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How long has he been down here, exactly?
The ravine is dark, and rank. The crumbling stone walls have become his prison, second only to the splitting headaches and visions of his collective agony. The sliver of light split above his head is mocking, stalactites dripping with something resembling water. He shouldn't trust it, of course, and he doesn't—but he wonders if he'll soon be forced to.
Jayce has never been an outdoors-man to begin with. He never had to fight for survival, not like this. Never like this, trapped in a pit, leg screaming in pain every time he adjusts his position.
He slumps against the wall he's been marking with a rock, spent. He tries to blow some of the tangled hair out of his eyes, but it barely moves, still hanging limply as he glares up at the top of the ravine.
Damn it. Damn it all. A vicious, desolate cry does its best to wrestle from his throat, but he doesn't have the strength to scream.
Jayce hangs his head, the rock tumbling from his fingertips and slamming into the rock and dirt, helpless in trying to keep a grip on it. On reality. His belly writhes in phantom hunger—he hasn't figured out if he needs to drink or eat to survive here, or if where he is is even corporeal, but he can't bring himself to care.
No. It seems the only thing his mind cares about is replaying his past beneath his eyelids, no matter how quickly he blinks.
"Jayce, could review this equation for me?" An oh-so familiar voice, thick with that accent, asks. "I fear I am doing something wrong."
"Yeah, no problem," his own words ring in his ears, and it's like he's been transported back into his lab at the academy—their lab. The blackboard is rich with all sorts of scrawl, numerous diagrams and notes he can't quite recall layered upon one another. "Have you looked over the one the Professor suggested? Or is this your own?"
A soft scoff, and Jayce swears it's as if he's in the same room as him—his body turns to face Viktor, brows knitted, glaring at the board like it's personally affronted him.
Not the Viktor that left him behind, in that same lab, his skin ashen and twisted, poisoned by the Hexcore Jayce had so carelessly thrust into him. No, it's the same Viktor he first met, the one who told him that his work was worth something, that he himself was worth something.
His Viktor.
"I worry the Professor's equation is not quite the one we are looking for," Viktor sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I have tried it with our model, but the runes do not interact how they should."
"Maybe try a different set of runes?" Jayce replies, and a desperation overcomes him—overcomes the memory of whatever facsimile his mind is trying to offer him. All he wants to do is touch him, his Viktor, the one with brushed back hair and shadows under his eyes from a lack of sleep, the one that smiles that small smile of his and raises a brow, asking him to go on. He reaches out his hand and spreads it across Viktor's shoulder as he looks over the writing, and all he can do is watch the soft surprise spread on Viktor's face.
He can't push any further than the memory allows him, no matter how internally he screams to just—touch him, feel him, press his palm against the beating of his heart and breath the same air as him, even if it was only for a moment, a press of his mouth against his, anything, anything would be better than this torture—
—and then all the breath leaves him, and he's back in the ravine, an incessant throbbing between his legs and a need he has not acknowledged in quite some time.
Not since Mel.
"Fuck," the words scrape from his throat as he glares down at his dirtied trousers, at the heat pooling low in his stomach, and growls, deep and furious. "Fuck."
All his fault. It's all his fault that he was so blind before, that he didn't see Viktor as what he truly was—beautiful.
The aid of hindsight only makes him more furious at himself. He had everything he could have ever wanted, and he was so blinded by the present that he couldn't see the future—a future without Viktor, if he didn't intervene. If he had, so much sooner, would Viktor have survived? Or was this the only way he could have?
Was this his penance? To rot down in a ditch, abandoned and alone, with nothing but dripping water for company?
His cock throbs, incessant, and Jayce snarls as he tugs his belt open, wanting to be rid of it already. Damn him and his emotions. Was even thinking of Viktor's warmth enough to make him this pathetic?
He closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Tries his best to wrestle out of the memories, and into imagination instead. He ought not to indulge, and he knows that, but even a moment of comfort, provided by his own hand, might give him the courage to keep going. Just a moment of weakness was all he was allowing himself. Just one.
"Jayce," Viktor breathes, and Jayce guides his hand down further, down the wiry hair of his abdomen. He's got Viktor against the desk in their lab, blackboard forgotten, and Viktor is mouthing at his jaw, his neck. "Jayce, please. Don't tease me. It's unfair."
He can't even reply. He's too hungry for him, for his touch, his warmth. He tugs off Viktor's waistcoat, his tie, and every piece of clothing in his way. He needs to drink it all in, this intimacy, before it gets ripped away from him.
