Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I still don’t understand why you won’t take me. Surely it can’t be that different.”

“Jayce, please — can we drop this? I’m not taking you to Zaun to go clubbing, end of discussion.”

Viktor sighs, exasperated. Scrubs his hands across his face, blocking the view of the piling of wires and boards and metals and junk that sits on his work station that he’s getting absolutely fucking nowhere with anyway. 

Jayce is curious to a fault. And that, he unfortunately understands. He is a man of science, of course it’s in his nature to push boundaries and ask questions. They wouldn’t be here (in their well funded academy lab and not slowly rotting to death in a prison cell) otherwise. 

But Jayce has been bothering him about it for months, and Viktor has no idea how much longer he can say no to him; all round-eyed and pouty-lipped. 

After their last trip into the undercity (which Viktor doesn’t let him trek alone anymore, because he always ends up getting swindled by the merchants) where they had to venture to a vendor they hadn’t visited before, Jayce hasn’t dropped it. They had walked through a few streets they hadn’t previously, through a particularly club-heavy area. Jayce had caught sight of the insides as a few groups of people filtered out to empty the contents of their stomachs onto the street. It didn’t really matter that it was hardly dinner time, because the establishments don’t really close and have no care for timekeeping anyway. 

He’s not sure what enticed him about it so much. Viktor knows Jayce likes to go out from time to time; on his own terms that is, instead of the stifling expectations of the donor galas he’s forced to attend. But, he also knows from experience that the clubs and bars in the uppercity are very… tame. At least, comparatively. 

Sure, people in Piltover will dance and grind and kiss, but there’s a level of debauchery that just isn’t present. They have too much to lose if they get caught being finger fucked in the middle of the dance floor, or being seen dropping to their knees to crawl under the table and rest their face in the lap of another. It’s all social ladders and invisible hierarchies. Viktor knows for a fact that there’s a commendable amount of drug use in the uppercity as well, but from what he’s seen, it’s more of a private endeavour. A couple who share a tab of acid or split some ecstasy near the end of their visit and then leave to enjoy the best of it in the privacy of their own home. In Viktor’s experience, the undercity’s attitude towards drugs (at least pertaining to club culture) has been that of a communal one; with shared kisses and groups of people laughing, touching, and pleasing from all angles. After all, it’s more fun when you have someone to share the high with. 

Perhaps that’s it, Viktor muses. Jayce is a physical man who enjoys touch, if the amount of casual and regrettably platonic caresses he subjects Viktor to on a daily basis is anything to go by. Maybe he caught a glimpse of how tightly packed the dance floors were, with nary a centimetre of space between sweaty, inebriated bodies, and thought that it would be a nice catharsis to indulge. 

“Not until you explain why it would be so different,” Jayce mocks.

“It’s—”

“Don’t say it’s an undercity thing. Use your words and explain it to me. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

Viktor huffs. He turns his rolling chair around and eyes Jayce where he’s sitting at his desk, also having abandoned his work. Viktor crosses his arms, tilts his head back toward the ceiling, and heaves a dramatically long sigh to annoy him. 

“There are different… social expectations. People in Piltover are used to a certain amount of privacy that people in the undercity aren’t afforded.” He stares at the buildup of dust on the tops of the pipes that line the ceiling as he speaks. They should get that cleaned soon. 

“Like what?”

“Like drugs. And sex. When you walk into a club in Zaun, you are considered a kind of… public property. Free game, you could say.”

“So you won’t take me because I’ll, what — see people fucking? Get offered drugs?”

Viktor looks over to Jayce, spurred by the incredulity of his tone. 

He regrets looking, because now he has to stare at big, wet eyes and round, full lips that are actively pouting. He looks like a wet puppy, left out in the rain. Viktor feels his willpower evaporating from every pore in his body. 

“No, I — Jayce, it’s… I worry it would be too much for you.” 

And his Piltie sensibilities, Viktor thinks. 

“Shouldn’t that be for me to decide?”

“Jayce…” Viktor warns, more to himself than to the other man. He can feel his already slippery grip on the situation weakening. Just for a second, in the privacy of his own mind, he balks at the influence Jayce has on him. 

“C’mon, V. I’ll be good, I promise! I’ll keep my hands to myself, I won’t take candy from strangers, and if it’s too much, we can leave.”

Jayce keeping his hands to himself is not the thing he was worried about. It’s everybody else who wouldn’t be able to keep their hands away from him. They descend on topsiders like piranhas when presented with the opportunity. Their naïveté precedes them. He’s seen men and women undone by hands and tongues in mere minutes, and they’re not too keen on stopping before they’ve had more than their fill. 

It’s so lawless, even for the undercity, that the only way to assure Jayce’s sanctity would be to put him in a fucking tag. 

…Now there’s a thought. 

It’s not like he has to tell Jayce what wearing a tag means. Not fully. It’s not like he would be utilizing it in the way it was meant to be utilized either. 

Viktor grinds his palms into his eye sockets and rubs until he hears his eyeballs squelch under the pressure. He sighs dramatically one more time, for effect, even though he’s already folded like a wet newspaper. 

“On two conditions.”

He blinks away the splotches in his vision just in time to see the way Jayce’s eyes blaze with unbridled excitement, and the way he immediately sits up straighter in his chair, like a student prepared to listen to their teacher. 

Jayce nods fervently, in lieu of words; probably afraid he might miss what Viktor says, as though he only has one chance to hear it. 

“One: you will have to wear something while we are there, and you cannot remove it at any time.”

Jayce cocks his head to one side, confused, and Viktor thinks once more about the puppy comparison. Perhaps the collar-like adornment will suit him. 

“Like clothing?”

“Eh, more like jewellery. A necklace of sorts.”

Viktor raises his eyebrows at him waits for another affirmation before continuing. Jayce nods once, tightly. 

“Two: you will not ask questions about it.”

“At all?”

“None.”

The second condition gives him more pause, but Jayce accepts it after a moment of thinking. Surely he knows that Viktor would never put him in harms way. That’s precisely what he’s trying to prevent with the tag. His curiosity about going dancing in Zaun evidently outweighs his concern for whatever he thinks Viktor is up to. 

Jayce spends the whole rest of the week bouncing off the walls of their lab. Viktor has never seen him so worked up before. At least, not in a way that a few trips to the forge never solved. More than once, Viktor tells him to go busy himself in the forge simply because he can’t stand the moving and the hovering and the fidgeting he’s not even sure Jayce realizes he’s doing. 

Viktor leaves a little early in the middle of the week, and he didn’t really need to, but Jayce was annoying him and he had to go and procure his tag. 

His tag. Jayce’s tag. Gods, he was really going to claim him, wasn’t he? Even if it’s just a bit of make believe to keep him safe. 

The thing is, he’d be lying if it didn’t morbidly thrill him — just a little. He’s never felt the desire to own someone, or to be owned by another for that matter.  But the prospect of seeing Jayce with a claim of Viktor’s possession around his throat has him more than a little restless. And if he jerks off a little too avidly during the week leading up to their little trip, nobody has to know. Because when they’re done and Jayce has had his fill of Zaunite clubbing, he’ll throw the tag and the collar it comes with out and never think about it again. 

It’s not that Viktor has forgotten how tagging works, because he never really engaged in it in the first place. But he does feel a little overwhelmed when he pushes past the threshold of the shop and sees the myriad of different hardware and colour choices. 

The metals can be made into any colour under the sun, but Viktor knows that he would be affronted if he were to put Jayce in anything other than gold. So, he chooses a thin, gold coloured chain and tag to match and dutifully gets his initial engraved on the front. He hesitates when the shopkeeper asks for the number, because he’s completely forgot that people usually assign numbers and hierarchy to their property. He pointedly tells the man One, and watches as he turns the tag over and engraves it on the back.

When he’s done with Jayce’s tag, he takes a rough measurement of Viktor’s wrist and cuts a length off of the same chain and engraves a companion. This one rectangular, to Jayce’s circular, to indicate their status of owner and owned. He runs his fingers over the delicate artwork that is Jayce’s full name on his owner’s tag, once he receives it for inspection. 

Viktor okays the spelling, and he attaches the last few pieces of finishing hardware to the chain and its companion under Viktor’s scrutinizing gaze. 

He walks back to Piltover with a heavy pocket, even if it did substantially lighten his coin purse. 

By the time the end of the working week rolls around, Viktor is considering taking up smoking again to take the edge off of dealing with Jayce. He’s sure he has an emergency pack kicking around his apartment somewhere. 

They had made very little tangible progress during the week, and Viktor is sincerely hoping that this one trip gets it all out of his system so they can return to their regular working pace with the next.

Viktor parts with Jayce at the end of their scheduled day only so he can return to his apartment, hastily feed himself, bathe, and pack his change of clothes to bring over to his partner’s house. He was correct in his remembrance of his emergency cigarettes. He finds them in his Drawer of Errant Things, and pockets them after losing a contest against his will power. 

“Jayce, I don’t know how to say this nicely.”

“So don’t say it nicely.” Jayce replies to him through his reflection in the mirror. 

Viktor sits leisurely on the edge of his bed as he flits between his closet and his dresser, offering article after article of clothing up for Viktor’s rejection. The way he fiddles with the buttons of his much-too-preppy shirt betrays his steely outward appearance, prepared to accept criticism. Or maybe Viktor just knows his nervous tells a little too well. 

“Your clothes aren’t slutty enough.”

He did tell him not to say it nicely. 

“I— okay, so how do I…”

Viktor leaves him stuttering and grasping for words for a moment too long because he thinks it’s cute to watch Jayce fumble from time to time. He usually presents himself so confidently, and carries himself so upright that it’s kind of humbling (and arousing, though Viktor won’t admit it) to see. So he likes to see powerful men flounder a little, sue him. 

“Do you have anything that’s tighter?” He says finally, gesturing to his pants that are much too loose to be acceptable. 

