Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Of all places Jayce expected to be in the middle of the week, late into the night, he didn’t once consider ending up here. He’s in some back-alley club that Viktor took him to in the undercity, sitting at a bar under a flickering and iridescent series of strobes that give the room the impression of an underwater environment.

They’re meeting a contact Viktor was able to source through Vi. Privately, Jayce thinks he isn’t too comfortable with those two getting around each other. Vi has a habit of speaking before she thinks, and if she lets slip anything that Jayce might have said about Viktor, he isn’t sure how the other man is going to take it. Jayce tries not to be overly complimentary with his partner. Viktor is always uncomfortable with praise of his talent, or talk of his strength. It reads falsely to him, after a lifetime of being a societal reject due to his disease and his leg.

That does not mean Jayce doesn’t admire him on his own time, though. Caitlyn used to joke that it’s part of the reason Mel broke up with him – he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Vik around other people. That wasn't the case, of course. She actually thought their partnership was sweet, and told Jayce once that loyalty like theirs was rare but beautiful. Still, Jayce knows damn well he talks about Viktor too much, and Mel was a saint for tolerating his schoolboy infatuation stage, in truth. But, well… It never really went away, now that he's thinking on it.

Jayce glances sideways at Viktor in the mirror glass behind the bar shelves. His partner is seated on a stool with his back to the bar, ostensibly for added support in counterpoint to his brace, but Jayce knows better. He knows Viktor is scouting. So, secretively, Jayce allows himself this moment to just watch his partner.

He’s so gorgeous, and wickedly intelligent. That brilliant mind resides in the crude matter of his flesh, and yet how precious that flesh is to Jayce. If he could sculpt more than tools and weaponry, Jayce would commit Viktor to immortality in the workings of steel. Jayce traces his eyes between the two points of Viktor’s elbows on the bar, and then up the long stretch of his proud and arching spine to the high collar of his shirt. His head is turned, and Jayce’s gaze leaps hungrily to lap at Viktor’s side profile. The bottles on the shelves obscure portions of his partner’s demure, pouting expression as he speaks liltingly with someone next to them.

Wait.

Jayce jerks to attention, his head whipping around as he leans slightly back to find that a well-muscled, tattooed man has approached Viktor, and is making some flirtatious pass at him below the thudding music. Jayce’s heart pounds furiously in his ears as he glances rapidly back and forth between Viktor and their new acquaintance. Is this the contact Vi gave them?

Jayce’s hands tighten to white-knuckle fists on his lap below the bar. He cinches his jaw tightly, tries to calm his irrational possessiveness as Viktor humors the man. Jayce forces himself to tune back in, listening closely for the sibilant, purring syllables as they spill from Viktor’s now moving lips. He shifts subtly, turning outward the way Viktor is sitting, just in case he is needed for this conversation. It doesn’t seem to be going particularly well.

“Oh,” Viktor croons, his voice low and rasping and mean. “Poor thing, if you can’t even bear to ask me nicely, I fear we’ll have no fun.”

Jayce’s breath freezes in his chest. He watches the other man’s face fall slightly, brow pinching and mouth tightening. Jayce wants to shove the man away, press his hand right in the middle of that basically naked chest and topple him off the bar stool. How does anyone react to commands from Viktor with anything other than blind subjugation? He resists the odd violent impulse, instead reaching out one hand to steady himself on Viktor’s closest knee, thankfully snagging himself slightly on the man’s brace before he readjusts and uses the stool instead.

For a single, stolen moment, Viktor jerks his head to the side and catches Jayce’s eye, and there is the slightest change in his demeanor. Where Viktor had seemed… derisive with their visiting stranger, he melts into an intense attentiveness with Jayce. His gaze, deep gold and narrow with focus, passes up and down Jayce’s face and body language, reading him for a private, shared assurance before he returns to his dismissal of his ill-timed suitor.

“I think the way I asked was pretty fuckin’ nice, chico,” the guy rebuts, his posture verging on aggressive.

Jayce’s spine straightens at once, metaphorical hackles rising. He doesn’t enjoy fighting, but he will absolutely stop anyone who tries to fuck with Viktor. As if sensing this, Viktor suddenly lifts his arm, barring it across Jayce’s lap as he leans into his partner’s space, aiming for casual despite how obvious it is he is formulating an escape. The metal frame of his leg brace digs into the side of Jayce’s knee as Viktor eases nearer, away from the man opposite. It only serves to make Jayce realize how close their stools had been from the beginning, and he presses himself protectively to the warm line of Viktor’s body.

“You’ve read me wrong,” Viktor snaps sharply, tone scathing. “I am not going to simper cutely over your body art or your… pathetic excuse for physical maintenance.” He sends a distressingly disdainful look up and down the stranger. He seems to hesitate, then; perhaps it’s something only Jayce picks up on, because he knows Viktor well enough. There is barely a gap between his words as he barrels forward, but Jayce can sense the slight nervous shift that runs through him. “Piss off,” Viktor finally spits. “You’re going to upset my service dog.”

For a moment, Jayce is confused. He sits forward in his stool, bracing for the man’s presumably negative reaction. Instead, he watches as the man’s eyes flicker away from Viktor’s face, and land on Jayce. His eyes narrow, and then widen with realization. He sways back, jaw slack as he looks back towards Viktor. Now, a grin spreads across his face.

“Oh, I know about you,” the stranger says at once, wagging his finger towards Viktor as if he’s just pinned something down in his mind. “That fuckin’ cane should’ve given it away, but it’s been a while, huh? Guess you found a loyal sub, after all. Nobody ever thought you would, socio. Been a lot of talk about you, since you went AWOL.”

Jayce’s blood turns to liquid heat at the sudden, reality-shifting revelation that has been dumped into his lap by the universe. They are at a fetish club in Zaun. Viktor has evidently been here before, enough times that he was talked about. A regular? And, most strikingly, Viktor is a dom. It’s not the most surprising thing Jayce has ever discovered, not considering how easily giving orders comes to Viktor when it’s just the two of them in the lab, but it still takes him aback. It’s one thing to conceptualize Viktor as a dominant personality, and another to know it to be true.

“I only hope my previous dalliances aren’t too unhappy to see me with a partner,” Viktor allows easily, flipping hair from his eyes as he again scans the room. For their contact? For the people he’d… dominated in the past?

And– fuck, Viktor had just implied Jayce was his submissive.

Of course, it’s only part of his ruse to get this man to leave them alone, but Jayce can’t help the heady rush that overwhelms his senses at the idea of it. He’d never thought his scarce, vaguely ashamed fantasies would ever come to see the light of day, and now they are being fulfilled in the least satisfying way imaginable. Hoping to play into Viktor’s disguise and not blow the cover he’s creating, Jayce allows himself at least to pretend.

Easefully, Jayce’s arm slips through the space beneath the bar, rounding Viktor’s back so he can tuck his hand neatly into the curve of his partner’s waist. He carefully holds his arm at an angle to offset any pressure on Viktor’s back brace. He doesn’t want to tug on the careful, delicate stability of Viktor’s spine provided by the brackets and bones of the brace. He tucks his chin gently on Viktor’s closest shoulder, fearful of pressing too close and upsetting Viktor’s typical boundaries regarding touch. He’s not one for overt displays of affection, and even their infrequent and always brief hugs leave him flustered and tense at times, like he is only putting up with them for Jayce’s sake.

In this instance, Viktor seems more than happy to lean into the easy tenderness of their closeness. It’s an excellent ruse. Jayce preens with pride at having successfully assisted Viktor with the neat and orderly rejection, and does his best not to lean too hard into the comforting warmth of Viktor’s hand, which he lays atop Jayce’s thigh to prop himself up, straightening his spine to its proper length.

“Well, good for you, socio,” the stranger says, nodding once at Jayce as an afterthought, like he’d already forgotten Jayce was there. “He seems like a good boy,” he says then to Viktor, posture now much more relaxed as he realizes he is in the presence of another dom.

Jayce shivers slightly at the words, so close to what he has desperately chased in his imagination from Viktor. He wants to hear that soft, purring voice tell him he’s good like that, wants to earn that sort of praise, pry it directly from those pale pink lips. He digs his chin slightly harder into Viktor’s shoulder, abruptly shy.

“Hmm, he is,” Viktor allows, then turns to press a languid, gentle kiss against Jayce’s cheek-bone, his lips vaguely chapped and still so perfect. “Aren’t you, puppy?” he asks.

Jayce has to bite down hard on his own tongue and the inside of his cheek to keep from whimpering directly into Viktor’s face. As it is, he barely manages to stifle the breathy whine that slips out of his chest and hovers in his throat, caught below a shaky exhale. He turns his face briefly against Viktor’s skin to hide the expression he makes, perhaps too pained for any regular sort of play in a public setting like this. He just… he wants, so badly, for this to be real.

Pulling away in reluctant tandem, Jayce settles back on his perch against Viktor’s shoulder so they can properly avail themselves of the unwanted company. Viktor smiles, and waves lightly at the man, who pushes off the bar with a sigh.

