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Jayce Talis had hired a dozen assistants since the beggining of his time on the Council. Efficient women and men with steady hands and quicker minds, all of them perfectly adequate, all of them entirely forgettable. He expected more of the same when Human Resources sent up a file for yet another candidate—no last name, fresh out of the Academy with a double thesis that had made his professors use words like "unprecedented" and "humbling."
He did not expect to open his office door and forget how to breathe.
The young man standing in the antechamber was ridiculous. Dark hair falling across a sharp, clever face. A body that was all lean lines and sharp angles, drowning slightly in an ill-fitting vest that did nothing to hide the fact that Viktor was, objectively, the most beautiful creature Jayce had ever seen.
"Councilor Talis," Viktor said, extending a hand. His voice was like warm brandy. "I believe I'm your new assistant."
Jayce shook his hand for three seconds too long. "You're... yes. Come in."
It was love at first sight. Jayce didn't believe in such things—had mocked the very concept at dinner parties for years—but there was no other explanation for the way his chest ached every time Viktor walked into a room. The way he started showing up to the lab earlier just to watch Viktor make his coffee. The way he found excuses to brush against him in narrow hallways.
And then Viktor opened his mouth about work.
Brilliant was not a word Jayce threw around lightly. He was brilliant himself—had been told so his entire life—and he knew the weight of it. But Viktor was something else. Viktor looked at Hextech equations the way a composer looked at sheet music, seeing patterns that shouldn't exist, finding elegance in chaos. Three weeks into the job, Viktor quietly corrected a calculation that had been bothering Jayce for months. He did it with a murmured "You misplaced a negative here, Councilor," and a light touch on Jayce's wrist.
Jayce was a goner.
The flirting started small. Viktor would linger after meetings, asking questions that had nothing to do with work. Jayce would bring him iced coffee—the specific, sweet blend Viktor preferred, because of course Jayce had memorized it. Viktor started wearing better-fitted clothes. Jayce started forgetting to wear a tie, just to watch Viktor's eyes track down his open collar.
They danced around it for weeks. Both of them knew the line. Both of them knew crossing it would be a scandal. Neither of them could stop inching closer.
The breaking point came in the lab. Late night, too much coffee, the air thick with the smell of ozone and Jayce's cologne. They were standing too close over a schematic—Jayce's chest nearly touching Viktor's back—and Jayce felt the younger man lean into him.
"Viktor," Jayce breathed.
Viktor turned. His face was inches away. His eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted, and he gave Jayce a look that was pure invitation.
Jayce kissed him. It was desperate and hungry and perfect. Viktor made a sound against his mouth—relief, want, fucking finally—and grabbed Jayce by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. They stumbled backward. Jayce's hands found Viktor's ass without conscious thought, lifting him onto the edge of the desk. Viktor laughed—a bright, giddy sound—as his fingers went to Jayce's belt.
And Jayce froze.
"Wait," he said, catching Viktor's wrists. "Viktor, wait."
Concern flickered across Viktor's face. "What's wrong?"
Jayce's throat was dry. "There's something you don't know about me. About my... body."
Viktor tilted his head, and a slow smile spread across his face. "Councilor. I've been your assistant for three months. I make every single one of your schedules, every appointment. I have your testosterone prescription delivered every week. I know you don't have a dick." He paused, letting that land. "It's okay. I don't have one either."
Jayce stared at him. Then he laughed—a broken, disbelieving sound—and pulled Viktor into his chest. "You're serious?"
"I would not joke about something like that." Viktor's arms wrapped around him. "Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me you were married."
"God, no." Jayce pulled back, cupping Viktor's face in his hands. "But I'm not doing this. Not here. Not like this."
Viktor's eyebrows rose. "You want to stop?"
"I want to take you on a proper date." Jayce kissed his forehead. "Dinner. Somewhere nice. And then, if you still want to... we do this the right way."
Viktor laughed at him—called him an old romantic fool, accused him of being impossibly chivalrous, rolled his eyes so hard it should have been insulting. But his cheeks were flushed, and his hands were shaking slightly where they gripped Jayce's shirt, and Jayce knew.
Secretly fucking horny at the old man's chivalry, as Viktor would later admit.
