit says is the place for khao soi. Jayce gave Viktor a 🤨 emoji when he asked for level five spicy. 

i can't do more than medium LOL 
putting abuelita to shame 😭

They eat at the table like civilized human beings, though they're both rosy-cheeked from what devolved into a pre-dinner make out on the couch. Viktor is keenly aware that his underwear will not dry out for the rest of the evening, and he will become more and more soaked until he loses his underwear entirely. He decides that Jayce should also suffer, so he kicks his leg out to rest his heel on the seat of Jayce's chair. He lowers the ball of his foot into Jayce's bulge and massages it, waiting for Jayce to break to focus. He manages to yap about work related stuff for about five more minutes before his brow wrinkles and he stutters out a whimper, lips trembling. 

“I don't want to come in my pants,” he mopes, which is fair. “This is my favorite pair.” 

“Then don't,” says Viktor. 

He lets up anyway. He only needed a little bit of Jayce duress to rev his engine. 

The best part of dinner, as always, is the negotiation. They sketched it out a little bit beforehand. Jayce had understandable concerns like, can you get pregnant? No, he unburdened himself of his reproductive cargo three years ago, as soon as he could afford it. When it comes to STIs, Viktor told Jayce swapping clean bills of sexual health was plenty reassurance. Yes, they could fuck raw. Viktor would prefer it. It also confirmed that Jayce had no other sexual partners—exclusivity has been baked into their arrangement by virtue of bareback. 

Not they had fully committed to that experience tonight. The time has come to assess their current mood, the desires and limitations du jour. 

“I'm feeling really subby,” says Jayce. Viktor has learned that he smiles even bigger and brighter when he's feeling antsy. Across the table, he smiles so wide his eyes crinkle shut. It's kawaii enough to melt Viktor's heart. 

“I love the sound of that,” he says. 

“I was kind of…like…I just really wanna get into my dog groove. I was thinking earlier of how fun it would be to show you all my toys and stuff. We could do some playing, maybe some obedience. I think the mood will strike and we can kinda roll with it?”

“Ah, yes. That sounds lovely. I assume you'd like to move slowly, as we progress to sexual matters?” 

“Yeah, if it's cool with you. Not really vibing with punishment tonight. Trying to keep it a little cozier, you know?”

“Absolutely. So check in when we get there?” 

Jayce gives an enthusiastic nod. Dog mode: engaged. Viktor mentally kicks himself for not exploring pet play sooner. He can’t feel a single scrap of social anxiety when it’s him and a handsome man on all fours, happily prancing down the hall. Fate has bestowed him this particular dog, though, so Viktor isn’t too hard on himself. The time is right to be led into a very tidy and stylish bedroom. Jayce might come from money. It seems like he opened up an Arhaus furniture catalogue and picked whatever suited his fancy, which happens to be a hardwood modern bedroom set. His bed is made with military precision, stocked halfway with fat pillows, complete with a knit throw blanket at its foot. It smells vaguely like his cologne and mostly like new house, fresh wood, fresh walls, new, new, new. 

Jayce paws at a door on the far side of the room and throws Viktor a pouty look. 

“I’m coming,” Viktor says. He opens the door for his pup and finds himself inside a walk-in closet that looks half like a closet, half like a kennel. On one side is a neat row of business casual attire and bisexual button-ups. On the other side, beneath a shelf, sits a fluffy elliptical floorbed, big enough for a grown man. It’s clearly his doggy den, because the shelf boasts a row of toys, ranging from tennis balls to kongs to fake bones, to his ears, tail, and a glass jar of treats. There are a couple extra plugs and a dildo so large it makes Viktor blush to look at it. 

Jayce said he’s been doing this for six months…with whom? Viktor curses his inability to pry, but he suddenly wishes he knew how long Jayce had been up for adoption. He wants to know who else has been in this closet. His heart twists thinking of it being anyone else but him, and it twists even harder thinking of Jayce in here, alone, masterless, no sturdy soul to show him proper love. 

Jayce stands up on his knees and puts his paws on the shelf. He uses his head to gesture towards his tail and ears. Of course, of course. He needs some help. He breaks puppy mode for all of thirty seconds to remove his clothes, while Viktor prepares the tail plug with a generous dollop of lube. 

He settles back on all fours in proper presenting position. Viktor takes his time easing the plug into Jayce’s hairless hole. Its bulb is over an inch in diameter, so it requires a little pumping back and forth before Jayce stretches enough to accept it. He whines when he sucks it up, which happens in a quick slurp. 

“Is that okay?” Viktor asks, petting the back of his thigh. He nods. Waggles his tail. “Good boy. Now—the ears.” 

Jayce comes to life with his puppy get-up. Viktor feels a type of lightness, a type of ethereal radiance within himself, the same as he does when he’s at work, tending to the incubator of owlets or playing ring toss with otters. It’s a nonstop heartburst of affection, like good god, this creature must be protected at all costs. Behold, innocence incarnate! He never did anything wrong, your honor! 

Who’s the world’s goodest boy? 

Viktor also realizes what Jayce meant by cozy. He wants to play inside his den, a comfy enclosed space. He paws at a dangling lightswitch, and Viktor ignites a string of yellow-toned lights that circle around the ceiling. Then Jayce softly snaps Viktor’s hand into his mouth and tugs Viktor toward the bed. He takes the cue to curl up atop the cushion, and Jayce wastes no time greeting him face to face. Or rather, tongue to face. He licks Viktor from forehead to chin to clavicle, and Viktor endures it with startled laughter, gently batting at Jayce to encourage a little more temperance. 

“Easy boy,” he pants. “Easy.” 

Jayce retracts his tongue but continues a small amount of headbutting that communicates pet me. Viktor acquiesces and attempts to give Jayce a thorough rub down. He begins with vigorous head pets in tandem with a stream of, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” He works his way down Jayce’s back to his butt, to his thighs, to his belly. He rolls onto his back for a proper belly rub, something that hits more like a tickling sesh, the way he giggles and yips. 

Then Jayce pulls Viktor over him into a straddling position. They become entangled, an original mesh of mouth and limb. Not a formulaic thing, but an ad hoc exploration of kisses and touches. For lack of better phrasing, it’s like making out with a canine. There’s a lot of tongue on Jayce’s end, a lot of clumsy groping that somehow results in a warm hand shoved up Viktor’s sweater. The sheer amount of a territory his handspan covers—entire hunks of Viktor’s torso—turns Viktor into a wiltier version of himself. 

Arousal is a given with this type of heavy petting. Viktor humps into Jayce's hard cock, teasing his own erection and amplifying the slickness in his slacks. 

But in the next moment, Jayce seemingly loses interest. He gently rolls Viktor off him and fetches a rope toy from his shelf. While in repose, Viktor plays tug-of-war. When he wins, he throws the toy to the other side of the den to have Jayce retrieve it. The pup is unfazed by his stiff cock, which bounces up and down against the cut perfection of his abdomen. 

He's a little ouppy. Not a Don Juan.

So they play without agenda, a little with his toy, interspersed with head scritches and some low stakes face-licking. Jayce becomes curious about Viktor's body. He sniffs Viktor's pits, then sniffs down between Viktor's legs. He becomes whimpery and needy, lapping at the cotton fabric of Viktor's pants without the thumb dexterity or teeth strength to be rid of them. 

“I hear you, pet,” Viktor says. 

He also loses a bit of his human coordination as he fumbles with his belt and zipper. Once he shimmies out of his pants, he's left with his leg brace, and far too much blood pounds in his cock for him to concentrate. His hands slip and ache as he tugs on the velcro straps, but Jayce sits patiently, watching. Good boy. 

While they're at it, in no mood to play Winnie the Pooh, Viktor shrugs off his sweater and his undershirt. Naked as his doggy. 

“Here, boy,” he calls. 

He spreads his legs and stuffs a couple of cushions under his bent knees. An ergonomic position that bares his inflamed cunt to cool open air. He draws Jayce's mouth to it by placing a hand on the back of his head. He does not need to give any further instruction—Jayce is a natural with his tongue. An oral savant. Viktor does not need to focus on coming for coming to find him. He merely needs to surrender to Jayce's firm suction on his cock and his lashing strokes. In minutes Viktor is writhing, cock pounding, his cunt convulsing and pushing out hot strings of slick. 

“Down boy,” says Viktor. “That's enough.” 

But enough is not enough with this pup. He unlatches his mouth and brings his bulk over Viktor. His meaty quads push against Viktor's much spindlier legs, thrusting them into a position reminiscent of the mating press. He cages Viktor's head with his forearms as he descends for a sloppy, pussy-juiced kiss. Viktor does not love his own taste but he has no choice but to endure his dog’s enthusiastic lip gymnastics. He's always been an eager pup, much stronger than his master, who has a toppling and kissing and humping problem. 

He bucks his hips against Viktor's groin, his hard dick slipping between the slippery swollenness of his cunt. He's desperate for it, his muscular body hot to the touch and sheened in sticky sweat. His high-pitched whimpers come from the heart and are wired directly into Viktor's nervous system. He feels sorry for this enormous canine who cannot glean release from superficial rutting. He needs more sensation. He needs to dive into an actual orifice, and Viktor needs that too. He's ready for his second round, fueled by the sensory maelstrom of skin on skin, of sexy noises, of Jayce's throbbing cock ramming against his. 

Viktor will have to be a little more hands on. 

“Puppy,” he says. He sets his hands on divots on the sides of Jayce's toned glutes. “You seem frustrated. I think you need more.” 

Jayce's face scrunches above Viktor's. He gives a small nod, wincing with his next stroke. 

“You're very hard, Jayce. Very aroused. You know what this means for a puppy, correct?” 

He shakes his head. Tsk-tsk! He must not have had a master kind enough to teach him sex-ed.

“It's your breeding instinct,” Viktor says. “A very natural urge. I need you inside me, pet. That's how we'll complete this act. It will make you feel much, much better.” 

Viktor reaches between them to grip Jayce's shaft, gummed up with grool and piping hot. He guides the tip to his gaping hole and meets no resistance as he welcomes Jayce's girth. Immaculate does not even begin to describe the feeling of being stuffed by Jayce's meat. His cock was manufactured in the Perfect Cock Factory, designed specifically to stretch and fill Viktor’s cunt. His walls cling to Jayce's pulsating shaft as the pup picks up his humping practice. 

“God, you're good,” Viktor sputters, trying to maintain a sliver of composure, enough to oversee his own fucking. But it's exceptionally hard to watch the action, the pumping of Jayce's cock between his legs, without throwing his head back in ecstasy. 

“It's good?” Jayce asks. He drops his forehead to Viktor's and gives him earnest eye contact. Right—time to crank up the praise. Anything to undo whatever shame slop fed to this boy during his upbringing. 

“The best, pet. You make me—ah—feel very good. With your—” Viktor moans, overcome by the pressure of Jayce's cock on his spongy g-spot. It's been a while since he had anything other than a sex toy inside him, but nothing compares the genuine cock and balls experience. “You are a gorgeous pup, Jayce. The prettiest pup on the planet. With a pretty face and a very nice tongue and the most perfect cock imaginable.” 

Jayce whines as he buries himself deep enough to prod Viktor's cervix. 

“Please can I come? Please, please—” 

“Come for me, Jayce. Give me all your pups.” 

Jayce makes a feral sound as he comes, a ragged combination of a sigh and a whimper and a groan, released in tandem with hot gushes of semen deep in Viktor’s insides. His cock twitches for a staggering minute and a half, after which his tense body relaxes, and he collapses beside Viktor. He brings Viktor into a front-to-front cuddle, his slimy and softening dick smashed between their bellies. His armpits hover by Viktor's face, clean shaven and deodorant streaked, with a small amount of manstink pushing through the artificial perfume. 

“Was it good?” he softly asks. He ducks his head back a bit and dips his chin to get a look at Viktor, who was enjoying the sight of Jayce's pecs squished together like utter bazongas. 

“Ah, lovely. I was not bullshitting. I admire your cock to an extreme degree. Your stroke game is unbeatable, same with your size. A perfect fit, I think. You are a wonderful lay.” 

That earns Viktor a faceful of contented pecks. 

“Thanks, babe,” says Jayce between kisses. “You feel good too. Wish I could have lasted longer, but, well—” 

“You're just a dog,” says Viktor. 

“I'm just a dog,” says Jayce, smiling. “And, uh, the breeding thing—”

“It got your engine going?” 

“Big time. I haven't gotten to do this in a while, like, hit it raw. I want to make the pups without the pups, you know?” 

“Quite well.” 

They share a little smile and nose nuzzle with a romance factor of ten million. To experience such synergy with another human being, to be able to tolerate their smells, their fluids, the exposure and commingling of genitals—it is rare for Viktor. It has never happened to him in his entire life. He got a crush on a handsome man from the internet and now somehow he's in this handsome man's dog den, fucked stupid, fucked with hearts in his eyes and angels singing a chorus in the background. What did he do to deserve such a rare treat? In real time he knows to savor this. Such highs must be protected, relished, soaked dry. He doesn't want Jayce to grow bored and slip through his fingers, to realize Viktor is cold, calculating, and terminally internal, even though he's chock full of feelings. They plague him. He is nothing here except lovey-dovey mush. 

“You good?” Jayce asks. 

“Ah, yes. Why do you ask?” 

“You have a little bit of a worried look going.” 

Jayce bumps his nose between Viktor's brows to draw attention to their furrowed state. Viktor consciously relaxes them. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Got lost in my head.” 

“What's going on in there?” 

“A lot. A little frightening to be honest.” 

“Frightening how?” 

“Are we moving too fast?” 

“Uh, well. We've had two dates in two weeks and known each other for like a month? We're just dating, V. I haven't gotten down on one knee or anything.” 

Viktor forces out a laugh because he knows it's expected, even though the prospect of a proposal is stressful enough to induce hives. He is not a boyfriend person, and certainly not husband material. Jayce, on the other hand, gives major white picket fence vibes. He wants the partner, the pups, the standard little life. Not that Viktor has asked about this, he's just drawing wild assumptions based on how straight-passing and conventionally handsome this man is. 