“Well, shame to say goodbye, socio,” their acquaintance admits. “You are uniquely gorgeous.” Then, his cold pale eyes slide to Jayce. “Take good care of your master, pup.”

Jayce nods, and before he can stop himself, the instinct to be good bubbles up through his throat and bursts out as words.

“Yes, sir,” he acquiesces easily, and strokes his hand reverently up Viktor’s waist, to his ribs and the notches of his brace, then back down to settle once more around his hip.

Viktor seems to startle, slightly, at Jayce’s complete and total willingness to play the part, and Jayce worries he has let too much show. He swallows tightly, preparing to withdraw the moment they are alone again, for fear of upsetting Viktor with too much eagerness. He doesn’t want to push his partner away with his inability to squash down his own unrequited desire.

Except, when the stranger’s back turns and Jayce tries to disentangle himself discreetly, he is stopped by the sudden firm grasp of Viktor’s fingers tight around his jaw. He holds still, a rush of heat and liquid need tumbling gracelessly around in his veins, pumping molten desire alongside his blood. Viktor turns into his space, their noses lightly grazing before he tucks his mouth against the hinge of Jayce’s jaw, closest to the bar so his words will go unnoticed by anyone else. To an onlooker, they appear to be a dom and sub, exchanging sweet nothings.

“We have a disguise in place, now,” Viktor explains softly, his breath hot in Jayce’s ear, curling over his skin and making him shiver faintly, eyelids falling shut heavily. He only hopes Viktor doesn’t notice as he continues speaking. “Best to stick by it until we are ready to leave.”

Jayce nods, his heart jumping in his chest with desire and distant panic. He knows if this continues much longer, he’ll be in real danger of sinking into actual subspace with his partner, and he has never let himself do that in front of Viktor before. Even though he feels the latent urge creeping up any time Viktor orders him around in the lab, demanding sweet milk or a new stick of chalk from the far table while he is busy with his calculations, Jayce always manages to tamp down his own instinct to fully submit, instead following the simple orders and then easing himself back into his work. Now, though, without the distractions of the lab and the pressure of deadlines, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back.

Still, he is nothing if not eager to please. Besides, Viktor’s suggestion makes a good deal of sense. It would be dumb to set up a ruse and then abandon it immediately, where anyone might clock the suspicious behavior. They don’t need any more attention from outsiders.

With some slight trepidation, Jayce tips his head to rest gently on Viktor’s shoulder, and secures his other hand, the one not resting around Viktor’s waist, into the crook of Viktor’s nearest elbow, holding him lightly. Viktor hums, pleased, and scratches his nails briefly through the rough stubble afforded to Jayce’s jaw by the late hour. It has been roughly nineteen hours since he last slept or shaved, as he’s been trying to keep up with Viktor’s unbelievable lab hours out of solidarity while their winter deadlines from the Council draw nearer.

“Sorry,” Viktor whispers into Jayce’s ear, before he withdraws slightly. “I do not mean to humiliate you.”

Jayce will not have Viktor thinking that this arrangement is a humiliating imposition or somehow offensive. It’s just… something they are doing for a little while, and it’s not like Jayce hates it. He very quickly yet carefully moves forward, chasing Viktor’s retreating face so he can lightly nuzzle his forehead to Viktor’s temple. It’s a gesture of affection that he has learned is common between loved ones in the undercity, since he’s been spending some time with Caitlyn and Vi. He means it mostly as a wordless acknowledgement of Viktor’s efforts to keep Jayce comfortable, but also in the spirit he gives it. He cares for Viktor. This is something he might do, anyway, on his own time.

The pulsating lights shift with the music, and Jayce cannot be certain if the bright flush that overtakes Viktor’s face is a consequence of the iridescent strobes or Jayce’s actions. He wonders if Viktor is simply put off by the necessary closeness, and Jayce might only be projecting. It strikes a chord of vulnerable insecurity in him, and that is what finally clues Jayce into the fact that he is already dropping under the layers of his usual subspace.

It’s been a long, long time since Jayce last had a partner who dommed him into a haze. It was close with Mel, a few times, though she wasn’t quite initiated into the kink scene. Having heard a few horrifying stories about her estranged mother’s own proclivities, Jayce had understood why Mel would be resistant to learning much about the sort of play that Jayce himself enjoyed. He never really brought it up to her, and kept himself in check even when he was close to losing all sense and rationality in her soft, silken bedsheets.

But, now it seems that prolonged resistance to his subspace has built a pent up need that floods through Jayce the very moment he even hints towards his submissive state. Combined with the pulsating light around them and the vibrating thud of the music, Jayce feels almost psychedelically intoxicated, and he sinks greedily against the warmth of Viktor’s body, allowing himself this moment of indulgence, however brief and false it might be.

It is at this exact moment that another presence makes itself known, appearing this time on Jayce’s side, hovering far too close to his stool. Jayce makes a faint noise of recognition, perking upright off Viktor’s shoulder to stare down the new intrusion on his peaceful moment with his do– with Vik.

“Ah, Sevika,” Viktor says suddenly.

Jayce glances at his partner, then back to the woman in front of him, relaxing slightly once he realizes this is their contact. She is cloaked head to toe in leather clothing, down to her trousers and tight boots. Metal studs are woven through various features in her face, piercings melding with the network of scars making up one side of her neck. Beneath those scars, revealed by the shredded hem of a ripped-off sleeve, the woman called Sevika sports an impressive mechanical augment. The arm ripples with heat and juddering waves of metal as it adjusts, and she lifts both hands to rest on her hips.

“Little one,” Sevika says with some surprise.

Jayce almost expects her to be speaking with him, the fog of his subspace making conversation seem abruptly intolerable. But when he looks up at her face, she has her sharp, dark stare fixed resolutely on Viktor.

“Not so little, anymore,” Viktor returns, then gestures at the now empty stool beside himself, patting the wood. “Join me. I must discuss something with you.”

“Yeah, Vi said,” Sevika grumbles, but obliges Viktor’s request, her shadow falling away from Jayce as she stalks nimbly over to the offered stool.

Jayce relaxes once she is gone from his personal space, returning instead to push his mouth to Viktor’s shoulder. It is a simulacrum of a kiss, and he buries his nose in the fabric bunched around Viktor’s collar, warm layers to offset the late chill of winter. The smell of him floods Jayce’s senses, and the blunt scrape of his nails transfers easily from Jayce’s jaw to scrape through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“I am aware Silco is not fond of me, but hopefully we can assist one another,” Viktor says finally, and Jayce startles a little to hear the crime boss’s name from his partner’s lips.

It strikes him squarely in the gut that Viktor would have been small and sick on the streets that Silco ruled with unforgiving violence. He releases a shaking breath, curling tighter around Viktor like he might somehow squeeze the pain of his upbringing out of his muscles, like he could possibly quench the endless thirst for well-deserved respect that is evident in Viktor’s every move, every word, every action. He tries. Gods, he will keep trying.

Sevika makes a soft, noncommittal grunting sound, shrugging her shoulders loosely as she leans back against the bar. Her posture and Viktor’s are nearly twin mirrors of each other, and Jayce wonders if perhaps they have been acquainted longer than even their shared interest in this club would imply. Evidently, they know each other from a time when Viktor was small enough to be called ‘little one,’ likely when he was a child. Did he pick up on those easy, confident gestures from this woman? Did a littler, less sure Viktor learn how to display his strength from mimicking a crime lord’s right hand, rather than a mother or father?

“Look,” Viktor sighs eventually, turning conspiratorially towards Sevika, jostling Jayce slightly where he is still leaning into Viktor’s side.

Still though, Viktor only turns far enough that he can keep a hand on Jayce, detaching his grip from Jayce’s neck and re-angling it to rest on Jayce’s knee once more for support. Jayce melts against Viktor’s back, forehead landing on the man’s augmented upper spine, where he can marvel secretly at the protrusions of his brace and the metal knobs that have been attached to the column to hold his back brace together. That fine metal frame supports the body which is most precious to Jayce. He traces his fingers gently along the rods of the outermost frame, where he is certain Viktor will not feel his reverent, probing touch.

“I am only getting sicker,” Viktor says at once, and Jayce’s pulse quickens. “The exact state of affairs we need to further develop our hextech projects is something I believe only the use of Shimmer can achieve. I cannot easily ask topside’s Council for permission to experiment with a dangerous drug, but I can ask you. I know it will not be easy, but I am willing to offer… maintenance services for your arm. Improvements. I might be able to make things easier than they were for you before, if you wish.”

Sevika sighs sharply, blowing a few strands of her dark hair away from her strong nose, which glints with a vicious scar under the shifting light. “You think you can do that?” she asks, rather than the outright rejection Jayce had expected to come first.

