Archive of Our Own ^beta

quietly (irresistibly) pretty

“I don't even know your name.” Jayce says, tone forlorn. 

And it's true. This guy– not only has he saved Jayce’s life, professed interest in his magic theory, and shown a genuine belief like nobody has ever done before, he’s also rekindled Jayce’s spark– his hopes, his ambition. And Jayce doesn’t even know his name. 

The guy steps closer to him, close to the edge. He looks out towards the city’s rooftops, and Jayce watches him. It’s dark– the sun has nearly set, and no lights are on in his blown out room, courtesy of the explosion that started this whole mess. The only way he can still see where he’s stepping is from the purple-pink light of the setting sun. The colours settle on his saviour’s face like a filter– covering him in a ray of colours that, paired with his pale complexion, make him seem softer. 

As Jayce watches, he turns his head, looks at Jayce, and says–

“It’s Viktor.” 

Woah. 

He’s read about this before– when he was a teenager, hiding in his room, shamefully reading a romance novel. This moment where the character would gaze at another and supposedly, time would ‘stop’. 

Well. 

It’s happening to Jayce now. 

It’s really only a second, but to Jayce it feels like a lifetime. The light from the sun hits the back of Viktor’s (Viktor, what a nice name, Viktor Viktor Viktor–) face, outlining the sharp angle of his jaw, his sharp cheekbones, his sharp eyes. Golden eyes. Like the sun. like sunflowers. Like– well, like gold. His hair falls nicely over his forehead and– and he has a mole– right over his lip that make him more severe, more strict, more exotic–

Jayce swallows, and the moment passes. 

Later, they’ve completely filled his blackboard– spanning his room wall, and it’s nearly midnight. They’ve been talking about theories and runes and more theories until all Jayce sees when he closes his eyes is numbers, equations, fractions. 

It’s invigorating. 

His whole body feels like pure energy, vibrating and fidgeting where he stands near Viktor. Maybe it could be from the excitement that keeps swooping in his chest, or the giddiness of someone finishing his thoughts before he can even form them, or maybe–

Maybe it could just be the coffee. 

“The crystal will only stabilise at high frequencies, so you’d have to–”

“Crank it!” Jayce says, a wide smile forming in his face. Holy shit, holy shit, he may have just achieved his dream– Viktor may have just achieved Jayce’s dream, his obsession, his life’s sole fixation in a single night. In a few hours– 

Viktor’s expression turns bemused, then he turns around and cocks a grin, repeating after Jayce, as if he’s never heard the euphemism before.

“Yes! You have to… crank it.” And the way he looks when he says it, the way his face lights up in a small, quirked grin– he looks so sweet. So cute. So soft. The way he moves his arm, it makes Jayce’s own face light in a smile as he sees it.

But then his whole mood plummets when he remembers his equipment, materials, everything is locked away in Heimmerdinger’s lab. He says so, and is once again taken by surprise when Viktor procures the keys out of his pocket as if he’s not suggesting to break into the esteemed professor’s lab.

Now, his heart is about to beat out his chest. There are enforcers right outside the door, blocked only by Viktor’s cane that he’d offered when they heard footsteps running towards them. His whole body is filled with adrenaline, because this is it.

This ‘crank’ will either work, or it won’t– his hands are trembling, but then the door blows open, and he slams his hand on the amplifier and the room explodes in blue–

Four months later, they’re both sat in the lab, working on schematics and blueprints of an airship, one which is supposed to be buoyed by the gravity-defying magic they first discovered, except the only issue they’re trying to work out now is how to make only the structure float, not the people. 

Jayce and Viktor– because it’s no longer just Jayce now; Viktor has become part of his Hextech dream so seamlessly, so obviously, it actually feels weird to think back on the years Jayce worked on this alone. As in, now, it’s not just Hextech, it’s ViktorandHextech. Plus Jayce.

If only others– the Council, the journalists, the public itself, would acknowledge this too. If only he didn’t have to continuously repeat that Viktor was his partner in this, then everything would be right in the world. 

But anyway. Today is a Tuesday. It’s evening, and despite only having been in the lab since morning, Jayce’s lower back twinges with discomfort from having been bent over his notes so much. He can’t even imagine how Viktor’s doing, and he’d been sat for hours, without taking intermittent breaks like Jayce has. 

Speaking of Viktor– Jayce turns his head to look at him, still sitting and scribbling some notes, and his own back gives another throb. 

“Viktor–”

“Jayce–” 

They both speak at the same time. Jayce chuckles as Viktor straightens up and looks at him, a questioning look (cute) on his face. Jayce shakes his head and gestures him to continue. 

“Jayce, I’ve come up with a new sequence of runes, and I need you to take a look,” he says. His accent– Jayce loves it, though he hasn’t said so outloud. He loves the way Viktor speaks– how his tongue curls (Viktor’s tongue around his own) around consonants, making them sharp and harsh and emphasised, and how the vowels in his voice are coiled (would he whimper?), different, better. 

And God– the way he says Jayce’s name. More… pronounced, in a way. More dramatic. Not just Jayce but Jayce. Jaysssss. Sharper, keener (would he scream it? Gasp it? Whine it?). 

He clears his throat and stands, walking over to Viktor, who’s shuffling some papers aside to bring his notebook out of his shadow. Viktor swivels in his stool, but doesn’t stand. He points his finger on the page, and starts talking. 

And it’s a great new sequence, actually, it’s much better than the one Jayce had tried to come up. He nods, hums, asks questions in all the right parts and he’s paying attention, he is–

But Viktor’s collarbones are also paying attention to him. Revealed by his parted shirt collar, tie taken off, vest thrown on the couch across the room, and the way Jayce is positioned, one hand leaned on the table, other in his pocket, makes it so he can see them very clearly. Viktor is looking at his notes, narrating them, and his hair falls over his ears just slightly, and his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows to continue–

There is a mole. There is a mole. There is a mole on Viktor’s neck, right between his collarbones. Right there. It’s calling Jayce’s name, and he’s staring at it, and he leans suddenly down, taking Viktor’s shoulders, turning him, pushing him against the edge of the desk, making space so he can fit his head beneath his chin and bite around that mole, the skin soft warm hot, and bite again, and Viktor had frozen as soon as he’d turned him, and at feeling the first bite he moans– high-pitched and taken off guard, anchoring a hand in Jayce’s hair and throwing his head back–

“Jayce? Are you listening?”

He comes back to himself like he’d been slapped. He might as well have been, with the way the force of his arousal kicks in through his bloodstream, because holy shit. 

