Chapter Text
It’s not as though the entire thing isn’t obvious enough. It’s all completely obvious to Viktor, who has two eyes and functioning light receptors and a brain that translates the data received from his retinas. He feels as though anyone would be an utter fool to not feel the tension in the air at the table, it is palpable as a physical object, as though Viktor could hold it in his fist. The observation isn’t what kills him, no, some sick part of him sings at it actually, it is the judgment that makes his stomach turn over. The cold, discomforted stare of Piltover’s finest. The passive distaste, as if he is worth no more than a glance, is what makes Viktor lightheaded with sizzling, white hot anger.
And Jayce is making the looks so much worse, by rubbing his big warm hand against Viktor’s thigh.
It is Heimerdinger who is chattering on the other side of Jayce, carrying on about safety procedures and experimental replication, to some patrons who sit across the dinner table. Jayce joins at proper intervals, with wit and charm and intelligence. He carries himself well through these things, the man of progress, he always seems to know what the right thing to say is to further coerce business people into emptying their pockets. To be fair, Viktor knows what the right things to say are also, but he refuses to say them, because many of his reasons for doing things are tied up in spite. And because it does no good to spin words when these people do not respect him to begin with. What does it matter if he says the same sentences Jayce does, when all they see is the cane under his wrist and the clear fragility of his body?
Viktor stares down at his uneaten food, it is lamb meat from some place far, seasoned with herbs that come from some other place in the opposite direction. The Hexgates have made this possible at all, but it is the upper class that reaps the benefits. Viktor doubts this dish will be in the undercity for a few decades, until it’s been copied and cheapened and replicated into something affordable for Zaun children to experience on birthdays and holidays. And here he is, among fattened pigs, nose upturned.
He hates to waste food generally, the undercity will do that to you, and Viktor usually finishes his plate whether he is hungry or not because that is the proper and grateful thing to do. However, now his stomach is twisting in knots so terribly that he can’t focus on anything other than staying relaxed. If he tries to take another bite of food, surely he will begin to yell.
Jayce’s fingers are five separate and distinct pressure points on his lower thigh, the index finger is settled against the top of his brace. His hand squeezes, while Heimerdinger talks, and Viktor feels several pairs of eyes drop to where Jayce’s arm is traveling his direction to reach him. Viktor’s vision nearly turns white in an attempt to keep his cool, he can’t throw Jayce off him entirely and be labeled ungrateful, he can’t let Jayce continue to tether them together with so many eyes watching to pass criticism on the informality of their so-called business relationship. Man of progress, their deity and savior, clinging to the inside of a crippled man’s thigh.
As subtle as possible, Viktor rests his over Jayce’s, then tries to pull his tan hand off his pant leg. Jayce doesn’t get the message and squeezes again, seemingly trying to be reassuring. Stupid, stupid man.
“—top of his class, so I leave all that nasty physics work to him, along with the theoretical science, right Viktor?” Jayce has turned to look at him now, pivoting in his orate oak chair to give him a prompting smile. This is the sort of comment Jayce makes to reconnect him into the conversation, to reaffirm his part in all of this, to give him a moment to make a simple addition to the conversation that doesn’t make him want to stab his own eyes out in its social deception. Viktor is grateful for this most, if not every day they find themselves at an event like this, and he has told Jayce so, a gentle thank you while they work in the mornings after.
However, tonight, Viktor is already stretched paper thin. And Jayce is still cradling his leg.
Viktor glances at the upper class people across the table from them, down the long spread of foods and candles, his gaze catches the icy stare of a governor with striking blue eyes and Viktor physically flinches. The flinch sends a sharpness into his spine, then his ribs, then he’s coughing, deep and wet, an exposing sound of sickness he can in no way qualm.
Jayce’s hand moves to the back of his shoulders, tender as he rubs, “Is the food bothering you?”
Viktor breathes raggedly in the fresh silence, every hair on his body standing to attention at the quiet that has fallen over the room at his coughing fit, “Yes. I apologize, excuse me.” He drags himself to his feet with as much speed and grace as he can muster, then pushes Jayce’s shoulder down when he tries to stand too.
Jayce’s brow is furrowed in that sad sort of way he does when Viktor holds him at arm's length, like it hurts his heart to see him stressed, like it tears him up to be denied the act of comforting him. But Viktor can’t let him follow, not with all these eyes to twist and lie, and all this money to lose. So he turns sharply and tries to click his cane to the floor as gently and quietly as possible.
