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When Jayce opens his eyes, he fully expects several things.
That he’ll be back in the room where it all began, deep in the underground with the arcane anomaly pulsating and pulling around him. That he will drag himself out of the mess he created with nothing but his bloody fingernails and sheer desperation. That Viktor, when he finds him, will be far along his transformation into whatever the arcane has designed for him—hair longer, eyes more unreadable than ever, full of wild magic fusing into his bones and changing the very fabric of him into a stranger.
That Jayce will kill him, kill Viktor—the man who he calls a partner, the man whose lips downturned ever so slightly when he didn’t get his way, the man who took his tea with one too many sugar cubes because he had a nasty sweet tooth. Viktor who hummed under his breath, but only when sketching a new design for potential hextech gear and never anytime else, and whose eyes shone like gold under the sunlight that always filtered through their lab window just after lunch. Viktor, who Jayce had cared for, yes, but perhaps not enough, and most certainly not in the way he deserved, but it was much too late to rectify those particular wrongs.
Late nights and early mornings with just the two of them, Viktor’s eyes—all too knowing and much too beautiful—lingering for just a beat too late before darting away; some part of Jayce knew, of course, he knew his partner, but the cheers of Piltover were much too tantalizing and he had been a glutton in all the wrong ways—how insanely idiotic.
He could only look forward to the future and fix what he could—what Viktor had chosen him to fix.
So, he opens his eyes, brimming with anticipation for it all—
—And is instead greeted with a sight that makes him almost drop his hammer on his leg, for the second time.
He’s not in the blank, white dome that housed the self-replicating, self-annihilating arcane anomaly, where he, Heimerdinger, and Heimerdinger’s young mentee had first disappeared into, all those weeks (days? weeks? years?) ago. He doesn’t know how long he was stuck in that cave, how long he spent in that desolate land, cold and aching to the core, with only the fires and the visages of Mel and Viktor to bring some semblance of warmth back into his bones—Mel’s smile which he still found arresting, even when whatever feeling drew him to her bed whittled away his chest, and Viktor’s golden eyes. It was always those eyes that undid something in him, even more so than the lack of nutrition or sunlight that haunted his time in that cave.
Viktor.
Instead, Jayce finds himself in their—his and Viktor’s, theirs—lab.
He stands in the middle of the room for what feels like centuries, before circling slowly. Had the arcane spit him out at another location or was this another universe? As he circles, something catches his eye, shock rendering his brain silent.
The membrane that had once housed Viktor was nowhere to be found.
That wasn’t right. Jayce had even touched it once Viktor had emerged, letting the arcane fluid stay and fester in the lab. In fact, he begins to realize as he continues to eye the room, that much of this room wasn’t…right. There were not as many papers and designs littering the walls and desks, far too few discarded hextech prototype gear littering the floors. Not that the room looked empty or unlived in, he recognizes his scrawling handwriting on the papers on his desk and Viktor’s tea mug on his desk; just that everything looked…newer than when Jayce had last seen it.
He steps tentatively toward the window and freezes right in his tracks.
There were no cracks in the window.
When he and Viktor had witnessed the birth of hextech, right in this room, the window had shattered from the force of the sheer power. They had never fixed it properly, neither of them cared too much about something as mundane as a window in the wake of something as revolutionary as magic, so Jayce had hastily placed a tarp over the broken patch and that was that. Yet, looking at the window now…there wasn’t even a crack, no jagged remnants of that day, nothing at all.
Bile rises in his throat. This couldn’t be—
The view outside of the uncracked, pristine window only solidifies his realization. Piltover sparkles and shines, stretching to the horizon, a city dripping in wealth and, most importantly, untouched by any particular acts of devastation—like a bombing by a particularly murderous Zaunite by the name of Jinx.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, eyeing the streets down below, watching out for any signs of Jinxers or hordes of enforcers muscling their way through the crows, but nothing. Nothing at all.
Even with all the signs in front of him—the newer quality to the lab, the unbroken window, the lack of chaos in the city down below—some part of him, the sour taste in his mouth, refuses to accept it. Can’t accept it. That he was most likely in some...alternate reality, some kinder, gentler timeline than his—
The door creaks open.
Immediately, Jayce whirls around, his hammer raised, and heart thudding in his chest.
Viktor stares back at him.
“Jayce?”
He really does drop the hammer this time, thankfully not on his foot.