They have barely gotten started. Thinking about forever, thinking about any long term future—it’s going to end in panic. Viktor's heart wrings once in agreement. 

“I would like to change the subject,” he says. He looks away the minute Jayce's face falls and remolds into worry. 

“Oh, cool. Yeah. Uh. Wanna get cleaned up and watch a movie?” 

The night doesn't end terribly. They watch a sweet animated film about a ragtag gang of animals surviving a flood. It only gets awkward after that, when Viktor announces that he needs to go home and get to bed. His own bed, after his own nighttime routine, with his night meds and oxygen concentrator and the back brace he wears to sleep. Jayce angles for a sleepover—I have a bed too—but he doesn't push the issue. Because Viktor comes out with it: 

“I'm not ready to stay the night, nor have you over at mine. It is not personal. I need advance notice and mental preparation. I apologize if I gave other expectations.” 

Perhaps not the best follow up to their earlier brush with premature intimacy, but this relationship won't work if Viktor doesn't stick to his guns. Nothing will make him feel more out of control than surrendering his sacred sleeping hours. 

“So another time?” Jayce asks. 

“Yes, another time,” says Viktor. “I am not accustomed to sharing a bed. We can work up to it.” 

“For sure.” 

Viktor cannot read faces or tones very well, so he can only hope that Jayce's small smile is genuine, that his eyes are sparkling because he's okay with going at a snail's pace. 

“Is a hug cool?” he asks. 

“A hug would be great.” 

Viktor feels much better after a good night's rest and long hours of alone time during which he processes his averse reaction to Jayce's engagement joke. Insecurity is his best friend, his old ball and chain, that would drag him down to the depths of the ocean if he didn't chip away at it, day by day. He needs to live in the moment and set aside big questions like am I a tolerable human being? This question is answered with each good morning gorgeous and missing you my sweet keeper.

Jayce is head over heels. The challenge now is tempering their initial solar flare into a more sustainable burn. 

Something long term. 

The lifestyle provides a solution to the commitment issue—craving codependence, but not ready to tie the knot? 

Collar your sub.

It is that simple. They will be bound together without having to run to the courthouse and get the government involved. A little something to appease Jayce's obvious attachment issues, and Viktor's more subdued attachment issues. He indulges himself by googling high quality leather collar, because nothing but the best of his pet will work. He imagines his pet in the rope studio, bound to him by a leash. Nothing would make his heart or dick harder than having Jayce within arm's reach and under his command. 

He sends a link in the urgent channel, knowing that he won't be able to proceed with life until he gets a response. It's a shop page with a handcrafted collar, red leather with the option of a customized tag. Very sleek and stylish but masculine, powerful. 

Are you ready for the next step? Viktor captions the link.

Jayce begins typing immediately. 

yes sir!!!!
whatever it takes!!!
😍😍😍😍😍😍 

Viktor, ever a planner, devises a reward program titled Puppy of Progress. It is a month-long calendar where he indicates each social function they will attend together, and each of their date nights. He details his expectations of Jayce at these events: timeliness, cleanliness, obedience. His pup must be prompt and tidy and always close, never nosing strangers or roving on his own. He will engage with scenes according to their negotiations. Good behavior earns him stars. 

Stars earn him a collar. 

Viktor presents this program via VC, screensharing the highly annotated PDF of the calendar, complete with a star tracking system at the bottom. Once he reaches thirty stars, he will win not only his collar, but his very first sleepover. 

“This is incredible, V,” is Jayce's reaction. “I'm gonna make you so proud of me.”

Viktor goes so far as to print the poster using an online service and have it shipped to his apartment. He chooses the posterboard option so that it comes already stiff enough to rest upright on his desk. He assures Jayce that the stars are indeed physical items, something he picked up from his local teacher supply shop. He does not take pet ownership lightly. Collaring is an important bond built on trust, chemistry, and commitment. He needs to know that Jayce is dedicated enough to follow this specific regimen, because such devotion will be required of him for the entirety of the relationship. Whether it is their partnership, or their dynamic as dominant and submissive. 

Viktor does not want any pup to serve him. 

He wants Jayce, the most loyal boy in the universe. 

The process of progress is a delight. Jayce takes exceptionally well to the program, militant in his attentiveness to their relationship and scheduled events. His major opportunity to earn stars is to attend the open tie nights at the rope club. Viktor is ecstatic to parade his hunky partner around. He always has a bunny to bind, no need to take the leap of asking a friend, or endure the awkwardness of tying a stranger. He and Jayce build quick chemistry during their sessions, and advance from simple binds to complex harnesses within the span of a few hours. He has such a fine physique for this art form. Viktor loves anything that puts his arms behind and his back and frames his massive tits in tight coils of rope. Second best are pelvic harnesses that showcase his mouthwatering junk. 

Jayce revels in these sessions. Both Viktor’s work and his godly musculature earn profuse compliments that have him cheesing, even in awkward poses like the shrimp tie. They make sure to acquire as many photos as possible, many of which later make it onto Jayce’s FetLife profile: look what master did 🥰 

They also attend invite-only parties hosted at  friends’ houses, where the atmosphere is more sexual, and clothing is entirely optional. Viktor likes these occasions because he knows that roping will end with groping. He also enjoys tying a nude Jayce, especially if they secure a very prominent mat space. 

At Salo’s house, he has a room with a suspension set up: two chains that hold a bamboo pole midair. Viktor warms up with a partial suspension, Jayce’s chest and right leg bound and dangling from the pole. They graduate to a seated suspension, and because Jayce is so eager, so smiley, so bricked, and so adored by the gathered onlookers, Viktor tosses in a more complicated sequence. 

He opts for face-down positioning. 

It isn’t optimal for long holds, but Viktor desperately wants to exhibit Jayce’s swollen, leaky dick. They have a brief check-in and agree to give it a shot. Jayce is shameless about his erections, and prideful of his body. With spiral bound thighs, and a sturdy chest harness, he hangs from the pole, back arched, cock bobbing freely. Finn snaps many pictures in quick succession, from as many angles as possible. Jayce’s smile wilts to a grimace after no more than a minute. 

“Done?” Viktor asks. 

“I’m cooked,” says Jayce. “Can you get me out?” 

“Slow or emergency?” 

“Slow is fine. Legs first if you can.” 

“Of course. Stand by. Or, ah. Hang by. It won’t take a minute.” 

After Jayce is unbound and treated to some cheese and crackers, they head to a private room to finish what they started. Viktor crouches between Jayce’s legs and orally services his cock, happy to please the organ that worked so hard to titillate the masses. Jayce returns the favor with his typical zeal, unrelenting, only satisfied when Viktor’s soul is effectively sucked from his dick. When they cuddle afterwards, Viktor pulls a small square of paper from his pocket of his discarded pants. He unsticks a small star and pokes it onto Jayce’s forehead. 

“Halfway there, pet.” 

He beams bright enough to blind. 

Jayce’s other stars are won on date nights, or sometimes, spur-of-the-moment. Viktor takes a sick day when his inflammation spikes and his joints find it painful even to rest. He insists he doesn’t need babying, but Jayce still shows up with soup his mom cooked and an insistence that they should watch loaf around watching YouTube. They manage to put down hours of ambient machining videos. 

Two stars go on the chart that evening. 

Date nights are their spicier nights. They experiment with things like squirting and daddy kink. Viktor can indeed become a human geyser when prodded long enough, and Jayce is always ready, mouth open, to suck up what is undoubtedly piss. They’re able to ramp up the heat on their impact play, with spanking and paddling sessions, and even a dabble into flogging. These always devolve into considerable sub-spells for Jayce, where he all but climbs into Viktor’s lap and begs to be touched where it hurts. He is so, so precious when he curls up against Viktor’s side while Viktor tenderly jerks him to completion. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” he says after coming. 

If Viktor pets his hair long enough, he dozes in that exact position. 

The month comes to a close and culminates with two very important social functions: meet Jayce’s friends, and meet Viktor's friends. Act normal. Be partners. Jayce invites Viktor to join him and his buddies at their favorite hang out spot, a bar that Viktor would describe as an millennial arcade, with pool, darts, shuffleboard, and oversized jenga. There he meets Marcus, Ekko, and Caitlyn, who are all absolute sweethearts. 

Though Viktor and crowded, noisy spaces are mortal opps, Jayce does what he can to make the experience palatable. He is outspoken about claiming a booth in the corner. He orders drinks on Viktor’s behalf, holds his hand beneath the table, and makes sure Viktor is included in every single conversation. When they eventually territorialize a dartboard of their own, Jayce brings over a barstool where Viktor can perch between his throws. He ends up in a fierce heat with Jayce and wins out by five points. Jayce threatens a rematch and Viktor quietly threatens a star. 

“No, no,” says Jayce, quickly straightening and clasping his hands behind his back. “You won. We’re square.” 

The next week, Jayce attends Viktor’s monthly friend summit, a picnic in the park where he and his besties discuss a chosen article. The topics range from pop culture to politics, selected in turn by Sky, Maddie, and Mylo. It’s meant to serve as structured discussion fodder and make them feel like they’re doing something productive amidst their reverie. 

Jayce is near mute as they trek across the sprawling lawn to the blanket spread. He rubs Viktor’s knuckles in a fast loop and only talks to say oh yeah, totally, and cool. He gets along great with the gals, all smiles and strong handshakes. He sets up Viktor’s low-to-the-ground camp chair and passes him a plate of petit fours. He holds Viktor’s cup of pink lemonade while Viktor eats, to ensure that it does not get upended. His vigilance is practiced, almost mechanical. He doesn’t relax his posture for a fraction of a second. 

Viktor realizes the source of the stress when they transition to discussing a rather unglamorous scientific journal about the rise of colon cancer in their age group. Jayce has printed all twenty-five pages, hole-punched them, and arranged them in a neat folder. Each page boasts black squiggles of notes that occupy the entirety of the margins. Upon squinting, Viktor notes the font he selected is dyslexia-accessible. 

He feels a sudden surge of fondness for his overprepared, more than good boy. Great boy, superior boy, the apple of Viktor’s eye. He deserves a hundred stars for how thoughtfully he contributes to the conversation, never speaking over anyone else, actively listening, then offering profound insight. By the end of the picnic, it is clear he has made three new friends. He yaps with the gals about celebrity drama while Viktor tries to prevent himself from floating away, too content to remain earthbound. 

On the walk back to the car, Jayce asks, “Did I do a good job?” 

Viktor smiles up at his beau. “Yes, my sweet. You have all thirty stars.” 

Their next date is a very special occasion, one that imbues Viktor with the gift of nerves that choke. His emotions sit high in his throat and loom behind his eye sockets. He is not about to propose, god no, but this feels very serious. A big to-do in the kink world. Collaring comes with all sorts of connotations and responsibilities. They will henceforth be bound to each other: Jayce and Viktor. Master and pet. 

They get dressed up for their reservation at a tapas restaurant on the top floor of a boutique hotel. Viktor gets a little loose with it and enjoys perhaps half a glass of wine, overcome by the cozy atmosphere, the close quarters of their booth. Jayce feeds him bites of sausage, shrimp, and potatoes. They order pistachio ice cream for dessert—apparently vegan, though devastatingly creamy. Then they head to Viktor’s place, where the best part of the evening awaits. 

The collar is a collaborative effort. They went back and forth about if and how to customize, and settled on the dark cherry leather with a golden T-shaped tag. T for Talis, Jayce’s family name, of which he is apparently quite proud. The back of the T’s thick crossbar is engraved: 

Property of Viktor

Jayce kneels nude in Viktor’s bedroom to receive the collar, which Viktor fixes to his neck with a golden buckle at the back. Jayce looks up, cheeks rosy, his golden eyes glossed with tears. They spill over and he sniffs, face crumpling in an attempt to prevent a full cry. 

“It’s okay, darling. You can let it out.” 

“I’m just so happy,” Jayce says. “This is all I ever wanted.” 

Viktor holds Jayce against his belly while he lets out his lingering sniffles. He circles his arms around Viktor’s waist, and Viktor pets his hair, in perfect date-night shape. 

“I have another gift, when you’re ready,” Viktor says. 

Jayce lifts his face. “I’m ready. Please.” 

The second item is a matching leash. Sure, they could have used any old pet store thing, but it’s important for Viktor to pamper his pet. His eyes light up when Viktor clips the leash to his brand new collar. 

“Come to bed with me, pet. I require your company.” 

Viktor perhaps thought this session would be a little more animalistic, a little more like roleplay: him wrangling his energetic pup, guiding him into the proper lovemaking ministrations. But no—a tender quietness settles between them, as Viktor backs up into the bed, the leash held in his hand. Jayce follows him and undresses him with a symphonic finesse. He worships Viktor’s body with his mouth, with kisses sown like pretty seeds on every mole, every jut of bone. The pup has Viktor letting out a series of small gasps, especially as his mouth kisses the soft insides of Viktor’s thighs, then the harder throb of Viktor’s cock. 

He receives a divine round of oral, though right before he climaxes, he gives Jayce’s leash a tug. 

“Inside me, pet,” he says. He wants very badly to come on Jayce’s cock. The moment he mounts, his firm girth slides right inside. 

Who ever said missionary was vanilla? Viktor experiences a prismatic universe of sensation with Jayce fucking into him, his muscular arms coiled tightly around Viktor’s ribcage. He dishes out agonizingly thorough strokes, wherein he drags his tip along Viktor’s clenched, rippling walls, lighting up as many nerve endings as possible. It’s a slow ecstasy, made muggy by their shared exhalations. Jayce’s collar jingles as he fucks. He sticks his forehead to Viktor’s to ensure unyielding eye contact, something he earned for all his hard work. He does not let it go to waste. His eyes sparkle in the same puppyish way they did their first time together—he is a dog with a prize, and that prize is Viktor. Viktor, who must admit that he loves Jayce’s affection.

His pup is singularly devoted. Collared, now. Viktor sees no point in withholding. 

“You’re mine, Jayce,” he says, breathless. “You understand this, correct?” 