***
The fresh air of the terrace does him well immediately, the scent of greenery and hydrangeas dance in his nose as he takes a seat on the bench next to the gardens. It will be tough on his joints to stand after, versus the velvet cushioning of the dining room chairs, but for his sanity he will pay the price.
Evening falls quickly, from sunset to past it, the skies painted in indigo and the last shimmers of the sun scatter yellows across Piltover’s horizon, marked through by the towering icon of the Hexgates. She sparkles with a faded, familiar blue every once and a while, Viktor begins to count the intervals on instinct, he can almost guess where the ships are headed based on the amount of time in between charges. It is math that he has worked out, a formula based on ship size and destination distance, and though he can’t fully know the sizes of the ships, he can assume an average and estimate their destination with what he can only hope to be complete accuracy. This is the past four years of his life after all, countless hours poured over desks with Jayce beside, seared by smoke and sleepless with ambition. He would hope that he could estimate such things with so much investment in—
“That one is headed to Noxus.”
Viktor twists quickly, sitting up straighter, “Councilor Medarda.”
She stands in the doorway of the patio, washed in interior warm lighting and purple night alike, her gold makeup glitters like jewelry, and her white dress looks lilac in the dimness. She looks shockingly happy to be in his presence. Viktor stares at her apprehensively.
Mel Medarda steps closer, only a few feet from him, tenderness in her eyes, “The lamb did not agree with you?”
“What?”
“The meal, it did not settle?”
Viktor hesitates. Councilor Medarda is perceptive and purposeful, but Viktor knows she is not as passively privileged as many of the others he has met during his time as Heimerdinger’s assistant. It’s no good to lie to her really, she is not so self-involved to not care about his well being, even if it is with the intention of protecting her investments. He also knows her to value a bit of rule bending, for the sake of a bigger goal. He wonders if this conversation is about to be her bending him for a goal.
“I am unsettled, yes.” Viktor confirms, evasively.
She smiles, as though this is somehow the level of diversion she expected from him, “May I sit with you?”
Viktor, with exhaustion in his bones, feels too tired to fight whatever she is intent on taking from him tonight, “Of course Councilor.”
She sits on the bench with a respectful amount of space between them, “You do not have to call me by my title you know.” She says, then worse, so much worse, “Jayce doesn’t.”
Viktor presses shaking hands to the top of his knees. This is too much for his temper to deal with, first rich asshole foods with judgy, uptight fucks, then Jayce then whatever the fuck this is.
“Well he has been known to be entirely disrespectful and ill mannered, as have I,” Viktor responds, then looks sideways at her, “Councilor.”
To his shock and horror, Mel Medarda starts to laugh, then she must see the new brand of rage on his face, “I apologize, I mean no harm, I’ve just forgotten how sharp you are. I can only imagine the verbal beatings that you give Jayce in the early hours of the morning when he’s being an absolute fool.”
Viktor bristles, awkward suddenly at her inoffense at his cold remark, “Yes, well, he deserves it.”
She smiles, “I’m sure.” The silence falls over them for a moment, the evening sings with crickets in the gardens, and the powerful thrumming of the Hexgates charging. Viktor processes her earlier comment.
“How did you know that transport was to Noxus?”
Her head tilts in confusion, her makeup glitters, “They depart each evening at this precise time.”
He nods, as the next ship shimmers teal blue, “I suppose that is a simpler answer than the advanced mental algebra I was doing.”
“Slightly yes.” She agrees, “Though I appreciate your dedication.” It seems genuine enough, this praise, given that he is the co creator of her shining political achievement. He would hope maybe, that she could respect his character after all the admiration he has won her. Still, he has the distinct feeling that he’s being buttered up.
Viktor sighs. No sense in dancing around it, “Is there something you wished to discuss with me tonight Miss Medarda?”
She settles her hands on her lap and looks to the horizon, “Yes, there is. I do not wish to corner you on an evening that you feel unwell, so I hope that you will understand that is not my intention.” Mel takes a deep breath, “However, it is nearly impossible to catch you in a moment when you are not working or with Jayce.”
Viktor feels his neck get warm. So others have noticed the sickening devotion that they have to each other. The cradling of his thigh and his shoulders, it makes it so obvious. Viktor doesn’t have a name for it, whatever electric current runs through them both but he knows the current is closed, the energy reverberates into and for each other. And it terrifies him, letting anyone else see that Jayce has him.