“What,” Viktor gawks at him, and Gods, Jayce can do nothing but stare back. Because he’s beautiful, so gorgeous the sight of him makes Jayce’s teeth ache, and he never learned what it meant to miss something—not his homeland after he and his mother immigrated when he was young, not past friends, not ex-lovers—but at this moment, he thinks he finally understands the feeling. To yearn and miss something so deeply, the feeling melded into a physical reaction.
“Why do you look like that?” Viktor asks. “You….what is that on your face?”
“My face?” Jayce croaks.
Viktor raises a lofty brow—Gods, Jayce missed him—and gestures vaguely to his own chin.
“That monstrosity on your face, Jayce. The beard. How did you manage to grow that overnight?”
There’s a lilt in his question, a slight twitching of the lips, like Viktor’s almost amused by Jayce’s beard, of all things, even in the midst of the surprise and confusion. And that’s what does Jayce in.
He all but falls forward and pulls Viktor toward him, collapsing into him in something less like a hug and more like a crushing of limbs. Viktor lets out a noise of surprise, but Jayce continues holding him. Viktor’s warm to the touch, slighter than Jayce, but sturdy in a way only a human could be—made of flesh and bone. Spine stiff with pride and hardened with the heavy hand of hardships dealt to him in life: A stature unique to Viktor and only Viktor.
“Jayce?” he murmurs. “What is wrong?”
Everything, nothing, Jayce can’t say.
He pulls back, but only just to see Viktor’s face. Viktor looks back up at him, lips pursed and eyes concerned, of course, but there’s interest there as well. A raw, scientific interest that scans at Jayce like Viktor can’t wait to pull him apart and hold his bloody parts under a microscope, just to understand everything better. It’s a familiar look. It sends Jayce’s heart aching in his chest and he barely contains a sob.
“I missed you,” he whispers because he can’t help himself. “I fucking missed you.”
“We saw each other just yesterday,” Viktor sputters, but still, he does not push Jayce away. He is kind, Jayce knows, for all his pride and stubbornness, he’s a kind man. Jayce holds him closer.
“I know,” he whispers.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when cold fingers press against his cheekbone. Viktor starts to pull away at that, that interest giving way to something abashed that does not suit him at all, so Jayce leans into it. Into the other’s touch. When he reaches a hand up to hold Viktor’s, to keep him there, Viktor also doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he fixes Jayce with that same, scrutinizing look again.
“You look different,” he says, after a beat.
“Yeah,” Jayce rasps. “Well, I feel like shit, V.”
“I did not say you looked like shit,” Viktor counters, smoothly. Jayce’s heart twists. “I said you look different.”
“Enlighten me, then. Is it a good different or a bad different?”
Viktor blinks. It's a slow, considering movement, like that of a cat. Jayce had almost forgotten how contemplation used to look on Viktor’s features. For all his hallucinations and imaginings of the other man, he had nearly forgotten the tiny details that composed Viktor—starting from his thoughtful expressions to the citrusy scent of his hair.
But now, with the man in question in his arms, staring up at Jayce, everything was returning back to him at a force that was nearly bringing Jayce to his knees.
I missed you, he thinks, for the hundredth time.
“Why must something ‘different’ be good or bad?” Viktor is jabbering on, sounding dangerously like Heimerdinger at the moment. “The word ‘different’ itself is a neutral one, it’s just what we feel about this difference that colors our perspective on it.”
“You sure you’re not a philosopher?” Jayce asks. “It’s not too late to change professions, y’know.”
Viktor’s lip curls in distaste and the smile on Jayce’s lips feels foreign.
“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that,” the other man says, then pauses. “I think you look more yourself than usual.”
Jayce stills.
I think you look more yourself than usual.
“I like your hair,” Viktor murmurs, soft, softer than Jayce has ever heard him sound before, and the timbre to his partner’s voice sends shivers racing down his spine, hair standing on end. Viktor reaches out as if to tweak the ends of Jayce’s new, unkempt hair, but his hand retreats before contact is made. “It suits you, I think.”
“Me too,” Jayce manages, trying not to miss a touch he’s never felt before.
“But I must ask….V?” Viktor repeats, eyebrows shooting up as he refers to the nickname Jayce had accidentally let slip from his mouth earlier. Well, I feel like shit, V. The amusement is back in his voice, but this time…This time, red crawls up his cheeks, and Jayce can do nothing but watch the color bloom. His stomach churns with hunger.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to call me that.”