“Yes,” Jayce pants. 

“My pup, my boy, my partner. You belong to me.” 

“I know.” 

“Say it, pet. Tell me.” 

Viktor tugs ever so slightly on the leash, enough to add pressure to the meeting of their foreheads. Inside Viktor, Jayce’s cock gives a concerted thrash. His eyes squeeze shut as he whines, “Yours.” 

“You’re mine.” 

“I’m yours.” 

“Mine.”

Viktor kisses a trail down Jayce’s jaw to the tense cords of his neck. He thinks another mark would be appropriate, a true claim on his lover. He latches and sucks while Jayce engages a relentless pace, the strokes of a mad dog desperate for release. 

“I’m yours,” he huffs. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours.” 

He bottoms out, whimpering as his cock spasms with climax. The pulsing warmth against Viktor’s walls triggers his own release. He moans into Jayce’s neck as he contracts against Jayce’s shaft. 

“I’m yours, Viktor. Please. I belong to you. I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll be so good. I’ll be your everything, I promise. I promise you. I won’t let you down.” 

Viktor hums and curls his arms around Jayce’s collared neck, still unwilling to let go of the leash. He has what he wants: a loyal pet. A golden boy. 

Could he be Viktor’s everything? Does the entire universe reside in the heavy bulk of the man who rests, sweaty and breathless, on top of him? 

It feels like it. It feels like Viktor needs nothing more than this beautiful human. 

It terrifies him.

Chapter Text

Jayce is so normal about being collared. 

Ha-ha. 

Sike. 

After their first time making love as collared dom and sub, with Viktor tucked snugly in his armpit, Jayce opens up his FetLife profile to change his relationships from zilch to collared by the_arcane_herald. 

“Wasting no time, I see,” Viktor quips, arching his brow like a total minx. 

“Dude, if it wasn't like, career ending, I would show up at work with this thing on. I wish I didn't have to take it off.” 

“We could always acquire a collar for daytime wear, if you're interested.” 

“Fuck yes. Omg.” He thrusts his phone into Viktor's hand and says, “Find me something good, please.” 

Their first sleepover is a smashing success. Jayce understands why Viktor gatekept the event, because he is quite particular about his nighttime routine. He has an intense lineup of meds, then a shower and minor grooming, and then he straps himself into a spinal brace. To sleep, he arranges a small fortress of pillows that support his lower back and beneath his knees. His head pillow cradles his neck in a position that doesn’t allow it to twist. 

“Not very romantic,” he says, “but so be it.” 

“I’m just happy to share your bed, V.” 

It’s true. Jayce gets the best sleep of his life, side by side with Viktor. Jayce also likes sleeping on his back for his postural health, though he often wakes in fetal position. Not tonight. He holds Viktor’s hand for eight hours while he’s pretty much dead to the world. In the morning, he makes pancakes with ingredients Viktor has on hand, feeling like all his life goals are accomplished. Whipping breakfast for a veritable baddie. 

While wearing his collar. 

The collar ushers in a new era for their three-month old relationship. Going steady meant going on one date per week with casual hangouts in between. As he earned his collar, the hangs became more frequent and more personal. Jayce met Viktor’s friends, perhaps the most nervewrecking test of all. Now he’s a part of the pack. He’s a part of Viktor’s life. 

When they first met, Jayce was eaten up thinking of Viktor’s jam-packed social schedule, his lineup of subs, and his disinterest in overzealous dogs. That couldn’t be further from the truth. Viktor is a pretty anxious guy, and he keeps people at arm’s length. Doesn’t always say what’s on his mind, but Jayce knows thoughts are cooking when his eyes get wide and pensive. Sometimes he freezes up like a baby deer. He doesn’t like crowds and isn’t the biggest fan of getting touched by surprise. Jayce changed that for him a little bit. He says Jayce’s touches are wired directly to his cock. 

Cool, because same. 

Jayce can’t get enough of Viktor, in a way that would be really problematic without the commitment to a collar. It’s a wedding ring for sluts. It’s not a wedding ring. It’s not. Jayce has to remind himself a hundred plus times a day. If he wants to seal the deal, then it’s on him, as the top in the relationship. He would need to stud-up and head to the jeweler, ask for a size four ring with masculine vibes and a tasteful ruby in its center. He tries to limit his ring hunting to thirty minutes per day, though even with his phone screen locked, his head floats into the clouds and dreams up their entire wedding. 

If Viktor is amenable, they would have it at the Talis family cabin. 

But they aren’t there yet. According to the internet, Jayce should wait an entire year, until the honeymoon phase ends. Jayce knows himself. He knows this phase will last for-fucking-ever. Viktor is endless honey and Jayce is over the moon for him. They’re up in the stars and nothing, nothing, could bring Jayce down. Except Viktor’s rejection, of course. 

As long as he has the collar, he’s fine. The collar is the promise. The not-an-engagement-ring. 

Collared pets have a lot more privileges than mere flings. Their contact is already pretty constant because of their Discord server, a genius idea cooked up by a babely genius. But their conversations become nonstop, with their channels full and their messages blitzed back and forth any evening they're apart. They do meet almost every day of the week, either in public or at one of their houses. 

Viktor is in control of certain aspects of Jayce’s life, especially as it pertains to masturbation. Jayce reports his erections and Viktor decides whether or not Jayce is allowed to jack off. He kinda loves it, the lack of the choice. Then he doesn’t have to feel like a pervert when he does finally come, because he either does it with Viktor in the flesh, or on his own, to the tune of many good boys. 

Of course, contact with anyone else, romantic or sexual is strictly forbidden. For both of them. To them, the collar commitment means monogamy, which is perfect for Jayce. He has a lot of love in his heart, but it needs to be directed at one person, otherwise his jealousy flares up like crazy. Like he can get murderous. Luckily he and Viktor moved fast enough to skip the step where Jayce fantasizes about dropping anyone who dared to flirt with his partner in a river with a cinderblock chained to their ankle.

These days, the only person Viktor plays with is Jayce. They show up to kink functions with Jayce collared and kept on his leash, a pretty universal symbol of belonging. Of my master is busy, and I will bite if you get close. Vanilla people will never know the joy of being leashed to their lover in social settings. Talk about jealousy eradication. Jayce’s insecurity levels have never been lower since being accepted as Viktor’s private pet. 

He’s an active pet, a service top and a service dog, who helps get his master situated at each event. It means he finds friends for Viktor to talk to, or finds him a seat and a glass of water. Master’s comfort is paramount, especially in new venues with lots of people. Sometimes they enact scenes with an audience, and sometimes they play privately, with Jayce’s good behavior as the litmus test for how much pussy he’ll get to munch. If he follows Viktor’s commands to a T, he’s more likely to get his favorite treat. 

Naturally, Jayce does not let Viktor down. He’s never felt more stable and useful than as a devoted pet. His FetLife profile bursts to life with new pictures of himself all tied up, the knots courtesy of the good doctor Viktor. There are a lot of harnesses that frame his pecs, or encapsulate his entire body, leaving his half-chub to hang free. That work is more artsy than functional. Though there are the other binds that force Jayce’s head down or up. That fix his arms together, or force his legs to spread. The more vulnerable positions make his dick go crazy, and he has to wait to nut until Viktor permits it. He’s come from just the tiniest graze of Viktor’s fingers against his tip. It’s insanely sexy. Makes the crowd go wild. He doesn't mind showing off in the slightest. In fact, he gets insane vindication for all his work in the gym and dedication to a balanced diet. So many kinksters compliment his physique, particularly when it's bundled up in knots and spilling from between lengths of rope. 

They get a little bit of reputation. Jayce prefers to call it lots of friends, who enjoy any party where Jayce and Viktor do shibari on main. Jayce’s pictures earn him a lot of attention and a lot of invites, plus some unfortunate DMs that he makes Viktor reply to. People overlook the collared part of his profile when they get too worked up over his pictures. They slide in asking if puppy wants to play when the answer is hell no, I’m taken. Jayce even updates his about section to make it clear: 

Collared puppytop owned exclusively by the_arcane_herald ❤️ I love making new friends but I am NOT available to any other play partners. Please respect my boundaries or you will be blocked! 

It’s about as rude as he gets. He likes having people to talk shop with, but does not like when people try to put the moves on. He and Viktor agree to stay on FetLife together because it’s not like they’ve called the kink thing quits. That’s their social circle, and the place where they catalogue all their freak shit. Jayce gets so many ideas by scrolling through other peoples’ pages, or through lists of kinks. Embracing horniness is the joy of Jayce’s life. 

Viktor, of course, is one hundred percent down for it. He acquires a daytime collar so Jayce can feel safe and secure at work, a simple golden chain with a little o-ring at the center. He finds himself fidgeting with it at work or at home, fingering the little ring to remind himself that he’s claimed. He belongs. He has a little pocket of the  universe big enough to fit him and his beloved. They’re committed to this lifestyle so much that Jayce wears it around his neck 24/7. 

They put a lot of new tools in their tool belt. Jayce’s fast favorite is his kennel, installed not at Jayce’s place, but at Viktor’s. The giant cage fits snugly in the corner of Viktor’s bedroom. After work, Jayce is welcome to come over and curl up inside it. Viktor can sense when Jayce needs it most, on shitty days when he loses his temper with a coworker, or feels too overwhelmed by all the demands on his humanity. The solution is simple: become dog. Cozy up in a small space, and say nothing. Viktor will read or game while Jayce rests. He sets up a water bowl and a snack bowl, which is usually filled with a tasteful arrangement of charcuterie. The kennel is lined with a fluffy pillow pad and a small collection of soft toys. Jayce loves hugging the little stuffed rabbit while grinding mobile Runescape. Peak nostalgia that soothes him whenever he needs it.

That’s his good boy side, the side that shows most of the time. But he’s a puppy, so he has slip ups. He requires a bit of additional training. 

Specifically housebreaking. 

Look—Jayce was always housebroken. Like, that was never an issue. 

Not until they made it one, on purpose. 

Jayce has had it listed on profile for a really long time, like before he met Viktor, he’s pretty sure. But he isn’t the one to bring it up. Viktor does, during a date night dinner at Jayce’s place. He attempts to impress Viktor by whipping up some svíčková, a Czech beef dish with cream sauce and potato dumplings. It’s part of his mission to get Viktor to eat more. He always claims to be not hungry, but man, is he fucking skinny. The skinny part is sexy. Jayce just worries he isn’t getting enough nutrients to support his immune system. 

That night, he mops every last speck of sauce from his plate, using the pad of his finger. Viktor shirking table manners to get fed bricks Jayce’s heart to max capacity. 

And like always, as soon as he’s done eating, he segues into their scene plans. Jayce is prepared for simple puppy CNC, maybe a bit of flogging. Viktor has other ideas. He opens with: 

“So what if we work on housebreaking?” 

Jayce lets out a compulsive laugh. He thinks maybe Viktor is joking, with his bespoke bone-dry delivery. Jayce pictures himself peeing on the rug and shudders. What a mess. A stinky one. 

“What? No longer keen on the idea?” 

“Idea? What idea?” 

“Watersports, Jayce. Piss, if you want to get crude with it.” 

Blush balloons in Jayce’s cheeks. Sometimes, when Viktor launches Jayce’s own kinks at him, he feels little talons of shame naggle his brain. What was Jayce thinking when he put that on his page? He’s a guy who hates messes. He loves his apartment and wouldn’t dare go around marking his territory. It takes a second for him to sink into the horny zone. Really luxuriate in what makes his dick hard. It comes to him, in the form of instant arousal: Viktor on his knees, the territory that needs claiming. Jayce letting loose on his master, even though it’s naughty. It’s instinct. 

Then there’s the punishment. The reciprocation. Jayce, prone, receiving the same treatment. Rub my nose in it, master. Piss on me, please. 

“Jayce,” Viktor warns. “I can’t read your mind. Speak up.” 

Cheeks raging, Jayce divulges his wet vision. At the end, Viktor smirks. 

“Yes, this idea will work. Well done, pet.” 

They agree to do it in the shower, the second best place to pee. Jayce’s master suite has a really nice walk-in, with grippy stone tiles and plenty of space for two people. It could probably fit four people if they were all buddies. Most importantly, it has a large bench where Viktor can sit if he gets tired of standing. 

Before they make it to the shower, however, Viktor calls for some foreplay. What he says is called bladder control. It means Jayce has to drink as much liquid as Viktor offers him, and his liquid of choice happens to be beer. He says it will make holding it much harder, especially after two or three, interspersed with rounds of water. All the beverages are poured into Jayce’s dog bowl. He crouches naked at Viktor’s feet while Viktor picks up a book to read. 

One of the games they play is called ignore Jayce. Viktor enjoys it most when Jayce’s cock is hardest. Puppies are not allowed to jack off, so Jayce has to sit patiently until Master is ready. Master takes his time. He likes testing Jayce’s obedience. 

Jayce is really good at this game on a normal night. He’s lasted actual hours with borderline painful erections that need just the smallest breeze to blow. 

Not tonight. 

Tonight is a struggle. He’s midway through beer three when the urge to pee hits. It clashes with his hard-on and kinda battles for dominance. Like his dick doesn’t know whether to let out pee or get even harder about it. If he leans into the arousal, he gets worried that piss will come out. Nothing can come out of his dick, not piss and not cum, not until Master says. 

Jayce tries to distract himself. He has a rope toy he gnaws at for a little while. He slurps the other half of the beer when Master commands it, then drinks the full bowl of water he brings back. 

“Alcohol is very dehydrating. I wouldn’t want you to get hungover.” 

Dog Jayce doesn’t laugh. He laps up the water, so much that it distends his stomach. It makes him wonder just how much pee can hold before his bladder maxes out. Like will the liquid stay in his stomach after that? Does it bloat all his veins? He’s surely getting close to the limit. If he doesn’t concentrate, he’s afraid he’ll let out little spurts of pee. He paws at himself as much as he’s allowed, until Master says, “Cut that out.” 