Viktor nods gravely, then gestures down at his own leg brace. “I built this, and designed the one around my back,” he reveals. “This was many years ago. I have built thousands more pieces to augment my own independence, and some for others, as well. You would be numbered among many I have helped, and all I ask is one vial. For now.”

Most (if not all) of this is news to Jayce. He has never heard these stories. He knew, of course, that healthcare was tricky and nearly impossible to receive in Zaun, and that Viktor was an inventor before he could properly walk. Just… Jayce never knew he meant that as some sort of joking insinuation that he had to build his ability to walk without falling or stumbling. He should have known, really. Viktor is always circumnavigating the main thesis of what he wants to say, instead using metaphor and vague hints to provide Jayce context for a puzzle he cannot yet see.

The only time he comes close to knowing whatever Viktor actually means is when he is following a direct order, and he can extrapolate what Viktor needs from what he asks for. It’s a fairly simple equation that Jayce has gotten quite good at. Bringing Viktor sweet milk usually means he needs a break from the math, just to step back and focus on anything that won’t pound menacingly in his skull without rest. Being asked to bring more chalk is an urgent demand, a sign that Viktor was onto something complex and needed to chase it.

Whenever Viktor gets like that, Jayce knows he will also need to grab the extra pillow and bedding from one of the lab lockers, because it will be a long night of Viktor working until he is wilting with exhaustion, thin and rasping from pain. Often, if not always now, Jayce will stay, making an extra mug of sweet milk and tracking down a food vendor for fuel late into the night.

It scares him how little Viktor seems to eat these days before he is stopped by discomfort, pain settling into his stomach as well as his bones and joints. It is distressing to know that being sick doesn’t stop with Viktor’s limbs, and Jayce wishes he could curl his hands around the razor wire of illness that penetrates deeper and deeper, and pull all of it carefully outward. Lately, it has become something of a need – Jayce is infected with the ceaseless longing to decipher the answers that might extend Viktor’s life.

“Easy, puppy,” Viktor snaps when Jayce sways him a little too hard with his needy, clinging desperation.

Jayce jumps, his shoulders jumping below his ears as he flushes hot and dark with shame and reprimand. “Sorry, master,” he squeaks helplessly.

Viktor rubs one palm across Jayce’s cheek, lifting his head back up. “Good boy, just be gentle for me, okay?”

Jayce nods, breaths escaping his nose in sharp puffs of frantic air. “Yes, master. Sorry.”

Viktor clicks his tongue, shaking his head once, sharply. “None of that.”

Jayce can only assume that Viktor thinks Jayce is playing the role too eagerly. Maybe it’s upsetting him, or maybe… No. Jayce refuses to let himself believe that Viktor might be just as affected by their fake play. This isn’t real, Jayce reminds himself. Viktor said so himself, that they should keep up the act for others. Their pretending is not for Jayce to revel in what he wants but can never have.

Then, surprisingly, Viktor jerks forward and presses a nervous, half-aborted kiss to the corner of Jayce’s mouth. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark and serious, and he tucks their faces close together so he can speak without being overheard.

“Don’t apologize to me, Jayce. Not for this,” Viktor whispers.

Nodding his understanding, Jayce returns to a much more careful position, curled limply around the parts of Viktor he can reach without hurting or jostling him more. He tries to blink himself away from the tender edges of his subspace, wary of sinking too deep and really revealing to Viktor how he feels about their disguise. Viktor wouldn’t want that, not when he is trying so hard to keep them both from being found out. It wouldn’t do for Jayce to ruin this plan by getting overly excited.

While Sevika and Viktor continue their discussion, Jayce does his due diligence and gently withdraws himself from subspace with a few recitations he has tucked in the back of his mind. I am safe. I am okay. I am going to handle whatever comes next, and I will be strong on my own. It’s a familiar mantra, one he’s used in the past to overcome the depthless void of being left without aftercare. This is not the same situation, and Jayce refuses to let the awful sadness in his stomach boil down to resentment. He kisses Viktor’s shoulder gently, a parting apology, before he sits back.

He keeps his legs still so Viktor can continue supporting himself with Jayce’s knee in the absence of a seat-back. Even with that small act of continued submission, Jayce manages to calmly walk himself back down to a comfortable, if somewhat regretful state of mind. He only wishes he’d had more time to actually enjoy his first foray back into subspace after a long stint of time without. Feeling the distinct lack of floaty euphoria, he knows tonight is going to be cold and lonely once he and Viktor part ways.

He tries to accept that as gracefully as he can. I am safe. I am okay. I am going to handle whatever comes next, and I will be strong on my own.

Jayce has survived worse than this. At least he and Viktor will still have their friendship, their rapport, their steadfast work and gentle dedication to one another’s minds. Jayce stares at the long lines of Viktor’s back, permitting himself this final indulgence as he recognizes the closing, hushed tones of Viktor and Sevika wrapping up. They shake hands under the bar, and it is only when Jayce glances up that he notices Sevika looking over Viktor’s shoulder at him.

As before, her eyes linger briefly on Jayce, gaze assessing, before she slides those piercing orbs back to Viktor’s face. “Good for you, little one. I can see he cares for you a great deal. Don’t let that slip away.”

Rising, Sevika gives Viktor a parting pat on the shoulder with her flesh hand, though it is hidden away beneath a black leather glove. Only up to the first knuckles of her fingers are visible, her chipped blunt nails tapping twice on Viktor’s upper back, just above the wing of one shoulder-blade. She squeezes pointedly around the bony structure of Viktor’s shoulder, and looks him sternly in the eye.

“And take care of yourself, Viktorek,” she says finally, quietly.

Viktor blinks up at her, his face rigid and unreadable. He nods once, shortly, and lifts his hand away from Jayce’s lap to grip Sevika’s wrist in turn. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon,” he promises, and watches her disappear back into the thronging crowd of dancing, euphoric groups.

Jayce watches a woman near the edge of the crowd with her dom, both of them locked in that familiar forehead touch. A sign of affection. Jayce wonders if maybe he overstepped earlier in more ways than he thought. Is that sort of touch limited to lovers? He cannot be sure. He knows that Vi bonks Caitlyn like that occasionally. But… no, she’d done it once to Jayce, too.

Looking back at Viktor, Jayce finds himself wondering if perhaps he did read Viktor’s reaction properly, earlier. Was he pleased with the familiar comforting touch that mimicked a home he seems to remember with a little more fondness than Jayce expected? Every time Viktor speaks of Zaun, he sounds resigned to the awful conditions, bitter and resentful of its crime-riddled streets, thoroughly traumatized by his dreadful and lonely childhood. But here, tucked away in a corner of the world beneath, Viktor clearly feels at home.

Jayce keeps turning that thought over and over in his mind, and blindly helps Viktor to his feet when the man announces it’s time to leave. Unthinkingly, Jayce works through the reflexive motions he has memorized in his muscles to support Viktor up onto his brace from the high stool, steadying him with a light hand at his lower back to prevent him from swaying too far as his hip adjusts.

“Thank you,” Viktor says idly, and Jayce’s chest clenches with a fond, giddy sense of glee at having met Viktor’s expectations.

Oh no. Jayce takes deep, steadying breaths as they make their way out of the club, passing by the coat check to reclaim their oversized winter jackets, which Jayce insisted they bundle in before making the long walk between Piltover and Zaun, and back again. He’s already almost lost a loved one to a bitter, unexpected freeze before; the memory of his mother’s frozen, dead fingertips will forever haunt him. He will not have Viktor suffer similarly.

Once they are out in the night, the brisk wind and biting sting of cold drags Jayce into a shivering, crisp clarity. The subduing noise of the club vanishes, allowing Jayce the ability to clear his thoughts and breathe through the shocking waves of disappointment, and hurt, and the frantic surges of panicky please-didn’t-I-do-well-enough-wasn’t-I-good-Master-please–

By the time they reach the same bridge they crossed previously, Jayce has almost managed to dismiss those thoughts. Viktor would not keep his displeasure silent if Jayce had stepped over a boundary, or shattered any trust. He would voice that opinion, loudly, and at the first given opportunity. Instead, he has been silent this entire time.

Worryingly, Jayce realizes that might not be any better. What has driven Viktor to such suppressed, deep thought? He should be bursting at the seams with excitement for this new course of possibility in their research. They just secured a trustworthy enough contact who can provide them with Shimmer for Viktor’s insane experiments. He should be over the moon.

So, why isn’t he?

Jayce tries not to let himself spiral over that, but he cannot help the inkling of doubt that plagues him. Was it something Jayce did?




There is a dog tailing them on the way out of Zaun. Viktor notices it in an alley a few streets away from the nightclub, and spends a great deal of time listening for its clicking claws against the stone behind their footfalls. Ostensibly, he is distracting himself from thoughts regarding Jayce’s behavior in the nightclub.

It was… dizzying, to be handed that sort of power from the strongest man Viktor knows, and he knows Jayce near intimately by now. Jayce is deeply passionate, large in both presence and body, strong in every way Viktor can think of, including the free way in which Jayce shares his emotions. It was like a shock to the system to feel powerful with a submissive that way again, even if it was a ruse. It’s been years.