“Do I need your permission?” Jayce asks. His other hand finds Viktor’s face, tracing a thumb across the cut of his cheekbone. All flesh and blood. The other man shivers under his touch, minute.
Viktor’s lips quirk. “For a nickname? I suppose not.”
His eyes flicker down to Jayce’s lips.
It’s quick, so quick that anyone would miss it, but Jayce knows. He knows because they’ve danced this dance a few times in the days they’ve known each other, before Jayce had been drawn to the power of councilorship and away from their lab where he belonged, and Jayce had always pulled away before it turned into something too real. And Viktor had always let him go, the light turning his eyes golden dimming every time.
Viktor’s lashes flutter and they’re long enough that they actually brush the delicate skin under his eyes, and, Gods, Jayce had been a fucking idiot for so long. He runs his thumb along Viktor’s cheek again, and to the curling of delight in his stomach, Viktor’s pale skin flushes an even brighter shade of crimson.
“What would I have to ask your permission for, then?”
His partner’s head tilts.
“For anything else, I suppose,” he replies. Hesitant. Strangely seductive. Viktor was always a walking contradiction—prideful but never vain, sympathetic towards the plights of others but deeply selfish, a scientist turned god. Jayce had never known what to do with him. Still doesn’t, not really.
It didn’t really matter in the end.
Even with his lack of knowledge or understanding of the enigma before him, Jayce can’t help but ask, his gut roiling.
“Would you let me kiss you, Viktor?”
Viktor’s smile is a small, but fierce thing. Jayce tries not to feel like Icarus, with a pair of melted wax wings at his back, hurtling back down to the unforgiving hands of gravity, and all the while unable to tear his eyes away from the blinding sun before him. Just at the tips of his fingernails.
He fails miserably.
“How do you manage to always surprise me, Jayce?” Viktor asks, sounding not at all surprised.
Jayce stares at him, properly unmoored, and Viktor's grin widens just so.
With that, he pulls Jayce in close.
Viktor kisses like he wants to pull Jayce apart at the seams—each nip of his teeth and brush of his tongue calculating and curious. His hands creep up and down the length of his body, dipping into every crevice and corner accessible to him, ever the hands of a scientist. Hello, his kisses seem to say. Hello. Who are you? What are you?
Jayce kisses him back, wanting more.
He’s had many sexual partners where fucking felt like a fight—just another show for party tricks and flashy dominance. He’s kissed docile people, aggressive people, those who wanted nothing but a quick flirty fling, and those who wanted much more from him.
But he had never kissed someone like Viktor.
His own hands rest on Viktor’s waist, unmoving, until Viktor digs his fingernails into Jayce’s back and rakes them down. At the sudden sting of pain, Jayce’s hands tighten on Viktor’s hips, and the other purrs in approval.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice deep and warm. “Hold me tighter. I am not going to break.”
Jayce sinks his fingers into Viktor’s sides—feeling the warmth and humanity there, even under all his clothes. “I know.”
They end up in Viktor’s bedroom, with Jayce in between Viktor’s thighs and Viktor staring down at him.
When Jayce slides a hand into Viktor’s pants, he groans as he finds Viktor already dripping wet.
“How long have you been like this?” he asks. Viktor raises a brow and merely arches his cunt into Jayce’s hand.
He doesn’t flinch under the weight of two fingers sliding into him and soon, is riding three of Jayce’s fingers without abandon, face flushed with need. Jayce kisses him for it, the sensuality of Viktor fucking himself on Jayce’s fingers almost too much to bear. The silken heat, the unbearable tightness around his fingers—how would Jayce survive it around his aching cock? His tongue?
“Can I eat you out?” he asks, softly, after a while. “Please.”
Viktor nods.
They kick off the rest of their clothes and Jayce settles back into the cradle of Viktor’s thighs. He may want to die here.
Just then, Viktor’s hand snakes down and spreads himself open; mouth dry, Jayce watches Viktor’s pussy—all pretty and pink—unfurl. Slick trails from its folds and smears across his thighs, beckoning and beautiful. Jayce definitely wants to die here.
“Have you ever done this before?” Viktor asks, with that same sort of scientific interest. Jayce nods.
“Then why are you hesitating?”
“Because,” Jayce blurts out. “You’re gorgeous.”
Viktor huffs, amused.