She turns and faces him, one leg curved over the other, “I feel it necessary to discuss our shared interest out of respect for you.”
Viktor frowns. That’s not what he was expecting. “What about Hextech couldn’t be discussed with Jayce also?”
She looks down then back up, a bit hesitant, “This is not a matter of Hextech. It is our other shared interest.”
Viktor flinches, jerks his head back from her, a flush overtaking his full body. He feels it crawl like bugs on his skin up his arms and face. He knows what she means, he knows what she means, “Which interest would that be, Councilor?” But his voice is damningly breathless, caught and embarrassed.
Her eyes are a rich brown, sharp and intelligent, her lips pressed together, “Jayce.” She says simply, as though this is a perfectly reasonable thing to discuss among friends, or perhaps worse, a casual conversation that could be labeled as negotiation.
Viktor feels lightheaded at her blatance.
It is obvious, given her collected confidence that she thinks she will be victorious. What piltie would not think themselves a more suitable candidate for a relationship than anyone from the undercity? Much less a disabled person and a councilor. It sounds like the beginning to a bigoted joke. Viktor’s chest constricts, she is talking to him directly about this to tell him she is irritated with whatever she knows of what they have been doing. To tell him to fuck off in the most professional way she can to maintain their business partnership. He feels his ribs tighten with the sensation of being placated, of being told to step to the side and let people more deserving of the role take over.
If Viktor respected her an ounce less, he might spit in her face like a territorial animal and tell her that she doesn’t know anything about Jayce. Because all of these politicians, they don’t really, putting him on trial to be banished then rubbing their selfish hands together when he succeeds. Yanking him around like a show pony, letting people use him until he’s exhausted. All selfishness, all opportunistic. But Mel Medarda has been the exception, Viktor can’t deny that, so he doesn’t spit in her face and show her the manners of where he came from.
“Why do you want to talk about Jayce?” He asks hoarsely.
Her eyes are restlessly following different patterns on the terrace tiles, something tender and almost sad in her expression, “Maybe it is egotistical of me to even consider myself your equal in the game of his heart, but I want you to know that I am releasing him from my affections. It has been almost a year now since he and I were anything more than friends and while I was far more invested than I thought myself, I hold too much respect for you to continue my pursuits when he has made it obvious where he stands.”
Viktor is silent, still, breathless.
She turns and meets his gaze again, a small smile on her lips, “I have wished to apologize for a while to you regarding my pressing him, I thought his dismissals anomalies rather than communication. My relationship with love, it is . . .” Her brows pinch, “Convoluted at best. My ambition gets the best of me and I latch on to something I consider mine. But I see now that Jayce was never mine to have with such an assertion, and my pride has made me blind to what he’s tried to tell me. I apologize genuinely for the agitation I’m sure you felt, I hope that you and I can continue our business together without animosity.”
Viktor stares at her. Rarely is he taken so entirely off guard.
“Councilor Medarda,” He starts, unsure where to end, “Jayce and I are not . . . If you wish to pursue Jayce, I’m not standing in your way.” Not standing in the way, no. Standing to the side, seeing how it will play out, maybe.
She frowns, blinking for a few seconds, “I thought . . .” Her frown deepens, “Oh dear. No wonder he’s been suffering, you really are not romantically engaged?”
Viktor shakes his head, eyes still wide as plates.
“Are you not interested in men? Have I read this situation incredibly wrong? Oh, Viktor, I deeply apologize, I—“
“No no, it’s fine,” He interrupts, then swallows, “There is something but we are not in a committed relationship. He is free to engage with you.” There is something. There is something. The most openly he’s ever referenced it since it started. His ribs feel open like a wound, gushing out, unmistakable, unavoidable.
Her brows are pinched again as she scrutinizes him, “The last time we slept together was January, at the beginning of the year.” She states, matter of fact, “And like I said, my affections are not returned so I will be retiring them.”
January? God. God, of course it was January.
“Viktor, are you alright? Forgive me, but you look suddenly very pale.”
Of course it was fucking January. When the cold weather and wine had made him weak. There’s no way that could be a coincidence.
“Yes, I-“ He raises his hand to his temple, pressing in at the beginning of a migraine, then lies, “Yes. It is the food.”