Viktor’s looking up at him (would he have tears in his eyes?) and he’s blinking, confused. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jayce coughs into his fist, turns and takes a few steps away, towards the windows, feeling his face turn into straight-up lava. He needs to look at something else– has that tree always been outside there? Wow, its leaves are so… green. He coughs again. “Yes– sorry, Viktor, I’m just– really hungry–”

(For you.)

“–we haven’t eaten since lunch.” He finishes as he turns back around, rubbing his neck sheepishly. 

“Hmm. I suppose so.” Viktor acquiesces, and huffs a sigh. He rubs a hand against his own nape and stretches, and Jayce sneaks a look, swallowing, feeling like all the water in his body has evaporated, he’s so thirsty–

 “Should we go get some food from that shop you like?” he says and glances at Jayce as he stands, taking his cane where it’s leaned on the table. The cane that Jayce made after the old one had been snapped, the one he spent the better part of a day in the forge creating in his house colours, his initials–

(Pick him up, set him down on the table, move him back, spread him, push him–)

Jayce clears his throat, giving a brief affirmative. It’s rare for Viktor to suggest taking a break first, so Jayce won’t turn him down. Plus, he actually is hungry. 

That night, after they’d eaten and gone their separate ways, having walked and talked about anything and everything, after Viktor had allowed Jayce to steady him with a hand on his back when a particular strong gust of wind had blown, Jayce settles on his bed in his new apartment, one hand thrown behind his head and the other on his stomach.

He stares at the ceiling, and thinks. 

Despite having had his dream finally achieved– harnessing magic– he still, only sometimes, feels… unsatiated. Impatient, maybe.

He wants– he wants a lot of things. He wants Hextech to help people’s lives, make them better in everyday things, right now. Not just the airships– they mainly help merchants and travel– he wants to help those who really need help, same as when he was younger in that snowstorm. 

And the category of those who really need help? It’s the people of the Undercity. He’s seen glimpses, months and months ago when he’d ventured down there to buy the magic crystals. Those people, they’re the ones he could be helping right now by making, creating things that really help– like portable breathing masks, or commercial-use powerful ventilators, or some sort of device that can take waste and make it disappear– 

But the Council. Figuratively, they’re holding the chain to his handcuffs, and even though he knows it’s only been four months so far– they’re asking for their investments to show results– and he knows he needs the funding, and the support, and the materials– he wants to focus on his own projects, work on world-altering discoveries with Viktor, and scribble calculations in his notebook and–

Sigh. 

He wants a lot of things. 

That sneaky mole on Viktor’s neck, for one. And yeah, he can admit this to himself. Viktor has this pull– this allure– he can be both fragile and untouchable. Despite his limp, and his physical struggles, and sometimes his exhausted frame, he can seem so formidable. Like nothing can affect him, no inconvenience or ache can dampen his spirit. 

And even though Jayce knows, he knows, Viktor is more than capable of taking care of himself, Jayce wants to do it for him. Wants to pick him up, place him on chairs, on the table, against the wall–

He wants to offer an elbow when they walk, stand in the bracket of Viktor’s legs as he sits on the table, hold his jaw and feed him the cookies he always eats, the ones with the cream, and then he can wipe the cream from his lip, or better– he can kiss it, lick his way in–

Push him down onto their notes right there on the table, hand on his chest, his other hand touching the skin of his stomach, skimming over his ribs, cupping his sides and squeezing him, grinding on him–

His dick chafes against the confines of his pants the next day, rubbed raw from him fucking his own fist vigorously last night. Viktor gives him an odd look, which he studiously ignores. 

A few more weeks pass. 

They’ve finally worked out the rune sequence to stabilise the airships without making the passengers float off the deck, and all they need to do is finish the engine which will kickstart the magic, along with the acceleration system. 

Jayce, in his own way, has learned to become more subtle with his glances. This way, he’s learned a lot about Viktor, especially when he thinks no one is looking. 

Jayce always is, though. 

Viktor, sweet, cute Viktor, has this absolutely maddening habit of twirling his hair around his own finger when he’s thinking. It’s clear this habit is an unconscious one, but it feels like a punishment for Jayce everytime he sees it. More specifically, Viktor prefers to twirl the hair near his nape, where it’s shorter and softer, and he strokes it, too, sometimes, as he frowns at whatever paper he’s looking at. 

Like right now. Jayce doesn’t even have to pretend to be looking somewhere else– he’s standing at their blackboard behind Viktor, chalk in hand, straight up pretending to write things by moving his hand on the board, making noise. His whole body is turned towards Viktor, staring at the back of his neck. By some stroke of luck, there isn’t a single mole there– a practical invitation for Jayce to lean down, sink his teeth there, bite and leave bruises, maybe wrap a hand around it as he shoves Viktor into the desk, then shoves his cock in him, forces Viktor to mewl, to claw at the edges of the desk as he gasps and pushes back against Jayce’s hips, begging more, harder, please, please–

He grumbles and turns back towards the board. He’s fucked up whatever he was writing completely. Left squiggles and scribbles as he was pretending to write. He’ll have to start again. 

He’s been thinking lately. Whatever he's feeling for Viktor; it can't be normal. Friends don't think this way about other friends, do they? This insatiable, almost feral desire to push each other against surfaces and have their way with them? Not that he’d know– he really only has one other friend, and Caytlin is more like a sister than an actual friend… also, it can't be a crush. He's had crushes before while studying at the academy, and they were nowhere this level of intense. 

Well, whatever it is, he's sure these feelings will fade soon. 

For now, though, he wants to talk with Viktor. Wants his attention. 

“Viktor.” He says, turning his head to look behind him again. At least he has an excuse to talk– to fill their comfortable silence with their voices. Even if it’s a shit excuse, it’s better than nothing. 

Viktor doesn't respond, though. He’s still twirling his hair, hunched over his notes on that little swivelling stool he likes to use. Jayce walks over quietly, and bends at the waist, until he can see what Viktor is looking at over his shoulder. 

It’s a sketch of… something. It looks like an arch, inscribed with a bunch of runes that he can't see yet, they're so small. He leans a bit lower to try and get a closer look, but all it does is enable him to smell Viktor. And that makes him pause. 

Nervously, he feels like a creep. But also– Viktor smells so nice. Somehow, he smells… soft. There's no other way to describe it. He smells soft, and a bit like cotton, actually, and maybe sugar? Something sweet, like vanilla, and a bit herbal, medicinal, like honey–

(Jayce wants to turn, nose at his nape, lick his ear, bite his shoulder, tug his head to the side by his hair, roughly, passionately, obsessively–)

Now, he's really acting like a creep. 