As a result, Viktor might have let things go a little… haywire. Jayce performed beautifully, met his every cruel whim as Viktor drew reactions from Jayce with careful words and intentional praise. He’s seen how Jayce is starving for affection, and he is oh so willing to provide it, but perhaps it was wrong of Viktor to behave untowardly when it could unbalance their rapport.

He does not want to subject Jayce to any unwanted… advances now that their pretend dynamic has dissolved, left behind in the bar. Thus his chosen distraction. He can see the dog’s shadow at times, when the lamps on the streets are behind them. He wonders if Jayce would object to finding somewhere to get some food for the gentle tag-along. Viktor should have had the good sense to bring a bag of treats.

In the varied places he lived throughout the undercity, Viktor had always known there to be stray animals. They were starving and scrawny, nearly all of them, and Viktor had always felt an intense sorrow and kinship for the lonesome animals he encountered. Some, he considered to be like friends.

Nearer to the bridge, the dog lags further behind. Viktor turns slightly as they reach the clear divide between Zaun and Piltover, the cobble-stones now tightly packed and neatly level under his thick, padded boots that were a gift from Jayce some several winters ago. He tilts his head, eyeing the glint of the dog’s eyes under the shadow of an awning.

“This way, puppy,” Viktor calls out to the poor thing.

Jayce spins on his heel a few paces away, as if to respond.

For a long moment, nothing moves. The stray dog is, perhaps, too damaged from a previous environment to trust Viktor’s calm and gentle coaxing. Or maybe it picked up on how suddenly and extremely fucking awkward everything feels between Jayce and Viktor at once. He isn’t sure which of them is going to break the silence first.

“Um,” Jayce finally blurts out, though he doesn’t seem to have anything to follow up with, as he clams up almost immediately and stares at Viktor with wide eyes.

“Did you–” Viktor starts, but he is interrupted by Jayce’s loud and vehement “NO!” that overlaps his words, almost drowning him out.

Viktor doesn’t flinch, per se, but he does draw inward at the sound of Jayce’s voice raising. Some old, well-trained part of him that still lives on the streets of Zaun rankles at the disrespect of being talked over, being trampled verbally by that loud and bullying NO. It is clearly not an instinct he holds alone. The dog scampers off into the alley, chased by the echo of shouting. Viktor releases his frustration in a sharp breath, and shakes his head.

“Do not yell at me, Jayce,” Viktor grits out. He doesn’t like having his instincts tested, especially not by the man who is supposed to be his partner.

“Sorry,” Jayce practically squeaks. “I didn’t know you were… talking to the dog,” he admits in a defeated voice.

Viktor can’t help but look Jayce up and down, appraising him as he considers all he gleaned from Jayce at the bar. He’d tried to convince himself it was tricks of the light and the pulsing music, and a consequence of being in the place where Viktor spent most of his sexually formative years. But, no. Jayce appears to enjoy being called “puppy” and getting bossed around, which is… startlingly arousing.

Even just the pretend act back in the club was enough to make Viktor wet, and he was disastrously close to yanking Jayce closer by the shirt-collar. He’d briefly fantasized, before Sevika joined them, about grinding himself on the strong muscles of Jayce’s thigh, where he was being so obedient, letting Viktor grip and hold himself up using Jayce’s body. Now, it seems that his fantasy might be closer to reality than he’d thought.

Viktor swallows dryly, and focuses instead on the fact that he might have fumbled Jayce’s trust with his foolish stunt in the club, halfway motivated by his own lustful desires.

Taking a step forward, Viktor intends to approach his partner and offer some semblance of reassurance. Jayce looks so… stricken, standing there under the beam of new light fixtures provided by Piltover’s increasing paranoia regarding the undercity populus. However, as Viktor eases weight onto his aching leg, he feels his foot slide forward on the wet ground. His hip clicks wrongly, jarring against the notch at the top of his femur. He stumbles, halting.

Viktor gasps at the jolt of pain that rushes through him, and leans heavily against the nearest pillar, his cane clattering to the damp, wet ground as he tries to catch his suddenly rapid breaths. Frustration overwhelms him, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment to ride out the dizzying wave of fear-rage-adrenaline that courses up and down his quivering, cold limbs. It’s a horrible night for a long walk.

“V!” Jayce says frantically, suddenly very close.

Viktor blinks up at his partner, who has come to a halt just in front of him, hands hovering in the air as if to offer support should Viktor only ask. Something about that… Viktor wonders if perhaps Jayce had felt under the influence of his respective submissive role, just as the dominant portrayal had seeped into Viktor’s own bones with familiar comfort. Well, perhaps he can save them both a bit of frustration.

“Grab my cane for me, won’t you?” Viktor prompts, testing the idea.

Jayce nods, dropping carelessly to his knees nearly within the same breath as he receives the command. He clatters to the damp ground with twin thuds of his knee-caps kissing the stone, and Viktor winces for him. Perhaps Jayce is deeper down than he thought. He makes a mental note to be more mindful of how he delivers any further orders. He will need to be… intentional with Jayce, who seems desperate to serve.

When Jayce scrambles back to his feet, Viktor’s cane clutched in both his eager hands, he meets Viktor’s eyes nervously, expression blown wide with uncertain anxiety. Viktor cups his palms under Jayce’s wrists for a moment, quelling his nerves with the tender, delicate touch before he accepts the cane.

“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor praises lightly. “Now, walk and talk with me.”

Jayce falls quickly into place beside Viktor, offering his arm parallel to the ground for added stability should Viktor need it. Viktor arranges his cane under the opposite arm and adjusts his leg, hoping to grind the loose joint back into its place as he hesitates. Then, he wraps his hand loosely over the top of Jayce’s arm, and together they move slowly out from below the first hot white orb of blistering Piltover lighting.

“You are… submissive, yes?” Viktor asks once they have a good, even pace set between them, their steps falling in tandem.

Jayce stumbles slightly in their rhythm, but keeps up obediently. “Um, yes,” he squeaks, sounding shocked at the topic of conversation.

Viktor cannot help the light chuckle that slithers up his chest and narrowly escapes. “I am dominant, myself, as you no doubt surmised in the club. Apologies for springing scene-work on you without prior negotiation. That was not responsible of me, and I have caused you some… discomfort, it seems.” He phrases it vaguely, offering Jayce an easy out from the haze that Viktor might have accidentally sent him into.

Jayce shakes his head then, rapidly refusing the neat and tidy escape. “No,” he denies swiftly, surely. “No– you didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m just, uh, I guess surprised? I didn’t expect you to… well, I honestly just didn’t know you’d ever…”

A trickle of dread curls low in Viktor’s gut. He clicks his cane jarringly, angrily against the cobblestone to punctuate his next question. “You did not expect a man like me to dom?”

At once, Jayce stops walking. He knows Viktor cannot stop as suddenly, and his arm stretches forward slightly as Viktor eases to a halt a pace ahead. It seems to be an unconscious gesture, and it tugs Viktor’s heart as always to feel the clear and evident care Jayce has for him, that Viktor’s disability is not an afterthought for Jayce.

“Viktor, that’s not what I meant,” Jayce says seriously, almost sternly. “You’re more than capable of being a good dom. It makes sense, honestly. I just never expected you to be okay with domming me.”

The admission comes out almost like Jayce hadn’t meant to let it slip, despite the intensity of his focus. He does not take the words back, notably, even as his eyes subtly widen, his posture stiffening minutely in the cold, quiet dark. The ocean rolls below and beyond them, a gaping sucking void of wind created around the arching structure of the bridge.

Viktor swallows, feeling suddenly wrong-footed. Ha. He almost laughs at himself, but collects himself with a slight shake of his head and a bitten-off smile. “You… have thought about me dominating you?”

It’s Jayce’s turn to gulp. His throat works visibly, and he glances away, into the purpling night, his face warm and red even in the minimal illumination between flood lights. Viktor feels like he might pass out, or perhaps wake up. This has to be a dream. A wonderful, sexy dream. He must make certain Jayce knows how delighted Viktor is, before the other man panics or spirals.

“Jayce, tell me this is real?” Viktor entreats, incapable of hiding the soft echo of surprise and longing from his voice. “You want me to dom you, yes?”

Jayce’s eyes snap to meet Viktor’s gaze, searching. His brow pinches, eyes round and dark as he nods. “Yes, master,” Jayce whispers, lips scarcely moving. “I… I’ve thought about you. More than once.” His voice gains volume as he speaks, as if he isn’t in control of the admission that pours from him.

Viktor’s blood rushes hotly through him, chasing away any lingering cold in the air. He lets out a sharp, short breath that mists in the air between them before it is carried rapidly away in the swirling ocean mist. He grips the handle of his cane tightly to suppress a groan that threatens the back of his throat when he registers what Jayce had called him. Master.