Jayce becomes whiny. He can’t use words to convey the urgency to Master, so he has to use gestures. He butts into Master’s calf, but Master swats him away. He’s forced to climb onto the couch, which could end really terribly, really wet. He noses into Master’s hands, where he holds his book. 

“What is it, pet? You’re in quite a state.” 

Jayce woofs and glances over his shoulder, in the direction of the bathroom. 

“I need fifteen minutes,” Master says. “Can you wait that long?” 

Jayce nods, not because he thinks he can wait, but because he doesn’t want to disappoint. He curls up beside Master while the pressure on his bladder melds into a sharp, stabbing sensation. Needles poke his belly all the way down his urethra. It takes all his energy to suspend the drops of pee that want to leak out. He can’t. Not on his couch. Not here in his living room. 

So he snaps. 

Sometimes, when he’s a dog, he gets into what he calls hound mode. Like way more animalistic. That’s his side that topples Viktor over. That eats his cunt until he begs for mercy. Hounds aren’t as limited in their actions as puppies. Hounds take what they want, because they’re feral. They’re masterless. Unfettered. 

Jayce clamps a mouthful of Viktor’s sleeve. He uses this mouthful to jerk Viktor to standing. He ignores Viktor’s startled gasp, his utterance of bad dog. 

Jayce stands too. Hounds are smart. This hound snags the front of Viktor’s shirt and drags him down the hall, despite his protestations: 

“What are you—you can’t—unhand me, beast, or else—” 

Jayce snarls in Viktor’s face when they land in the bathroom. He fake-rough manhandles Viktor’s unsteady limbs so that he sits on the bench. He doesn’t turn on the water. He doesn’t take off Viktor’s pretty button-down, or his tan chinos. There isn’t time. The minute Jayce gets Viktor lower than him, his body takes over. He holds his cock and relaxes his bladder. 

Viktor hates it. He squirms under the hot spray that immediately soaks him to his skin. His shirt clings to his flat chest and protruding ribs. Jayce aims a good amount of piss directly onto Viktor’s cock, hoping that it’s agony. He feels himself swell with pride at the act, at the pretty sight of Viktor cowering with nowhere to go, coated in Jayce’s stink. 

“Mine,” he grunts. “All mine.” 

Viktor offers nothing but a whimper, his head thrown back against the tile wall, his jaw quaking in disbelief as he looks down at his soaked clothes. He looks from his body to Jayce and back. As the last drips fall, quiet settles. The quiet of reckoning. Beneath Jayce’s shadow, Master trembles. His brow can’t find a steady shape. It furrows, twists, raises and lowers. 

The first word he sputters is, “Bad.” It’s soft, startled. “Bad, bad dog.” 

It guts Jayce like a fish. He doesn’t intend to do bad things, they just happen sometimes, when he gets out of control. He was hurting so badly after drinking all that beer, so bloated it felt like the skin over his abs was going to rip open. 

“I’m sorry,” says Jayce. “Let me—” 

Jayce offers Viktor a hand up, but Viktor bats it away with a curt, stinging slap. 

“Down,” he commands, charged with resonance. 

Jayce drops to his knees. He isn’t going to fuck up anything else. He’s ready for whatever punishment Master thinks is right, because that will make them even, and make Jayce a good boy again. He doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle while Master undresses. He does so with disgust, clearly perturbed by the excess of urine that drips from each garment. He peels off his shirt, then unbelts and shimmies out of his pants. Even his boxers are drenched. They cling to his twiggy thighs. He shakes as he pulls them down, one arm braced against the wall. 

Once naked, he stands directly in front of Jayce. He slips a palm over his pubes and bares his reddened cock. So tasty. Such a good treat. Jayce’s mouth waters just looking at it and recognizing its swollen state. He wants to ask nicely for it, but Master would hate it if he opened his mouth right now. 

“Open up,” says Viktor. 

Well. That was easier than expected. Jayce does as he’s told and moves his parted lips toward Viktor’s cock. But that’s not the treat Viktor intended. He restrains Jayce by grabbing a handful of his hair. 

“No,” he says. “You’re going to drink.” 

Viktor begins to pee. At first his stream hits Jayce’s upper chest, but then he directs it north, up Jayce’s neck, directly into his mouth. The taste is a little startling, but not too much. Viktor squirts sometimes, tiny dribbles when he’s stuffed full of fingers and relinquishes control of himself for all of five seconds. Piss is salty and tangy and warm, delicious if it comes out of Viktor. Jayce swallows what he can, though in between swallows piss slops down his chin. He chokes on it a bit and coughs it out, but recommits to the next mouthful. 

As the stream wanes, Jayce takes his chance at eating cock. He takes handfuls of Viktor’s delicate haunches and thrusts his face between Viktor’s legs. He can’t be cross if he’s coming, that’s simple mathematics. So Jayce delivers the best apology he can with his tongue, lashing against Viktor’s inflamed cock. He lets out a stunned wheeze and staggers back. Jayce guides him to sitting on the bench in one smooth drop. 

They’ve already figured out that Viktor can’t nut standing or he’ll collapse. Better to eat him out when he’s already down. This way Jayce can spread his legs even further and press his entire face into Viktor’s gash. He’s usually pretty sensitive about washing up after peeing if he knows Jayce is going to chow-town. But Jayce likes unwashed Viktor. He likes the combo of accumulated sweat and pee and sweet pussy flavor that’s stuck in every crevice. Jayce doesn’t even eat cock and cunt to make his partner come. He eats it because it’s his favorite food. Nothing feels better than being between his favorite partner's legs, putting his tongue to good use. You can’t be a bad guy while sucking someone off. The orgasms are just a side a perk of being so skilled. 

Viktor tenses right before he comes. He clamps his knees into Jayce’s sides and arcs his spine like he’s being electrified. There’s no announcement, just a little tangle of stupefied noises. 

“Ah, oh, em—” 

And his hole collapses on Jayce’s tongue. He scours out the last of Viktor’s slick, though he doesn’t try to push his luck by lingering down there. Best he can do is clean Viktor up and vacate the area. He smiles when he’s done. 

“Scene over?” he asks. 

Viktor gives a bewildered nod. “I don’t know if I could last another minute. How are you faring? Did you want, ah, full servicing?” 

Jayce glances at his well-chubbed dick. “A handy in bed would be perfect. Maybe once we’re all showered.” 

So they unleash the watersports demon. They keep it relatively tame, though Jayce gets an unfortunate pavlovian connection to his shower. Every time he’s in there with Viktor he thinks about peeing on him. Thinks about fucking his mouth after. He gets that about half the time, the other half the time, their showers are strictly post-coital business. They have plenty of other tricks in their debauchery bag. 

Chief among them, professor-student. 

It’s a good go-to for some uncomplicated, non-puppy fun. Jayce is the one who brings up this kink because it practically bursts from his seams. He doesn’t even really ask—not the best protocol, but something he blurts mid couch-makeout: 

“Will this help my grade, Professor?”

Viktor blinks at him for a few tense seconds before surrendering one of his pleased, kitty-cat smirks. 

“Fuck me hard and find out.” 

They engage in furious missionary right there on Viktor’s sofa, complete with a creampie. Yes, Jayce earns himself an A. Viktor goes so far as to hobble to his desk and scrounge up one of the stars from Jayce’s progress chart. He sticks it to Jayce’s left tit, and Jayce keeps it there all night. 

That opens the floodgates to more complicated scenes. Jayce loves the play-acting part of kink, especially when he’s play-acting himself in grad school, except instead of assholes and geriatrics for professors, he has the dashing Professor Sokol. More or less all of the scenes involve Jayce trying to earn a better grade. Sometimes he fails a test and begs for a retake, other times he’s at office hours to complete extra credit. Sometimes Viktor is the one who initiates, spreading his legs for cunnilingus under the desk. Other times Jayce advances. He flattens Viktor against the wall and sticks his hands down Viktor’s pants: 

“Don’t lie to me, Professor. I know you want this.” 

Aggressive Jayce is quickly taught a lesson. He gets bent over the desk and spanked to a stinging pulp. 

“I'll do better next time. I promise. I promise.” 

Viktor adopting the role of professor has got to be an S tier on the hotness scale. His wardrobe lends itself perfectly to academia, as does his cool demeanor. He works Jayce into a tizzy when he bombards him with questions about why he turned in his paper late, or why he missed class, or why was caught toying with an erection mid-lecture. Jayce finds himself on the verge of tears, heart pounding like he's being hunted for sport. But also turned on beyond belief, because he knows it’s a fantasy, that he doesn’t need to redo his assignments. He needs to fuck his professor senseless, gobble his cock and plow his glossy cunt. Their sessions always end with Viktor scribbling an A+ on a random print-out. 

Jayce is halfway tempted to keep these props. For like, self esteem reasons. 

I am a star student! Look what Daddy Professor gave me! 

Unpacking his baggage does become a natural consequence of their intimacy. Pretty unavoidable when they spend so much time opening up each other’s guts. Jayce tells Viktor about his academic struggles and subsequent diagnoses. He even goes way far back into the trenches of St. Mary’s, after a paddling sesh cut short by a sudden trauma resurgence. 

“I knew this was opening up something Catholic,” Viktor says, while they recuperate via cuddling in bed. 

“I like it most of the time,” says Jayce. “When you do it. Because it’s you. I know you won’t hurt me. It's like if my dad actually cared.” 

Viktor gets scientific with it. He explains why kink is a healthy coping mechanism for traumatic experiences if done safely and consensually with trusted companions. Jayce knew this before, he thinks, but he really knows now. He holds the validation close to his chest: Viktor said my perversions are okay, actually, and Viktor is the smartest guy around. 

“So what are you coping with while smacking me senseless?” Jayce asks, because it’s only fair. 

“Ah, inferiority complex, I think. A man like me is not slated for world domination, but I can sample it in small doses. Especially with a gorgeous stud subject to my every whim.” 

Jayce smiles bashfully. The gorgeous stud is him. The whims are Viktor’s. It checks out that domming boosts his ego. He really deserves it. He doesn’t even need to be bossing Jayce around for Jayce to feel his quiet, calculating power. 

“Just so you know,” says Jayce. “I’ll always be in awe of you. I don’t know how to put it, because it’s just a feeling, but you’re like, so composed. Like you don’t even have to say anything and you have an air of authority. You deserve all the respect in the world. You’re strong and graceful at the same time. The kinda guy I’d go to war for. Not because you're a damsel, but because you're my king.” 

Viktor’s mole-kissed skin reddens. His golden doe eyes get watery, and Jayce’s pulse accelerates. He probably crossed a line. Got too gushy for their sexual arrangement. 

Viktor looks away, at some spot over Jayce’s shoulder. 

“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Jayce kisses his rumpled forehead and scoops his head against his chest. 

“Do you want more?” Jayce asks. “I could go all night. Seriously. Plenty more where that came from.” 

It’s not all roses and sunshine, unfortunately. Safe words exist for a reason, and kinky sex will flash a guy’s guts like nothing else. They're already playing with knives and fire and other deadly devices, like the fragile human psyche. Jayce can’t claim to be perfectly stable, and he’s definitely not made out of steel. He’s a freaking puppy. 

They go harder with the bondage part of BDSM, in tandem with going harder at the puppy stuff. Jayce gets black leather mittens and a matching black leather mask that comes with the option of over-eye coverage. Like, making Jayce blind. They bring a cock cage into the mix for ultimate orgasm control. Jayce likes this stuff. He sees it all as an extension of his kennel, but closer to his body. Not only does he not have to think about the outside world, he doesn’t have to see it, or feel it, or even smell it. He puts all his trust in Viktor to be his eyes and ears. It’s weirdly comforting. 

They practice some restraint scenes at home, cozy style, where Jayce trots around with a caged cock all evening. Perhaps Viktor goes to do the dishes and leaves Jayce tied up in bed, forced to wait for Master to return so he can come. Since Master is very kind, he usually doesn’t cage Jayce for too long, especially when he’s fully worked up. Handjobs after being freed from that thing hit so beautifully. 

Jayce figures playing like that outside their homes will be similar enough. They get an invite to Vander’s monthly pet play party, and Jayce convinces Viktor to go. He’s a little shy about new places, but secretly a showoff when it comes to his domming and rigging skills. Jayce figures it’ll be the perfect setting to flaunt his new pup gear. 

That, and his increased impact stamina. He’s becoming a total pro. 

Jayce points out the pictures on Vander’s FetLife page of what he refers to as the obedience bench. It’s a raised and padded bench that forces the user onto all fours, ass out. Perfect for puppies and for Masters who prefer not to kneel. 

“Imagine me in that,” Jayce says. “You can’t say no.” 

Viktor says yes. The moment they arrive at the party and receive a quick lay-of-the-land tour, Viktor scouts out the obedience bench. He very pragmatically confirms with Vander that he and Jayce can make use of it molto presto, which Vander greenlights. 

“Knock yourselves out, boys,” he barks with a slap to Jayce’s back. “I’ll stop by in a bit to see how you’re doing.” 

It starts great. Jayce has no trouble climbing onto the bench and staying still for the cuffing procedure. Thick leather straps buckle his wrists and ankles to the small padded platforms they rest on. Viktor cages Jayce’s cock, but leaves his balls out of it, dangling in the open air. He opts to use the blindfold option on his pup hood, zipping him shut. 

Goodbye, world. Jayce must live by sensation now. He bites a silicone gag that keeps him quiet. The hood dims most sound unless words are spoken in close proximity. He smells nothing but foggy breath and leather polish. He sees black. 

He feels a lot. 

Viktor starts with more tame sensory play, running a feather duster along the contours of Jayce’s body. A little something to get his goosebumps going. Then he uses his fingertips, which revs up Jayce’s dick. It has nowhere to go but against the slim steel bars of his cage. It hurts in a really satisfying way. 

Then comes impact. The riding crop, Jayce can tell, by its tight and precise sting when it smacks his right haunch. Viktor warms up the left side too, high and low, until all of Jayce’s backside glows like a massive coal. To Jayce, it’s as good as being bundled in a blanket, but with scores more vindication. I have paid. I am even with the universe. 