Their first date was at the nicest restaurant in South Piltover. Viktor wore a deep blue waistcoat that made his eyes look like molten gold. Jayce couldn't stop staring. They talked until the kitchen closed. Viktor kissed him in the carriage on the way home—soft, then hungry, then both of them breathless and pressed against the velvet seats.They fucked for the first time on the fourth date. It was clumsy and perfect and Viktor fell asleep on Jayce's chest with his mouth open, snoring softly, and Jayce knew he was going to marry this man.
Six months of dating. Four months of engagement. The scandal was delicious—Councilor Talis, the most eligible bachelor in Piltover, settled at last by a boy half his age. The gossip columns had a field day. Jayce's mother sent fourteen letters of protest, each one more dire than the last.
Jayce ignored them all.
They married by joint property. Not because Viktor asked—he had scoffed at the idea, called it unnecessary, tried to refuse—but because Jayce insisted. He was fifty-one. Viktor was twenty-two back then. Jayce had seen enough dead men lose young spouses to poverty and grief. He put more than half of his value in Viktor's name. The royalties from Hextech. The apartments. A few carriages. A trust that would keep Viktor comfortable for the rest of his life, no matter what happened.
Two years later, Viktor still wore the ring on a chain around his neck when he worked in the lab. Their cat had taken to sleeping on Viktor's pillow, which meant Viktor slept on Jayce's chest most nights, which suited them both just fine.
And if the old men on the Council still whispered about the young, pretty thing who'd trapped the great Jayce Talis? He paid no heed to their envious remarks. Jayce had everything he'd ever wanted. And more.
The door to the penthouse apartment clicked shut behind Councilor Talis with a sound that felt heavier than it should have. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood for a second—just a second—and let out a breath that carried the whole goddamn day with it.
Five hours of council session. Three of them spent listening to Hoskel argue about trade routes that nobody but Hoskel gave a shit about. Then a meeting with a few Enforcers about the rising tensions in the undercity—the same tensions Jayce had been trying to address for months, only to be shot down by the same old men who now wanted him to fix it overnight. Then a visit to the Hextech foundry where a containment field had nearly collapsed, and Jayce had to spend forty-five minutes with his hands on the machinery, feeling the thrum of power that could have killed him if he'd made one wrong calculation.
His shoulders ached. His lower back was a knot of tension. His jaw hurt from grinding his teeth.
Fifty-one years old, and some days he felt every single one of them.
He dropped his leather satchel by the door—Viktor would scold him for that later, but Viktor wasn't here yet, apparently—and kicked off his shoes with clumsy, exhausted movements. The thick carpet of the entryway muffled the thuds. The apartment was warm, lit with the soft gold of table lamps rather than the harsh overhead lights Jayce hated. Someone—probably the maid, maybe Viktor himself—had lit a candle on the console table. Sandalwood and vanilla.
Home. The word still made something in his chest loosen, even after two years of marriage. Even after six months of engagement before that, and a year of dating before that. Even after all the years of thinking he'd never find anyone who fit him the way Viktor does.
He shrugged off his councilor's jacket—dark brown wool, embroidered with the Talis crest on the lapel, heavy in a way that had nothing to do with the fabric—and hung it on the coat rack by the door. His vest followed, slung over the back of a chair. He'd get to it later. His tie was already loosened, hanging crooked around his neck, and he left it that way. The apartment was quiet. Not silent—there was the soft crackle of the fireplace in the living room, the distant hum of the Hextech climate regulators, and beneath it all, the faint sound of pages turning.
Viktor Talis.
Jayce rounded the corner into the living room and stopped dead. The couch was a sprawling thing of dark leather and deep cushions, the kind of furniture Jayce had bought specifically because it looked like you could fall into it and never get up. And on that couch, curled into the corner like he belonged there—which he did, obviously, because this was his home too, his name on the deed right next to Jayce's—was Viktor.
Viktor, impossibly beautiful Viktor, wearing nothing but a baby blue silk sleeping robe. Jayce could see the pale expanse of his chest where the fabric gaped open, the sharp line of his collarbone, the dusting of dark hair that trailed down his sternum. The robe was cinched loosely at the waist, falling open over his thighs, and Jayce could see the elastic knee brace wrapped around his left leg—the one he wore at home, softer and less restrictive than the full metal-and-leather contraption Jayce had designed for him. In Viktor's lap, Blitzcrank, a fat orange cat was sprawled on his back, all four paws in the air, purring loudly enough to be heard from across the room. Their son, really. Their spoiled, judgmental, twenty-pound baby boy.