“Hi.” He whispers instead. Might as well act like he intended to scare VIktor. A hundred percent. 

Viktor’s reaction doesn’t disappoint. He jumps, a startled Jayce! escaping his mouth (bite his lips) and he turns around, hiding the sketch. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, leaning back and frowning, as if angry. Maybe he is. Oops. 

“What are you working on?” Jayce deflects. Viktor sure as fuck doesn't need to know Jayce had accidentally sniffed him. And it was. Accidental. 

Viktor’s expression (he's so cuteimgoingtodie–) scrunches, and he snatches his cane, pushes Jayce backwards with the end of it, and he ignores the swoop of whatever low in his gut the action makes him feel, and steps back, out of Viktor’s space. Respectful. 

He is respectful. 

“Maybe I’d tell you if you didn’t sneak up on me, Jayce.” Jayssssss, Jaysss, Jaysssss.

The way he says his name, guh– 

“I wasn’t sneaking up on you.” He clasps his hands behind his back, too, to show he's perfectly well-behaved. He would never do such a thing. 

Viktor rolls his eyes, and he's so cute, so cute, and his little mole moves everytime he talks, the one near his lip, and his eyes are so intense, and Jayce always has to physically move his head so he can drag his eyes away from the beauty mark, and–

“Anyway, what did you need?” and the way he looks at Jayce, a hundred fucking percent attention on him, listening, watching–

(Would he listen? Let me talk him through it? Would he talk me through it?)

Jayce needs to calm down. 

“Do you still have the notes about the compressor turbines?” This was his initial excuse anyway. He needs the formulas again to rewrite them on the board, since he fucked them up. 

He takes the papers when Viktor hands them over, and he ignores, ignores, how his fingers tingle when their fingers brush together, as if he’s been stung by a nettle, and he ignores how Viktor’s arm is so thin, so thin, and fragile, and soft, and he wants to wrap a hand around his forearm, tug it over his head, pin his hands there with some rope while he licks his way down his abdomen–

Basically. Jayce ignores his own thoughts. Focuses on the work. 

Jayce is a man of science. Man of Progress. Shitty title aside, he likes facts. Things he can compartmentalise. As such, he's going to investigate, research, find the reason for why he feels this way. 

Because truthfully, Viktor isn't the only cute guy around. Of this he's sure. 

Less than a week later, he's in Heimmerdinger’s office. For tea, and to talk business. He's planning to ask the professor to extend their deadline, citing that they haven’t yet decided how to make it so that only the airship, not the luggages and goods, will be affected by the magic runes. They’ve finally made it so passengers and organic matter won’t float off, but now it’s only the immaterial stuff not made of the airship they need to fix. 

As they talk, the other part of Jayce’s brain– the part labelled ViktorOnly– compares the yordle to Viktor. Objectively, not subjectively, the professor could be called… called… he even hesitates to say this in his own mind. Heimmerdinger could be called cute. In an… animalistic way. Like calling a cat cute. Since he’s got… fluffy ears… and… 

He has to put his cup of tea back on the table as he hunches, covering his mouth and stifling the wave of nausea, ignoring the professor’s concern, deflecting it with empty platitudes. 

Well, at least he knows to never compare Heimmerfuckingdimmer with Viktor again. Eufgh. 

And then there’s Councillor Medarda, and she's beautiful, the way the sun is beautiful, and it’s kind of obvious, the way grass is green and the sky is blue. 

This time, she's come to their lab, as she does sometimes, to try and see their progress for herself. It’s morning, Viktor hasn’t had his sugar-with-a-dash-of-coffee yet; neither of them have, it’s very early and they've just arrived. It's evident, in the way Viktor is a bit cranky– curling his lip when he can't find the right equation yet, or looking at Jayce as if he's stupid when he, admittedly, asks a stupid question. Jayce isn't mad, or upset; rather, he's giddy– all of Viktor’s expressions are cute, and he wants to bottle them so he can drink them hourly, or snack on them whenever he wants a dose of Viktorness–

He’s noticed, absentmindedly, that Councillor Medarda Call Me Mel, has this habit of ignoring Viktor when she talks to Jayce. Or… letting him speak– listening but not hearing him, and then continuing her point as if he hadn’t spoken. It's a bit… mean. Jayce doesn't really like it. He wants people to talk to Viktor like they talk to him; with the respect, awe and interest they do with him, not like he's an assistant. 

And Councillor Medarda Call Me Mel, Really, is beautiful, Jayce thinks as they speak about getting some extra funding for the aluminium alloy they really need– but in that way that’s loud. It's not something he can describe clearly. It's just something he's noticed about her. Her beauty is loud, and radiant, and obvious, like a statue made of gold in the middle of the plaza– impossible to ignore. It's right there. 

It's the complete opposite of Viktor, actually. Viktor’s beauty– it's… it's quiet. He has that rare, rare type of beauty that you have to observe, where you have to look, and the more you look the more pretty he gets. The more you stare at him– his lean frame, his long legs, the arch of his neck, his sharp sharp cheekbones, his eyes– the shape of them, his expressions, his mouth, his moles– 

He's not like the gold statue… rather… he's the diamond half hidden beneath earth– it only glints and becomes obvious that it's there when you shine a light at it, when you look for it. And once you see it? It's impossible to unsee. You notice it everytime. Everytime you cast your eyes in its direction– it’s right there, shining in the dark, beneath the dust, half embedded in the earth wall. And you want to dig it out, gently chip the stone away from its sides, tug it free, bring it out into better lighting so you can admire it more, put it on a pedestal so others can see it too, and look everyone, isn’t he so unfathomably pretty?

Heavens above, but he's starting to think he might be a bit obsessed. Clearly, the feelings did not fade at all. 

It makes him grin as Councillor Medarda Call Me Mel, I Insist, finally turns to leave. He hears Viktor scoff next to him, but he ignores it, lest he pounce on him and try to find out what other types of noises he can make. 

The seasons are changing, now, as they do every year. It's turning colder everyday– rain has also increased in frequency, and sadly Viktor has began wearing sweaters, big wooly ones, that eclipse his hands and cover his nape, and he wears a scarf, too. It's devastating for Jayce, but actually– he'd rather have Viktor nice and warm than cold and shivering. 

Seems like today is one of those days– it’s rained all night, and so the very air is humid, and when coupled with the low temperatures, makes the atmosphere downright freezing. Still, Viktor came to the lab anyway. Except– he's cranky. Irritable, very much so. And he keeps rubbing his hand over his knee, his bad one. Like it hurts, like it aches. 