“Good boy,” Viktor praises thoughtlessly, the words chased out by a relieved sigh. This is real, and Jayce wants him, even if it is purely to satisfy a physical urge. In whatever way possible, Viktor will take that and be happy with it.

A shaky, cracked whimper slips out of Jayce’s throat at the words, his hand turning upward under Viktor’s persistent hold, so he can desperately clutch Viktor’s wrist in turn. The tips of his ears are red, and Viktor wants to kiss them. But… fuck, they need to get out of the brutal elements before one or both of them suffers ill effects.

“Come along, puppy,” Viktor says teasingly, though he’s sure his smile is much fonder than his tone lets on. “Let’s get out of the cold, and we can continue discussing, yes?”

Jayce nods, eager and bright red. He returns to his previous pose, offering Viktor his consistent support as they make their way home. He seems obsessed, possessive in the way he shifts to eventually keep Viktor warm, his strong arm wrapped around Viktor’s back and his jacket spread against his torso, trapping their shared heat together in the press of their limbs.

The intimacy of the gesture is not lost on Viktor, and by the time they make it back to his apartment, he is dizzy with want, already wet and aching in his trousers. He cannot be blamed for the needful way his hands tremble as he unlocks the door, nor the way he crowds Jayce against the door once they are inside, using their combined weight to click the latch shut. He squirms one hand under Jayce’s arm and locks the deadbolt, and then he is free to kiss Jayce with reckless abandon. And he does.

Jayce responds eagerly, lips parting at the first curious flicker of Viktor’s tongue, a high, wavering sigh punching out of his nose as he tips his head and lets Viktor lead the kiss. He vaguely hears Jayce’s head thunk against the door as Viktor pins him in place, learning every pointed tooth and swipe of tongue that makes Jayce shudder all over. As the kiss deepens, getting filthier with every low moan and gasping pant from Jayce’s mouth, Viktor carefully sheds them both of their thick coats in the doorway, letting the fabric fall around their feet.

“I thought,” Jayce mutters, breaking away for a breath. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

Viktor kisses wetly down Jayce’s long, tan throat, nipping at his skin. “I want you. We don’t have to do anything that would require more negotiation. Would you like me to call you puppy? I can be sweet. Nothing intense.”

Truthfully, Viktor would be happy with no scene at all, even if it just meant kissing Jayce until he was weak in the knees and then cuddling him to sleep. He wants this closeness, not anything arbitrary that could happen at any time. Jayce is what he craves.

Jayce gnaws thoughtfully at his own mouth, and Viktor has to resist the urge to lean in and suck the plush, pink wedge of Jayce’s bottom lip between his teeth to nibble. “But can we… um, would you be okay with talking about it? I think I might slip, anyway.”

Viktor furrows his brow, unfamiliar with that exact terminology. Perhaps it’s a Piltover thing. He tips his head questioningly, and watches with no small amount of pride as Jayce scrambles to explain without even needing to be asked out loud.

“Oh, um, I really want to sub for you tonight,” Jayce admits in one fell swoop, his ears once again burning that embarrassed red, his cheeks flaring with the same heat. “I like… I like praise, and I like to do what I’m told. I… I just can’t really be left alone, too soon after? And…” he glances away slightly, chest rising with a nervous inhale.

Viktor rubs one hand soothingly up and down the side of Jayce’s neck, curling his fingers into the short hairs at his nape. “You’re doing so well for me,” Viktor croons, because it’s the truth, and Jayce deserves to hear it and feel proud of himself for discussing his boundaries properly when he wants to submit. “You can tell me anything, Jayce. I will not judge, especially not when you’re being such a good boy, telling me your limits.”

Jayce swallows thickly and nods, his eyes falling shut for a moment before he blinks and meets Viktor’s gaze intently. “Okay,” he sighs, gearing up for whatever he is about to say. “I don’t like being… tied. Not my hands, at least. I need to be able to touch, or else I feel…” he pauses, mulling over the words. Then, at last: “Helpless.”

Which is… not good, it seems, for Jayce. Viktor hums softly, intrigued at what might have inspired such a strong distaste for being rendered at the mercy of another. Viktor did not always used to dom, and in his various attempts at submitting, he found it was easier to be bound, as it forced him beyond resistance. He tries to imagine what it might feel like for Jayce, if he is so afraid to try. Even with someone as trusted by Jayce as Viktor is. Or, is he?

Casting the painful doubt aside, Viktor nods and accepts the rule. “Of course, puppy. I will not do anything to hurt you. And if you become uncomfortable, use your words for me, alright? If not words, three taps anywhere on my body, and we will check in with one another.”

Jayce casts his eyes down to where their bodies are still pressed together, thigh to chest, and smirks slightly. “Agreed, and same to you,” he says softly. “Now, bed?”

Viktor laughs, and sways forward to press another searing kiss to Jayce’s mouth before he draws completely away and saunters as best he can towards his bedroom. It is the only other door in the apartment, the rest of the layout arranged in an open concept. Viktor feels a little ashamed about the clutter, shoving his clean yet crumpled laundry hastily over the edge of the bed into the gap near the far wall before Jayce follows him in.

Still, Jayce lets out a soft snorting laugh as he catches Viktor’s frantic attempts at immediate problem-solving. Viktor fixes him with a quelling glare, even as his lips twitch into a smile, and he points Jayce towards the bed.

“Sit, now,” Viktor instructs, sharp but not cruel.

Jayce does so, hands folded neatly in his lap and spine ramrod straight.

“Good,” Viktor praises easily, and then steps between Jayce’s legs, forcing his knees wide to accommodate the intrusion. “Help me remove my leg brace.”

Jayce is quick to oblige, though not clumsy. He is well practiced at this, having helped several times in the past when Viktor was too sore to properly bend or flex his hands to make the necessary motions without wincing or slipping a joint out of place. His hands are warm when they lovingly, easily remove the metal bands, loosening each leather strap before wiggling it downward. Viktor lifts his leg out of the brace as Jayce withdraws it, and uses one clutching hand on Jayce’s shoulder to steady himself once it is gone.

“Thank you, puppy,” Viktor says softly, scraping his nails under Jayce’s chin to see him melt like he had in the nightclub. “Now my back brace.”

Jayce is much more tender with this less familiar process. He nervously peels Viktor out of his waistcoat, his dress-shirt, and seems shocked by the immediate bareness of Viktor’s chest beneath that layer. It is uncommon, in Piltover, to wear any outfit with less than three layers, and here Viktor is parading around in a loose-fitting starched white shirt and a waistcoat, those scarce fibers separating his skin from the air.

As if possessed, Jayce spreads his palms slowly against Viktor’s skin as it is revealed, his breath trembling as he drinks in every inch of Viktor with his eyes. Finally, he lays his hands on the complex bands and crossed straps that secure Viktor’s spine. Noting his hesitance, Viktor curls his hands on top of Jayce’s and guides him slowly through each step.

“Unclasp these here,” Viktor says, leading Jayce’s hands to twin latches near his ribs.

The metal clinks and releases, a strap loosening against Viktor’s lumbar. He groans, eyes fluttering shut as the first of his muscles relax out of their rigid, held position. Jayce strokes one of his hands up Viktor’s chest, thumbing over the minimal swell of tissue beneath his nipples, then tracing gently over Viktor’s areolas until he shivers, skin tightening. Viktor rubs his thighs together somewhat impatiently, his body thrumming with desire.

“Good boy,” Viktor croons, and then grips Jayce’s other wrist to bring it around his back, where he ensures Jayce can feel the third latch trapping the brace in place. “Last bit,” he promises, and tucks his own hand under the edge of the brace, just above his hip.

Jayce undoes the clasp, which triggers a series of releasing metal plates that fall open and slack, allowing the two pieces of the brace to separate. Jayce helps Viktor ease the brace into its two halves, the straps slipping through their eyelets as they fall away from Viktor’s skin. Jayce cradles the brace reverently, fingers tracing its intricate details for a moment before he twists to lay it tenderly on the opposite side of the mattress. Viktor hums, pleased, and raises one leg onto the mattress beside Jayce’s hip before he lowers himself carefully into the man’s lap.

Viktor releases his cane, leaning over to rest it against the nightstand before he sways back into Jayce’s orbit. The other man uses a twin grip on Viktor’s now exposed hip and waist to support him through each of these motions.

“That’s a good boy,” Viktor croons. “So eager to be a perfect puppy for me, aren’t you?”

Jayce shudders, looking up at Viktor with rapturous awe splitting his expression. Viktor can feel the throbbing pulse of Jayce’s cock tucked between them, pressed up against the warm, wet fabric where Viktor has already soaked through his trousers. A glassy glimmer overtakes Jayce’s eyes. He looks like a tortured man at the feet of a rescuing angel, and then he lurches forward to capture Viktor’s mouth in a searing, messy kiss.