Jayce scrunches his lips up in thought, and Viktor finds himself longing to soothe the crease that it makes in his brow. 

He hums for a second, contemplating, before storming into his closet. To Viktor’s surprise, he doesn’t immediately go for any of the racks of hanging pieces, but instead for a box, tucked away in the top corner. A few stray items tumble down with it as he pulls at the box. Viktor ogles the way the muscles of his shoulders ripple noticeably under the fabric of his shirt. 

Jayce rips open the box and begins emptying it the way a dog might tear into a basket of toys. He pulls out stacks and stacks of fabric, none of which is identifiable to Viktor at first. Once he gets to the bottom of it, he pulls up a small stack of neatly folded pants, and offers it on one outstretched palm towards Viktor. 

Viktor takes the stack from him curiously and sets them in his lap, thumbing the edges of the fabric.  

“These are a bit old. I had a growth spurt around twenty-ish. Not— not taller, but, uh— yeah.”

So delicate, Viktor muses. 

He unfolds the pants and holds them up by the waist to see what their cut is like. The first two pairs are too boxy, but the third has promise. They’re higher waisted than the rest, and would sit beautifully over Jayce’s hips and accentuate his ludicrous waist with the six parallel gold coloured buttons on the front and the cinch in the back. They look to be rather form fitting as well, tight enough that he’ll have to wear them under his boots and not over. They would pair fittingly with the shirt he brought as a last-ditch option for him. 

Viktor tosses the pair towards him and Jayce catches it with ease. 

“Are you sure you will not rip them trying to get in?”

“It looks like we’re about to find out,” he says as he excitedly steps into his en suite. 

Viktor amusedly shakes his head and begins to dig around in his bag for the aforementioned shirt. 

He has to remind himself to keep breathing when Jayce steps back out without his shirt on, in the tightest pants known to humanity all but painted on his legs. 

“Perfect.” Viktor says, a little too amused. 

“I’m a little afraid to move in them, if I’m being honest.” 

“Eh, just don’t try to squat and you’ll be fine,” Viktor flaps his hand, dismissing the notion of him forgoing the pants. “Put this on as well. None of your shirts are transparent enough.”

Thankfully, Jayce is good at following orders. Well. Viktor’s orders, at least. 

He barely hesitates to unbutton the mesh fabric and slides it over his shoulders, fitting a little loosely, even for a man as broad as him.

“Viktor, why do you have a shirt four times your size?”

“Long story.” 

It’s not. He picked it up by mistake in lieu of his own on his way out of some stranger’s apartment some years ago. It was dark, and he was pretty drunk. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it out because it is a rather beautiful design, and Jayce teases him for his slight hoarding problem. His justification is that he could have needed it someday, and he feels gratified in knowing that day is today. 

Jayce turns back to face him directly for approval, instead of looking at him in through the mirror. 

The intricate black floral lacework contrasts beautifully against Jayce’s skin, and compliments his hair stunningly. Because the short sleeved shirt is all mesh and lace, he can see straight through to his chest and upper abdominals where the waist of the pants doesn’t cover, and Viktor will be loathe to ever hide his tits inside a normal shirt ever again. 

He knows Jayce likes to smith with his shirt off because he’s gotten a number of drop-in lectures from the safety committee at the academy about it. Viktor makes a mental note to make the trek to the forge more often. 

It’s cute that Jayce has done the buttons all the way up to the top. 

Viktor hangs his cane off of his arm and stands up, beckoning the man closer. Jayce closes the three step distance between them, and Viktor undoes the first three buttons. They’re pretty generously spaced too, so it ends up unbuttoned to his sternum. 

“Like that.” He says with finality, gesturing for him to examine it in the mirror once more. 

Viktor comes up behind him as Jayce is looking in the mirror and sees an entirely new expression that he doesn’t have a name for yet. However, there’s lots of emotions he has yet to see Jayce wear. He hopes to catalogue them all, some day. 

“Much better. Still modest even, but it will be acceptable.” He shrugs at his reflection. 

“This is modest?”

Viktor smirks. “Getting cold feet? We haven’t even left yet.”

“No— no, we’re going.” Jayce has all the determination of a goaded child stomping their foot at their caregiver. 

“Let it be known that I did warn you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jayce dismisses him. 

Viktor has to take a moment and remind himself on how to breathe when he retreats to Jayce’s bathroom to dress himself. Even if they don’t make it all the way to the clubs — if Jayce shies away as soon as they get to Zaun, Viktor will have enough rich visual material to sustain him for the rest of his life. 

It’s a little mechanical, as he puts on his clothes. It feels a bit odd to be putting such attire on again. It’s been a good number years since he last indulged, before Jayce and him had started working together. And then he did meet Jayce, and he didn’t really desire anonymous sex and shared drugs very much after that. Not to mention that he doesn’t really have the time anymore. 

The pants go first, not too dissimilar to Jayce’s trousers, though Viktor’s do have mesh lining the sides from ankle to hip. The dark linen shirt with its weave so loose it’s translucent goes next, underneath (even more) mesh corseting that does nothing for structure and everything for looks. The boning isn’t rigid enough to provide support, but it looks pretty when he cinches the ribbon at his back and accentuates his admittedly already small waistline. He adjusts the shirt underneath until it billows slightly over the top edge of the corset, all but one or two of the buttons undone in a similar manner to Jayce’s. He may be tweaking his styling slightly than he has in the past, if he’s to sell the fact that Jayce is under his ownership. 

Finally, he pulls out his companion bracelet, clipping it with a little struggle around his wrist.

When he examines Jayce’s collar, pulled from the same box, he recognizes a fairly standard locking clasp that can’t be removed without the specified magnetic key. Jayce could brute force it, if he really wanted it off; it wasn’t meant to be impossible to get out of, rather unable to be easily removed. It’s symbolic, more than anything. Those who truly want people in things that cannot be removed are likely looking at very different hardware, and for a very different price. 

He pockets the magnet and makes sure his hair is an appropriate level of messy before stalking back out of the washroom. 

“Please tell me you have alcohol in your apartment somewhere.” Viktor all but begs through Jayce’s gawking he knew was coming. He had never seen him in anything but his academy uniform. 

He raises an eyebrow at the man, observing as he slowly rakes his (probably judgmental) gaze down the length of Viktor’s body. 

“Uh, yeah. Somewhere. Wine, I think? Have— have you always had this?”

“Of course. The academy would hardly approve, however.”

Viktor denies the roil of arousal low in his gut at seeing Jayce’s cheeks heat, and how he flushes so red it could be neon from his chest to his ears in one fluid act. It wouldn’t do very well if Jayce were to see his cock swell at the opportunity while scrutinizing him so close in pants so tight. 

“I can think of one person who would approve,” Jayce half speaks and half mumbles, and Viktor’s not sure he meant to say it out loud, what with how transfixed he is on his half exposed chest. He’s going to have a hard time inside the establishment if he’s having problems with Viktor’s relatively tame outfit already. He did warn him. 

“What?” Viktor asks, incredulous. 

“What?” Jayce parrots. 

They stare at each other for a long, fairly uncomfortable moment. 

“I’ll— uh. I’ll go find the wine.” Jayce fiddles with his buttons for a moment before leaving the room in search of alcohol. 

Viktor can’t help but huff a laugh as he tidies his belongings and leaves his bag in Jayce’s room. 

Oh the ways he would love to watch his Piltie squirm. 

At Viktor’s suggestion, Jayce has a glass. Viktor had two, after downing the first one as if it were merely juice. He ate dinner, but it wasn’t anything exceedingly substantial, and he feels just a touch more affected by it than he would like to ideally be as they inch closer and closer to the bridge. He should maybe pace himself slower than he has in the past. He doesn’t drink at nearly the rate he used to, and it’s evident in the way his tolerance betrays him. 

He lets them get just on the bridge, and ducks behind one of the support pillars, away from any potentially prying eyes, even though the sun is already dipped well below the horizon.

“Viktor?”

“Jayce, turn around.”

He obeys quickly and offers Viktor his back. Viktor runs his thumb over the engraving one more time before bringing it around Jayce’s neck and clipping it securely into place. There’s no getting it off now. Not until Viktor wants it off. 

His hand immediately flies up to the new item, examines it with his fingers and tries to get a look at it, but it’s too short for him to even catch a glimpse. Jayce turns back around to face him, and Viktor has to suppress the embarrassing whine that threatens to bubble up and spill over. It sits so beautifully and perfectly hugging his neck, with the tag dangling gently against the hollow of his throat. His fingers dance over the surface, trying to analyze the engraving. 

“It’s engraved?” He asks, one notched eyebrow raising. 

“Remember the condition about you not asking questions?”

“It wasn’t a question, it was an observation.” The man ribs. 

“Mhm, I’m sure it was.”

There’s a reason he waited until they were away from mirrored surfaces to finally put it on him. 

Viktor notices Jayce eyeing his bracelet now with a little more fervour. Tries to catch a glimpse of that engraving, in order to hypothesize about what’s on his own. 

“You have all the subtlety of a dog in a cone, Jayce.” He tells him as they walk. 

“I’m just curious,” he shrugs, defeated and slightly embarrassed; like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar before dinner. 

“I know you are, and that is why I insisted on condition number two.”

He goes to open his mouth, surely to ask another question, before thinking better of it and closing it again. Viktor almost regrets the rule for a moment, if only so he can have the privilege of seeing the pretty little gap in his teeth. He does it a couple more times before catching himself with each one, and it’s probably dawning on him just how little he knows about the strange and foreign custom. 

Jayce keeps tracing his fingers along the chain, toying with the tag, and trying to identify the locking mechanism around the back by blind touch. Viktor eventually smacks his hand away from it with a light tap. 

He throws him a bone and distracts Jayce with a mildly work-related question that he knows will send him on a tangent. It quickly diverges into complaints and protestations about the council. Viktor doesn’t spare his own participation either. 