Well, not quite. That isn’t the end of their agreed-to scene. The next thwap of the crop lands squarely on Jayce’s sack. He jolts forward, his bulk rattling the joints of the bench. His restraints clink as he fights against them. He bares down hard onto his gag. Oh, it fucking hurts. It feels like white hot flame. Like his balls are nothing but cinder. 

And yet his dick gets even harder. 

Jayce doesn’t have time to question his faulty wiring. Master cups his balls in a gentle hand, thumbing the seam of his scrotum. 

“How’s that, pet?” Viktor asks. “Can you handle more?” 

Jayce gives one swift nod. When he’s all bound up, their communication is all nods and shakes. One shake is code for ease up. Many shakes means hard stop. Jayce really thinks he can outlast Master, make him proud with endurance and acceptance of punishment. The next lash shoots pain all the way up to his watery, unseeing eyes. He blinks out tears that join the drool dripping from his chin. He nods aggressively for more, because nothing else speaks so clearly to his aching cock. He needs those smacks. They feed him. They provide the relief the cage denies him. 

Jayce browns out somewhere around the tenth lash. He loses coherent thought and gets a little delirious, a little listless. He humps into the bench with his head hung, as if his dick is anywhere close to the comfort of a hole or a hand. 

“My sweet,” says Viktor. His hand rests on Jayce’s bare shoulder blade like a gentle snowflake. “You’ve done very well. Would you like to get off?” 

Jayce nods, wishing he could glean the comfort of Viktor’s face. Viktor would probably be softly smiling, the way he does when punishment is through. He keeps a hand on Jayce as he circles around him. He futzes with the cockcage. When it springs free, Jayce hears the hazy outline of the words, “Ow, shit. Blood. Oh.” 

Then Viktor’s touch is gone. So is the reassuring tap of his cane, and the little grunts he makes while rigging. Jayce tries to say his name, but of course, the gag garbles it. He tries to fight his cuffs, but Viktor didn’t remove them. Blood. He said the word blood, Jayce is certain. Then he stopped talking. Did he pass out? Is he behind Jayce right now, bleeding to death? Are there other people? There’s chatter nearby and distant moans, but not like, medical emergency type talk. 

Jayce tries saying Viktor’s name again. In fact, he doesn’t shut up. He calls for Viktor, for Master, for help. None of it sounds like anything with the gag in his mouth. He thrashes on the bench. He figures maybe he can break it in half; he’s big and strong enough. But sadly the bench is harder. The effort exhausts him. Viktor abandoning him was not a part of the scene they discussed. It’s pretty much hell to be without him. Jayce has nothing left. All alone. Back to the pound. Any takers? Tears burn down his cheeks as he shakes his head back and forth, wishing that anyone else knew it was time for this to be over. 

Then a familiar voice calls to him: 

“I’m so sorry, pet. I’m here. I’m here.” 

Viktor makes quick work of removing Jayce’s hood and gag, at which point he hugs Jayce’s head in his arms, squished into his belly. 

“I’m done,” Jayce says. His muscles shake like he just hit an insane lift. “I’m done.” 

“I know,” Viktor says. 

“You left.” 

He looks up at Viktor and realizes how thick the tears are. How he’s stuck on the verge of sobbing, nerves frayed to shit. 

“I cut myself on your stupid cage,” Viktor says. He shows Jayce a bandaged finger. “I should have said where I was going. I’m sorry, pet.” 

“I’m panicking,” says Jayce. “I need to get out of this shit.” 

“Ah, yes. Yes. Hold on. I will hurry.” 

Jayce doesn’t feel any calmer until he’s off the bench. No more mittens or hood or cage, just him and his collar and Viktor leading him to a private bedroom. Jayce cuddles Viktor possessively in bed, hugging his skinny body into his frontside. He regulates his breath with deep inhales from the top of Viktor’s head. It takes a long time of laying there in the mood-lit room for the bloodknives of terror to retreat. That was really fucked up. Not the part where Viktor had to get help, but the fact that him leaving made Jayce freak out so bad. He’s almost disappointed in himself for being that needy. Like he knew, but now he really knows. And it hurts. 

Jayce relaxes his hold on Viktor enough for them to be able to look at each other, though he keeps a protective hand on Viktor’s waist. 

“I’m very sorry, Jayce. I should not have left like that. Not without better communication. In the future, I will be much more explicit about any actions that will take me out of earshot.” 

“It’s not your fault. I’m not pissed or anything. Not at you. I’m more like, freaked out about myself. Like it legit scared me when you left.” 

“You were in a vulnerable position. Distress seems quite certain.” 

“Yeah, for sure. That makes sense.” 

“So we’re all good?” 

“All good,” says Jayce. 

Because he can’t say the other part: if you leave me for real, I would die. We play-acted my worst nightmare by mistake. 

Do not abandon me. 

You’re mine now. 

Mine.

Ironically, Jayce is next in line to fuck up. The thing about fuck-ups is they’re bound to happen. It’s a human thing. No matter how hard they practice their communication, feelings are hurt, lines are crossed, and repairs must be made. It goes down at an innocuous open tie night, which is probably why Jayce gets lax with his duties. He feels really in his element at the rope club, same with Viktor. Like Viktor can navigate that space without Jayce, because it was Viktor’s space first. 

Jayce gets Viktor set up with a drink and a spot on his favorite couch in the corner. The couches fill up and Jayce switches to standing behind Viktor, with his leash in Viktor’s hand. It’s all people Viktor knows well. He literally yaps with them, shining bright as they discuss their rigs for the night in highly technical detail. When Viktor asks for another sparkling water and releases Jayce’s leash, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

Over at the bev table, though, Jayce strikes up a convo with a cute-looking twink who says he wants to get into pet play. He says he’d be a cat, which is super adorable. He honestly looks a lot like Viktor, pale and European, but with longer brown hair, the front strands bleached white. He sports tight spandex shorts that show off neck down tattoos. Like seriously, he’s got ink from his chin to his fingertips to his toes. It’s probably that visual similarity that keeps Jayce hooked in their conversation. Jayce has a lot to say about pet play and it’s transfixing to talk while mentally tracing the geometry of the guy’s tattoos. 

By the time they part ways, the unopened can in Jayce’s hand is warm, so he swaps it out for a new one. But Viktor isn’t on the couch when Jayce returns. He isn’t on any of the mats, either. Not that he would be, he only rigs with Jayce now. Jayce checks the small kitchen and the cubby area, no Viktor. He goes upstairs to the secondary rigging area, but finds zero Viktor. He peeks his head out to the small patio where people smoke, but with Viktor’s lung stuff, it’s a long shot. 

He isn’t there. 

It isn’t like Viktor to dip without a word. He rode over with Jayce, so it’s not like he can just walk home. Jayce is almost ready to fully lose his shit when he remembers to check the bathrooms, two unisex rooms beside each other. One is unlocked and empty. The second is locked, so Jayce knocks on it. 

“Hey, V?” 

“Ah, I’m here. Sorry. It’s unlocked now.” 

Jayce opens the door to see Viktor sitting on the floor, his legs extended across the white tile. It’s unexpected, and Jayce almost cracks a joke, until Viktor aims a wounded expression up at him. His golden eyes teem with water. He looks clobbered in a way Jayce has never seen before. 

“Oh, shit,” says Jayce. “What’s going on, babe?” 

Jayce parks his ass across from Viktor, his legs bent, his bare feet resting beside Viktor’s butt. He uses his big toes to stroke the sides of Viktor’s hips. 

“I saw you talking to that guy,” Viktor says in a vacant voice. 

“Harry? Do you know him?” 

Viktor shakes his head. “Never seen him. He’s very pretty though.” 

“I mean, sure. Not as pretty as you.” 

Jayce pets Viktor’s knees. He would kill Harry right now if it meant he could see Viktor smile, instead of looking like he just surfaced from a bout of trench warfare. 

“I got so jealous,” Viktor says. “It was rather terrifying. I thought about interrupting. I know I could have, logically. Introduced myself. I spiralled a bit instead. So I am here.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Jayce asks. 

“Are we codependent?” Viktor asks back.

The question cuts. The word codependent is Jayce’s sleep paralysis demon. It’s the monster under his parietal bone. Jayce hears shitty nervous laughter escape his lips. Codependent is an axe. The death sentence to all his relationships. It’s what happened when he was on the obedience bench, and it’s probably what happened to Viktor when he saw Jayce talking to another guy. Like yes, they’re exclusive, but maybe Viktor is just as addicted to keeping Jayce at arm’s reach as he is. 

Not maybe—it’s a fact. The whole collar and leash thing is a sloppy, horny reproduction of Jayce’s insecurities: he can’t leave me. I wear his name on my neck. 

But he can. It can all end. It’s not just fun and games. It’s their entire psychology that they’re messing with. Jayce can’t blame Viktor for hating how he feels when Jayce goes off leash. They shouldn’t need each other that badly. It’s unhealthy. It’s unsustainable. 

It's got an expiration date. 

Duh. 

“Jayce, come now. Don’t cry.” 

Too late. Jayce hides in his hands while he shudders out some weeping. They lasted five months, which is a pretty good record, but Jaye was shooting for five decades minimum. He thought he was being really good, but he was being a fucking dog. For sex. Kink or no kink, he’s an emotional wreck. The collar was a nice fairytale, but it was too good to be true. No one wants him around for that long. No one wants a guy this smothering, this stupid, this sinful. He’s born bad and he’ll die bad. Alone, probably. 

Viktor rubs circles into Jayce’s bare thighs. “I think, perhaps if you share the first thought on your mind, we can continue this discussion?” 

“Are you breaking up with me?” 

Jayce says it from beneath a visored hand, unable to meet Viktor’s eye. Viktor scoots himself into a crosslegged position between Jayce’s legs. He holds both of Jayce’s cheeks and says, “Absolutely not.” 

He pairs it with an intense but loving look. Viktor is always honest, so that’s good. He doesn’t hide his bullshit. That’s probably why they’ve made it so far. Clear communication. The secret sauce. 

If their relationship isn’t on the line, that will make this conversation much easier. 

“I don’t have any other way to be,” Jayce surrenders. “I’m always codependent, V. I’m the fucking worst.” 

“Ah, no. Don’t talk about yourself like that. You are an exemplary human. I am simply pondering the depths of my own desires.” 

“Is that what happened in your spiral?” 

“Yes. Do you, ah, remember what you said? That first night at my place?” 

Jayce thinks back. That was a while ago. It would have been the first night they got naked together. There was some pussy eating, some impact play. That really premium handy. Jayce said a lot of stuff though. He runs his damn mouth, and that dinner date was no exception. It was their get-to-know-you date, so they yapped about everything, from food preferences to who should be the next president. 

“You said you loved me,” says Viktor. 

Oh. Hah. Right. The memory returns to Jayce in the form of wickedly hot blush and a fresh crop of tears. He’s buried that one. Luckily, it hasn’t resurfaced. Saying the L word once was enough. It let off a substantial amount of steam and Jayce has coasted ever since. No need to dig up old skeletons. 

“Yeah,” Jayce eventually gets out. “Uh, sorry. We don’t have to—”

“What does it feel like?” 

“Oh, uh—” 

Jayce shuts his eyes and pushes out tears. Emotion simmers high in chest, choking him. He’s getting whiplash. He’s diving headfirst into the flooded cavern of his heart. No point in tamping it down, right? 

“It feels like, crazy, I guess. It’s a full body feeling. Devotion. You’re on my mind, with like, angelic music playing in the background. You’re in my heart. It pounds like crazy when I think about you. Like so much it hurts. It hurts, definitely, in a good way. Same way with pain play, you know? Well, not the total same. It’s not like, painful to be with you. It’s consuming though. It’s a type of madness for sure. I know about the chemistry of love, how it’s illusions and fried circuits, whatever the fuck. I don’t care about that. I love how it feels. The chemicals are real. They were real on our first date, and they’re just as real now. I fucking live for it. Like what’s the point of being alive without being in love?” 

Viktor absorbs the diatribe with a few blinks. Jayce would feel worse if his Viktor wasn’t still cradling his face. The touch is grounding. It contains the phrase I’m here and I’m listening. There isn’t a breakup happening. Jayce will survive this. 

“So you would say you’re still in love, then.” 

“Yeah, definitely. I can’t help it. It’s who I am.”

“I feel mad,” Viktor says. 

“Like angry?” 

Viktor shakes his head. “I feel out of control. My least favorite feeling of all. I was very accustomed to a certain set of emotions, a certain chemical state as it were. A very regulated brain chemistry. I did not really imagine romance happening in my life. I had written it off. When I met you, that all went to shit. A total recalibration, in what felt like a whirlwind of irrationality, my other nemesis. I have fought it instinctually. To love is to endanger oneself. That’s what I thought.” 

“V, babe. You aren’t in danger. Not with me.” 

Jayce takes Viktor’s hands in his, moving them from his face so that they rest, intertwined, in Viktor’s lap. He thumbs the back of Viktor's knuckles, a little reassurance. Viktor trembles. He sniffs. He lets out two tears, which is more than Jayce has ever seen from him. Jayce wishes he could beam infinite comfort straight through his lover’s heart, so he never suffers again. The best he can do is be present. To love is to show up. To be, together. 

“I know,” Viktor says. “I know. It’s odd how terrifying I find that. Safety. Comfort. I think this is common for those with CPTSD. I keep waiting for the snake in the grass to come and end this pretty thing we have.” 

“We can fight off any snakes, V. Really. I totally believe in us. We have to lean into it, though. Loving each other, and protecting that love. It’s work, for sure. But I think we’ve both proven that we’re up for the job.” 

Viktor nods, his head hung, so that all Jayce can see is the round tip of his nose and the water dripping from his chin. He knows the world is whirring in his partner’s mind, loud and unknowable. A soup of sparks that is basically impossible to turn into language. They have no choice but to try their best. Even when they can’t translate, they can default to the baseline hum of love. The emotional strings that bind them tight. 