Jayce’s mouth is warm, and wet, and addicting. More addicting are his noises, but the smell of him, and the feeling of his every movement and breath pressed close to Viktor’s own skin is maddening. He feels like he could drown in it. Drunk with desire, Viktor slips his hands down to fumble with Jayce’s many layers. His fingers are not quite warmed from coming in out of the cold, and he fumbles with the buttons of Jayce’s shirt.

With an airy chuckle, Jayce draws back to help Viktor. Together, they divest Jayce of his outer layers, then finally strip away his undershirt to reveal that broad expanse of the bare chest that was Viktor’s coveted prize. Viktor presses himself against Jayce immediately, his fingers spreading across hot, tan skin to greedily map every inch of Jayce that is revealed. He drinks in the other man’s torso, pressing his lips to Jayce’s throat, tasting and smelling and touching him to commit every piece of him into the encyclopedic filing system of Viktor’s mind.

“You’re so beautiful, Jayce,” Viktor praises, incapable of hiding the sincerity of his words behind the usual dominating drivel he has supplied his other subs. It always rang slightly too sweet on his tongue, leaving a sticky aftertaste that he couldn’t shake. He used to feel like such a liar, but here, with Jayce, Viktor can only marvel helplessly at his perfect, wonderful partner.

Jayce is shaking hard under him, though, and that doesn’t quite feel right.

“Hey, hey,” Viktor murmurs, pulling back slightly.

Jayce presses his forehead against Viktor’s, panting harshly. He blinks his eyes open, and his lashes clump together wet. Viktor’s heart clenches with panic, and he cups Jayce’s pretty, flushed face in both his palms, stroking his thumbs through the thin streams of tears that carve their way down Jayce’s cheekbones.

“Breathe, puppy, I’m right here,” Viktor assures him, because these tears do not seem like catharsis. He has done enough scenes of his own to tell that Jayce’s sniffles and the hitch of his breathing is more about the acceptance of pain than about any scene-work to be done.

Jayce shudders, curling his arms tighter around Viktor’s waist, dragging him closer, but not into another kiss. No, this time, when he tugs, Viktor follows closely where Jayce leads, winding his limbs tightly around his partner as the man buries his face in Viktor’s throat and shakes apart.

“Oh, miláčku,” Viktor breathes, tucking his mouth just above Jayce’s ear.

He nuzzles his nose through the short hairs there, jaw sliding against Jayce’s temple, like he might slip into the seams of his very thoughts to soothe him.

“M’sorry,” Jayce says around a hiccuping sob.

“For what, lásko?” Viktor asks, his fearful concern blossoming outwards into sweet, cloying affection. He tries to keep his petrifying, humiliating dedications of love trapped behind the safe curtain of his mother tongue. He pets Jayce’s hair with one hand, the other rubbing grounding lines up and down his back.

“I know I’m too–” he stammers, then stops abruptly. Jayce huffs, turning his mouth against Viktor’s clavicle for a moment, before he starts over. “It’s just, when you talk to me like that, it sounds like I’m… yours.”

Viktor’s chest nearly caves in under the pain in Jayce’s voice, that barely perceivable tremor that is concealed by his lowered volume. Viktor hitches himself tighter around Jayce, pressing his mouth to Jayce’s cheek in a fervent kiss. He tries to impress all the love he has in his body into Jayce’s with the whisper of his hands down Jayce’s back, the sincere press of his lips to Jayce’s skin, kissing all over the side of his face.

“And you… like that?” Viktor rasps against the cutting glance of Jayce’s cheekbone.

Jayce sighs and nods, whimpering like the admission hurts. Viktor coos helplessly at him, soothing the trembling set of his shoulders with gentle, rhythmic caresses. He cannot believe the tender, aching core of his partner that he has struck with his praise, and Viktor wants to cradle this deeply private part of Jayce’s soul in his bare hands, feeling its gossamer touch against his skin. He does the second best thing, rocking Jayce gently in his arms, holding him reverently, like a thing to be worshipped.

“Sweet boy,” Viktor rumbles, his voice vibrating through both their chests. “You like to be mine? My little puppy, all for me to love?”

Jayce squishes his face into the slant of Viktor’s neck, nosing at his pulse and nodding limply with his chin digging into Viktor’s clavicle. “Mm-hmm,” he groans, his breath kissing the underside of Viktor’s jaw.

Viktor smiles at that reaction, his mouth curving against Jayce’s temple. His heart is pounding hard behind his sternum, racing in his throat where he’s sure Jayce can feel it pressing to his soft, full mouth. Had Viktor really just asked that? Love? How could he have let that slip when tonight was supposed to be about Jayce’s exploration? This was not meant to turn into an exposé event regarding Viktor’s inadvisable crush.

“You love me?” Jayce asks then, as if that brilliant brain has lagged enough to only just catch up. It breaks Viktor’s heart clean in half to hear the self-deprecating, uncertain quiver of his beautiful partner’s voice when he asks. As if the idea is impossible.

“Oh, darling,” Viktor responds, voice breaking. “So much, puppy. I couldn’t put it into proper words. I love you more than anything else in this life.”

Jayce clutches Viktor tighter around the waist, his hands sliding reverently over the depression marks left behind by the metal and leather of Viktor’s back brace. He seems captivated by those unique lines of Viktor’s body, like he might soothe them out of Viktor’s very flesh, erase the pain of him with only touch.

“I love you, V,” Jayce returns finally, his voice low and buzzing against Viktor’s neck. “I want you. Don’t wanna be anybody else’s,” he mumbles indistinctly, and for a moment Viktor cannot be sure which of them he is talking about; who belongs to whom?

But… he’d said so before, hadn’t he? They both had.

“You’d be mine?” Viktor coos, just to be certain. “All mine?”

Jayce nods, a high whine escaping him as if the air has been punched out of his chest. He comes up on his knees slightly, taking some pressure off Viktor’s admittedly sore hip with the strong frame of his body lifting. He nuzzles tighter into Viktor’s throat, warm tears wetting both their skin, streaking from Jayce’s eyes as he sniffles and shudders through each breath.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Viktor breathes, and curls his hand possessively around the back of Jayce’s neck. His fingers cramp for a moment as he grips tightly, needily to the other man, his strong body quivering just for Viktor. “You’re so good to me, baby. So gentle and careful.”

Jayce’s throat clicks with an intense sob, and he curls closer into Viktor’s grip, jaw clenched and shivering under Viktor’s own chin. It’s a deeply sad sound, and Viktor curiously casts his attention downward through his own body to confirm his suspicions. It has been a long few minutes since he last remembers Jayce being hard against him.

All at once, Jayce’s behavior since the club makes sense to Viktor. He wasn’t only struggling with the velvet softness of subspace, but rather also with the intense doom-addled sorrow of an impending sub drop. He was yearning. Viktor can’t help his own tears, which swell and fall in dramatic streaks down his face within moments. He buries his mouth and nose in Jayce’s hair, which is fluffy and mangled from Viktor’s soothing petting. Viktor stifles a breathless sob with a trapped sigh, his chest caving slightly under the weight of remorse.

“I am sorry I didn’t see you struggling,” Viktor croaks, nuzzling through the short shaved hairs above Jayce’s ear. “You mean everything to me, Jayce. Do not think otherwise. You are my family and my most beloved friend. You are mine, puppy. I love you. Always.”

Jayce nods, a relieved sort of moan tumbling out of his mouth on the end of a heavy exhale. He melts against Viktor’s front, the quivering lines of tension easing out of him in waves of hitched, tearful breaths. He can’t seem to stop whining after that, every breath chasing out a new whimpering sound as he cries weakly, ceaselessly into Viktor’s throat. It is almost frightening, how far Jayce sinks into that empty, too-far-gone state that accompanies sub drop.

Viktor can only hold him, soothing him with tender touches and gentle affirmations, until his voice is raspy and hoarse, and all he can manage is to hum a half-remembered lullaby from his pitiful childhood on the streets of Zaun. Viktor can feel himself dropping slightly, beating himself up in the confines of his own skull for letting it get this bad for Jayce. He swallows tightly and ignores the vicious burning sensation in his nose as fresh, angry tears well up in his eyes and clog his sinuses.

Raking backwards through his memories for the words to express what he feels, all that dredges up is a phrase he remembers faintly from his mother’s lips. Viktor can no longer remember all the features of her face as they would have fit together, nor the true sound of her voice, but the words are strong. He can see her teary, bloody mouth in his mind’s eye, the Shimmer in her eyes pulsing outwards, her warped and twisted fingers curled into the ground like talons.

“Omlouvám se, že jsem ti ublížil,” Viktor murmurs. Then, softly, “Promiň, promiň, promiň,” he repeats, pressing each apology into Jayce’s hair, against the shell of his ear, still slightly cold from the chill outside.

Jayce hums lightly, turning his nose up the column of Viktor’s throat, kissing softly at his pulse-point before he pulls back to meet Viktor’s eyes. Though his face still drips with errant tears and his features are puffy-pink with the traces of sorrow, Jayce looks much better than he had minutes before, pale and trembling. Viktor cannot resist pressing his forehead firmly against the flat of Jayce’s own forehead, nosing the proud bridge of the other man’s cheekbones as he expresses his devotion through the touch. Jayce had done something similar, earlier in the night.