Just when they’re closing in on the street of the club that Viktor is leading them to, he grabs Jayce’s wrist and tugs him along until they’re tucked into a grimy alcove in the mouth of an alleyway. Viktor uses the opportunity and flattens a palm against his broad, strong chest until Jayce defers and his back touches the brick wall behind him, and closes him in with his cane tapping gently against the man’s leg. 

“Viktor, what—”

“You will listen carefully.” He states firmly, no room for protest.

Seeing Jayce in what is effectively a collar has put him in some kind of mood, and he can’t say that he hates it. Viktor decides, just for tonight, he will indulge. Just for tonight, he’ll be able to pretend that as he watches Jayce touch and dance and grind that it’s Viktor that he’ll come home with at the end of the night. That it’s Viktor he’ll belong to at the end of the night. 

A little make-believe in the sanctity of one’s own mind never hurt anyone. 

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and Viktor watches the movement swing his tag back and forth minutely. Jayce stares heavily at him, through eclipsed irises. Viktor can feel his breath stutter and hitch in his chest under his palm. 

“There is an act to this—” Viktor lightly flicks the tag at Jayce’s throat. “That I need you to participate in for your own safety.”

And Viktor’s own sanity, but he doesn’t voice that particular aspect. Jayce nods once, very slowly, as if trying to comprehend Viktor’s words. With his affirmation, he continues. 

“Do not try to kiss anyone. Do not offer information freely. You may tell people your first name, if they ask. If they do not — don’t offer it. If they ask you if you have permission, you may tell them yes. If they ask for confirmation, you may tell them to find me.”

“P-permission for what?” Jayce whispers tentatively. 

Viktor raises an eyebrow at him.

“Condition two, got it.” He sighs, slightly disappointed.

“Alternatively, you may show them this,” Hanging his cane on his elbow, he reaches down with his left hand to unclip the rectangular tag from his bracelet and re-clips it to the same ring that Jayce’s circular one hangs from. 

The universal expression of permission, for those who are tagged. It was more like a temporary grant to their personhood so long as they bear the consent of their master. Viktor doesn’t like to think very hard or very long about the contradiction.

It’s still too short for Jayce to read, but that doesn’t stop his morbid curiosity from trying. 

“At any point if it gets too much, or you would like to leave, unclip it and hand it back to me. Understood?”

Jayce’s fingers dance over the new addition, still trying to parse the engraving on the surface, as though he’d be able to absorb his comprehension of the letters. 

With his eyes still blown out, he nods his wordless assent. 

It’s fairly dark down here, and he’s probably nervous. Viktor also doesn’t typically corner him, so that’s probably all it is. 

Viktor can feel Jayce radiating heat with how closely he stands behind him in the lineup. He hovers, nervously, behind him as Viktor allows the bouncer to inspect his cane to make sure there are no concealed weapons. He finds the hidden compartment in the handle (that Jayce put there during its construction after they broke the last one trying to keep the enforcers out), but there’s nothing in there so they can’t protest to it. 

Viktor thinks it's a little amusing that the bouncer at an undercity club found the compartment within seconds, and yet for all the times they’ve been subject to a return inspection when crossing the bridge, the enforcers have yet to discover it. 

Jayce is all but vibrating apart at the seams when the burly man hands his cane back. 

He invites Jayce to walk a few paces in front of him, so he can place one hand flat against the small of his back as he enters through the double doors. 

It’s early enough, not yet at peak volume, so he lets the younger man gawk for a few moments, knowing the trickle of people behind them would take their time.

The thrum of the music could be sensed well before entering, so it’s no surprise when Viktor feels the vibrations of the heavy bass hit him from all angles; through the soles of his boots, the tip of his cane, up through the length of his body and settling in his chest, influencing the beat of his heart to match the rhythm of the song. 

Viktor had chosen one of the biggest of these types to take Jayce to, largely because it was also the nicest inside, and they actually cleaned regularly. He won’t mention to Jayce that anti-weapon establishments aren’t exactly the norm in Zaun. He doesn’t have much to worry about really, because they have their own security team (who get paid pretty well, from what he’s heard) in any case. He knows that Jayce wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself if all he could focus on was the open carry of the person at the table next to him. 

It helps that they also have a well stocked bar, rentable private rooms, and a healthy amount of seating booths pushed up against the walls. There are three floors, all with balconies that also have seating, though it is a few flights of stairs that Viktor doesn’t particularly feel like trekking right now. There’s still ample options for them to choose from, while people still trail in. 

The bar counter is lined against the farthest wall, already busy with bartenders and servers prepping for the shift to come. 

Not very much has changed in the time since he was last here. New light fixtures, maybe. A fresh coat of paint here and there. 

As Viktor was admiring the establishment, it seems as though Jayce has been fixated on the patrons milling about. The dance floor has a decent swath of people occupying the space already, and Viktor can see from the way that they sway that they’re well on their way to intoxicated. On what, he can’t say for sure. 

But no, Jayce — with his virgin gaze and topsider sensibilities — rakes his eyes over everyone’s attire, their bodies, with a newfound interest. He knows what Jayce looks like when he’s intrigued by an observation. 

Viktor follows his line of sight to a woman hovering by the corner of the dance floor, talking with another person and waving her hands excitedly. Her tits aren’t out, per se, but they’re not really covered either. The weave of the fishnet crop top she has on is nothing more than a formality. Her lower half is clad in nothing more than a g-string with intricate, pretty looking beading that compliment the expanse of skin on her hips.  

As he scans the room, for people this time, it’s the level of dress for about half of the patrons so far. The other half is dressed similarly to them, with open suggestions taking the vague shape of clothing. As the night wears on, more and more will have less and less. 

He also takes note of the handful of others who also carry tags around their necks.

Sliding his hand further up Jayce’s back and coming to rest between his shoulder blades, Viktor tugs slightly for his attention.

He already looks dazed. 

“One more thing: if you see another with a necklace like yours with only the circular tag, do not engage them. Certainly do not touch them, yes?” He has to raise his voice to make sure he can hear him over the speakers.

Jayce nods at him obediently, with round wet eyes. 

“Remember what I said? If it’s too much?”

He nods once more. “Unclip it.” 

“Good boy,” he pats Jayce’s back once, and his throat bobs like he’s made a noise. If he had, Viktor couldn’t hear it over the music. 

“Come, let’s get drinks.” He says, pulling Jayce along with a loose grip on his wrist. 

A handful of Zaunites eye Viktor’s companion hungrily as they walk past, until they catch a glimpse of the collar around his throat, and morph from a predator eyeing their prey to merely a curious and somewhat jealous observer. 

He can see Jayce’s curiosity only grow, when the bartender actively examines his collar to make sure it has the companion tag before engaging him about his order with a friendly smile. Viktor orders something strong that he can nurse for a while, and Jayce gets something sugary, to curb his sweet tooth. Viktor makes the executive decision at the last second to add a round of shots for them. If only because he’s feeling nostalgic, and because he wants to see how Jayce starts to act when the alcohol starts wearing at his inhibitions. 

He’s never seen Jayce truly drunk before, merely slightly tipsy. He has an unbelievable amount of self control at public functions, wherein you could not keep your glass empty if you tried. And whenever Viktor drinks with Jayce, it’s never to get him intoxicated; a glass of wine here, a cocktail there. Drinking for social cohesion and drinking to get drunk are two very different experiences. 

How will he act, Viktor wonders. Does he get chatty? Recluse? Does he gravitate to the warmth of another? Is he the kind of sloppy drunk that people loathe do go out with? Does he get needy? Whiny? Horny?

All questions Viktor would love to answer tonight, but he’s not sure they’ll have time to get to them. An experiment for another time, perhaps. 

Viktor can’t tell exactly how long they’ve been seated at the booth he chose for them, since there’s no clocks inside, and he neglected to bring any kind of pocket or wrist watch with him. He also can’t say with much certainty how many drinks they’ve collectively consumed, because the servers retrieve the empty glasses from the table just as quick as they’ve set them down. He’s maybe had one and a half, plus a shot. So that probably equals two fairly strong drinks.

The lights have become even more dim as the night goes on, and Jayce is well and truly buzzed. He’s still not sure he could say he’s drunk yet. Viktor didn’t think it would take as many drinks as it has, but then again, Jayce is not a small man. There’s a deep pink flush high on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, with a not insignificant dusting down his chest as well. He doesn’t stumble or sway when he leaves Viktor for the bathroom though, so he can’t be too intoxicated yet. 

Viktor is mesmerized by the muscles in his back that he can see through his transparent shirt as he walks away from the table. It was a good decision to bring it with him. 

“Didn’t take you for the type to tag someone, Viktor.”

Viktor glances up to the woman’s eyes unhurriedly. 

“Zevia, how are you?” He asks in greeting into his drink.

His old dealer hums, and takes the newly vacated spot next to him in the booth. The leather squeaks when she sits. It’s probably still warm from Jayce’s exorbitant body heat. Viktor has the errant desire to bring his nose to the seat of the booth to see if he could smell his musk that lingers on the fibres. 

“Disappear for a few years, and then come back with a toy?”

Viktor shrugs one shoulder. “People change.”

“A topsider, though?”

“They make the best pets. Eager for a new perspective.”

Viktor decides his blood alcohol concentration is high enough to justify a cigarette. Maybe two, but he has to finish the first one to get there. 

He pulls the pack out of his pocket, puts a cigarette between his lips, and lights it with the lighter he was smart enough to stash inside with them. 

“Are you wanting to play with him tonight?”

Exhaling the lungful of carcinogens through his nose, he teeters his head in consideration. “I could be persuaded. What do you have?”

“What do you want?” She asks, seductively placing both elbows on the table and leaning forward. She pushes her semi-exposed breasts together in the process, emphasizing her cleavage. 

If it were a different night, at a different time, Viktor might have been coerced. It wouldn’t have been the first time. But right now, Jayce is in the building with a collar around his neck bearing Viktor’s initial and his own subservience (as fake as it may be). 