It is not the food. It is the burning that overtakes his barely functioning internal organs like someone has poured gasoline over them. Though he supposes Mel Medarda has just done exactly that. Suddenly, he has a craving to move, to leave, to carry himself back to the undercity with tail between his legs to save himself from this never ending torment he finds here. This is going to kill him faster than any disease can, perhaps he is better off taking his chances with the Gray and the fissures and the smoke than this.
“I believe I have chosen the wrong time to discuss this with you.” Mel says quietly, still examining him in a way that leaves his skin feeling raw, then she stands, hesitant, “I hope that I have adequately clarified my intentions, it is now my intention to let you be as you were before my intrusion.” Her shoes click then pause, and Viktor can’t stand to look at her, her voice nearly a whisper, “Jayce is so fond of you. Have a good night Viktor.” Then her footsteps recede into the house again.
Viktor’s hands shake desperately, unaided by the chill of the night air that is washing over his bones from sitting still too long. The wind cuts through him, and Viktor pulls himself to his feet to travel back to the apartment he has on Academy grounds. It isn’t too far from here in the center of town, but if he doesn’t move now, his muscles will start to lock up in the cold. He’s had some humiliating walks home in Piltover, with joints tense and posture curled to keep himself balanced.
This isn’t one of them, his muscles feel sore but not burning like flames, and yet, the humiliation of this entire evening feels actually much worse than what his own body is capable of doing to him. To be stared at like a circus monkey in the town he has lived and worked in for over a decade, it is dehumanizing and humiliating as the very first week here. Viktor, like a fool, thought that maybe this kind of thing would stop bothering him. That he would mature above being affected by such rudeness, and yet, it makes his heart feel like a trapped bird in his ribcage, damaging itself as it tries to flee.
He isn’t over it, it makes him so angry that he doesn’t think he will ever process through it enough to be indifferent. He will wither in his grave with this anger in his clenched fists. He shouldn’t have to be silent at dinners and galas and public events, he shouldn’t have to hesitate when signing his own name on the project samples. Jayce doesn’t hesitate, Jayce feels no ugly demon in his chest sick with the need for validation, for respect. He already has it. Since the Hexgates unveiling, Jayce has been considered no less than a genius and a hero. Viktor has felt he has to be fucking perfect in every conversation for even a scrap of human decency.
Viktor takes a moment to gather himself, pausing by the trees of the city park on his route. It is midway and a good place to take a breather, the wind has calmed a bit so he decides to sit for a minute on the wooden bench. He sighs and closes his eyes, relief at the weight off his leg.
It’s not as though he resents Jayce for getting such clear preferential treatment, it is impossible to do so when Jayce is about as good hearted and genuine as a storybook hero. Who could hate a savior, a prince, a knight in shining armor? It is difficult to, even when he so easily receives what Viktor envies. He has it all really, achievement, autonomy, a strong, masculine body. But his heart is on his sleeve, clear as a blue sky, Jayce is undeniably considerate, unfailingly patient.
Maybe this body is the universe bestowing him a karmic punishment for his short temper and coldness. Maybe if he was kinder in a past life, he would have been given the body Jayce has in this one.
Viktor stands and walks again, shaking his head to no one to dismiss such abstract and illogical thoughts. He is not a generally religious or spiritual person, the science of the Hexcore is about as close as he gets to believing in divinity. These thoughts are not applicable to his belief systems anyway, it does no good to ponder them.
And yet, it is difficult to believe that everything is one small blip of an error when Viktor watches the sun crest over Jayce’s shoulders slumped over their desk, sleep deprived and golden. Errors don’t create perfection, they only replicate absurdity and mismatchedness. Jayce is no accident. He has known this since the day he examined his original notes on magic and science, since the day Jayce told him about his and his mother’s lives being saved, the story behind the rune on his arm taken off only to bathe. Jayce wears it to sleep, the circle of leather.
On good nights, Viktor feels the press of its edges on his back as Jayce holds him close. It is disturbingly easy to see why the public considers him a savior.
Viktor rides the elevator to his floor, then pulls out his set of keys to unlock his door. Settling his things inside, he sheds his coat and jacket, then the vest under it and his shoes. The cold has only bothered his bones a horrible amount, rather than a pounding, all consuming, crack himself in half like a cracker amount, so manageable. However, given the stress of this evening, Viktor quickly decides to run a bath. It will soothe the pain lower, and hopefully calm his erratic nerves, his hands still feel a bit shaky.