Viktor softly sighs as Jayce guides him up just enough to undo the straps of his brace so his bad leg can hang comfortably—he's precise with it, as much as he can be, frenzied and panting. An animal, practically. Ravenous and wanton.
Viktor wouldn't mind, he thinks, squeezing himself and groaning into the still air. He'd probably chuckle at Jayce's insistence, guide his hands where they needed to be, prying the brace off and letting it clatter to the floor.
He knows, deep down, that he wouldn't have been like this back then. He would have taken his time, eased Viktor into his touch, indulged him and given him a moment to adjust—but he can't, not now, not with how broken and mangled he's become.
"More," Jayce pants, and shoves down his boxers, wrapping his fingers around his swollen length and tugging himself, base to tip. "Please, Viktor. Viktor."
"You do not need to hesitate," Viktor laughs, trailing a hand through his hair and tugging Jayce closer so he isn't rutting himself against his thigh, Jayce's hands digging into Viktor's belt so he can free him. "I'm not something delicate. You want it, don't you?"
"Yes," Jayce groans, cheeks wet as he rolls the tip of his cock in the lines of his palm. "Yes, more than anything. Viktor, please."
"Good boy," he purrs, and Jayce tugs him by his hips, pressing their bodies together as he licks into his mouth. He's starving for him, sharp little gasps whistling between his teeth as he tugs himself to the vision in his head. It shifts, suddenly, and Viktor is pressed against his chest, fingers scraping his back as Jayce fucks deep into him, face pink and bangs wet against his forehead. It's a punishing pace, his legs wrapped the best they can around Jayce's hips as he sucks deep marks into Viktor's pale skin, chasing every mole he can find with his tongue.
What would he sound like? Soft moans, little punches of breath between each stuttered thrust, each slam of his cock inside of him? How quickly could Jayce lave his tongue deep inside his hot core, pressing his thumb in circles against Viktor's cock until he screamed? Jayce thrusts into his own hand, a poor imitation of Viktor's softer, exacting ones; he wants to touch him everywhere, to taste the salt of his skin and press so deeply inside that he can't ever leave him again.
How could he have been so stupid, to chase after everything but this?
Heat, blissful heat, all encompassing around his cock as he breaches into him, sharing in Viktor’s wants just as much as his own. Jayce cups Viktor’s jaw to watch as he comes apart underneath him, moaning openly for him, pink all the way down to his collarbones as Jayce presses as deep inside of him as he can, wrapped so tightly so Jayce couldn’t escape, even if he wanted to.
His cock throbs in warning, and he tugs his other hand through his greasy hair, tugging it just how Viktor would as he’d arch into him, no longer seeking anything more than to destroy whatever space was left between them.
"Don't go," Jayce sobs, hoarse from disuse. "Stay with me. Please, Viktor."
"I am," Viktor promises between his own whines as Jayce pulses inside of him, against his own hand, tight and unforgiving as he pumps himself so hard it hurts. "I'm right here, Jayce. You can let go."
“Not yet,” Jayce hisses, shaking his head, so close to stilling his hand to just extend the fantasy a little longer. “Let me be with you. Let me show you how much you mean to me.”
“You already have,” Viktor murmurs, lost in the depths of his own pleasure, of the pleasure Jayce has wrecked upon him. “It’s okay, Jayce. Let go.”
"Please," Jayce clenches his teeth, head rolling back as he arches his spine as stars burst under his eyelids. "Viktor, PLEASE!"
His cock jolts between his fingertips as he cums, thighs spasming from the strength of it. The warmth of Viktor's phantom touch leaves him, and the cold air of the ravine takes his place.
The sobs come earnestly now—how long has he been crying? Jayce can't bear to look down at the mess he's made of his hand, of his wrist—he doesn't want to know if he's stained the gem in his bracelet with his sickness, screaming Viktor's name in an empty cavern with nobody for company except his guilt.
"Viktor," he whispers, daring his eyes to open—he's made a mess of the floor, of his pants, of his fingers. Shame rolls in his stomach, and the tears won't stop. "Viktor. Fuck."
This is all his fault.
—
He falls asleep just like that, too tired to curl up where he usually does. When he wakes, he cleans himself up with a pool of the water that fell, disgusted at his own reflection, and glances back at the wall he had braced himself against.
He finds the rock, and sets himself to work. He will not be a prisoner to his own desires. Not anymore.
He has to. For both of them.