As it is, he eyes her chest in an appreciative manner, before meeting her eyes once more. 

“Something gentle. No shimmer.” He’s heard all the rage that shimmer promises, but also the destruction that follows. 

“A Piltie and a virgin? That’s exciting.”

She sells him on some kind of diluted psychedelic with some name he can’t be bothered to care about. Like ecstasy adjacent, she paraded. Pulls a small, colourful sheet about an inch wide, perforated and tucked neatly into a tiny plastic bag out of a small pouch on her hip, and hands it to him. 

“I’d recommend starting with half.”

The sheet is split into four quadrants. 

“I’ll try a quarter.”

“You’re going soft, V.”

“Eh, it’s been a while.”

She tries to get him to take it as a gift, but he forces coinage into her hand anyway, because he’s not interested in being indebted to someone right now. She parts from the table with nothing more than a wink, having satisfied her desire for business. 

Jayce sits down beside him, not three seconds later. 

“Who was that?” He asks. 

Viktor eyes him, after hearing the slight bite to his tone. The end of his sentence comes a little clipped. 

“Just an old acquaintance,” he replies, shrugging. 

“Since when do you smoke?” Jayce flicks his chin towards the half-finished smoke in his right hand on top of the table. He reaches for the glass tray and flicks off the ash at the end before it has a chance to dirty the table. 

“Since I was thirteen, more or less. I don’t partake often anymore.”

“They’re bad for you, you know.” The worried crease of his brow is almost amusing, and entirely adorable. As if this one instance will be the thing that does him in. 

“No worse than the fumes of the fissures, I assure you.” 

Jayce says nothing, but still eyes the hand that holds it. Viktor watches amusedly as the conflicting thoughts cross his mind. It seems that the alcohol has made him even easier to read than he already was, like he’s less aware that he’s even emoting. 

Viktor sucks back the last dregs, and stubs out the end in the ash tray.

“Why don’t you go grab us another round and then I’ll share a treat with you, hm?” He suggests. 

Jayce looks intrigued, but nods obediently as predicted, and vacates the seat once more. 

When he returns, Viktor notices the wetness under the bottom of his glass where he places it down on the table, like he spilled some over the side in his haste to get back. It’s cute, really. How eager he is. 

Viktor takes a sip of his new drink and hums in approval before handing Jayce the small plastic bag to inspect between two outstretched fingers. He takes it carefully, like it’s something delicate to be had, and examines it. 

“Viktor, is this—”

“Drugs, yes. Like ecstasy, it makes you feel good. Milder even.” 

Jayce hesitates slightly, though Viktor notes it’s more in consideration than in opposition. The way his eyebrows are drawn back in curiosity and not drawn together in study reveal his true thoughts on the matter. 

Viktor takes them back from Jayce, tearing into the bag and gently ripping off his quarter-portion. 

“You do not have to take it if you don’t want. I’m merely offering you the option.”

“No I want to, I just… Show me how?”

He takes his tiny square, wiggling it a little for emphasis, sticks his tongue out of his mouth to where Jayce can see him place it on the centre of his tongue and waits for it to start dissolving before pulling it back into his mouth. It’s unexpectedly sweet, like he just dropped a few granules of sugar into his mouth. 

Jayce watches him with rapt attention, cataloguing every movement Viktor makes. The tips of his ears flush a few shades darker than they were previously, gaze glued to his mouth. 

“Sublinguals take, eh, ten or fifteen minutes to start taking effect. I usually take more if I cannot feel anything after thirty.” 

“How do you know when it starts working?” Jayce asks, taking the proffered package back, and examining it some more. 

“You will know. Lights and sound will be mesmerizing, touch will feel good, you will feel euphoric; less tense, less anxious.”   

Jayce seems soothed by Viktor’s rather clinical explanation. A man of science, through and through. He doesn’t mention how insatiably horny some people get, because it varies so drastically from person to person; setting to setting. 

The other man tears another quarter from the tab, balancing two corners in between his index finger and his thumb. 

“You don’t have to Jayce, I am not forcing you.” 

Jayce smirks at him, but Viktor can tell he’s just a little bit nervous under the quirk of his lips. At the end of the day, Jayce is an adult man in his mid twenties who can make decisions for himself, and reap any consequences that may follow. 

He pops the square on his tongue and stares vacantly for a second, as if analyzing the exact taste and texture into a mental catalogue. 

“That wasn’t the taste I was expecting.” 

Viktor chuckles into his drink. “What were you expecting?”

“Not… sweet.” 

It’s late enough that the volume of people is starting to pick up. The dance floor is nearly full, packed from corner to corner with scantily clothed bodies, with no breathing room between any of them. Viktor’s unable to tell where some of them end and another begins. 

In a booth across the room, over top of heads and bodies, Viktor watches a man in mesh briefs and a chest harness drop to his knees and crawl under the table where three others sit. He nuzzles his face into the lap of the one in the centre, and offers a hand to the others on either side. In the booth next to them, a collared person straddles the lap of their owner, with both their hands slipped under their skirt, splaying over the expanse of their ass. In the corner, pushed up against a wall, two people frot through clothing that isn’t thick enough to spare details. Viktor feels at home, in his own strange and perverse way. 

When he does finally tear his gaze away from the lewd displays, Jayce is eyeing the people dancing with a renewed interest, with something written on his face that Viktor can only describe as hunger. 

“Go dance, Jayce.” Viktor pushes, sipping more of his drink. 

Jayce’s eyes flit from Viktor’s, to the bodies, and back again. 

“You—”

“Do not worry your pretty head about me, I am plenty comfortable here. You came to dance right? So go dance.”

The man gives him one last look through long, dark lashes, downs the rest of his drink, and leaves the booth. 

Viktor watches as Jayce walks forward, one slightly hesitant foot at a time, towards the crowd of people.

Viktor heaves a tiny sigh when he sees how easily Jayce is accepted and blended into the mass of bodies, albeit touched a little less than some of his peers. As soon as the people nearest him catch sight of his tag, their hands stop drifting as far downwards, and remain slightly more respectable on his shoulders, arms, back, and for a daring few, his chest. 

The collar is working, in Viktor’s intended effect, at least. If Jayce wasn’t wearing it, he surely would have been coerced to the middle and torn to shreds by now. 

Things start to get just the tiniest bit hazy as the minutes tick on. He becomes entranced in the way Jayce moves his body with all the fluidity of a professional dancer. He follows the cues of the people around him perfectly; bends when they bend, grinds when they grind, and holding when they hold. 

A tagged girl is able to grab his attention, stealing and slotting his hands in an above board way around her waist. The loose purple buns on top of her head bounce with her movement as she sways and pulls with the beat of the music. She pitches up on the tips of her toes to half-yell something into Jayce’s ear; something that Viktor is much too far away to hear. 

He denies the tug of jealousy in his chest, because that’s something to deal with later. The younger man currently has his initial dangling at the hollow of his throat, he reminds himself.

Jayce smiles warmly at her and laughs at whatever she said, shoulders heaving slightly with the movement. He presses as close as he dares to her, and it’s evident that he wants more contact; more hands, more mouths, more bodies.

He thinks he can see the moment when Jayce starts feeling the effects. He strays his gaze from the people around him for long enough to stare up, for just a few more seconds than is usually acceptable, at the colourful rays of dancing lights that fill the space. Jayce jolts slightly, as though he was punched, when he sees the acts of the people on the upper balconies; increasing in depravity with each level. He melts into the touch of the violet-haired girl when she places her hand on the top of his shoulder, guiding him into another movement. 

Viktor strays his own gaze up to the upper levels, and is met with about what he expected. It’s dark enough up there that he can’t see with great ease. After all, the rentable rooms are up on the highest floor. He feasts on the sight of a young man with shoulder length dark hair, naked save for the briefs wrapped around his thighs, being rhythmically pushed against the metal railing by a much older, much larger man at his back. The young man’s eyes are pinched closed, but his mouth hangs open in contrast. 

He catches himself absently thumbing at the head of his cock through his pants, under the cover of the table (not that it would really matter much anyway), and wonders about the aphrodisiac qualities of what Zevia gave him. If the pooling of heat low in his belly is anything to go by, he could guess that it wasn’t a zero sum. Though, that could also just be his general sexual frustration with the entire outing. 

How would Jayce look in that position, he wonders. Would he loathe the open attention, or would he become drunk on its effects? Jayce, bent over at the waist, tag swinging back and forth as Viktor fucks sloppily into him; one hand fisted in his hair, forcing him to face the crowd below, and the other digging harshly into the meat of his hip, leaving bruises for the days to come. 

When he tears his eyes away from the sight, he seeks Jayce’s dark head of hair in the edges of the crowd, and frowns slightly when he can’t immediately spot him. 

He probably got pulled in closer to the middle. He’ll like it there, surrounded by bodies, Viktor muses. 

Viktor, in the meantime, takes the opportunity to visit the washrooms. He relives the ache in his bladder while listening to no less than two couples and one throuple fucking in the stalls next to him. Their pace is quite commendable, in all honesty.

By the time he makes it back, Jayce is still nowhere to be seen. He’s not worried per se, but it’s been some time, and their drinks haven’t been refilled nor taken back since he left. The bar staff are now too outpaced to be regularly glass-wrangling, and Jayce evidently has not been back to get a refill. 

He waits a little longer, idly people watching and passively searching for Jayce’s hair or the pattern of his shirt, whichever comes first. 

A little more time passes, and Viktor decides he’s going to see if he can’t meander around and find the man. He wants to check in on him, now that he can feel the peak of the high beginning to set in. It’s decent, it’s enough to be a little distracting, but not enough to make him completely delirious with lust. Desires to be close to someone, but it won’t be earth shattering if he can’t. It’s probably also the alcohol that make him fuzzy around the edges. He still has his wits about him though, and he wants to make sure Jayce is safe before he allows himself to really enjoy it. 