He sheds even further in the bathroom, down to pants and a thin shirt, barefoot on the cold tiles, as the tub fills with almost too hot water. Viktor stares at his shelves, at the eucalyptus scented bath soak Jayce had simply brought over some months ago, a generous amount added each time Jayce has run a bath for him since. Usually, when he runs his own bath, Viktor isn’t tempted by it, but feeling so unnerved he wonders if it will calm him.
“It’s to help relax, unwind a little bit.” Jayce had said, his cheekbones showing a pinkish flush unrelated to the bathroom condensation. Viktor did not question him any further, about where he got it, or why he got it, or why he was so committed to doing such mundane tasks for his sake.
Viktor adds it tonight generously. He’s not sure how much Jayce usually pours.
He has stripped entirely, soaking his feet first to get used to the temperature. The scent fills his senses, makes him unclench his jaw and loosen his shoulders. Baths run for him by Jayce are precious things, gifts in the dark evening, selfless acts of service.
“I live to serve.” Jayce had said, then hopped up from their place on the couch, dropping a small kiss to his forehead.
Settling into the water with the eucalyptus smell in his brain, he has almost successfully Pavloved his own brain into thinking that Jayce will be on the other side of his bathroom door when he’s done, curled up in his sheets with his eyes bleary and hair out of place.
The thought of it is so overwhelming, like honey, like morphine, like the blazing dusk. Maybe that is why Viktor did what he did two months ago now, the night Jayce told him he lived to serve. It is all an oxytocin induced blur, sweetness in the dark, barely being able to see his eyes while Viktor assured him of all the ways he wanted.
Viktor remembers talking to him on the couch, Jayce’s warm hands cradling his ankles in thick socks and Viktor teased him relentlessly about his poor calculations that day. Jayce didn’t look bothered, smiling so warm as the sun got lower, touching more confidently as the day became night.
Viktor will only let Jayce touch him truly when no one else can see, no politicians or strangers or the sun or omnipotent gods, only them. And even then, it is a feat of exhaustion and desire alike to allow Jayce to cradle his fingers inside Viktor’s clothes. Jayce knows, this isn’t what they do in the daytime, for others to see, for the world to judge and rip apart.
Viktor contemplates the worth of ruining Jayce’s stunning reputation on a daily basis. When his hands hold, steady and secure, when his eyes are bright with a new discovery, when his body is trembling with eagerness, that tender desire to please, Viktor considers. Maybe. He thinks, wild and high on his own ego. Then he brings himself down with a shock at his own audacity.
His audacity is . . . Becoming more and more of a problem. The frequency distribution of his behavior is damning evidence of his criminality.
Viktor reaches for his knee in the water, cradles his hand against his own skin in a replication of how Jayce held him at dinner. It feels silly, but necessary. To catalogue the differences of the sensations. His own hand is a pisspoor substitute, but he knew that already.
Viktor startles in the water when he hears the sharp, muffled sound of someone knocking on his door. He knows immediately who it must be. Unless Councilor Medarda has come to personally inform him their competition is back on.
He snorts at himself as he rises, tugs on his big fluffy robe and grabs his cane, dropping water in his wake as he travels through the bedroom, to the kitchen and living room, and to the door. All while the knocking continues.
The knock repeats, more insistent this time so Viktor calls, “Yes Jayce, I hear you, gimme a fucking second.” He pulls the bolt unlocked and swings open the door, settling him with an unamused look, “You are incredibly impatient, have I informed you of this in the past forty-eight hours?”
Jayce stands there, adorned in his suit still, flushing at what Viktor can only assume is his state of undress in the robe, “Yes. Probably.” He states absently.
Viktor tilts himself to the side, welcoming Jayce into the apartment easily. Who takes only a few steps in before crushing him in a hug. Viktor teeters in his bare feet for a second.
“Why did you leave?” He asks, and his voice takes that barren tone, that hurt at not being offered closeness.
Viktor cradles his neck easily, fingers in the short hair at his nape. He sighs into the embrace, “I felt overwhelmed.”
Jayce suddenly reels back, brows together, “Wait, I’m sorry, did I interrupt your bath?”
Viktor smiles, pats his shoulder, placating and sarcastic, “Do not bother using the emergency key under the mat specifically for you, I would prefer you have me remove myself from the tub to open the door myself.”