When Viktor looks up, he hits Jayce with his internal universe, glittering in eyes like fragmented sunlight. If Jayce wasn’t sitting, he’d be flat on his ass, then on his knees, supplicating this absolute solar Almighty.

“I am madly in love with you,” Viktor says. 

“Yeah?” says Jayce. “For real?” 

He feels himself floating up towards the ceiling, somehow reaching new emotional heights from the floor of a bathroom. He could run a marathon right now. He could climb the highest mountain on the planet. He could perform an open heart surgery, and he may be obliged, because his heart thrashes at the base of his throat, a prime escape route. 

“Yes, the chemicals are real. I must agree. Although I would ask that you bear with me as I adjust. Love is quite unwieldy.” 

“I’m saying.” 

When Jayce offers up a smile, Viktor returns it, a sly uptick of his lips. 

“I know we play with power,” he says, “but I need you to know how much esteem I hold you in. I see us as great equals and great partners. Beyond that, I admire your ability to love so generously. You have a heart of gold Jayce, and it's an honor to be treasured within it.” 

“Babe,” Jayce whines. His entire jaw wobbles as moisture sluices his vision. Luckily Viktor is an easy hug target, being close as he is. Jayce curls his arms around Viktor’s shoulders and tucks his head beneath his chin. 

“You’re my favorite treasure, no doubt. God, I love you. Can I say it as much as I want now? I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m never letting you go. You're mine, Viktor. All mine.”

Chapter Text

Viktor is in love. 

He’s in love. 

What are the odds on that? He finally stopped fighting himself and surrendered to the chemical pandemonium known as love. It is as jarring and engrossing as his worst daydreams and most fantastical nightmares. His soul is on fire at all hours, and yet he persists, grinning like a moony fool. It is far better to lay down on the train tracks of passion and get steamrolled by its infinite freight than to waver at the station, unsure of which way to go. The place to go is Jayce’s arms. Jayce’s undying affection. He should have basked wholeheartedly in it from day one instead of waffling, but better late than never. He is glad to be on the same page as his inamorato. 

Love is absolutely free and as delightful to give as it to receive.

It ushers in a new era that Viktor likes to label long term committed partnership. The next steps from here are perhaps the most frightening, but Viktor can endure, mutually incubated in love. He feels no shame about spending six days out of seven with Jayce, and each night of the weekend. He is keenly aware of when Jayce’s lease ends, because he keeps mentioning it off-hand. 

“Yeah, I think I might move after my lease is up. Not really feeling this place. I kinda have this fund I can use to buy my own house. I feel like it's time to settle, you know?” 

Viktor can’t process these statements because they come bundled with the precious fact that Jayce is indeed a trust fund baby, though apparently the fund is explicitly for college education and property investment. Viktor has been saving for a down payment on a house in the artsy side of Piltover since he was freed from his doctorate salary shackles. He wants a detached place, maybe a craftsman, where he doesn’t have to share walls and sex noises. 

Cursorily, he pictures a backyard for Jayce: playing fetch in green grass. A new, exciting place to piss. 

Does that mean they live together? It’s anyone’s guess, and the source of minor heart palpitations for Viktor. 

They have a lot to keep them distracted, though. Like their six month anniversary. It feels a little silly to celebrate in chunks smaller than a year, but Jayce insists on a romantic weekend getaway. 

To his family’s lakeside cabin, nonetheless. 

The casual wealth makes Viktor’s toenails curl, though he’s mature enough to not look a gift horse in the month. A free trip is a free trip, and Viktor can’t say no to gluts of time shared with Jayce. He imagines the cabin the same as Jayce's apartment: catalogue quality, primed for social media. Cozy beverages and watching the snow fall through two-story windows. Jayce is an excellent chef and debuts a meal plan that makes Viktor giddy. He will be spoiled rotten by his pup, because his pup can’t operate any other way. 

Feels too good to be true, maybe. But Viktor is working very hard to banish the insecure demons in the back of his brain that decry their looksmatch and chemistry on a regular basis: he’s too neurotypical, too handsome. Wrong. Viktor is equally handsome, and Jayce is quite on par with the neurodivergence. So what if he has the yappy kind of ADHD? That plus a splash of borderline, he’s quite mentally freaky. It’s why they go so well together. Their coupling is no accident. It’s a beautiful fusion that Viktor is determined to venerate, to shield from his inner shitty forces that beg vigilance. 

He agrees to the cabin weekend. 

They drive up in Jayce’s slick midsize SUV, while snow falls softly, not thick enough to be a complete nuisance. It’s thematic and beautiful. Viktor plays jazzy electronic music and sips a gingerbread latte, holding hands with Jayce for nearly the entire ride. He’s bursting with piss by the time they wind down the tree-lined driveway, though the sight of the cabin shuts off the primal part of his brain in tune with his bladder. 

Good god above, it’s fancy. It isn’t a hokey cabin made out of fat orange logs stacked atop one another. It’s a modern build, with a sleek, angled roof, the sides panelled in vertical slats of cedar. Warm light glows from massive windows, giving the effect of a giant glowing lantern. 

“What the fuck,” says Viktor. A compulsive utterance under his breath. 

“Uh, yeah. One of my dad’s pet projects. He finished it like, right before he bit it. He bulldozed the original cabin and put this one in its place.” 

“It’s incredibly bourgeois.” 

“I know. So like, might as well enjoy it, right?” 

“Quite so. Shall we?” 

Viktor totters inside to the open entryway. Inside sits a variety of warm-toned Scandinavian furniture, with sleek woodwork and wool cushions. Each light fixture is a bespoke piece of bronze and crystal. Tastefully patterned rugs run along hardwood floors, tying the entryway to the first sitting room, to the dining room, to another sitting room with a TV in it. Viktor helps himself to the first powder room he spots, a clean cut cedar-panelled box with a wooden vanity whose top is tiled pine green. A copper basin sits on top of that, with a spa-like waterfall spout. 

It is kind of insane that Jayce comes from this. Viktor was aware of Jayce’s lifelong private education, and of his tumultuous relationship with his father. Riches aren’t a clean blessing if they come with a side of abuse. But the man is dead, so. 

Blessings upon blessings upon blessings is the name of the game. 

“What do you think?” Jayce asks, when Viktor surfaces from the bathroom. His hands reek of eucalyptus and rosemary in the best way possible. He wipes them even drier on the thighs of his slacks. 

“Ah, it’s astounding, Jayce. A little, ah. Well, I am envious.” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” 

Jayce pulls Viktor against him by his hips. The apology is presumably for Viktor being raised by his impoverished grandmother, with a rotating cast of characters, including an unfortunately handsy uncle. None of that is Jayce’s fault. 

“I am glad to be here,” Viktor says. “Thank you for having me.” 

Tonight’s dinner is sausage-stuffed portobello mushrooms with rice pilaf and a lemony chard side dish. It sits nicely in Viktor’s belly, as does the half glass of wine he permits himself. After that, he switches to a cocktail of unsweetened cranberry juice and ginger ale. They take the party to the sitting room Jayce calls the entertainment room, because it features a vintage record player and a stockpile of records. They pick out some old school country and chat while twangy female vocals fill the soundscape. 

It’s dreamy. It’s one of the moments where Viktor remembers to savor it in real time, because he’s never felt so full to bursting, so glowy, so carefree, so at ease. He has spent the majority of his life taut as a bowstring and ready to detonate. Only Jayce contains the power for Viktor to lower his guard and simply be. 

Their sex that night isn’t anything earthshattering: they exchange oral and manual sex, with no genital penetration. Keeping it tidy and simple, but no less pleasant. Viktor has never had a partner so skilled with his tongue, and Jayce contains the magic power of not rushing. At no point with his face stuffed between Viktor’s legs does Jayce give the impression of boredom or impatience. He delivers a thorough licking and sucking, seemingly for the enjoyment of the act itself. Viktor can then unclench, sink into the ridiculously high thread count of the bedding beneath him, and parse out as much praise as he wants when he comes. Miraculous, as always. 

Jayce enjoys Viktor’s hands. He stretches out on the bed and receives what Viktor considers to be a massage-type jerk. Well-oiled, geared toward pleasure in every stroke, not simply a means to an end, though the ending will be happy. Jayce is hesitant about being topped, but he doesn’t mind if Viktor slips a finger or two up his ass. Just enough to get the prostate involved in the massage package. Viktor has never seen him dump as much cum as he did the first time they tried this out. It’s a total cheat code, really. A couple of minutes up his rectum and he’s reduced to puppy whimpers, bucking into Viktor’s firm fist. He spills all over his belly, while Viktor dishes out a string of good boys. 

Mutually fucked out, they cuddle up in bed. When Viktor is ready for sleep, he prepares his meds and his spinal brace. Jayce assists when it comes to concocting the most ergonomic pillow fortress. 

Like always, they hold hands all night long. 

Their daytime cabin experience features huckleberry pancakes and long hours in front of an actual, woodburning fireplace and a floor-to-ceiling vista of frost covered trees. Viktor plows through his current read, a scifi epic, while Jayce rests his head in Viktor’s lap and plays the phone version of Runescape. They imbibe an ungodly amount of sweet, milky tea. Viktor takes care of most of the tea biscuits, salted shortbread that Jayce acquired specifically to enable Viktor’s addiction. 

It’s at lunch, over mouthwatering pesto-mozzarella sandwiches, that Jayce gets inquisitive. 

“So, did you give the idea any thought?” he asks. His tone is nonchalant, his smile easy. 

Viktor still feels his spine bristle—he knows exactly which idea Jayce references. He had brought it up on the ride there: primal. A chase in the woods surrounding the cabin. Viktor would be the prey, and Jayce the predator. A dog and his lame game. Not his words, of course, just Viktor’s immediate presumption. It wouldn’t be a real chase, because Viktor is an easy kill. Jayce insisted there wouldn’t need to be running, but something more like hide-and-seek. After that, they would engage in CNC. 

“Ah, somewhat,” Viktor answers. “I am still not so sure.” 

The thing is, Jayce’s idea is total domination. A true rape fantasy, where Viktor has not single shred of control. He wants Viktor to attempt control. To degrade him, perhaps smack him while he takes what he wants. But he will take it. 

“You can punish me after,” says Jayce. “Like I said. It’s like, I hunt you down, ravish you, then later, you can have your way with me. It’s like a two-parter, you know?”

“But, ah. I don’t know about the ravishment. You know my preferences.” 

“Yeah, totally, of course.” 

Jayce becomes fascinated with his glass of sparkling mineral water. He has this thing he does, where he acts very understanding in terms of verbal responses, but disappointment lurks so obviously in his voice, in his plastered-on smile that hides rejection right below. Viktor does not enjoy rejecting these ideas. He wants them to be on the exact same page when it comes to their sexual activities. And yet, Jayce’s aggression has grown over the past few months. He has demonstrated both obedience and ferocity, and Viktor only allows the ferocity to surface in small spurts. He’s the dom in this relationship. He calls the shots. Something inside his guts seizes up at the prospect of becoming nothing but a fuckable object, powerless to stop Jayce’s desire.

But.

He is still in control if he chooses to be out of control. He permitted the furious humping the very first night they met. He has since allowed himself to be pissed on and groped and dragged to and fro. Jayce suffers consequences for bad behavior. In exchange for the primal scene, he has offered to be caged for an entire day, eight hours of pure submission and atonement. The prospect is delectable. The prospect is droolworthy. The prospect has Viktor crossing and uncrossing his legs, slick at the thought of being fucked senseless outdoors, then coming home to a creature he will shackle and smack docile. 

“Giving it more thought?” Jayce cocks a brow. Viktor lightly kicks his shin. 

“Hush,” he says. “I’m thinking—ah. I’m thinking yes. We can do it. But if it’s too much, I will speak up.” 

“Fuck yes. Of course. Same rules as always, babe. No problemo.”

So Viktor finds himself slipping into his wool coat and lacing up his boots. He gets a ten minute headstart on Jayce to find a hiding spot. The goal is to find a large rock or shrub-covered area that will shield Viktor from most angles. A light snow coats the leafy ground, so a drier spot would also be preferable. Jayce says he will bring a blanket for when the fucking happens, because the dirty ground would far too overstimulating. The entire thing will be quite overstimulating, which is why Viktor has opted to minimize what he can. 

He heads out into what feels like utter wilderness. Nothing but the crunch of his boots and cane, and billowing white clouds of breath. Pines are tall sentinels in every direction. Despite knowing what’s in store, Viktor’s body still reacts as if the hunt has an unsure outcome. It’s not so different from his daily mindset: nervous system cranked up to maximum fright. Every unpredictable sound and movement is the enemy, come to catch him unawares. To trip him and shout his worst insecurities at him, then disembowel and leave him for dead. He’s excited, agitated, and wet. He wants his worst nightmares to come true. Anticipation gnaws him to bone. 

He heads down a hill towards the lake, where he can see a rocky outcrop. The rocks stand taller than him, angled towards one another to protect a small bit of pine-needled ground. Viktor positions himself in the shelter of these rocks with his heart pitter-pattering and his bladder purporting fullness from sheer excitement. He has two minutes of solitude left before Jayce comes after him. He doesn’t trust himself to pull his pants down and squat on the clock like this. Jayce would tease him endlessly if he put up that little of a fight. So Viktor soothes himself by stuffing a hand between his legs and rubbing against his cock. The harder he gets, the less he worries about pissing. 

Until his watch beeps: his ten minutes are up. 

Then every noise becomes a threat. Viktor tries not to breathe loudly or rustle his many wintery layers of clothing. He listens to birds take flight; he listens to ambient the ambient swish and click of branches in the breeze. 

His blood runs cold when he hears the first crunch of leaf litter and squeaky snow. It’s an undeniably human sound that repeats itself and draws closer, down the hill. 

“Come out, little deer,” comes Jayce’s voice, eerily soft and seductive. Viktor regrets choosing deer as his prey animal of choice, especially when a small jet of pee releases into his boxers. He holds onto the rest as Jayce approaches. “I won’t hurt you, sweet deer. I just want a bite. A little bite, okay? I’ll play really nice.” 