Viktor flags a passing server with a tray of empty glasses as politely as he can, adding two more to the tray so someone else can take the booth he’s vacating. He slips a few coins into their smock before they depart, in thanks. 

Lazily, he starts by walking the length of the dance floor on the outer perimeter. Paces a couple of times and then stops to lean against a wall near the back to see if he can spot him. Perhaps if he went up a level or two, it would be easier to see. 

Just as he’s about to depart for the balconies, turning away from the floor, a large hand engulfs the entirety of Viktor’s bicep. He knows from the heat alone that it’s Jayce. 

“Viktor,” Jayce gasps his name, as though desperate for air. 

His chest heaves, and there’s a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Viktor’s concern bubbles when he meets his eyes, and sees a veritable panic behind his blown-out pupils. 

“Jayce, what happened? What’s wrong— are you hurt?”

“What? No, nothing happened— I’m not hurt.”

His hand doesn’t release its grip on his arm. If anything, it gets tighter, unwilling to let Viktor go now that he has him. 

Viktor gently guides him to lean against the wall to rest; Jayce follows willingly and without a sliver of protest. Viktor could probably parade him around on a leash on all fours and Jayce would crawl happily alongside. Another thought for another time. 

“Something is bothering you. Did someone try something? What—”

Jayce’s face scrunches in annoyance. “No, nobody’s tried anything, and that’s the fucking problem.”

“What do you mean?” 

He pulls Viktor in closer by his steady grip, until he’s slotted rather intimately between Jayce’s legs. “Nobody will touch me—”

“People were touching you, Jayce.”

He shakes his head. “Not like that— not how I want to be touched. And it’s because of this fucking collar you put on me.”

Viktor looks away for a second, sheepish. When he looks back up, it’s to Jayce’s signature wet puppy eyes, and Viktor blames the way his knees wobble on the fatigue of standing, as though he’s not been sitting for the past few hours. 

“Viktor, I need to be touched.”

“Jayce, I—”

“Please,” he whines, and pulls Viktor ever closer to him. 

With no more room between their bodies, Viktor is slotted against him, hip to hip. The wickedly hot and obscenely thick line of his erection pushes against the space between Viktor’s hip and thigh from where it’s trapped in his deliriously tight pants. 

Jayce peers at Viktor through thick lashes; chest heaving, eclipsed pupils, panting open mouthed as he waits for Viktor to act. 

All at once, the pieces fall into place. 

Jayce’s reactions weren’t hesitance or apprehension to Viktor’s behaviour, as irregular as it may have been. It was pure, bloody, raw, aching desire; just barely kept from boiling over. 

“Oh, Jayce,” Viktor places his one palm on the centre of his chest. 

Jayce’s right hand flies up to grip Viktor’s hip, and he loosens the death grip he had on his arm in favour of having both hands on his hips; gasping for air like a man starved of it when their bodies make contact. “Have I been neglecting you?”

Jayce’s throat bobs, and he nods dejectedly in short bursts. His lower lip juts into a pout, and begs Viktor with his gaze to make it up to him. 

“I am sorry that I did not notice earlier, darling. Would you like me to take the edge off? Just until we get back and so I can make it up to you and take you apart properly.” 

Viktor gets a hand between them and provides Jayce the friction he so desires. He tries for a soothing manner, softly stroking his neglected cock through his pants, however, the effect is anything but. The man goes rigid, as he throws his head back against the wall behind him, bowing his spine at an uncomfortable angle. Fingertips dig, almost painfully, into his hips and Viktor wonders if there will be proof of it come tomorrow. 

Jayce nods hastily. “Please, yes, please, Viktor I can’t—”

“There is one condition, love.” Viktor purrs as he starts to unbutton as many buttons as it takes to get his hand inside Jayce’s pants to tug his dick out enough for him to wrap his hand around. 

“Yeah, yes — anything,”

“Tell me when you are about to come, yes?”

Jayce agrees between breaths, and when he slams his head back once more, Viktor gets slightly worried for the state of his skull. 

Hastily resting his cane against the wall beside them, he shifts his weight to his good leg, and gets the hand not currently wrapped around Jayce’s weeping cock threaded into the short hairs around the back of his head, protecting him from the wall. 

It prompts Jayce to tilt his head forward, until his forehead meets Viktor’s. He stares heavily between them, watching the tip of his length peek through the tight circle of Viktor’s fist. 

Viktor only gets ten strokes before Jayce shifts his head, whining obscenely into Viktor’s ear.

“I— I’m not gonna last.” he pants.

“I did not ask you to, Jayce. You can let go, darling.”

Jayce’s breath hitches so violently he all but sobs, gripping Viktor with more force, as though it will keep him from floating away entirely. 

“C-coming,” he spits out in warning. 

Viktor hastily, and in a way he will come to regret later, drops to his knees and engulfs Jayce with his mouth. Viktor feels him jerk violently forward, leaning his weight on both shoulders and carnally thrusting once into the wet and waiting heat. 

Jayce comes on Viktor’s eager tongue, savouring the salty thick spend for just a moment before greedily swallowing it down. 

Viktor laves his tongue around the tip of his cock, making sure to gather every drop. 

Using Jayce as an anchor, he pulls himself up and tucks Jayce away before anyone else gets any more of an eyeful than they already have. His hand returns to the back of his head, and idly plays with the shorn hair there, waiting for Jayce to come back to himself. 

His head lolls forward, touching their foreheads together once more. Through bleary eyes, Jayce gazes to him. 

“Now, would you like to dance more or would you like to go home?” Viktor asks softly.

“Home, please. Please take me home.” He begs, as though Viktor was not already convinced. 

“That’s what I presumed, but I thought I’d give you the option.”

Viktor makes sure all of Jayce’s waist buttons are done up before dragging him out of the club with the fingers of his free hand threaded through Jayce’s much larger one. 

Actually getting home proves to be no small task. Not with the way Jayce keeps caressing every inch of Viktor he can possibly reach from his position. It starts with his hand skirting up the length of his arm, resting at his shoulder and drawing arbitrary symbols into his scapula. At some point, he decides that it’s not enough contact, and saddles closer. Presses the sides of their bodies together while occupying a shoulder with one hand and the other tracing down the length of Viktor’s spine. 

He unfortunately has to cut him off when Jayce attempts to stick his hands under the layers of his clothing, itching at the waist of his pants. It’s not that Viktor is adverse to amorous displays in public (evidently), but it makes it incredibly challenging to continue putting one foot in front of the other without the risk of hurting himself. 

Viktor comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Jayce puts a hand on either side of his waist, over top of the corset, his thumbs rubbing aimless circles into the fabric. 

He hooks one lithe finger on the chain around Jayce’s throat where the tag sits, and tugs firmly in warning. 

Jayce gasps, and Viktor watches transfixed as his eyes roll back and his eyelids flutter closed. 

“Jayce.”

“Mhm.” The man hums where his words fail him. His eyes remain closed, despite Viktor waiting a moment for him to open them again. 

“You may touch me, but do not hinder my movement. The longer you misbehave, the longer it will take us to get back. Understood?”

Jayce’s eyebrows pinch together uncomfortably in a way Viktor knows to mean he’s concentrating, as he neglects to answer. 

Viktor a little harder once more on his collar, his hand not having left its position. 

“Words, Jayce. I know you are capable of them.”

His mouth falls open in a wordless plea and his brow scrunches impossibly more, as the larger man pulls Viktor forward by his leverage on his waist, colliding their hips together just in time for him to feel Jayce’s cock pulsing within the confines of his pants. He’s forced to look down when he feels warmth teasing the outside layer of his own trousers. 

“Did you just co—”

“Yes.”

Viktor looks back up at him, incredulously, one eyebrow raised all the way to his hairline. 

“…Untouched?”

After two full steady breaths, he opens his eyes again to peer at Viktor. With more clarity this time, it seems. 

“You were touching me.” Jayce whispers sheepishly, as if it isn’t the singular hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen anyone do. 

If Jayce feels his own cock give a valiant twitch, he doesn’t let on.

Viktor gently releases the collar from his grasp, coming up to card through the man’s gel-sticky hair instead. Jayce all but purrs, following the motion of his hand as not to detach himself from his contact at all. 

“I was touching your collar.”

“Same thing.”

“What a marvel you are.” Viktor says earnestly, with all the sincere praise and adoration he’s only ever previously reserved for their research, and the things he’s sung about the man inside his head. 

He flushes and looks away shyly, though the cute little smile at the corner of his mouth betrays him. 

It’s unfortunate that Jayce is forced to walk the rest of the way with a wet come patch on the leg of his pants, but it’s late, dark, and they don’t run into anyone anyway. Much of Piltover has a complex about walking the streets so late at night, as though the Zaunites would abduct them under the cover of nightfall. 

Jayce is slightly more sated after the second orgasm though, and while his hands still wander and trace unseen patterns into his skin and clothing, he’s no longer acting like he’ll die if Viktor doesn’t get his cock out in the middle of the street. It probably won’t be long until he’s back at that state, if the slow but steady increase in desperation is anything to go by. 

Viktor is barely able to get two steps past the threshold of the door before Jayce all but drops to his knees. The older man gently leads him to stand in front of the sofa in Jayce’s open living room. 

“Disrobe, if you please.” Has to add a sharp Slowly, when Jayce’s over eager hands work the buttons of his top so roughly Viktor is worried they’ll snap off. 

With some struggle, he’s able to get out of the pants, peeling them off of his body so they lay inside out on the floor. He kicks the pile of clothes and his boots off to the side, as far as they’ll slide in one forceful kick, as though they’ve gravely offended him. 

He should have a little more appreciation for them really — it’s almost the entire reason he’s in this position in the first place. 

Viktor hums appreciatively, while Jayce stands naked, swaying slightly on his feet. He stalks closer, one asynchronous tap at a time. 