Jayce has kept quiet, only offered Viktor his sweetmilk instead of sugar-coffee, and kept to himself. It's a quiet day. Not much is happening. He can tell, already, that one of them will leave early today. 

Once they finish up the last of the work, that's what happens. Surprisingly, it's Viktor that calls it a night first. He must be feeling really shitty, then. It’s obvious, too– Jayce has noticed the underside of his eyes darkening, his face scrunching into a grimace more often, and he's rubbed his nape more than usual. 

Jayce really, really wants to offer to walk Viktor home, but he's not so sure it’ll be well-received. Viktor has this habit of refusing help from anyone. Even when he clearly needs it. It drives Jayce up the wall, clashing with his protective instincts. He'd do anything to take Viktor home, bundle him into a blanket, offer him his third cup of sweetmilk, rub his feet, his bad thigh, maybe wring an orgasm or two out of him– get him nice and relaxed so he can sleep good. 

Instead, he watches, pouting, as Viktor arranges his papers and notes, puts his coat on, says his goodbyes, grabs his cane to stand–

Except– except as soon as he does so, his knee buckles, and he makes a wounded noise– and Jayce was already out of his seat before he even stood– catches Viktor around his middle, steadies him as he hisses through the ache he’s undoubtedly feeling–

“Jayce, Jayce, let go, I'm alright–” pushing Jayce away–

His expression says otherwise. His cute brows are scrunched together in an expression of pain, nothing else. Jayce doesn't need anything more complicated; he picks Viktor up, knowing he’ll get an earful later, and gently puts him on the couch in the corner of their lab. The green one, the one he’d brought in two weeks ago after he caught Viktor falling asleep at the desk a few times. Viktor pushes him away– quite adamantly too– turning his face away, presumably so Jayce won’t see, won't notice him, won't judge–

“Don't pick me up ever again, Jayce, I can walk by myself, I don't need your pity–” and Viktor is angry, now, too, he can hear it, feel it, taste it, and he doesn't like it. 

“How can you think that?” Jayce interrupts, quietly, his own emotions falling, like he's been kicked away, like he's been bad, like he's… not good. He's crouched before the couch, in front of Viktor, trying his best not to fall on his knees and begbegbeg.

Viktor hesitates, finally turns his head, only pausing for a moment to take in the sight of Jayce crouching before him. Then he stops, takes a breath, visibly gathers himself. His hand, the one not holding the cane, twitches at his side– an aborted movement towards his knee, undoubtedly still feeling the ache. 

Jayce feels a flare of jealousy, so strong, so burning, he has to steady himself with a hand on the couch, next to Viktor. It's not fair. It's not fair. Why can't he touch Viktor’s knee? Why can't he run his fingers along the divot, stroke the underside of the joint, soothe it with gentle pressure? It's not fair.

Viktor sighs. Jayce’s eyes jump back to his face, cataloguing every minute change in emotion, wanting to make sure, absolutely sure, that he hasn't ruined their friendship completely. 

It's only because he’s watching so intently, does he notice the sheen that Viktor blinks away. Were his eyes tearing up? Was he in pain? Did Jayce ruin things? Has he fucked up irreparably? 

He's sure his anxiety is evident on his own face, because Viktor rolls his eyes and pushes him slightly away with his good leg. Jayce ends up overtipping and landing on his ass, looking up at Viktor, who doesn't say anything; he merely smirks.

And the sight of that, even if it's amusement at Jayce’s expense, makes him feel so relieved that he grins back, buoyed with quiet joy. 

“Jayce,” Viktor begins, and his body perks up at his name, listening, listening. “I don't need to be coddled. I know you have good intentions–” he holds a palm up as Jayce opens his mouth to speak, to justify himself, and he wants to lick his hand– “I know, your intentions are good, and I appreciate you not letting me fall, but also understand when I tell you that I can take care of myself. I've done so my whole life.”

His whole life? Took care of himself? That… that implies some level of… not having anyone else, right? Right? Jayce isn't projecting? Right?

But then he sneaks another look at Viktor’s face and that's not anything he's seen before. His eyes have softened– his brows have relaxed, and a small, private smile rewrites his whole– his whole energy. He looks– he looks like he loves Jayce. 

Woah. 

And Jayce suddenly understands; like when one understands that the moon affects the ocean’s tides, or that trees regrow their leaves in spring– inevitably, unstoppably, so, so obviously– 

Jayce wants Viktor to love him.

Meaning, Jayce loves Viktor. 

Of course. 

What else could it have been? 

This newfound epiphany doesn’t leave him unaffected. He inhales carefully, and feels– feels his soul settle. Something in his chest– it… deflates. Calms. Subdues itself. 

With that, a whole slew of new desires flare in him. Different ones. Docile ones. 

He looks at Viktor’s knee. Wants to place his head there, lean his forehead against the bone, feel his breath, every small shift as Viktor moves, maybe as he runs his fingers through Jayce’s hair–

He exhales. Nods. 

“I know. I'm sorry. I just don't want you hurting– I don't like seeing you hurting.”

Viktor chuckles gently. “I know.” 

He finally allows his hand to massage his knee, keeping his face free of pain. Undoubtedly for Jayce’s benefit. Not that he can see anyway, since he's staring intently at the hand on the knee. Yearning, wishing, longing. 

But. Viktor did just ask for Jayce to let him be, so that's what he’ll do. Plus, it's getting cold sitting on the floor. With a grunt, he stands, dusts himself off, and walks into the little kitchenette opposite the lab. He needs to do something. 

Preparing Viktor’s third cup of sweetmilk is better than nothing, at least. He comes back into the lab, closes the door, sneaks a look at Viktor, still sitting on the couch, fidgeting with his coat. On the way, he grabs Viktor’s scarf from the hanger. 

He hands both to him, responding with a soft grunt at the quiet thanks. Viktor makes space, pats the spot next to him, and Jayce obediently sits. They fall into a comfortable silence as Viktor drinks his steaming sweetmilk and Jayce fiddles with his own palms. 

Truthfully, he wants to open his mouth and tell Viktor he loves him but– that would be a stupid thing to do. Viktor doesn't need Jayce’s blubbering, clumsy, loud feelings; he doesn't need Jayce hovering over him at every opportunity– he's said so himself. Plus, just because Jayce loves Viktor doesn't mean Viktor loves Jayce. He won't be that delusional. 

He’ll love Viktor quietly. Privately, achingly. He can do that. He's already been doing it. 

It's after Viktor finishes his drink, after he puts the cup down and stretches his bad leg out, that he speaks again. He tells Jayce about this insane idea– about creating a sort of– station of teleportation. Something that can send large objects, like the airships, through space and time, to the other side of the globe, in the span of a second. 