Viktor hadn’t factored in Jayce being a kind predator. He thought Jayce might be nonverbal and rough. Although when he misbehaves, his barks do often come paired with words. 

“There you are.” 

Jayce’s wide frame fills out the gap between two rocks. Viktor is not surprised he was found so easily, but that doesn’t lessen the impact of Jayce’s presence. He’s shirtless, his chiseled torso uncovered and devastating. His jeans sit low on his hips, showcasing the sluttiest Iliac crests on the planet. His bulge presses firmly against the denim. 

Viktor’s legs tremble. His boxers get wetter and warmer. 

“Don’t eat me,” he says, because he can’t go down without a fight. 

“It’s okay,” Jayce says. “I’ll make it quick, pretty deer. I promise.” 

Viktor doesn’t run. Running was never part of the plan. He presses his back against cool rock as Jayce approaches, five solid steps that combine their breath. Jayce helps himself to Viktor’s belt and fly, unbuckling and unzipping. He slips his fingers against Viktor’s throbbing cock and gaping cunt. 

“Fuck,” he says. “Why are you like this?” 

“Don’t eat me,” Viktor says. He can’t tell where fear ends and arousal begins, because Jayce is so like the haze of bullies Viktor has known in his lifetime. Handsome and large and so, so rapacious. Viktor's body is fair game to anyone who can get his hands on him, with nothing but dissociation and bargaining as tools of escape. He doesn't know why he’s wet if he’s also icy with fright, pulse thrumming in his frost-kissed cheeks. 

Jayce grabs Viktor’s wrists and flips him so he faces the sheer wall of rock, strewn with green-grey splotches of lichen. He pins Viktor’s wrists overhead and uses his other hand to jerk Viktor’s pants to his ankles. The sudden rush of cool air against his agitated genitals startles him. It relaxes his bladder. 

He lets out a pitiful whine as piss spindles down his legs. It isn’t much, but it feels atrocious as it pools in his bunched up pants. 

“Holy shit,” says Jayce. He shoves his hard dick between Viktor’s quaking thighs, disrupting the stream so it slides down his shaft. He fucks against Viktor’s slickness, his breath shallow in Viktor’s ear. “It’s okay, baby. I told you, I’ll be gentle. I’ll be quick.” 

Viktor surrenders an unintelligible bleat, retiring his own verbal acumen. Jayce is being quite tame, it’s true. Jayce holds his wrists slackly; his movements are slow and deliberate. He slides a hand beneath Viktor’s sweater and shirt to hold his bare waist. It steadies Viktor when Jayce sticks his cock inside him. Good god above, he’s huge. It should be criminal to be so endowed, so girthy and capable of cervical intrusion. Viktor grits his teeth through it. He doesn’t like fucking while standing up, nor does he like the sensation of urine-soaked pants at his ankles. It cools to ice on his exposed skin. 

“Good boy,” says Jayce. “Good little fawn.” 

Fawn. Why did Jayce choose fawn? Viktor had chosen deer. Thinking stag. A small stag, a wounded stag, but a stag nonetheless. Fawn robs Viktor of any possible dignity he has play-acting as a piece of meat. 

“Stop,” he says. “Please stop.” 

“No,” says Jayce, gruff. “You’re mine.” 

He kisses Viktor’s jaw down to his neck. He initiates a one-sided makeout with the sensitive flesh there, lashing his tongue and experimenting with the points of his teeth. This is the supposed eating. Viktor was expecting this because they discussed it in advance: let me give you love nibbles, Jayce said. The nibbles are here. Jayce fucks into Viktor with concerted, solid strokes. And as he fucks, he sucks on Viktor’s neck, so hard it can only mean a hickey come tomorrow. 

Hickeys hurt, it turns out. They are technically a wound. 

“Stop,” Viktor says again. He didn’t agree to pain, not like this. Did Jayce really want to hurt him? Was that the plan all along? Is this how Jayce sees him? A domitable infant? 

Jayce detaches for a blissful moment to grunt out, “You’re mine, V. All mine.” Then his teeth come down again. It’s not a hickey. It’s an actual bite, hard enamel that breaks skin and surely sheds blood. Viktor is not safe. His cunt clenches so hard it squeezes Jayce right out. He jerks his hands free of Jayce’s overhead grip and shoves an elbow into Jayce’s belly. 

“Red,” he gasps. “For the love of god, stop.”

Jayce unsnares Viktor’s neck. “V?” he asks. “What’s going on?” 

He picks up Viktor’s chin and inspects his face—tearstained, now. Hot tears clash with the chilly breeze. 

“Put my pants back on,” he grits. “I want to go back inside, now.” 

“Okay, yeah. Yeah. Of course. Sorry, uh. Fuck.” 

Jayce stuffs his hard dick back in his pants and hurries to help Viktor with his soaked slacks. His limbs have gone rigid from the cold and the terror. His teeth clack together from the rage of betrayal. What was Jayce thinking? An actual bite was never approved. That could leave a scar. And worse than a scar, it fucking hurts. Viktor swipes the aching site of the wound and does indeed discover blood. He shoots Jayce a caustic look and wastes no time grabbing his cane and heading back up the hill. 

Jayce trails behind. He asks a lot of questions like, are you okay, what’s going on, why won’t you say anything? His increasing desperation makes Viktor sicker. He can’t believe he agreed to be alone in the woods with this monster, who was clearly angling for a rape scene since day one. The puppy stuff is a major facade. He wants what all beefcakes want: tractable hole. 

Viktor draws the line when Jayce tries to tail him into the master suite. 

“Leave me alone,” Viktor bites out. “I need to shower. Your presence is unnerving.” 

“Okay, yeah,” says Jayce. Viktor feels nothing but contempt for his baleful eyes. “I’ll wait outside. Take your time.”

Viktor can’t think straight until he strips and gets in the shower. Once his skin warms up and the stink of piss slips down the drain, he assesses the wound on his neck. It smarts when prodded but no longer leaks blood. Viktor inspects it further after he dries off: a circle of red indents sit atop a purpling bruise. They are shallow but will scab in a few hours. Ideally Jayce did not transmit an infection. But why did he bite? He said love nibble. So Viktor clarified, a superficial bite. Meaning, no penetration. No blood. What about the word superficial did Jayce not understand? Is he actually that stupid? That reckless? It was a dastardly betrayal of trust. Truly selfish. An intentional crossing of boundaries to see what he could get away with. 

Not at all how kink should be practiced. 

Viktor redresses and sits on the edge of the bed to ponder how to proceed. He wonders if their relationship is over. The betrayal makes him venomous. He pictures himself whipping Jayce to bloody pulp in retribution, until Jayce says stop. Until Jayce is crying and pissing himself in fear and scarred beyond anything he could have ever thought was erotic. He wants to inflict a medical emergency upon Jayce. He wants Jayce to feel whatever he feels, times ten. He wants Jayce to be the weird tomboy who talks and walks funny. Who smells like onions and garlic and mothballs. He wants Jayce to be an ant beneath his boot, screaming for mercy. 

The rage subsides by choice. Viktor adopts a strict breathing regimen that features eight count exhales and inhales. In the meantime, the sun sets. He becomes hesitant to surface from the darkening bedroom, because he fears what lies beyond the door. He doesn’t want Jayce to freak out. He doesn’t think Jayce will become violent or rapey per se, but his emotions come on strong, and Viktor can’t hide from them forever. They had a sexual mishap. There has to be a path forward, one in which they use their words to communicate the issue. They’re in love, right? They can overcome this. 

Viktor decides that he will go make himself a cup of tea to scope out the scene that awaits him. If the scene is too intense, he will sequester himself back in the bedroom. 

He finds Jayce sitting on the couch, his head buried in his hands. When he hears Viktor’s footsteps, his head lifts up. His watery eyes follow Viktor’s path around the sitting area to the kitchen, where he loads up the kettle and cranks the gas burner. 

Jayce doesn’t say anything while the water heats up, and Viktor is too cowardly to look at him again. He feels Jayce’s presence like a dark star, forceful and choking. Because it hits Viktor that what transpired between them was not malicious. Jayce adores him. He just doesn’t know his own strength. When Viktor replays what happened between them, before the bite, what happened was oddly gentle for primal. A soft and sweet lovemaking tinged with animalism. Even the bite itself was delivered slowly. 

Mine, he had said. All mine. 

Viktor couldn’t give himself up. Not then, and not ever. He’s locked up tight, even with his own lover. He isn’t built to surrender. 

He makes two cups of tea: one with milk and sugar for himself, and one with a slice of lemon for Jayce. He brings these over to the couch with his cane hooked on his forearm. Jayce takes both mugs from Viktor’s hands so he can sit without sloshing everywhere. 

They sip in silence for a few minutes. Each time Viktor glances at Jayce, he finds Jayce staring in that puppyish way he has. After a few flits of eye contact, Jayce clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry, V,” he says. “I’m really, really sorry.” 

These words invoke an instant jam of tears in Viktor’s eyes. He’s going to lose it like he lost it on the floor of the rope club bathroom, isn’t he? 

“I did not want to be bitten,” he says, forcing his voice steady. He blinks at his trembling tea, willing his tears back into their ducts. This is not the end of the world. He is in charge of his emotions. 

“I know,” says Jayce. “Well, I figured it out. I’m really sorry, V. I really fucked that up. I didn’t know—I thought it was still okay. Like, shallow. I think I got carried away. So, uh. I’m really sorry. I hope we can still—I hope this doesn’t mean—I never wanted to—” 

Jayce’s face scrunches up. He clasps his hands over his face as he shudders once with a sob. It hits Viktor’s belly like the swing of a massive hammer. 

“I hurt you,” he says into his hands. “The person I love the most.” 

“Jayce, my sweet.” 

Viktor smooths a hand over the thigh of his jeans. He doesn’t want Jayce to be upset, because then he’s going to be upset, and then no one will be calm enough to use their reasoning faculties. What washes over Viktor is reassurance: Jayce meant no harm. He got carried away. These things happen. Not all sex can be perfect, but if it’s going to be imperfect, Viktor is glad it happened with Jayce. Jayce is not a high school bully. He’s Viktor’s number one human. He intended to claim him, as if their romance was some wolfish fan fiction. He’s a good dog who misbehaves sometimes. Who isn't?

“It’s okay, Jayce. Ah, you did the right thing. You stopped when I asked, and you gave me the necessary space. These things happen. Truly, we will be okay.” 

“Okay,” says Jayce. He wipes his tears with the back of his knuckles, then wipes his knuckles on his jeans. “Can I have a hug or something? Please?” 

“Yes, a hug is good.” 

Viktor scoots over to put himself in Jayce’s armpit. He throws his arm over Jayce’s bare belly and gives it a solid squeeze. They will be okay. A hard stop is a little jarring, and it was the first time Viktor used one. He is hyper cautious with his partners and hardly ever agrees to something that toes his lines. If there is anyone he would allow to bend those lines, it’s Jayce. 

“You can punish me,” he says, his chin nestled atop Viktor’s head. “You can do whatever you want to me, so I can make it up to you.” 

“No, no,” says Viktor. “I think that would be in poor taste. I say we eat dinner, then have a low stakes evening. Perhaps watch a movie or play a board game.” 

“Okay, cool. Just let me charge up. Ten more minutes of this and I think my soul will return to my body.” 

They snuggle for thirty minutes, and only stop because Viktor gets tired of hearing Jayce’s stomach rumble on max volume. They team up to make a creamy leek soup that they paired with parmesan crusted chicken and a kale caesar salad. During dinner, the mood lightens, and they relearn how to laugh and giggle and flirt. They play a dozen rounds of gin-rummy until Jayce tires of being whooped. No one can match Viktor—he cut his card teeth with a slew of no-nonsense grannies. His victories help him recoup the dignity he lost in the woods. He thinks he’s all better, until they retire to bed. 

It’s only when they’re down to their undies and cuddling that more inner demons rear their heads. Viktor reads on his phone with Jayce’s head tucked beneath his arm, but he can’t actually process the words on his screen. So he locks it and puts it aside. 

“Why did you call me a fawn?” he asks. 

Jayce peeks up at him. “What?” 

“In the woods. I asked to be a deer, and you called me fawn.” 

“Oh, uh. I called you a deer, I thought. I think fawn was just like, spur of the moment.” 

“I would rather be a stag.” 

“Right, totally. I hear you.” 

So Jayce is running his default NVC script. He too sets his phone aside to devote his unblinking attention to Viktor. He smooths his hand along Viktor’s ribs to his hip bone, then back up again. 

“I definitely see you as a stag,” he says. “In case you’re worried. Like, most of the time. But sometimes you get this look, you know? Like all wide-eyed. And you get shaky. I think it reminds me of a baby deer.” 

Viktor lets out a bitter laugh. “I hate that,” he says. 

“I’m sorry,” says Jayce. “Really, I won’t do it again.” 

“I don’t want to be weak,” he says, and as the words come up, his vision floods. His throat strangles itself with his lifetime of pent up baggage. 

“You’re not weak,” says Jayce. “You’re precious to me.”

“Precious.” 

Viktor tries out the word. He tries to imagine how Jayce saw him at that moment, cornered beneath those rocks, shivering and frightened. If anything, he was doe-like. The doe he has tried to kill stone dead, who apparently prevails, if she’s that obvious to Jayce. Fawn is shorthand for girl, no? For a skinny little creature who begs to be vanquished. Viktor loathes this creature inside himself. He wants to loathe Jayce for recognizing it. 

He finds himself weeping again. As always, when he cries, he attempts to stifle it, so he ends up with tears streaming down his chin, and his sobs stunted. He swallows them all down so that the only noise to escape him is squeaky breath, while his lungs judder and he draws in tattered sniffs. 

“Sweetheart,” says Jayce. He rubs Viktor’s heaving belly. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. I love you. You are my stag, okay? Like, I was a puppy once, and I’m a puppy a lot again. You don’t have to be a fawn for me, but you were definitely a fawn at one point. And I love that fawn just as much as I love you as a stag, you know? Does that make sense?” 