Jayce looks horrified, mouth dropped open and eyes wide, “Holy shit, I’m sorry, I forgot, I—“
He laughs, can’t help it really, “You did interrupt but it’s fine, I will just continue. Please leave your coat wherever you like.” Viktor heads back to the bathroom, not wanting the water to get cold on him, but Jayce follows, coat and jacket shedding quickly by the couch.
At the bathroom door, Jayce hesitates. Viktor supposes that it is his own responsibility, for leaving the door closed whenever he’s taking baths, as well as never really being in his presence so exposed. Jayce must consider it some sort of boundary not to cross, because he frowns in the doorway as though this is all one big unsolved math problem to him.
“You may sit with me,” Viktor tells him gently, “If you’d like.”
He hears the breathless little sound escape, but Jayce only nods in response and settles himself on the wooden stool. It’s a little funny, this too large man in his dress clothes, arms draped over his knees, tilted in a direction away from the tub. Not entirely facing away, just a respectful show of his intention to not ogle Viktor naked in the water.
Jayce is good hearted, respectful and patient. Viktor appreciates all of those qualities about him. But sometimes, it all feels a bit unnecessary. What is nakedness when Jayce already has him so wholly and completely? Skin is nothing but a vessel for the soul that Viktor has already placed gently in his hands.
When Viktor sheds the robe and sinks back into the water, Jayce starts loosening his tie, “What overwhelmed you?”
Everyone knowing that I’m not half what you deserve. That is the truth that simmers in his tired, overused body. It is a truth that he feels weighted against his shoulders and back, this additional burden with no relief brought by baths or eucalyptus or massaging. When people look at Jayce with him, they are disgusted. This is why he shields himself so heavily from the public, for Jayce’s reputation. Viktor fears one day . . . Well he chooses not to think about what Jayce may begin to think of him as time goes on.
Viktor sighs, sinks further down, “I hate getting stared at like that.”
“Like what?”
He scoffs, “For a scientist, you are incredibly useless at the act of observation.” The angle of his profile that Viktor can see twists in a frown as Jayce glares at the vanity cabinet, “The Piltover upper class stares at me as though my existence offends them greatly.”
Jayce swivels to look at him and catches himself halfway, twisting back to his position before. Which makes Viktor smile for some fond reason, “You intimidate them.” He says to the wrong side of the room.
“I intimidate them because they are shocked I’ve achieved anything at all.” Viktor explains.
Again, Jayce frowns, “I don’t think that’s why. You can be scary Vik.”
Viktor rolls his eyes, of course this is what he thinks about the dirty looks he receives, “I was just sitting there.”
Jayce puts his chin in his hands, curled over himself, “Should I include you more or less?”
He sighs, tries to come up with a complex enough explanation to show Jayce that his words don’t matter but comes up at a loss, “I don’t think there’s anything you can do about this Jayce.”
His shoulders concave further, and he starts to genuinely pout, “You always say you wanna do it alone. I thought we were partners.”
Partners. Bringing out the big guns to make him feel guilty.
Viktor smiles despite himself, “Come here Jayce.”
He scoots closer, to the edge of the tub still curled over the too small stool, resolutely looking at the bathroom tiles until he’s close enough for Viktor to raise up a bit and touch him. His hand is wet and dripping, warm from the water as he trails a finger down the side of Jayce’s cheek.
The man gazes at him, whether it is to avoid looking down at his naked body or because staring is his current priority, Viktor is not sure. Jayce’s eyes are reverent and tender, his shoulders relax as Viktor caresses him slowly.
Viktor knows he has no right to touch him like this, they aren’t together, Jayce is free to engage with whomever he likes. Whether it is Councilor Medarda or anyone else. But Jayce is comforted so clearly by such acts, and Viktor is selfish.
A selfish, desperate man, who feels the rise of all of his possessive instincts in his chest whenever Jayce looks so content in his company. Is this just for me? Viktor always wants to ask, Am I the only one? Which is again, a wild assertion given the status of their relationship.
Jayce hums, voice loose, “Feels nice.”
Viktor feels that seeping warm feeling pour down his throat like tea with honey, the sensation that curls around his brittle bones, dances in every corner of his insides. But his mind is not as sated so easily as flesh is, and it reminds him immediately of his conversation with Mel earlier in the evening.
January was the last time they slept together. It flutters around like hope.