“Do you know what this means?” Viktor asks, rocking his forehead slightly against Jayce’s for emphasis on the gesture. “You bumped my temple like this, like you might know.”

Jayce shrugs, shifting them both, humming his uncertainty. His eyes have long-since fluttered shut again, his damp lashes pearling with slow tears against his flushed cheeks. Viktor laughs lightly, though a faint worry grips him that Jayce cannot seem to even reach for his own voice. He sighs, tilting to kiss the tip of Jayce’s nose before he relaxes against him again, their bodies now one long line of tangled limbs and pressing, warm flesh.

“Your mind to my mind,” Viktor muses quietly, a familiar set of words from an ancient mythology that nobody truly believed in anymore. There was no time for faith in the old ways, once the current and ceaseless violence in the undercity got its hooks through your life. All you could do was cling to the comforts of your family, your loved ones, until even those were ripped away. He continues the recitation. “Your thoughts are a piece of me, and mine a piece of you.”

Jayce blinks his eyes open, slightly crossing them to focus on Viktor’s face. He looks stunned, brow crinkling under Viktor’s like the words cause him pain. He raises both hands from where they’ve been clutching Viktor around the waist, and now lays them softly on either of Viktor’s cheeks, pinkie fingers tucked under Viktor’s earlobes, thumbs stroking away the wetness that beads on Viktor’s own lashes.

“I… I knew it was a gesture of affection in the undercity,” Jayce admits finally.

The relief that surges through Viktor at hearing his partner’s voice again is overwhelming, and this time he is forced to shut his eyes and simply bask in Jayce. He sighs heavily, completely trapped below the crushing force of Jayce’s love for him. It is like a wave threatening to drown him, except for Jayce, Viktor would survive anything. He wrangles the strange, prickling fear that keeps returning to haunt him, and blinks his eyes open once more.

“Yes,” Viktor breathes, nodding slightly. “Great affection,” he agrees.

Jayce hums happily at the confirmation, nuzzling Viktor’s cheek blindly, mushing a kiss to the corner of Viktor’s mouth, right above the mole on his upper lip. Then, mumbling in the tuneless slurring of a drunk man, Jayce manages to push a question out with his breath, speaking directly against the soft swell of Viktor’s cheek.

“What were you saying? That other language?” Jayce asks.

Viktor chews anxiously on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “That was the language my mother spoke with me. It was an apology,” he finally allows. “For hurting you.”

Jayce makes a soft, startled sound, and drags himself upright, his eyes flickering rapidly over Viktor’s face as he withdraws. “You never hurt me, V,” he tries to reassure. “I was just–”

“I was irresponsible with you,” Viktor interjects, his voice shaky but strong. He grabs Jayce by the jaw again, fingers digging into the minimal give of his strong chin. “Jayce, I should not have thrust a scene on you with no preparation. I should have been more careful with you at the club, and on the bridge, even right here in my own home. I should have slowed down enough to see–”

Jayce cuts him off abruptly, surging forward to seal a kiss over Viktor’s still parted mouth, his tongue lapping sweetly at Viktor’s bottom lip, seeking entrance. Viktor sighs, melting into the easy, tender affection that Jayce lavishes on him. Guilt still squirms in his gut, but the gentle forgiveness in Jayce’s motions is easy to read. Jayce’s hands grope and slide over every inch of flesh he can reach, worshipful as ever, like Viktor is a deity under his skin, like he is trying to commit Viktor to memory.

“I ordered you, and you hurt your knees,” Viktor insists. “I hurt your heart,” he chokes out, words mangled. He swallows his own whimper, sliding his hand up and down the strong muscle of Jayce’s chest, nails scraping under his clavicle like Viktor could finger his way inside that proud rib cage and live inside there, right next to Jayce’s thrumming adoration. “I hurt you in too many ways tonight.”

“You say that like you’re expecting punishment,” Jayce points out softly, laying kisses along the freckles and moles that decorate Viktor’s pale skin.

Viktor sniffles, and tries to hide the sob that breaks loose with a breathless laugh. “I would deserve it, no?” he asks hoarsely. He would take a thousand lashes for hurting Jayce, would suffer the unbearable pain of rejection as consequence for his careless actions tonight.

Jayce, however, does not seem to share this sentiment. He shakes his head no firmly, his touch now gentling up the length of Viktor’s spine, consoling. He threads one hand through the overgrown strands of Viktor’s hair, the other low on Viktor’s sacrum, tucking him into a neat embrace that mirrors the one Viktor had provided just minutes ago.

Grateful, Viktor ducks his face into the strong slope of Jayce's shoulder and hides there, his tears slipping calmly and silently off his cheeks and racing down Jayce’s bare chest as he processes the numbing ache of sorrow and regret. Dom drop has always been particularly difficult for Viktor to navigate, and before he would have elected to undergo the tide of jagged emotions alone. But with Jayce, he feels the safest he has ever felt, and the painful self-hatred leaks out of him slowly but certainly, until he is slumped in the comforting arms of the man who does not blame him, who forgives and loves him, who will never forsake him.

“You love me,” Jayce says softly, with such relief in it that Viktor’s heart nearly breaks all over again. “And you wanted me to feel good, Viktor. I can’t blame you for that.”

Viktor laughs weakly against Jayce’s clavicle, turning to press his smile into Jayce’s neck when his voice comes out nasal and thin. He sighs, breath stuttering around the residue of his previous, repressed sobs. His throat hurts, and when he lifts his head finally to look at Jayce, he can tell the other man recognizes just how much Viktor was holding back. Jayce’s expression crumples, his hand sliding around from the back of Viktor’s head to cup his cheek sweetly.

“Listen to me, please,” Jayce says, ever gentle.

Viktor nods, swallowing around the lingering lump of sorrow in his throat that threatens to pierce through his very existence and rip him apart. He releases a shaking breath in rigid bursts, riding the razor’s edge of irrational panic. Except… Viktor does have reason to fear. He has breached Jayce’s trust in an unforgivable way. Who’s to say he won’t do it again, even by accident? What if he hurts Jayce? What if Jayce loves him too much to tell him? What if he ruins this? What if everything he touches is doomed to –

“Vik, V,” Jayce entreats, thumb stroking over Viktor’s damp cheekbone. “You’re okay, and I’m okay. You’re right here with me. I’ve got you. We’ve got each other, okay?”

Viktor nods, hiccuping with a sob he can’t quite trap beneath his strict control. He is used to crying silently. It was how he survived, too crippled to run and too weak to fight back. He could only hide, and learn the quietest ways to mourn. But this… this would be the hardest thing to grieve. What if he hurts Jayce?

“You’re scaring yourself, amor. Deep breaths,” Jayce instructs him, eyes clearer and voice stronger. “You’re not gonna hurt me.”

Viktor collapses against Jayce’s shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as he shudders through the shame of having lost control so completely. He was supposed to take care of Jayce, and he failed so spectacularly that now his poor, emotionally wounded puppy is having to comfort him. Sobs tear out of Viktor with such intensity it reminds him of his coughing fits. His vision pitches, tunneling as he struggles to breathe around gasping, heaving cries. Jayce holds him through all of it, patient and tender with his arms wrapped tightly across Viktor’s back.

“I love you, I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers, his voice cracking with whimpers and hitching sobs. He can’t help but repeat himself, over and over, until his voice is shredded raw and he has to dig his teeth into the meat at the base of his own palm to shut himself up. He keeps his chin tucked over the top of Jayce’s shoulder to conceal the gesture.

“It’s okay, Viktor,” Jayce soothes him, both palms travelling up and down Viktor’s back in opposing patterns, working the tension out of him slowly. “I love you. I’m okay. You made sure I was okay.”

Drool slides indelicately around Viktor’s clenching, gnawing teeth in his own flesh. He hasn’t broken skin yet, thankfully, so all that slips towards his wrist is saliva and tears. He chews slightly, hoping to break himself of the impossible cyclical crying fit he is trapped in. Jayce rocks him slightly, not enough to jar his hip even, but just enough to soothe.

“I’m so sorry,” Viktor finally mumbles, dragging his hand out of his mouth to speak into the wet, pulsing soreness of the bite marks.

“I know, V,” Jayce responds warmly, nosing along Viktor’s hairline. “You don’t need to be. You made me feel better, even though you were feeling like this inside. You took the time to care for me, so let me do the same, okay?”

Viktor’s nose stings, but this time the laugh that tumbles out of him is real, if stifled slightly by his ceaseless tears. “You’re so good to me, puppy,” he remarks teasingly.

Jayce hums happily and nuzzles his nose up the length of Viktor’s throat, nipping playfully at his chin before he smiles cutely up at him. “You deserve it, master,” he teases, some of his usual jovial energy returning to his tone and the wicked gleam of his eyes.