Viktor nods, though his face remains tightly scrunched. Jayce is very good at being vulnerable, isn’t he? A heart-on-his-sleeve type of fellow. It is likely why they are so compatible—he has the power to charm Viktor’s heart, which is not on his sleeve, nor even behind his ribs. It’s buried deep in the deepest part of his psyche, where only a lucky few can discover it. A diamond in the recesses of a mountain. Somehow Jayce speaks directly to this tiny kernel of himself. This fawnling, who suffered at the hands of many a cruel spirit. Perhaps it is okay to reveal this, and it is okay for Jayce to acknowledge that he sees it. 

“Am I a—ah—strong fawn?” 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, only that it’s out before he can stop it. Jayce’s response is a sweet but plentiful trail of kisses, up his chest and collarbones. 

“A perfect fawn, baby. A mighty fawn.” 

The kisses endure. Jayce plants them on Viktor's neck, on the tender site of his bite, then up to his pursed lips and wrinkled nose. He kisses away the sorrow and he mixes those kisses with kind words: “I love you, V. You mean the world to me. There’s no one as precious as you. I would die for you, seriously. You know that, right? You’re my favorite fucking creature.” 

Viktor finds himself melting, relaxing, unspooling under the gentle ministrations offered by his beloved partner. Jayce knows exactly how to extract his tension, how to put him at ease. Yes, his demeanor is quite cervine. He’s prone to flightiness and freeziness, to gawking with a vacant stare. For once he does not fight this. He allows Jayce to whisper the word fawn in his ear. Jayce straddles him; he grinds his firm dick against Viktor’s dick, both organs aching beneath their cotton confines. It elicits a clipped moan from Viktor. By god, he wants this man inside him. 

“Let me have you,” Jayce says. 

“Yes,” gasps Viktor. 

He is a breathless, overcome being beneath Jayce’s bulk. A small thing. A conquered thing, who cannot claim eternal dominance. Jayce is far too capable of lovemaking. He slips inside Viktor’s wetness and rolls into him with deliberate strokes. Not forceful, but blissfully paced to ignite every nerve with his girth. Viktor coils his arms around Jayce’s neck and doesn’t bother pretending he’s not crying while getting fucked. He can’t stop, not the way Jayce sweetly subdues him: 

“You’re so good to me,” he says. “I’ve never had it better than being with you. You’re my soulmate, V. You’re so strong for me, like every day. You can let go, though. I like every side of you. I’d fight for every side. I want you to love the parts of you that scare you the most.” 

“Jayce,” he blubbers. He can’t comprehend such sentiment coupled with the rapture of Jayce’s skillful thrusts. The tip of his cock torments his g-spot, over and over, exalting Viktor to the heights of utmost pleasure. “Jayce, my love.” 

“You feel close,” he says. “Can you come for me?” 

“Ah, yes, I can—” 

Jayce grinds his pelvis against Viktor’s achy cock with his next stroke, and the pressure sends Viktor into a state of entranced climax. He convulses around Jayce’s throbbing meat while Jayce slobbers on his neck, on his bitemark from before. He doesn’t suck nor bite, but the message is clear. 

“I’m yours,” Viktor gushes. “I’m all yours.” 

Jayce takes the lead on body fluid clean-up. The orgasm zapped Viktor’s last remaining stamina, and he doubts he can stand. So Jayce washes up in the bathroom, then returns with a warm washcloth to scour out his seed from Viktor’s cunt. He puts Viktor’s underwear back on him, but doesn’t proceed into the usual construction of his pillow fortress. He stretches out on his side, his head propped in his hand. Viktor recognizes the worried look Jayce gives him, with a furrowed brow and sparkly eyes. It’s the look that communicated I love you all those times he kept it inside. But confessing love is no longer barred. So it must be something else that naggles at this man. 

The next logical step, perhaps. 

“Please don’t propose to me,” Viktor says. A knee-jerk reaction. 

“What?” says Jayce. “I didn’t—did I say it out loud?” 

“You were thinking it loudly enough.” 

“V,” Jayce says, almost a whine. “How long do I have to wait?” 

So Viktor assumed correctly, but it wasn’t a stretch. He’s had a hunch that Jayce has been pondering this quandary since the moment they went steady. An engagement ring is simply a different flavor of collar—a collar that Viktor would wear. According to the internet, it’s best to wait an entire year, or better yet two years, for the initial chemical ecstasy to wane. To become more manageable and less of a state of psychosis. It’s hard to determine what type of human companion warrants the promise of forever, but Viktor is a little sick of himself withholding such a commitment. His reticence is his own worst enemy. 

“A year,” he says.

“From the day we met? Or the day we went steady?” 

“Ah, the day we met will suffice.” 

“Fuck yes. Okay. Well, um. I actually had another question.” 

“What question is this?” 

“If I got a bigger place, like if I bought a house, would you move in with me?” 

“Oh, ah.” 

Viktor should have seen this coming. He tries to recall what he read about acceptable move-in timing, and can’t quite remember. Six months should be sufficient, right? They already spend a gluttonous amount of time together. They’d save themselves so much logistical strife if they ponied up and merged habitats. 

Jayce plays with Viktor’s hand while he digests the inquiry. Truthfully, Jayce’s fidgety nature is mutually beneficial. If they’re touching, Jayce will be at peace, because he knows Viktor isn’t running for the hills. He will be entertained for as long as Viktor disappears inside himself. 

“Yes,” he says at last. “I would like this.” 

Jayce’s face lights up with a smile. “Hell yes, babe.” He smashes a kiss into Viktor’s lips, cradling the corner of Viktor’s jaw. “I’m going to find us a perfect place, I promise. It’s going to be home for both of us.” 

Upon returning to the city, the house hunt becomes their main focus, more of a focus than fucking. They spend their evenings on real estate websites waiting for new listings to drop, or visiting open houses, or scheduling private tours. They test out a variety of neighborhoods in Piltover, but find that their favorite is the artsy district near the riverfront. It’s dominated by warehouses converted to glassblowing workshops and eclectic galleries, interspersed with quaint coffee shops and bakeries. The residential area boasts street after street of unique homes, all with pretty wooden trim and gardens that will burst with life come spring. 

Though Jayce will be funding the purchase, he defers to Viktor’s judgement. He’s vetoed any place that will require a plumbing or roofing overhaul, or anything with faulty foundation. Jayce insists he’s handy, but hanging shelves and gutting a house are two very different skillsets. He also insists that Viktor doesn’t contribute to the down payment, because he’s going to pay in cash. As long as they don’t exceed three-quarters of a million dollars, they’re all set. A lot of the homes exceed this limit, especially the recent builds that are garishly modern. But there are many tastefully renovated older homes that maintain character and livability. 

They fall in love with a house two blocks from the business district and riverside: the craftsman of Viktor’s dream, with a facade reminiscent of a gingerbread house, and an interior loaded with built-in shelves, plus numerous nooks and crannies. He only needs to take one step inside to visualize how he’d arrange his books, and how he’d design many places to read and take his morning tea. 

That very day they go under contract. Within the next month, the house is theirs. 

Well, Jayce’s. He’s the man on the title. Viktor will be a guy who suddenly has no rent payments, but will contribute a portion of home owner’s insurance and property tax. 

Jayce takes a selfie of them outside their house the day they get their keys: 

Moving in with my love ♥️

Viktor isn’t on Instagram, but Jayce shows him every story post to get his reaction. 

Whatever love drugs course through his veins do not abate during the move in process. If anything, Viktor feels even more lovestruck than before, because he never needs part from his beloved. Two territories become one. The home is three bedroom, two bathroom, with a large living room that guards the kitchen and dining room behind it. Viktor arranges most of his book collection in the shelves in the living room, and the remainder in the room that they have designated as a study. Viktor’s furniture also goes into this room: his couch, his favorite sitting chair, and the desk upon which he and Jayce have committed many sexual atrocities. Jayce jokes about getting a placard for this room that says Doctor Sokol. 

It is christened with a feverish session of professor/student roleplay, as god intended. 

The second bedroom becomes the puppy play room, where Jayce’s bed and toys are stored, with space for additional fetish furniture. One of their first renovations is to build a special cubby for Jayce’s kennel in their actual bedroom, a shroud of wood that can be disguised as a reading nook should anyone poke their nose in. The cubby features a small window to let in sunlight, and removable panelling if Jayce wants to be exposed on two sides. It quickly becomes Viktor’s favorite place to read, and Jayce’s favorite place for phone games. 

Within the span of a few months, they are properly nested. Jayce says Viktor has the magic touch of making a house a home, but Viktor thinks the magic belongs to Jayce. He lights up the house with his smile and his chatter, his bubbly personality enough to soothe Viktor’s frayed nerves any old day of the week. Home is the place where Jayce cooks their meals and turns into a puppy dog. Where he eats Viktor out so thoroughly he very nearly loses consciousness, then cuddles him back to life. Their solitary lives become a tandem life. A housewarming party introduces their friend groups. They even entertain the idea of a play party, though Viktor wonders if their house is adequately puppy-proof. 

Regardless, their lives are inextricably bound. It seemed impossible some months back, but now Viktor can’t imagine his life with his precious support pup. His pup knows every side of him: the anxious and highstrung, the imperious and strict. But also the soft side, the tender side, the fragile woodland creature. He is not so wary of being doted on by Jayce, because Jayce is born to serve. He loves nothing more than to cook and clean on Viktor’s behalf, to spoil him with massages, to administer medication, and to take it slow on days where Viktor’s body lacks verve. 

Viktor is almost surprised when their one year anniversary springs up. The moving process pressed fast-forward on his perception of time. He realizes the day is nigh because Jayce marks it on their calendar with big, goofy letters: 

ONE YEAR WITH MY LOVE <3

Viktor knows what this means in theory: proposal is imminent. But if it is imminent, Jayce acts preternaturally casual about it. He has made no mention of a ring or of grand romantic plans. Viktor doesn't know if he should expect another getaway, perhaps to some exotic locale. 

When the time comes to make plans, Jayce’s suggestion is straightforward: 

“If it’s cool with you, I thought we’d have dinner at home. I’ve been practicing that braised duck dish. I think I finally got it right.” 

Viktor is relieved by this prospect and wholeheartedly agrees. He doesn’t enjoy the idea of being proposed to in public, and it’s just like Jayce to intuit this. When the day of their anniversary rolls around, it feels almost like any other day, punctuated with more kisses and nose nuzzles and I love yous. Viktor goes off to work, and when he comes home, it’s to wonderful garlicky smells and the sound of sizzling. He hangs out in the kitchen and acts as sous chef while Jayce combines chopped veggies and whips up delectable sides to pair with their duck. 

Jayce sets the table with red roses and an assortment of candles. He turns on some ambient acoustic guitar music and dims the overhead lighting. Each detail fills Viktor’s heart to the brim, so he spends the meal on the verge of tears. He doesn’t know where Jayce came from, or what he did to deserve such a loving partner. He deserves love, of course. That message has finally sunk in. And yet there’s a part of himself that expected lifelong solitude, some lingering teenage sense of singularity and standoffishness. No one understands me. Wrong. One must offer themselves up for comprehension, in small acts of mutual surrender. Understanding is garnered on a daily basis, built from interaction to interaction, via touch and verbal exchange. It is an architectural project as well as an emotional one. To love is to create. 

So across from Viktor sits his creative partner, who agreed to their grand experiment of coexistence. His beauty is replete. Viktor maintains that this man could sign a modeling contract tomorrow if he so chose, so he is glad that Jayce will instead be giving him private modeling sessions for the rest of their relationship. He is so, so lucky. Jayce’s shine brings out his own, he’d like to think. And in return, Viktor feeds Jayce’s glow, by assuring him that he's good and brilliant and worthy. They build each other up. 

Together, they have designed their own paradise.  

It is after a dessert of creme brulee that Jayce rises from his seat and stands by Viktor’s side. The very second he drops to one knee, tears spill down Viktor’s cheeks. Within his clouded vision, a red ruby gleams. Jayce’s skin is warm against Viktor’s cold fingers. 

“Um, V,” he says. His voice is thick, clotted with emotion. He sticks his shoulder in his eye socket and rubs it. “So, I love you a lot, as I’m sure you know. I’ve pretty much loved you for a year, which has been the absolute best year of my life. I can’t imagine life without you now. You’re my reason for getting up in the morning, and the light that keeps me going every day. Each night we spend together is just as perfect as the first one. I’m not going to give you up, V. Not now, and not ever. So, I’m ready to marry you, when you’re ready. I want us to belong to each other.” 

Jayce doesn’t ask any questions, nor does he wait to slide the ring onto Viktor’s finger. Viktor dabs his tears with his napkin to assess it: a thick gold band with a baguette-cut ruby set into it lengthwise. Masculine and elegant. Suited to his exact taste. 

“Do you like it?” Jayce asks. 

“Love it,” Viktor gets out. 

“No pressure, but if you want to, you can give a little speech too. If you’re feeling it. Equality and all that.” 

“I feel like, ah, if I speak, I may puke out my own heart.” 

“For you babe, I’d learn how to stitch it right back together.” 

They share a smile, though it doesn’t diminish the full body floaty sensation that swarms beneath Viktor’s skin. He’s vibrating, levitating in his seat, ascending to heaven and knowing that heaven is right here. He’s made it to a place he didn’t believe in before Jayce, because they carved out this place together. 

“Well,” says Viktor. “I love you very much.” He takes his newly ringed hand and cups Jayce’s face, thumbing the pretty ridge of his cheekbone. As always, he is gorgeous when he kneels at Viktor's feet. “I did not expect this in my lifetime, so it’s been quite the storm. But it is the optimal lifetime, I believe. I would like to think we operate well as a team. I am glad to call you my partner. Even gladder that the term of our partnership will extend into infinity.” 

The kiss that follows is Viktor’s favorite: passionate yet tender, an act that seals their declarations. Love is an onslaught but love is worth it. 

In other words, get a man who’s part dog. There will be slobber, and more importantly, there will be undying devotion. 

The end.