“Then, show me how you feel.”
And Jayce descends.
He eats Viktor’s pussy like a man starved, nibbling at the folds and circling his stiff little clit with his tongue until his jaw aches. Nevertheless, he continues at it, sloppily making out with Viktor’s sex, until the other’s arousal is practically soaking the sheets and the other’s sounds are loud enough for their neighbors might hear.
When Jayce’s beard brushes against Viktor’s clit, the other man gasps.
“Oh, fuck!” Viktor hisses, his legs clamping around Jayce’s ears. Jayce hums, all too happy with watching Viktor arch his back and grind his pussy into Jayce’s face—or more specifically, his beard. “Right there!” Viktor’s hands curl into his hair and yank him this direction and that, as he continues to face-fuck Jayce to his heart's content.
Viktor cums with a barely stifled moan and Jayce eagerly laps up his glistening folds, blood rushing to his cock as Viktor shakes and trembles underneath him. He tastes so good, Jayce thinks, hazily—all musky and so distinctly Viktor, the yearning ache settled back into Jayce’s bones before he knew it.
“Mm, too sensitive,” Viktor eventually mumbles, shoving Jayce away and snapping his legs shut. Jayce kisses his knee and withdraws, in response.
“Do you really hate the beard?” he murmurs, gently bullying Viktor’s thighs open again, after a minute or two. There are pink beard burns all over his skin, the color stark and angry against the paleness.
“Maybe,” comes Viktor’s breathless response.
Jayce snorts.
“Liar,” he replies, lightly. “You came just from grinding all over my beard just now.”
Viktor huffs out an amused breath of air.
“Now, now, let’s not devalue the important role you and that tongue of yours played in it too,” he replies, almost chastising. “It wasn’t only the facial hair.” His amusement bleeds into a sharp moan as Jayce dips his head down—his mouth a breath away from Viktor’s cunt.
“Hm,” Jayce replies. The shifting of his jaw, ever so slight, causes his beard to brush against the other man’s needy little clit, and Viktor’s back arches, in shock, his thighs quivering and his voice caught in his throat. His hand flies out, burying into Jayce’s hair, and tugs, this time almost painfully—first away from his pussy then back toward it, like he can’t decide whether he wants Jayce’s beard on his clit or wants the blessed reprieve from it all.
Jayce moans. His hips move against the bed, humping the mattress like a damn dog. Viktor tugs again and the arousal from the single, rough movement is nearly enough to make Jayce cream his pants.
“I think you like it,” he manages. “M-my beard.”
“You’re not in my bed to think,” Viktor snipes back, strained but still so in control, and Jayce presses an apologetic kiss to his clit—causing another round of overstimulated tremors—before pulling away. When he glances up at the other man, Viktor’s flushed face looks back down at him.
He seems to consider Jayce for a long moment.
“Do you want to fuck me?” he asks.
“Um,” Jayce says. “Is this a rhetorical question?”
Viktor raises a brow, silent.
“Viktor, I—Please let me fuck you,” Jayce babbles. He would drop to his knees, but with Viktor’s thighs perched on his shoulders, it would probably be more awkward than anything. He settles for staring at Viktor with a pleading look in his eyes. “I would do anything. Anything you want.”
“Anything?” The smile on Viktor’s face is familiar—a small, but deadly shard of glass. Jayce’s heart thuds, taking the worst of the damage. “I must say, I like this new side of you, Jayce.”
Lurching up and closer to the other, Jayce kisses Viktor's cheek, right on the mole he used to watch under the low light, when it was just them in the lab together, as the rest of the city was slept the night away. Just because he can.
“I’ve always had this side for you,” he promises against Viktor’s lips, because it is the truth. He just wished he had been quicker to realize it himself.
“If so,” Viktor murmurs back. “Then, fuck me.”
When Jayce first slides into Viktor—the warm, tight heat of him—he, embarrassingly, almost cums right then and there. If it were an exaggeration, it would be less humiliating, but alas; he recognizes the telltale signs of an orgasm almost immediately.
Apparently, so does Viktor.
Quick as a flash, Viktor pushes him away and, before Jayce can comprehend the sudden loss of tightwarmthpressuresotight around his cock, he’s quickly bombarded with another, much heart-wrenching feeling altogether.
The feeling of a ruined orgasm.