Once more, Viktor cannot resist the urge to push his forehead to Jayce’s. He does not see any reason to hide his affection now, so he indulges himself in the familiar comfort. It had been a long time since someone bonked him as Jayce did back at the bar, except for stray cats. Sevika had tried once, when Viktor was very small, but it was too soon after his mother. He’d flinched away, instead, and she never could seem to bring herself to try again.

Now, Jayce is more than happy to share that particular affectionate touch, his nose turning into the slant of Viktor’s own, nuzzling their faces together with reverent appreciation. It is humbling, the way Jayce turns into Viktor’s warmth like a flower to the sun. Viktor breathes deeply, unhindered for the first time since he nearly shattered his own heart, and vows internally to protect that sweetness in Jayce at all costs.

“I love you, puppy,” Viktor reminds him, and because he likes the way it feels to say it.

Jayce shivers as he tucks closer to Viktor’s body, shoulders shrugging slightly inward like he is trying to make himself smaller. “Love you, master,” Jayce replies softly, laying his cheek on Viktor’s shoulder so he can mouth indelicately at Viktor’s neck, his sharp canines glancing over the fluttering skin above Viktor’s carotid.

Viktor sighs, suddenly weighed down by the exhaustion of the long day and the crushing parade of emotions that flooded from both of them. He taps three times on Jayce’s back, a faint recall to his earlier command to slow things down if necessary. Jayce pulls away from Viktor’s throat gently, laying a soft kiss to the pink skin where his stubble scraped slightly across Viktor’s clavicle. He meets Viktor’s eyes expectantly, soft fondness evident in every feature of his face.

“I need to sleep,” Viktor admits reluctantly. “We both do. You have been awake as long as I, and there needs to be… space, between dropping and sex, for me. I cannot do one so soon after the other or it is too much.”

Jayce nods, understanding. His hands still trace mindless, absent patterns into Viktor’s flesh, and it takes a long moment for Viktor to realize he is carving the paths of runes with his soft fingertips. Precision. Resolve. Inspiration. And again.

Viktor’s chest aches, and he closes his eyes to feel those tender, intentional tracings repeat again and again, a complete circuit that Jayce continues absently for a moment. Then, he finally pauses, and haltingly eases back so he can lay Viktor flat against the sheets. He rises onto his knees, then, on the edge of the mattress, and grabs Viktor’s neatly halved back brace off the bed, storing it carefully on the empty space atop Viktor’s dresser. Well… relatively empty. There is a stack of books that slightly impedes Jayce’s progress, but the other man doesn’t let that slow him down.

“I’ll get us some water,” Jayce murmurs.

Viktor feels inadequate at once, a chill rushing in his veins. He sits up onto his elbows, hip and lower back clicking and popping as he tries to move too quickly. “I can do that, Jayce. I drove you and myself to drop, today. I think I can do the favor of getting us water.”

Jayce shakes his head, returning swiftly to the side of the bed, where he gentles Viktor back down onto his nest of pillows with a broad hand on his chest. “Sh, sh, no,” Jayce urges, then looks shyly into Viktor’s eyes. “I… it makes me feel good to serve you,” he admits eventually, voice barely more than a whisper.

A thready moan slips out of Viktor’s throat before he can stop it, half coaxed out by the way Jayce’s thumb and pinkie finger are splayed against his nipples, dragging faintly across them every time he strokes soothingly up and down. His words, however, are truly the point of ignition for the low flame that manages to flicker in Viktor’s gut for a moment. Jayce seems to realize what he’s doing, and he flushes faintly, dropping his forehead to Viktor’s collar and groaning, his shoulders shaking with an embarrassed laugh.

“Sorry, V, you’re just… so fuckin’ pretty,” Jayce croons, and presses a languid kiss to the bare skin of Viktor’s shoulder, tongue flickering over a freckle. “Let me be good for you?”

Viktor sighs, shivering, and twists his fingers into Jayce’s hair. “Good boy,” he praises reflexively, helpless to cater Jayce’s needs and wants. “So sweet, letting me rest while you gather what we need.”

Jayce nods, eyes shut when he turns to lay his ear over the thud of Viktor’s heartbeat, listening intently. “Anything for you, V,” Jayce says, the words soft and low like a promise.

“Okay, puppy,” Viktor concedes after a moment. “Water, then sleep.”

Jayce sits up, nodding again, before he departs. Viktor feels abruptly cold once he is left alone, but he also knows he will not be able to tolerate sleeping in trousers. His legs feel trapped too often by the various necessary restrictions of the brace, and the tight uncomfortable twisting of the bedsheets is sometimes enough to set off Viktor’s latent claustrophobic displeasure. He eases himself carefully through the process of undressing his lower limbs without sitting up, and rolls onto his stomach to fish for a pair of fresh shorts in the discarded pile of clean laundry he’d sent spilling down to the floor earlier. He emerges when his fingers snag successfully on a familiar waistband, and he rolls onto his back to shimmy into the comfortable, slack pair of brightly colorful shorts that Vi gifted him not very long ago, evidently won from some amount of time spent in a boxing club in Zaun.

The blue, purple, and teal fabric is comfortable, almost as imperceptible on the skin as silk, and Viktor melts into the comfort of his many pillows as he tries to arrange himself neatly on one half of the cramped mattress. It is during this wiggling, worming attempt that Jayce returns, two glasses of cold, fresh water from the tap in his hands.

Viktor reaches out to accept his glass, marvelling as always at the easy access to clean drinking water that is evident in every home topside. Even Viktor’s meager student apartment allows him the luxury of consistent hydration, even if the poor conditions of the pipes give his ice cubes a faintly metallic flavor. He sips greedily at his glass, until he has had his fill, and hands Jayce back the nearly emptied cup.

It finds a home atop the dresser, too, and then Jayce strips out of his own trousers with an orderly, perfunctory ease. He climbs over Viktor’s legs, crawling up the mattress in one long line of impressive muscle. Snuggling an arm around Viktor’s stomach, Jayce pulls him back into the middle of the bed, where he wrestles the sheets around them both. Viktor curls eagerly into the hot tent of the bed-covers, chasing Jayce’s body heat as it quickly sinks through his numbly cold limbs. Viktor groans, practically purring into Jayce’s chest where he buries his face, inhaling the heady scent of him.

When Viktor lifts both hands to card his fingers through the short, coarse hairs of Jayce’s chest, he hears Jayce hiss and feels him shift suddenly. Jayce catches Viktor’s sore wrist in his hand, turning the palm upward delicately, revealing the bite marks that are now red and livid like tiny welts.

“When did you do this?” Jayce asks quietly, not quite admonishing, but certainly not pleased with what he’s found.

Viktor’s mouth twitches with irritation. “When I was crying,” he admits readily. “I could not stop… apologizing,” he recalls faintly. He feels ridiculous. He must have seemed insane. It doesn’t help that now Jayce has to confront the very physical consequences of Viktor’s struggles with panic.

With surprising care, Jayce lifts Viktor’s hand up to his mouth, where he can press a soft kiss to the throbbing mark, his lips fitting over the impressions of Viktor’s teeth in the flesh. He does not seem disgusted, or otherwise upset, except that he does not like to see Viktor hurt anymore than Viktor likes seeing Jayce in pain.

It seems they are perfectly matched, each with a deep devotion to protect the other from coming to any harm, self-inflicted or otherwise.

“Thank you,” Viktor says tiredly, eyes falling shut completely, heavy as he sinks into the first, easeful rocking waves of sleep.

“Of course, cariño,” Jayce mumbles back, his deep voice vibrating up through his chest into Viktor’s skull, like his voice and breath are inside the bone. “Anything for you.”

As sleep surges up to coax Viktor beneath its lulling, dark surface, he hums happily, content and safe in the arms of his lover, and his best friend. It is the best thing he has ever felt, he thinks, casting his mind backwards through the dreamlike fog of his memories. Not even trying hot sweet milk on a cold night for the very first time can compare to this.

“My puppy,” Viktor mumbles sleepily, slurring slightly. “Zbožňuju tě.”

Jayce curls one hand around the notches of Viktor’s spine, rubbing his fingers down the cleaved central line of his thin body. “Te amo infinito, mi amor,” Jayce returns in his own first language, only Viktor does catch the meaning.

“I adore you,” Viktor purrs to make up for the lacking barrier between his own mother tongue and Jayce’s understanding. “Zbožňuju tě. Adore, adore, adore,” he rambles, turning to press kisses along the faint impressions of Jayce’s rib cage beneath his muscled form.

Jayce does not reply to this, his breaths coming slow and faintly rumbling. Viktor succumbs to sleep, too, drifting into the comfortable numbing waves of unconsciousness as he listens to the soft sounds of Jayce’s snoring. For once, Viktor thinks there is nowhere he’d rather be than his bed right now, not even the lab.

He is at home with Jayce. He always has been, and always will be.

The comfort carries him into the softest, warmest of dreams.