Pointedly, he hasn’t removed the collar. Not because he couldn’t (though he would need the magnetic key in Viktor’s pocket), but because he hasn’t even tried. Not once has he tugged at the chain or fiddled with the clasp in the back; all signals Viktor would read as discomfort. He rather seems at ease, baring only the collar (Viktor’s collar, with Viktor’s initial, and Viktor’s tag). Comforted, even. 

Viktor reaches a hand out, tapping the tip of his finger against the dangling tags sitting in his jugular notch. 

“Would you li—”

“Don’t take it off,” Jayce interrupts too quickly, and then realizes his discourtesy. “Please.” He adds, meekly. 

Viktor holds up his hand, placatingly. 

“Merely thought I would offer.” He replies, continuing his inspection.

He circles the man predatorily, memorizing every centimetre of exposed, bronze skin up for offer. 

Stopping at his back, Viktor teases one finger up each of the notches of his vertebrae, and revels in the outbreak of goosebumps in his wake; like the ripples of a tide. 

He trails the same finger around to the expanse of his chest, valiantly ignoring the way Jayce’s cock stands at full attention; aching and actively drooling onto the floor between them. He gasps slightly when Viktor trails the pad of his finger down to one nipple, toying with the reactive flesh. Trails further down, dragging his nails through the neat path of gradually thickening hair under his navel to where it meets the thatch of trimmed pubic hair. 

Jayce keens when Viktor reverses direction, and goes back up to his chest, flattening a palm against his massive fucking pectoral. 

“Hands behind your back.” Viktor softly orders. 

Jayce’s hands fly to clasp himself, neatly tucked together. 

“Good boy. Now on your knees.”

He soars with the praise and quickly drops to his knees, peering up at Viktor from crotch level, merely waiting permission to start his assault. He knows, from the mischievous glint in his hazy eyes, that he considers nosing forward into Viktor’s half-hard bulge, and ultimately decides against it. It’s a good thing too, because Viktor didn’t really want to put punishment on the table tonight. He desires the praise more than he craves to intentionally misbehave. 

The thing about Jayce, is that he is incredibly needy. Needier and whinier than anyone Viktor has ever bedded or played with before. Now, that’s not to say that handling Jayce is out of his comfort zone, or even necessarily out of his experience. But he finds that he wants to bend him, just a little (right now at least), to see how he reacts. Will he beg and plead and grovel for Viktor to touch him, anywhere at all? Or will he become stoic, once he’s been given a direct order, seeking out the moment he receives high praise for enduring so well? If he leaves him alone for long enough, restrained and dripping with desperation, could he get him to come untouched again, or was earlier just an anomaly? 

Viktor can hypothesize all he wants, but the only way he’ll get all the answers he’s ever wondered, daydreamed, and fantasized about, is to move on to the next phase: experimentation. 

Remaining fixed in his position, he peers down into Jayce’s waiting gaze. Viktor gently grips the underside of his jaw, letting Jayce rest the full weight of his head in his hand, like a dog begging for a treat. 

“How many times can you come in a night, Jayce?”

He shifts some of the weight away from his jaw so he can answer, but not enough to detach Viktor’s hand from his skin. 

“Uh… I don’t know, three maybe?”

Viktor raises a curious brow. 

“Have you never tried more?”

Sheepishly again, he gently shakes his head, his cheeks tinging a beautiful pink. Piltovian sensibilities, he reminds himself. 

“Maybe more now — I’ve never taken anything that’s made me feel like this before.”

“Horny?”

“Insatiable. I haven’t come in my pants since I was a teenager, much less after one already.” 

Caressing the hinge of his jaw with his thumb, scratching against the stubble, Viktor hums in contemplation. 

“It looks like we will have to experiment then, yes?”

It’s been a little while since taking their dosage, and Viktor has the stray thought to take another, just to see how long they could go before failure. Alas, Viktor would be woefully underprepared for such a scenario. Not that he hasn’t done it before, but that was back when he didn’t end up seeing his bedmate come daylight, and didn’t think much about how it would affect them (or himself, for that matter) the day after. Yet another thought to visit another time. 

Jayce doesn’t answer verbally, instead giving a small nod and looking up at Viktor expectantly on his knees. 

Instead of reaching for the button on his waist like Jayce expects him to, he strokes the underside of his jaw once more, before dropping contact entirely. 

“Stay here, do not move.” He instructs firmly. 

A shudder wracks through Jayce, pebbling his nipples and shaking his core. Viktor’s fingers twitch with the ache to touch from where they’re currently wrapped around the handle of his cane. 

When Jayce proves his compliance, still peering up at him, Viktor slowly back away. 

He leisurely meanders to the kitchen, and he knows that Jayce’s eyes are tracking his every movement, trying to predict what he’ll do next. 

Viktor knows his apartment well enough to be able to help himself with whatever he needs. He grabs a large glass from the cupboard and fills it almost to the brim with tap water, carrying it close to his body as he then leaves and makes his way to Jayce’s bedroom. He resists the biting urge to glance over at the younger man, still kneeling, and trying to analyze every minuscule expression that crosses his face. 

The bedroom is just as they left it; bed made, stray clothing options strewn about, and Viktor’s bag, still propped up in the seat of the chair in the corner. 

He first places the glass down on the waist-high dresser, grabbing a couple of rejected shirts and draping them over his arm for collection. Retrieving the bottle of over-the-counter analgesics he knows Jayce keeps in the shelving behind his bathroom mirror, he places it next to the water, and deposits the clothes into a crude pile in the closet and shuts the door. The curtains come next, securing them against the sunrise that is to come in the near future. 

Viktor gets so far as placing a few small towels on the nightstand and retrieving the bottle of lubricant he knows will be in the adjacent drawer — not because he’s seen it before, but because he has spent the last however many months trying to work out every facet of Jayce’s behaviour — before Jayce’s timid voice calls to him from the hallway. 

“Viktor?” 

It seems he’s at his upper limit. Interesting, considering it’s been barely three minutes. Viktor wonders what he could do with six. Nine, even. 

“Yes, darling.” He calls back over his shoulder. 

“Wh- uh…” Viktor waits patiently as he starts and interrupts himself a few times before settling. “Is everything okay?” 

Despite his words, Viktor hears the ‘am I being good?’ with crystal clarity. 

“Everything is wonderful, Jayce.” 

His assurance is met with a small whimper. Viktor hesitates a little more, just to drag it out and watch him squirm. 

He walks at a snail’s pace back to the living room, pausing at the threshold to examine Jayce. He tremors slightly, though not with exertion. He’s dripped steadily enough and without flagging that a small pool of precum has accumulated on the floor in between his legs. Viktor leans slightly to the left, and is able to see the tips of his fingers have turned white with how firmly he grips his own wrist. 

Viktor smirks to himself, huffing amusedly through his nose. 

He paces to the sofa, taking a seat directly in front of Jayce. His brows lift hopefully and his bottom lip trembles. 

Viktor pats the knee of his good leg, and Jayce shuffles forward the final inches to close the distance. The younger man immediately rests his head in the offered space, while two large hands crawl up the outsides of either of Viktor’s legs, settling for vaguely massaging his calves, but largely just groping his flesh. 

A hand flies up to card through Jayce’s hair, enjoying the shiver that runs through him when he drags his nails over his scalp. 

“You were very good for me, waiting so patiently.”

In time he’ll drag it out more, but as it is, Viktor has been at least half hard in his pants since Jayce first grabbed his arm. He’s also getting needy, and his tolerance is starting to wean; softened significantly by the drugs and alcohol. 

“Tell me Jayce,” Viktor drawls, undoing the buttons keeping the front of his trousers closed. “Have you done this before?” 

Jayce’s eyes track the movement of his fingers with rapt attention; a dog salivating at the treat being dangled in front of him. 

“Uh… Once or twice? It wasn’t, um, for very long.”

“Not to worry, I know you are a quick study.” He praises, finally tugging his rapidly stiffening cock free from its confines, sighing lightly as he wraps a lazy hand around himself. 

Jayce honest-to-gods salivates, a dollop escaping from the corner of his mouth and falling to the fabric covering Viktor’s knee. 

When Jayce reaches out and wraps a searing hand around him, he immediately knows he won’t last long. Viktor has denied himself any attention for the entire trek home, and he’s just a little keyed up.

Jayce gently strokes him, watching the way his foreskin peels away, exposing him to the cool air of the late night, before pulling his hand up again and repeating the process. He’s taking a metric, Viktor realizes; trying to figure out what makes him buck up or gasp or groan or whine.

He lifts himself to his knees from his haunches, so he can eagerly lap at the tip of Viktor’s cock, before the steady drips of precum can travel too far, held securely with his large hand at the base. 

Viktor gasps, throwing his head back against the cushion. He’d forgotten how good this could feel while under the influence of an aphrodisiac. Or, more likely than that, under Jayce’s influence; making him feel dizzy with desire and stifled with the need to fuck him stupid. 

With great effort, he lifts his head again, as not to miss a single second of Jayce’s devotion. 

He can pinpoint the moment that Jayce gets impatient, wanting to see more of Viktor’s reactions; just how many sounds he can pull from him. 

Jayce follows all the proper proceedings, as though going through a mental checklist. He tucks his teeth under his lips, hollows his cheeks, and takes the first half of Viktor’s length with relative ease. He’s drooling enough that it starts to drip down his shaft, gathering briefly in the hairs at the base then teasing him by trailing down over his sack. 

Viktor rewards him with a fist in his hair, to which the man groans throatily, sending waves of vibrations back through his cock. By the end of it, it was really a reward for himself. 

Jayce gets agitated with his inability to take him all at once, as though the ability to deep throat is something gained through fervour and not practice and patience. He pushes himself forward, down further and further, and Viktor doesn’t catch him in time to warn him against it. 