He whimpers as Viktor stares at him, his eyes bright and cruel—practically glowing gold. His fingers are squeezed tight around the head of his cock, to keep him from cumming. Fuckfuckfuck.
“Viktor!” He hisses, unable to say much else.
“Not yet, baby,” Viktor murmurs, and if he wasn’t effectively cutting off his orgasm right then with his strong grip, Jayce would have cum right then and there at the endearment “baby” dripping from Viktor’s lips, as sweet as honey. “Hold on a little bit longer”
“No!” Jayce moans, squirming and desperate, even as Viktor’s hold on him doesn’t relinquish. “Please, V, I was so c-close. I, hck, need to cum.”
“And you will cum,” Viktor purrs. “But only when I am done with you.” He eyes Jayce, the glint in his eyes suddenly growing brighter. “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting this—” his fingertips add the slightest amount of pressure around his cock and Jayce trembles at the muted arousal zinging throughout his body. “—in me, Jayce. You don’t want to disappoint me by finishing when we’ve just begun, yes?”
At Jayce’s resounding moan, a loud and wanton thing even in his own ears, Viktor presses down harder. He leans in, teeth grazing Jayce’s ear. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Jayce gasps out. “Yes.”
“Good,” Viktor responds. “Can I ride you?”
“Anything for you,” Jayce blurts out, because even that horrible cheesy phrase only inexperienced youths used to woo their peers was less humiliating than keeling over on the spot. Good. Good. Good. The praise rang in his ears, echoing through his otherwise empty mind.
In one fell swoop, he maneuvers him and Viktor around, so that Viktor is straddling his thighs and Jayce’s back is to the headboard. They’re completely face-to-face now, and Jayce’s heart leaps at the proximity of those golden eyes and familiar smile—Viktor.
“Thank you,” Viktor whispers in his ear, like some dirty little secret, and rises.
When Jayce’s cock, so hard it might burst, brushes along the mouth of Viktor’s dripping, fluttering cunt—they both moan. Jayce grips Viktor’s waist—vaguely noticing how his hands engulf the entire width of it, fingertips touching—and pants against Viktor’s cheekbone.
“Please,” he croaks out.
“Patience,” Viktor shoots back and sinks down onto Jayce’s cock
“Fuck–!” Jayce moans, seeing stars. Viktor felt incredible.
“You’re so big,” he grunts, sweat dripping down his brow at the effort. “I don’t, ah, I don’t know how I am fitting all of you.”
“You were made for me,” Jayce moans, shifting his hips up and causing the other man to shiver. “No, I was made for you.”
“Is that right?” Viktor asks, amused. He rises again and sinks back down on Jayce’s length, languid and more at ease. Jayce’s moans pitch higher. “Your big cock was made for my pussy?”
“M-Made to fill you,” he agrees, mindless. “Made to fuck your tight hole.”
Viktor breathes out a laugh and continues riding Jayce into oblivion. Eventually, when his legs begin to tremble and exhaustion creeps into his features, Jayce begins shifting his hips up and fucking up into him in return—maintaining the gentle, steady rhythm that Viktor had started.
“Fuck,” he moans. “Viktor—”
“You can do better than that,” the other pants in his ear, his voice dark and commanding enough for Jayce to still completely. His cock twitches, where it’s buried in the other man, but still, he does not move. Does not even dare breathe.
“Wh—”
“Fuck me like you want to break my pussy, Jayce. Maybe then, I’ll let you cum.”
Gods above.
“Viktor,” Jayce gasps, dizzy. “Are you sure—”
Viktor tugs on his hair, roughly. “Jayce,” he murmurs. “Do what you were made to do and fuck me.”
And Jayce? Jayce fucks up into him so hard, he can hear Viktor’s teeth clack together. Viktor lets out the loudest moan he’s released yet—the sweet sort of sound drawn out by sheer arousal and desperation alone—and Jayce knows he would not be able to die peacefully before hearing it from Viktor again.
So that was that.
He fucks Viktor—beautiful, prideful, ingenious, good, and horrible Viktor, his Viktor, his—onto his cock moving him like a personal fuck-toy (though Jayce was probably more of a fucktoy in this situation) and Viktor fucking loves it. With each vicious, punishing thrust, the other man seems to hurtle closer to the edge, his sloppy pussy creaming around Jayce’s cock like a damn fountain while squealing like a bitch in heat.
“Ngh—so big—more, harder, deeper!”