Jayce stares at him. Really stares at him. He feels floored. Like Viktor kicked him and he fell on the ground again, fell through the ground, and kept falling. Viktor is suggesting the very thing that had saved Jayce’s life all those years ago; teleportation. He says it like it's easy. Like it's not– like it wouldn’t be the greatest engineering feat ever, if they achieve it. 

And he can't know that teleportation saved Jayce’s life, kickstarted his obsession with magic, there's no way for him to know. Jayce hasn't told him, and he hasn't spoken with his mother. Supposedly, he's only come up with this idea in the last few weeks. 

Jayce loves him. This person– this being that just gets him, gets his ideas, and his love for magic, and discovering things, and understanding things–

His chest aches.

He raises a hand to his chest to soothe the ache, grabs his shirt, wants to grab his own heart– yank it out from behind his ribs– through his muscles, his lungs– and offer it to Viktor, still pumping, blood pouring out of it onto his hand, splattering on the couch between them– he wants– he wants to–

Instead, he agrees, amazed, bounces ideas off of Viktor, and they talk about these– Hexgates, as Viktor’s called them, and what runes would work, how much energy it would need, how long it would take– the design– the colours– everything–

Everything– I want to give you everything.

Jayce calms down considerably after that. His lust tames; becomes gentler. Instead of wanting to bend Viktor over anything and everything, he now wants to pick him up and gently lay him down on a bed full of fluffy pillows, kiss him, lick him, praise him, love him, worship him–

A year passes. Then two. Then three. His love for Viktor doesn’t fade, but becomes a part of Jayce. Becomes a part of him, same as how his lungs or kidneys are a part of him. He learns more about Viktor. Learns to anticipate his moods; learns his likes, dislikes, favourites, preferences. Jayce learns Viktor’s habits, how he smiles when Jayce surprises him with his favourite cookies from the bakery across the city, how he softens when Jayce admits his own fears of disappointing the Council. He learns the small things about a person that you can only learn with the passage of time. Time, and continuous shared presence. 

They argue. They bicker. They disagree about things: designs, theories, mathematics, language itself– Viktor still finds the euphemisms Jayce so easily drops as silly, and Jayce says they're dramatic, and purposeful–

Jayce gets busier. He wishes he got busier within the lab only, but as their reputation grows, as Hextech technology itself grows more and more popular with each little helpful invention, he has to split his time between the labandViktor, and social responsibilities.

According to Councilor Medarda Call Me Mel, For The Last Time, they now have to try and attract more investors. One Councillor isn't enough anymore. They need more funds– money, materials, money, time, and most importantly, money. And to do this? Attend parties. Kiss ass. Learn to double-speak, advertise subtly, and say things like wouldn't you like that? A percentage of the total revenue of this and that if you give us this and that?

Except… Viktor doesn't really attend these things. Says he doesn't ‘fit’ among them. And no matter how much Jayce begs and pleads, Viktor much prefers to shut himself in the lab and fade into obscurity. Jayce doesn't like it. Even so, he forces himself to perform two hundred percent at every party, he learns to charm, flirt, and compliment, just so he can keep the two of them afloat. He can take it. For Viktor? Anything. 

Anything. 

In their fourth year of working together, they finally finish designing the HexGates. Fully. 

Completely done. Everything is accounted for, measured, planned, written. 

Jayce feels giddy with it. He feels like he's in a dream. He thanks the heavens, again and again, every morning and every evening, for having met Viktor. 

Smart, genius Viktor, who had nearly designed the HexGates wholly by himself, if Jayce hadn't forced him to take breaks. Pretty Viktor, with his gentle, nimble fingers sketching, fixing, writing and fine-tuning all of Jayce’s mistakes. 

Jayce loves him. Loves him, loves him, loves him. 

It’s really late– the sun had set hours ago. If Jayce can guess, it's probably near one in the morning; he and Viktor are sitting next to each other at the desk, gazing at their finished notes, both staring in disbelief. 

“We’ve done it.” Viktor says, like he can't fathom it. They've spent so long on these HexGates. So long. 

Jayce giggles. He feels exhilarated. He wants to jump and spin. 

He stands from the chair, Viktor turning to face him, a grin forming on his face. Jayce laughs, and laughs, and grabs Viktor by the shoulders, shakes him. 

“Viktor! Viktor!” he laughs again and moves away, needing to move, needing to expel the sudden excess energy, lest he hug Viktor into his chest and squeeze him. He runs his hands through his hair, laughing again. 

He hears a chuckle behind him, Viktor standing and walking over to Jayce, both now gazing out the window. 

“If this works, Jayce… once it's built…”

“It will be revolutionary.” Jayce whispers, staring at the horizon. He can imagine it– can envision it, with such perfect clarity it's like he's looking straight at the future. Occasional flashes of blue, high above the city, lighting everything around, landing on houses, buildings, windows–

The city, bathed in the blue of magic–

He sits on the couch, lays his head along the back and stares at the ceiling. He hears Viktor shuffle off to the side, then place something on the little coffee table in front of the couch. A quiet clink.

When he looks, to his surprise, it's two glasses and a bottle of wine. The good stuff, gifted to them by one of their greedier investors. The one with the quadruple chin. 

Jayce huffs a laugh, looks up at Viktor, who is also smiling. 

“I thought we could celebrate,” and fuck, but the way he says the word celebrate– the way he rolls the ‘r’, it sounds so sensual, so sexy– and Jayce has to clench his fist to stop himself from doing something foolish like jump him and lick as if he was an ice cream cone–

“Hell yeah,” he says instead, and makes space for Viktor to sit next to him. He uncaps the wine bottle, lets the cork fall to the floor, pours a generous, generous amount into both their glasses, and downright chugs it. 

Viktor laughs next to him. “Someone’s eager.” 

“I'm just really happy.” Jayce justifies, and drinks some more. Viktor chuckles again, decides to take a bigger sip, too. 

Before they even know it, it’s nearly three am, and they’ve drank two bottles. They're both spurting slight flushes from the alcohol, and they keep talking about silly things and making each other snigger. 

Jayce feels like the room is spinning, but the conversation with Viktor, right now, it's so good, Viktor is so good, so funny, and he keeps giggling, and Jayce wants to– wants to snatch the sound from the air, put it in his pocket, then take it home and inject it into his veins, so he always has it with him–

“You’re amazing,” he sighs instead, and looks sideways at Viktor. He can tell his feelings are probably loud as fuck on his face right now, but he doesn't care, he can't care, not when Viktor pauses mid-sentence, looks and looks and looks at Jayce, from his hands to his face to his eyes to his mouth–

Viktor smiles softly; that small one, that private one, the one where it makes Jayce think Viktor loves me, and then Viktor tilts his head to the side, places a hand on the couch between them, puts weight on that hand as he leans closer to Jayce and–

Kisses him– on the cheek. 