He gags himself in his earnestness, the sound wet and loud and undeniable as it rings through the apartment. In the milliseconds following, Viktor feels his throat convulse impossibly tighter around the tip of his cock, and it takes all of his willpower to keep his hips fastened to his seat, moaning loudly as he fights his baser reaction. 

Viktor pulls him off with a firm hand in his hair.

“I will teach you to take all of me in time, do not hurt yourself for my benefit.” 

He continues mouthing at him, mere centimetres away from his wet and waiting hole. Jayce peers at him through hazy eyes. 

“Want to make you feel good,” he whines.

“You already make me feel amazing, Jayce. Use your hand with what you cannot take.” 

The younger man nods, already taking the tip in his mouth again. 

The next minutes dilate into hours and days and weeks and lifetimes of the enthralling way Jayce works him with his mouth as though it was the only thing he was born to do; in this universe and every other, Jayce is pliant and needy beneath him. 

Once Jayce finds his rhythm, only interrupted by the sloppy wet sounds, it’s an embarrassingly short interval before he has to voice another warning. 

“Jayce, I— ngh, I’m close,” he groans all the courtesy he can manage. 

Jayce simply gazes up at him, mouth stuffed with Viktor’s cock, and keeps pace. 

One of Viktor’s hands flies down to claw at Jayce’s bicep, and the other tightens its grip in the man’s sweat-damp hair, prompting another rewarded groan. 

Hopelessly, Viktor comes on Jayce’s eager tongue, core seizing and back arched. 

Jayce swallows all of him down, without hesitance. 

Viktor curses his sinful, enthusiastic mouth when he begins to immediately nip and suck at the skin on his hips and lower belly once he detaches from his spent cock. He has yet another errant thought to gag him, just to see how he’d fare with nothing substantial between his lips. Or, even better yet, a chew toy if he continues to act like a teething pup.

He gently tugs the man’s head back with the grip still in his hair, Jayce following willingly anywhere Viktor will lead him. 

Jayce awaits his response with a partially gaped mouth that begs to be fucked again. 

Instead, Viktor leans forward and kisses his forehead.

It’s then he realizes that, in his haste to debauch Jayce, he’s neglected to kiss him. 

Viktor slides his hand to gently cup the back of his head, cradling his skull, and tugs with one finger on his collar to keep him close, and chases the taste of himself on the back of Jayce’s tongue. Jayce keens, high pitched and needy, as soon as their lips meet; Viktor isn’t sure he’s aware that he’s doing it. 

It’s overzealous and a bit sloppy, but he doesn’t stop until the only thing he can taste as he licks over his tongue and between his teeth is undeniably Jayce. 

He starts to shift his left leg, intending to press closer, but is interrupted by a desperate gasp when the solid length of his shin meets the unyielding heat of Jayce’s engorged and ignored erection. 

Viktor grinds his leg against him, just to watch him writhe. The man nearly doubles over, heaving, if only he weren’t stopped by the couch and Viktor’s body. He lets him rut against the rough weave of his pants, and feels patches of warmth where he’s surely leaking all over him. 

“Could you come like this, Jayce? Hm?” 

Jayce regards him with open mouthed pants before scrunching his brow and leaning forward, digging his canines into the meat above Viktor’s knee, wrapping both hands around the back of his calf.

“I think you can. Evidently, I don’t even need to touch you for you to reach climax.”

He tugs at the collar some more, and Jayce begins rutting against him with a single minded purpose, chasing his release and the subsequent praise from Viktor. 

Viktor surges forward to kiss him again, this one even messier and sloppier and hastier than the last. Jayce pants openly into his mouth between kisses, smearing excess saliva across their chins and cheeks until he suddenly stills and Viktor is swallowing his moans. Heat blooms over the majority of his shin, and up as high as his kneecap, as his spend embeds itself in the fabric. 

He cradles Jayce’s head and toys with his hair, gently tracing absent patterns into his shoulders and neck as he twitches and calms through the aftershocks of his third orgasm. 

Still pressed against his shin, Viktor feels his erection flag more than it had previously, but still not entirely. He’ll be good for at least one more, if only because Viktor wishes it. 

“You did so well, doing exactly as I asked of you.” Another small whine escapes his lips, as Viktor cards through sweaty strands. “Would you like to move to the bedroom, or have you had enough for tonight?”

“Bed— bedroom, please.” 

Jayce begs so prettily, he never wants to hear him stop. Should keep him locked away from the rest of the world, strung on the precipice of too much and not enough, just so he can hear him scream and whine and beg and plead for Viktor, Viktor, Viktor. 

Viktor instructs Jayce into his own room, telling him to get himself comfortable on his bed, while Viktor downs half a glass of much-needed water in one go. 

He gets to the threshold of Jayce’s bedroom, and watches silently for a moment as he finds Jayce lazily stroking himself; eyes closed, with an arm thrown over his head. 

“Did I say that you were allowed to touch yourself, Jayce?”

His eyes fly open and the man jolts like Viktor’s words held kinetic potential. Another beautiful rosy-red flush decorates his cheeks and chest, as he places his own hands underneath his back in exile; as though they would act of their own volition if he left them free. 

Stalking closer to the bed, he trails one finger from his metatarsals up slowly through the wiry hair on his legs, the taught muscles in his pelvis, and up the underside of his straining cock, tapping at the wetness on the head with the pad of his index finger. 

Jayce’s heaving chest arches violently away from the bed when Viktor gently digs his finger into the slit of his urethra by a few millimetres. 

“We will determine punishments at a later time,” he says flippantly. “Right now, I need to see you come undone with me inside you.” 

He whimpers pathetically again, and Viktor ensures his gaze is trained on him before propping his cane at the end of the bed, and reaching around his torso to undo the ribbon of the corset at his back. The sheer top is next, of which he spends a not insignificant amount of time undoing the remaining buttons, followed by his now soiled pants. 

By the time he climbs onto the bed, between Jayce’s spread legs, the tip of his cock is once again flushed an angry red and steadily weeping; teasing in the way it slowly rolls down his shaft. 

“On your stomach, darling.” 

Jayce rolls over obediently, his newly freed hands coming to grip the sheets beside his head. 

Viktor nabs one of the extra pillows and slots it under his right knee. Not that it’s going to do a lot but he’ll appreciate having had the extra support come tomorrow. 

He also snags the lube from the bedside table, and watches goosebumps erupt on the smooth, strong expanse of his back when he hears the undoubtably familiar sound of the lid. 

Deciding to be kind, he waits for the lubricant to warm to the heat of his body in one hand, and pulls at Jayce’s muscular cheek with the other; thoroughly exposing his twitching hole to Viktor’s devouring eyes. 

Once it’s at an acceptable temperature, Viktor lightly prods with one finger at the muscle, expecting a certain amount of resistance, and finding himself considerably shocked when Jayce swallows his entire digit easily. He tests his sneaking suspicion by adding another, finding it too is greedily absorbed. 

This is the laxness of a man who had something inside of him not long ago. 

“Did you do more than stroke yourself while I was out of the room?”

Jayce pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and quietly replies. “…No.”

Viktor roughly manhandles the glute in his palm, spearing two fingers into him a little more harshly through Jayce’s wet gasps.

“Do not lie to me, Jayce.”

“I’m n-not lying! I didn’t do anything just now!”

“Just now?” 

The man closes his eyes, sheepishly hiding his face in the mattress. “I may have, uh… prepped. Earlier. Before you got here.”

Viktor grins wickedly, abandoning his rough handling of his ass to curl a hand around the back of his collar and pulling, applying pressure to the front of his throat. He pushes a third finger past his rim and finds himself welcome with open arms. 

“Jayce Talis,” he says with all the conviction of a chastising parent. “Were you planning for this?”

Jayce twitches around his fingers desperately willing him to move.

“N-not planning! Just… hoping. Imagining.”

“And was it me you were thinking of, or were you willing to let just any Zaunite fuck you?”

The man desperately shakes his head. “No— just you, Viktor. It’s always been you.”

Viktor can’t help but huff an amused chuckle. “Well, it’s a good thing you bear my initial then, isn’t it?” 

“W-what?” He tries for confused, but is already too fucked out to put his heart into the act.

“Don’t play coy now, Jayce. I know you examined it as thoroughly as you could in the piss poor lighting of the bathroom.” 

Viktor retracts his fingers as well as his grip on the collar in favour of slicking his cock with more lube as he speaks.

“Did it excite you when you realized what it was? That I had so publicly claimed you as mine?”

Jayce chances a look over his shoulder, and moans wantonly when he sees Viktor’s fist making quick work of himself. 

“Fuck, V— I wanted to drop to my knees suck you dry under the table, for everyone to see you fuck my face and come down my throat.”

Viktor teases him — rewards him — with the tip of his cock dipping just barely a centimetre inside of him. He could get himself off like this, if he was feeling particularly mean or punishing. It’s enough so that if Jayce were to ask for Viktor to fuck him, he wouldn’t be able to deny that that’s what he was doing. Could pop the head halfway in, work the rest of himself with his fist, and come so shallowly inside of him that most of it would drip back out as soon as he retreats.

It appears as though the key to breaking the Piltovian reserve is roughly three orgasms, some alcohol, an aphrodisiac, and the promise of a dick, prodding at his hole. 

“Would you have let me paint your face with my seed? Take you to the upper balcony and fuck you over the crowd with my claim on your skin?”

Jayce moans, louder than anything already, when just the head pops inside of him. 

“You — fuck— can do whatever you want to me, I’m yours.” 

Viktor duly notes the use of the present tense. 

Jayce’s hand flies back to grip Viktor’s hip, not to push him away or hold him at bay, but to greedily push him forward into his sloppy-warm hole.

Stars dance behind Viktor’s fluttering eyelids, and he has to still himself when his pelvis is cushioned against the plush muscle of Jayce’s ass. His second release teases dangerously close to the surface, cock violently twitching in earnest. 

Jayce roughly paws and kneads his hip, eyes closed and brows clenched, face half-buried in the pillow under his head; while wrenching combinations of whines, sobs, and moans spill from his mouth. 