Once, when Jayce’s cock accidentally slips out, leaving Viktor gaping and clenching around nothing, he actually bullies Jayce’s hand up to spank his cunt—and nearly cums while doing so, judging from how hard he trembles from the blow.
He really likes it rough, Jayce thinks stupidly, as he resumes his merciless pounding into the other man. Viktor loves being fucked like a slut.
He voices as much and Viktor clenches around him in approval.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he moans, spit dripping down his gorgeous chin. Jayce might collapse. The love of his life was falling apart and actually drooling on his cock, Gods above, he was the luckiest man alive. “Right there, oh fuck, I am going to—oo, Jayce, this is strange, I feel strange—”
“Like this?” Jayce pants, in between his own moans and whimpers. “V-Viktor, do you like it like this? Harder? More?” Thumbing at Viktor’s clit with one coarse thumb, Jayce grinds his hips in deep, so deep that he thinks he hits Viktor’s fucking cervix, and watches, dizzy, as the other throws his head back—eyes wide and almost scared at how good he’s feeling—and cums.
Jayce doesn’t even register it at first, too caught off guard by how his dick was all but forced out of Viktor‘s cunt—by a combination of violent contractions of the inner walls and Viktor himself shoving him away—but soon he realizes that Viktor wasn’t just cumming, but he was squirting.
Hot sprays of liquid splatter everywhere, from Jayce’s chest, to the sheets, and even on his chin. His cock is coated with it, dripping down his balls. Viktor is still shaking, as if he’s been electrified, mouth frozen in a perpetual “O” shape, eyes rolled back. His cheeks flush in the same beautiful, rare shade they get on the occasions he becomes flustered, or in this case—aroused.
Someone came pretty hard.
Jayce groans at the sight, arousal flooding his every sense, before pushing Viktor on his back, pushing his good leg up-up-up high in the air—resting against Jayce’s sweat-and-squirt-soaked chest—and slamming back into him.
Viktor keens and moans, an incomprehensible blur of words. He scrabbles at the bedsheets, as if to crawl away from Jayce and his cock, to get a break from the mind-numbing pussy pounding altogether. He spreads his legs wider and pulls Jayce in closer, biting at his neck and shoulders like a vampire seeking blood. Jayce keeps fucking him, like he was born to do, like he was meant to do.
Yours. Yours. Yours.
The squelching and slapping noises of their bodies are much too lewd, much too deafening. “I’m yours,” Jayce babbles, to drown out the noises. “I’m yours, Viktor.”
At that, by some miracle, Viktor screams, and squirts again—spasming violently around Jayce’s cock, as his inner walls try to force Jayce out for some reprieve, some mercy from the intense stimulation, again, but this time, Jayce holds on tighter and fucks back into Viktor's resistant, squirting cunt. He resumes his deep, rough pace once more, as sweat slides down his brow, and his stomach tightens with anticipation and the need for release.
Viktor, in turn, claws at him, vicious enough to draw blood.
Marking Jayce.
Mine.
Jayce’s eyes roll to the back of his head, tears pricking at the corners. He’s coming undone, in Viktor, on top of him, under his fingertips—because of him. Icarus never stood a chance and neither did he.
He reaches out and finds Viktor’s hand—twisted tight into the bedsheet, knuckles white, tendons straining. Viktor lets him hold on.
“Viktor,” he begs, voice raw and bared open, I want to cum, I need to cum, please, please, I’ll do anything—
But even so close to the finish line, even as need and desire cloud his every sense, Viktor’s words still ring in his head: ”Break my pussy, and maybe I’ll let you cum.”
Prove yourself.
I’m yours.
Jayce obeys.
“You just wanted someone to pound this tight little pussy, huh, Viktor?” he moans, half-crazy with ViktorViktorViktor. “Wanted someone, mm f-fuck, to fuck the thoughts out of your pretty head?”
In response to his crude words, Viktor’s pussy quivers around him, contracting and spasming hard enough to send Jayce mewling, like he’s the one in heat.
“Just you,” Viktor breathes out. “Only you.”
Jayce almost cums, right then and there. He falls forward, legs like jelly, burying his head into the hollow of Viktor’s neck. When he feels the razor-sharp edge of Viktor’s teeth digging into the meat of his shoulder—hard enough to draw blood—Jayce muffles his own scream into his partner’s throat.
“Cum,” Viktor moans into his ear. He’s as close as Jayce is. Almost there. “Cum in me.”