Chaste. Shy. Hesitant. Like he shouldn’t. Like it's something secret between them. 

Since he's so close, Jayce can smell him. That exact cottonsugarherbal smell he's obsessed with over the years, the one time he stole Viktor’s scarf in secret and sniffed it like a pervert back in the privacy of his apartment.

It's so uniquely Viktor, that it makes him freeze, makes him inhale a quiet breath and hold it, like he can absorb the smell into his skin, attach it to his bloodcells and carry it into his heart–

And Viktor’s lips against his stubbed cheek– soft, soft, soft, and trembling ever so slightly, and the quiet, barely noticeable smooch sound they make when they kiss his cheek–

Ha.

His exhale is loud in the silent space between them. He doesn't move, can't move, won't move, because if he does, then he will wake up, and realise this is a dream, and he really, really doesn't want to wake up, because in the real world– in the real world, Viktor would never kiss his cheek– Viktor hasn't ever, in all the years of their partnership, looked at or thought of Jayce like that. He's sure. 

But then– Viktor is moving back– back away from Jayce, and his expression is closed off, mortified, regretful–

Jayce doesn't even think about it– his cheek is still tingling, downright burning where Viktor’s lips touched it– and now he wants to move away?

Maybe he fell asleep after they drank so much. Maybe this is a dream that he can't remember the beginning of. 

He's sure though, he's never been more sure, that he does not want to see the ending of this dream. 

And so– without second guessing, without pausing, he surges forward, like a flood, like the wind, like– fucking whatever–

Viktor yelps, taken off guard, as Jayce practically pushes him down on the couch, leans over him, and shoves his mouth over his–

Their teeth clink, and Jayce is desperate– desperate–

Viktor groans, muffled, and snakes a hand in Jayce’s hair, pulling it, angling it, and then their mouths align properly and they're kissing–

Jayce is kissing Viktor– the sounds– repetitive little smooch’s and smack’s as their lips meet, suck onto each other– he shifts his weight onto one hand next to Viktor’s head, and the other he forces under Viktor’s shirt, rakes his nails over his stomach– feeling it contract, sensitive–

Viktor moans under his mouth, and Jayce swallows it, pushes his tongue in, he wants to– wants to drink him, wants to taste him– and he tastes like the wine, and he's delicious; Jayce wants to eat him, devour him, consume him–

Viktor turns his head away, breaking the kiss and panting like he doesn't have enough air, and Jayce belatedly realises he’d forgotten about breathing entirely, which explains his dizziness, but– but Viktor–

Jayce whimpers, ducks his head down, licks Viktor’s neck– salty, musky, smells like him, smells like Viktor– cottonsugarherbs– he bites–

“Ah! Jayce–” Viktor seems like he can't process this right now– like he can't believe Jayce is being so ravenous, but what did he expect? To kiss Jayce, on his cheek, and not expect him to reciprocate? For his dormant lust not to awaken like a long starved beast willing to do anything, anything to have a taste? 

How long? How many nights days mornings has Jayce imagined, offhandedly, subconsciously, consciously, avidly, about touching Viktor like this? Erotically, intimately, sexually?

Jayce can't stop himself– he can't– blame it on the wine, this being a dream– on anything, but he needs to touch Viktor or else he’ll die.

He will die.

The hand in his hair pulls– and he follows it, raises his head to face Viktor again–

“Please, please, Viktor,” he whines, begs, pathetically implores.

Viktor looks all over his face, stares at him, his own eyebrows furrowed, mouth slightly parted, in genuine surprise, like he can't believe the sight. 

“Please, what?” and he doesn't even say it to tease, he really is confused. His face is flushed, his cheekbones– his beautiful cheeks red, and there's a small pink mark blooming on his neck and–

“Please let me touch you– you’ve no idea– for so long–” Jayce broken muttering is lost as he pushes his head back down and mouths over Viktor’s collarbone, at the mole that's always been calling his name, and now he can finally meet it– press a kiss to it, trace it with his teeth, lick around it–

A small, shy, overwhelmed whimper leaves Viktor– a quiet nngghh– and Jayce wants to hear it again, and again, and again–

He pulls away– he feels like he's going to melt, as if any second he will turn into vapour and disperse into the air, maybe sink into Viktor’s lungs, fuse himself to his cells–

He pulls away and practically rips his own shirt off– stupid tie, stupid fucking buttons, ditches them somewhere– don't care need to touch Viktor–

Then tugs Viktor’s shirt out of his pants, unloops his belt and pulls it from his pants, throws it, hears it land with a clatter across the room, but then he pushes Viktor’s shirt up up up, and he can finally see his stomach– soft muscle, a tiny smattering of hair leading into a trail into his pants– and his ribs– he can see his ribs, contracting, breathing, panting– his belly button–

A groan escapes him, and he dives down, licks and licks and licks, hot, wet, heavy up to Viktor’s throat, where the shirt is bunched. Then he groans again at the taste– salty, sweaty, masculine– 

Viktor’s– his heart– it beats so fast. So fast. Like a rabbit’s. Like he's scared– like–

Jayce exhales into Viktor’s collarbone and finally stops. He leans back on his haunches, looks down at Viktor, his face. He's covered his mouth with his hand, head turned sideways, breathing harshly, like he's suffocating– like it's too much–

Jayce frowns. 

Thing is, even if it's a dream, he doesn't want to upset Viktor. Never. Never. 

Gently, softly, he leans forward again and takes Viktor’s hand, brings it to his lips, kisses his knuckles, his finger tips. His wrist. Rubs it against his cheek. Viktor looks up at him, and there's tears in his eyes, and one escapes, trails down into his hair. His expression– like he's been punched, like he's in pain, like he's been hurt. Why?

“Viktor,” Jayce says, leaning down to whisper it against his cheek, pressing a chaste, hopefully soothing kiss to it, mirroring Viktor’s initial one. “What’s wrong? Hm? Talk to me.”

And Viktor– sweet, cute, tasty Viktor– inhales shakily, clears his throat, shakes his head.

“I'm just relieved. I thought I had ruined things.” He pauses, then, and frowns. “W-Why did you stop?” he asks shyly, his brows meeting, his lip quivering. He looks like he's about to cry, and it– it does things to Jayce’s cock. Makes it jump, as if to say oh goodie!