“F-fuck, you’re so big — feel you in my fucking lungs, V.”

Viktor huffs, trailing a hand up and down his spine languidly. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Jayce. Not when you whine so nicely for me.” 

“Wasn’t flattery, just an observation,” He shakes his head, and the breathless way he speaks lends to truth, this time. 

Viktor grins again. How much can he drag out of him by just warming his cock inside him? How many depraved confessions can he pull from him with the aid of desperation? Viktor won’t deny it would also have the added benefit of stroking his ego.

“What else are you observing, I wonder?” Viktor teases, shifting backwards half an inch and then forward again, dangling his pleasure in front of him, knowing he’s too far gone to do anything but take it. 

He slides the hand tracing his spine further up his back, until it threads once more through the messy tangles on his head from Viktor’s previous abuse, as he slowly but firmly wrenches his head back until his collar is on neat display; the metal tags clinking beautifully against one another. 

Jayce groans, strained against the angle of his throat. 

“You fuck me so well without even needing to touch me — can so easily tear me down to the core and build me back up in your image,” he chokes out a moan when Viktor rewards him with another half inch. 

“Every day I have to fight the desire to drop to my knees for you, let you use me however you want, in front of anybody — everybody. Nobody sees me like you do.”

Viktor finally, agonizingly pulls himself halfway out and pushes back into Jayce’s greedy, wet hole with a lewd slap as their skin meets. The man below him gasps, trailing off into a pathetic little whine as Viktor starts his punishing pace. 

“Be careful what you wish for, Jayce. You might bite off more than you can chew.”

With limited movement, Jayce shakes his head back and forth. “No, not with you. Never with you. Take me, use me — I’m yours.”

Since he’s begging so nicely for it, Viktor fucks into him ruthlessly. Ignores the protesting exertion in his muscles, because if Jayce wants it, Jayce will get it. 

He worries, just for a moment, if he’s going to have to apologize to Jayce’s neighbours about the sheer volume of Jayce’s pornographic fucking moans. It isn’t one discernible sound, but rather a feral amalgamation of begging and whining and groaning and yelling. All punctuated by the wet slap of skin on skin, where Viktor’s protruding pelvic bone meets the ample swell of Jayce’s ass, and every time Viktor’s balls slap against Jayce’s, sticky from the excess lubricant falling victim to gravity. 

Viktor knows when he’s properly grazed Jayce’s prostate, if only by his reaction, and not the way his insides flutter deliciously around him. His spine bows to an unnatural angle, the rippling musculature of his back seizing from the treatment, and his laboured breaths cease, waiting for the onslaught of stimulation to pass. 

Smirking, Viktor pulls upwards on his hips until he gets the message, and hauls himself to his knees, with his chest still pressed flat against the bed. Jayce presents himself like he’s in heat. 

Viktor then gets one hand around the back of his collar for leverage, and drags the man up on his hands. He complies so quickly and so willingly that Viktor has to praise him. 

“Good boy, Jayce.” Still tugging on his collar, he continues his ascent until Viktor is able to easily wrap one hand around the front of his throat. Jayce whines, high and broken. 

He doesn’t squeeze, rather just rests his hand against the hollow, engulfing the clinking metal of the tags, and holds him. A threat and a promise. 

Angling himself, Viktor abandons chasing any of his own release for the task of making Jayce sing. He proceeds to slowly and brutally stimulate his prostate with the tip of his cock, alternating between spearing and massaging. 

He sneaks one hand down the length of Jayce’s torso to wrap around his bobbing cock, stroking him with purpose. 

When Viktor squeezes ever so slightly with the hand wrapped around his neck, Jayce stills, and it takes all of Viktor’s willpower to not spill into his spasming hole. His spend dribbles pathetically out of his cock, warmly dripping over Viktor’s knuckles.

Jayce all but collapses forward, rag dolling, and Viktor manages to roll him on his back with no small effort. 

He whines at the loss when Viktor inevitably slips out of him with a wet pop. 

Viktor takes the opportunity to lean down over the man, trailing kisses from his spent cock to the spread of his collarbones. He whines again when Viktor kisses the dangling tag of his collar, sitting so prettily on his throat.

Jayce feels the expanse of his bare skin blindly, unsure of whether he wants more stimulation or less; caught between pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

“Viktor, please…”

“Please what, Jayce?”

“You haven’t—”

“I don’t need to — not if you’ve had enough. I am in control of myself, unlike some.” Viktor continues mouthing and nipping at his skin, savouring the heady taste of sweat and alcohol and dancing and submission and Jayce. 

“Please,” he pleads weakly. 

“Use your words, Jayce.” Viktor chastises. 

He’ll break him of that habit yet. 

“Please fuck me, wanna feel you come inside me. Use me to get off — wanna make you feel good.”

Viktor leans back, brings his own soiled hand up to his mouth and licks the entirety of it clean, until it shines, damp with his saliva. Jayce watches him hungrily. 

He quickly repositions himself, pushing both of Jayce’s legs back towards his chest, obediently slotting a hand under each knee and baring himself for presentation. 

Jayce gasps and forcibly throws his head back against the pillow when Viktor prods at his puffy, reddened hole with his thumb; sliding it inside and pulling until there’s a slight gape around his appendage. 

“Who am I to deny when you beg so beautifully for me?” 

Viktor thinks about taking up photography as a hobby, so he can catalogue the exact hue of every alluring blush to ever paint his skin. 

He doesn’t really need it, but Viktor slicks himself with more lubricant anyway, if only to hear the obscene squelching as he fucks into the pliant man beneath him. 

Shuffling forward the final inches, Viktor sighs in relief when Jayce’s tight, wet heat has him sheathed once more. Viktor leans forward, one hand braced by his head, and the other placed over top of Jayce’s hand that grips his own leg. Surely, it’s the only thing keeping him grounded through the overstimulated onslaught he’s experiencing. 

His head stays thrown back, in ecstasy or in endurance, Viktor can’t quite tell. 

Despite it all, his cock still tries valiantly to react. Not quite half hard, and dribbling out the last that he can manage. 

Viktor, wickedly, starts smiling. 

“I think you can give me one more, Jayce. Don’t you?”

His eyes fly open, staring pleadingly up at him through damp lashes. He whines so brokenly the sound hardly registers, the only tell being the vibration of his vocal chords. 

“One more, and then I will give you what you want.”

Jayce nods weakly, eyes rolling back, as Viktor watches a drop of saliva escape the corner of his lips and roll down his neck. He surges forward and chases the droplet with his tongue, licking into Jayce’s mouth to put it back where it belongs. 

Picking up his pace, Viktor fucks into him in earnest, chasing the younger man to the precipice. 

Jayce whines and thrashes weakly against — or for — the stimulation, no longer able to form coherent sentences, but rather bits and pieces of words, whispered as praise. Viktor is only able to catch a certain few; yes, please, Viktor, please, please, so much, too much, please, and yes, all sobbed through strained vocal chords. 

He finds his voice again when he clenches down on Viktor once more, albeit weaker than the last. Viktor watches with adoration as his half hard cock twitches against his belly, testicles drawing up closer to his body, and he comes — dry — for the fifth time. Through pinched eyelids, tears escape, cascading down the sides of his face and into his hair and the fabric or the pillowcase beneath him.

He’s hopeless against such a sight. 

Viktor buries himself to the hilt inside of Jayce, painting his insides with his spend; now having been claimed both inside and out. 

Leg aching and chest heaving, Viktor falls forward against Jayce, and begins kissing any of the skin he can reach, laving at it with his tongue, and singing sweet praises into Jayce’s ear. 

He slowly works his way down his body as he descends from the high, until he has to pull himself out to reach any further. His cock escapes with another wet pop, pushes against two powerful thighs to watch the way Viktor’s come slowly escapes his abused hole. 

Indulging himself, Viktor settles on his stomach, spreading Jayce open and licks into him, chasing his own seed with his tongue. 

One of Jayce’s large hands comes to thread in Viktor’s hair, tugging roughly and groaning painfully at the way he spears his tongue into him and stars licking at his insides. Jayce only lets him do it for a short handful of seconds before he’s slapping roughly at Viktor’s shoulders to get him to stop. He remorsefully departs with a final broad lick across his hole. 

He kisses apologetically back up his lax body, with Jayce mumbling incoherently all the while. 

Jayce hardly moves when he peppers his chin and cheeks and lips with light, fleeting kisses; already halfway to sleeping. 

“You were so good for me, Jayce. You’re always so good for me.” He whispers, despite the questionable memory he’ll have of it come tomorrow. 

Viktor stares at him for a long few minutes, observing the way his chest rises and falls with softening breaths.

Eventually, after staring at the sleeping man like a pervert, Viktor makes his shaky way to the bathroom and dampens a cloth with warm water. He hastily wipes himself down, still staring back at his own lazy smile in the mirror. He then cleans and re-wets the rag, making sure its temperature isn’t too jarring, and makes his way back to the bed to gently clean Jayce’s body. He groans slightly and rolls over when he drags the cloth between his legs. 

Viktor tosses it into the laundry basket and moves the water and painkillers from earlier within closer reach, settling them on Jayce’s bedside table. 

Reluctantly retrieving the magnetic key from the pocket of his discarded pants, he carefully undoes the mechanism, sliding the chain off of Jayce’s neck. 

Through no small feat does he wrangle the blankets over top of Jayce’s body, sliding in beside him soon after. 

As soon as he gets close, Jayce curls around the side of his body, as though Viktor is merely a teddy bear at his disposal. Viktor cards through his hair gently when his head comes to rest on his chest. 

“V?” Jayce mumbles into the skin of his sternum. 

“Yes, Jayce.”

“Can we keep the collar?”

Viktor laughs, hearty and fulfilling, in a way only Jayce has ever been able to draw from him. 

“Yes, Jayce. We can keep the collar.”