His other hand, which had been shredding Jayce’s back into bloody ribbons, is brought up to rest on the base of Jayce’s throat. At Jayce’s enthusiastic moan, Viktor tightens his grasp around it. It’s a quick, brief movement—more of a squeeze than an actual choke—but it’s still there, powerful and assured as Viktor is, and it damn near steals all the breath away from Jayce’s lungs.
His toes curl.
“V-V, I c-can’t hold it,” Jayce whimpers, vision cloudy with lust and tears. He’s so close, that he can almost taste his orgasm. He’s—
“Cum for me,” Viktor growls. It’s not so much a request, as it is a demand. And Jayce can’t deny him of anything.
“I love you,” he sobs, gnawing at Viktor’s jaw. He draws all the way out—so his head catches on the mouth of Viktor’s glistening cunt—before slamming all the way back into the other man for the final time, balls slapping against his ass. Viktor’s conquered pussy seizes around Jayce’s cock in his surprise, but before his body can even think to push Jayce away, he blindly reaches down and rubs at Viktor’s clit. Viktor squeals. “I love you, I was so stupid, I have always loved you, I’m so sorry, I fucking love you.”
“Jayce!” Viktor moans, and to that, Jayce’s vision whites out as he cums his fucking brains out.
He’s crying when he comes to, nerves rubbed raw. A pair of arms hold him close, the scent of citrus flooding his nose.
“That’s it,” Viktor’s voice is a soothing call—sweet and melodic in his ear. Jayce shudders against him, but soon, a calm washing over him in slow, but steady waves. “You did such a beautiful job, baby.”
And fuck, Jayce loves him.
They lay there for what feels like hours or days, but is most likely only minutes. Viktor rubs circles onto his back, the calluses on his fingers stark against the scratches he made. Jayce buries his nose in Viktor’s hair and breathes.
“Are you okay?” Viktor ventures, voice like a scrape of gravel against the heel of a boot.
“I miss you,” Jayce whispers, because he cannot help it.
“I am right here,” Viktor replies. But even so, he is already on his way to becoming just another memory.
Soon enough, Jayce draws out, still shivering and shaking, still rendered stupid by his orgasm. He tries not to stare at the mess between Viktor’s legs, the evidence of his and Viktor’s debauchery, but he can’t help it and his dick—despite how spent it is—twitches at the sight.
Viktor chuckles. “It’s rude to stare,” he muses, and moves as if to snap his thighs shut. Jayce is quicker.
He catches Viktor’s good leg in a gentle, but firm grip and delivers one last spank to his puffy, abused pussy. His hole quivers in response, obediently leaking out remnants of slick and cum onto Jayce’s palm. Viktor laughs into a moan.
“Good boy,” he rasps, and when Jayce turns to him, his grin is as pleased as Jayce has ever seen it before. Good boy. Jayce’s dick twitches again, much to Viktor’s coy amusement, and Jayce feels his face grow very very red.
He wonders if there are some things—no matter how much time has passed, no matter what timelines or parallel universes existed—that can never change.
“Come to bed,” Viktor says.
And Jayce follows.
He knows it’s time to go.
The arcane is calling for him, his timeline is calling for him. Viktor—his current Viktor, so deeply intertwined with the Machine Herald mask that he most likely doesn't know where he starts and where the Herald ends—awaits him.
Yet, still, Jayce hesitates.
This Viktor lies awake beside him, not asleep and not dreaming.
“You are leaving?” he asks, quiet into the night.
Jayce watches him.
Viktor’s golden eyes roam over his face, studying each line etched onto his skin, asking a silent question. His brow furrows and Jayce wants to ask him what answer he has found—but he finds himself too afraid for whatever Viktor may say in response. He was always much too smart, a sort of brilliance that both amazed and terrified Jayce at the same time.
“Yes,” he says, instead heart heavy as lead. Yet, even with this weight grasping and pulling at him, he can’t help but lean in and kiss the other man. “But I’ll be back, Viktor, I swear it. So, wait for me.”
For a second, he thinks the other might say something, anything, but when the moment passes, Viktor only closes his eyes and turns away. Jayce waits for sleep to take the other, watching as his breaths even out and the first streaks of moonlight begin to shine on his dark hair. He's almost completely sure that Viktor had been asleep when he slipped out.
But then again, Viktor had always been much too smart.