But, but, but– 

“It's not too much?” He smoothes both his hands down Viktor’s sides, hoping to soothe him. He can feel when the skin breaks into goosebumps, can feel Viktor’s ribs exhaling as he shakes his head.

“Keep… keep touching me.” He whispers, and gives Jayce a look; literally pulled out of his memory, the same look he'd given Jayce that night when he'd given his name. 

Woah. 

Jayce has to swallow the excess spit in his mouth, unless he wants to look like a drooling dog. He tightens his hands on Viktor’s waist, hears his moan at the harshness, and he leans down, kisses Viktor again, albeit a bit slower than before. 

He wants– he wants to make this nice for Viktor. Wants him to feel good. Even if it's a dream. Especially if it's a dream. 

Viktor makes a noise, and pushes Jayce back, makes room so he can spread his legs, bracket Jayce between them, and his own cock hurts, oh my god–

“Like this?” Jayce whispers, wrapping a hand around Viktor’s weak leg, his ankle– so thin, so small, want to squeeze him, wrap around him, bite him– and spreading him more open.

“Yesssss.” Viktor moans it more than says it when Jayce bucks his hips forward experimentally. Their cocks press on each other, hot and hard and heavy– Viktor throws his head back, one hand gripping the armrest behind him, the other clenched around Jayce’s thigh–

And the image he makes. Spread out wantonly, panting, breathing harshly, his stomach sinking and rising with every breath, and his adam’s apple is right there, bobbing as he swallows nervously–

Jayce bites it, mouths at it– feels the vibration of Viktor’s voice as he keens, shifting his hips upwards into Jayce’s, chasing his pleasure, chasing the friction– and they're both still clothed, still have their pants on, gah–

And Viktor smells so good– and he sounds so pretty– so fuckable, surprisingly high-pitched, like a woman– and just the thought makes Jayce’s hips spasm– press them harder down into Viktor below him, so much so that it hurts– he needs their pants to fucking disintegrate now–

Seemingly thinking the same, Viktor brings his beautiful beautiful nimble fingers down and unbuckles Jayce’s belt, letting it drop, then he unbuttons his own pants, grips his fly and ziiippp–

Jayce wants to do it– he wants to undress Viktor– slaps his hands away and finishes unzipping him, the backs of his knuckles caressing his erection and making him groan, and he's so hard, he's literally dripping– a dark, wet spot having formed at his tip, but Jayce ignores it, tugging his pants down around his hips, and thankfully Viktor helps, shifting himself to make space. Jayce changes his mind and also grabs the underwear too, tugging, forcing it down, freeing Viktor’s dick, letting it sit heavy and hot hot hot on his stomach.

They end up leaving his pants and underwear wrapped around one of Viktor’s legs, too impatient and eager to get him fully unclothed. 

Now, Jayce takes his time. He skims his rough, calloused palms up Viktor’s thighs, feeling them quiver beneath him, watching Viktor watch him, feeling his skin, so warm and alive and eager.

His cock is forming a puddle of pre-cum on his stomach, but Jayce ignores it entirely, making Viktor whine and squeeze his sides with his legs, as much as he can.

Jayce keeps his touch soft, reverent, feeling Viktor’s sides, where his chest meets his belly, and he wants to taste him again. 

He does so. His tongue on Viktor’s body, leaving cooling trails of saliva on his abdomen, kissing and nibbling at the moles on him, feeling fine, little hairs under his tongue, feeling Viktor. 

He groans and kisses Viktor’s mouth again, feeling him whisper Jayce, Jayce under his breath, into Jayce’s breath, into his body, into his heart, his cock, everything, everything–

He finally undoes the button on his own pants, shoving it down along with his underwear, just until he can free his own cock, heavy with blood, with need, hanging right there above Viktor’s, and the relief is immediate. Not confined anymore, but still– he still needs to touch Viktor. He needs to. Needs. 

“Jayce,” Viktor sighs, and caresses Jayce’s arms, his biceps, his collarbones, down to his chest; brings his lovable, beautiful hands back to Jayce’s nape, holds him there as they take a moment to breathe, pressing their cheeks to each other, embracing. Their chests are touching too; Viktor’s smaller one under Jayce’s bigger one. 

“How do you want to do this?” Jayce asks into Viktor’s neck, giving little licks, just because he can. Just to taste him. 

Viktor takes a moment. Still breathing heavily, but considerably calmer. He tightens his arms around Jayce’s shoulders, squeezes his legs around Jayce’s hips, talks in his ear. Low, haggard, full of arousal.

“Need you to fuck me,” and he does it on purpose, he has to, because Jayce is about to explode.

“God, yes, please.” He answers, and it makes Viktor giggle, and Jayce loves him so much, so much.

Jayce trails a hand down, down towards Viktor’s dick, then fondles his balls lightly, making Viktor sigh and tremble a little, then even lower. Pushes a thumb against his perineum, making him muffle a moan into Jayce’s shoulder, and finally, finally, he circles his rim with his middle finger. He can feel it pulsing, anticipating. 

Somewhere between the heavy petting and the squirming, the thought that this isn’t a dream had invaded Jayce’s mind, made his hands tremble, swallow heavily, eyes darting all over Viktor’s body. Now, even more, he wants to make sure he doesn't hurt him. 

Thing is– his hole is so small. Viktor’s so small. Jayce can't believe it. It makes his gut flare with arousal so strong he tightens his hold on Viktor’s thigh, supporting his bad leg. Slowly, gently, he pushes his middle finger in, dry, just to see, just to feel. 

“Jayceee,” Viktor whines, and Jayce can't take it. He can't. He needs to fuck Viktor. Needs to push his cock into his tight little hole and make him moan, make him struggle to breathe as he rocks with each pump of Jayce’s hips moving him up and down, up and down the couch. 

Oil. He needs oil. There’s– yes– oil in the kitchen– right across the lab, right there– in the cupboard above the toaster, next to the salt and the sugar–

He groans, bites Viktor’s ear gently and rises. “I need to get oil,” he says, and tries to extrapolate himself from Viktor’s tight hold, which only tightens when he tries to move away. He huffs a laugh. “Viktor,”

“Don't care– just use spit– please–” and he whines, fucking god his voice– but no, Jayce cannot and will not hurt him. He needs the oil. He's not arrogant, but his dick is not exactly small. Viktor is small– his whole body is tiny. 

“Stay here, Viktor. I’ll be right back.”

Yes, it's three am, and, yes, the academy is deserted, but fuck if it doesn't sober him right quick having to sneak into the small kitchenette, shirtless, fumbling through the cupboards in the dark for the bottle of oil. And he swears to god, if it's not here, he's going to attack someone like a rabid animal. And it's not a dream, he's not dreaming, holy shit where is the oil–

But it's there, right where he knew it would be, slightly pushed to the back; he snatches it, practically runs back to the lab, locks the door, and sees Viktor on the couch– spread on it, having taken off his clothes fully, and he’s– gah– fisting his cock, up and down, up and down, squirming, huffing–

My turn! Says his dick, pulsing. 

He jumps on Viktor, spreads his legs, settles back between them, takes his cock out just to relieve the pressure– his balls hurt– and he tips the oil into his awaiting palm. Some of it drips onto Viktor’s abdomen, but once Jayce has put the bottle of oil on the coffee table, he scoops it up, and starts jerking Viktor off without any preamble.

Viktor, having gone lazy eyed, anticipating, throws his head back as Jayce starts furiously pumping his dick. He moans, loud, unashamed, probably still a bit drunk, and he clasps a hand, tight, around Jayce’s forearm, just holding it there, as Jayce touches his dick all over. 

With his other hand, having warmed up the oil enough, he lets it trail to the tips of his fingers, then presses them in. Into Viktor’s hole, holy jesus Jayce is going to die. He's touching, fingering Viktor’s hole. 

He's tight. He keeps clenching down on his finger, and he does it again when he adds another, and another. On the fourth finger, he's practically slapping his hand away from his cock, begging, begging–

“Jayce, stop, stop, I’ll come–” and so Jayce stops jerking him off, but he scissors his fingers just a bit more– spreads them just a few more times, and it has Viktor panting, heaving. 

“Hurry up, Jayce, I can take it, fuck me–” his voice breaks on a whimper, but he keeps pleading, squirming, panting, saying these filthy little things, like he's unaware of how sexy it makes him, downright magnetically, scientifically attractive– and Jayce, cannot consciously, possibly resist him. With the way he's also whining Jayce’s name–

Yeah, Jayce would lose from the start.

Well– no, not really. Right now, he feels like he won. 

Viktor suddenly kicks him on his shoulder; Jayce pauses and looks at him. He has to swallow at the sight. 

Viktor is flushed; he's red, pink, alive, and a light sheen of sweat layers his skin, making him shine, making him glisten. His expression, though: frustrated tears in his eyes, brows scrunched in anger, mouth half-open in a moan. Both of them have paused, staring at each other, and the only sound in the room is that of their panting.

Gods forgive him; Jayce is only a man. 

 And Viktor under him? Irresistible. 

He understands the message. No more fingering. With a squelch, he removes his fingers, wipes them on his pants, and shares a look with Viktor. 

Carefully, he indicates for Viktor to turn on his side, then takes his bad leg and lays it flat on the couch. He straddles it, takes Viktor’s other leg, puts it over his shoulder. Kisses the inside of his knee, tenderly, lovingly. 

Lines himself up. Has to stop his hand from squeezing Viktor’s ankle to death. Instead, he leans down, still keeping just his cockhead pressed just there, and kisses Viktor, holds the side of his face. Viktor’s breathing softly, relaxed, and their eyes meet for a second–

Jayce groans– he can't help it. This is Viktor. Viktor.

“Viktor,” he whispers, planting a kiss on the mole under his eye, his second favourite one. 

“Jayce,” he whispers, and fuck but Jayce loves him so much. Just his voice makes the thing in his chest ache. He loves him. 

“I love you– so much–” he says as such, sees Viktor’s eyes widen, surprised, but not put off, and just as he opens his mouth to reply, Jayce pushes in, making him moan instead. 

Heat. Tight. He's so tight. And warm, and he smells like pure heaven, so good, so good–

Jayce shifts his hips forward a bit more, halfway in– and he has to drop his head to Viktor’s collarbone, letting out his own noise. 

Viktor Viktor Viktor– grabs his nape, claws his shoulder blades–

Jayce pulls back, slides out, then pushes in– 

He does it again, and again, and again–

Leans his weight off Viktor’s body, until he's on his knees, and takes a hold of his waist, turns him so he's laying on his back again. Snaps his own hips forward, fucks into his hole, pulls him back onto his cock by his hips, does it again and again and again–

Builds up a rhythm; fast, hard,  and Viktor’s moaning, crying, panting, clutching at the back of the couch and spreading his legs wider, trying to take Jayce deeper– 

Truthfully, they don't last long. They've both drank a bit, and the last time Jayce has had sex was years ago. He guesses– hopes it's the same for Viktor. 

Viktor comes first– as Jayce wanted– he practically shakes as he does so, head thrown back in ecstasy, legs quivering around Jayce, his hole spasms, and holy shit the noise he makes–

Jayce doesn't even have to think about; his dick throbs once, twice, and the force of his orgasm takes him by surprise– makes his hands tighten on Viktor’s waist until he knows he’ll leave bruises– and that makes his pleasure even stronger–

They're both panting, after. Quiet, heavy ha ha ha’s in the air between them. Jayce’s hands are holding his weight atop Viktor, braced on either side of him. He's trembling a little, and his entire lower half is tingling nicely. 

Looks at Viktor, whose eyes are closed, head tilted, hands by his head. Content is what he looks like. Fucked well. 

It makes Jayce grin, and he stifles a chuckle as he pulls out of Viktor, exhaling quietly. As he does so, Viktor opens his eyes, gazes at  him, and again, he's got that look– the one where it makes Jayce think Viktor loves him. 

Maybe, he does. 

Doesn’t matter. Jayce loves him. 

Cutely, vulnerably, Viktor spreads his hands towards Jayce, beckoning him.

“Lay on me,” he pleads. 

“I’m heavy,” Jayce chuckles. 

“Don't care. Please?” 

And Jayce will always, always be weak for Viktor’s voice. He snatches one of the shirts on the ground, wipes Viktor’s stomach, leans down to kiss him– slowly, dazedly. 

Settles half of his body on Viktor, the other on the couch, buries his head in his neck. Breathes him in, lets the movement of his ribs lull him into a doze. Nearly falls asleep when Viktor starts caressing the short, fine hairs at his nape. 

“Me too, you know,” Viktor says quietly in the intimate space between them. 

“Hm?” he's barely keeping his eyes open. 

“I also love you,”

I know, now. We were both blind. 

Instead of replying, he turns his head a little, presses a loving kiss to Viktor’s chin. Smiles softly at the fingers running through his hair. 

In the afternoon, they're woken by incessant knocks to their lab door– Sky, undoubtedly. 

Thank fuck he locked the door.