Viktor looked up from the book in his hand—something thick and academic, probably about theoretical chemtech applications, because he was a nerd and Jayce loved him—and his face transformed. His sharp features softened. His mouth curved into a smile that was at once sweet and knowing, the smile of someone who had been waiting for this exact moment all day. His eyes—that gorgeous amber-gold, the color of honey in sunlight—lit up.
"Dearest," he said, and his voice was like warm brandy, low and rich and a little bit teasing. "You look... You've looked better."
Jayce huffed a laugh that came out more like a groan. "And you look breathtaking."
Viktor closed his book—saving his place with a ribbon—and set it aside on the side table. He scooped Blitzcrank up with one arm, the cat hanging limp and unprotesting like a sack of flour, and reached for his cane with the other. The cane was Jayce's design too. Hextech-assisted, lightweight alloy, with a grip molded to Viktor's palm. He stood carefully, Blitzcrank still cradled against his chest, and crossed the room.
Jayce's heart did that stupid thing it always did when Viktor moved toward him. It sped up. It tripped over itself. It reminded hopelessly in love he was with the younger man.
"Hi," Jayce said, stupidly.
Viktor's smile widened. "Hello."
He stopped in front of Jayce, close enough that Jayce could smell him—coconut milk moisturizer, the faint clean scent of the soap he used, something underneath that was just Viktor, warm and human and perfect. He reached and curled his fingers into the graying hair at the side of Jayce's beard, then pulled him down into a kiss. It was soft, almost chaste, Viktor's lips pressing against Jayce's with a tenderness that made Jayce's eyes sting. Viktor tasted like the chamomile tea he drank in the evenings, slightly sweet, mostly floral. His thumb stroked along Jayce's jaw.
"Welcome home," Viktor murmured against his mouth. Then he pulled back just enough to transfer Blitzcrank into Jayce's arms. The cat was absurdly heavy for a creature that did nothing but eat and sleep and occasionally knock things off shelves. He went willingly into Jayce's embrace, pressing his broad, warm head under Jayce's chin and purring like a tiny engine. Jayce hugged him—squeezed him, really, burying his face in the orange fur—and felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease.
Blitzcrank tolerated this for exactly four seconds before squirming to be put down.
"Traitor," Jayce muttered, setting him on the floor. The cat stalked off toward his food bowl with an air of profound indifference.
That left Jayce alone with Viktor. Jayce didn't think. He just moved. His hands found Viktor's waist—the silk of the robe slick and cool under his palms—and pulled him close. Viktor came willingly, his cane clinking softly against the floor as he shifted his weight, his free hand coming up to grip the front of Jayce's rumpled dress shirt. Jayce buried his face in Viktor's neck. The skin there was warm. Soft. Jayce kissed the spot just below Viktor's ear. Then again, lower, against the tendon of his neck. Then again, just because he could, because Viktor tilted his head back and let out a small, pleased hum that made Jayce want to drop to his knees right there. But he didn't. He just breathed. He inhaled Viktor's scent, let the warmth of him seep into Jayce's cold, tired bones, and held on like Viktor was the only thing keeping him upright.
Which, honestly, might have been true.
"Tell me about your day," Viktor said, and his tone had shifted. Slightly condescending, even. "Oh, my poor husband. Did the other councilors not appreciate your genius? Did the machinery try to eat you again?"
Jayce groaned against Viktor's neck. "Hoskel is a fucking idiot."
"Obviously."
"And Miss Shoola kept interrupting me every time I tried to bring up the undercity relief fund—"
"Also obvious."
"And then the containment field nearly went critical, and I had to manually override it, and I'm pretty sure I smelled my own hair burning at one point—"
Viktor pulled back just enough to look at him. His eyes were wide, concerned for a moment.
"Your hair," he repeated, reaching up to touch the graying strands at Jayce's temple. "Is still attached. I checked."
"You did?"
"From the moment you walked in." Viktor's smile turned sharp. "Priorities, dearest." Jayce laughed—a real laugh, surprised out of him, and it felt good. It felt like cracking open a window in a stuffy room. Viktor's smile softened in response, his thumb stroking along Jayce's cheekbone. "But you're home now," Viktor said. "And you're safe. And I think..." He let his hand drift down, tracing the line of Jayce's jaw, the column of his throat, the open collar of his shirt. "I think you need to let me take care of you."
Jayce's breath caught. Viktor's fingers dipped lower, ghosting over Jayce's chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. They were warm, slightly calloused from his own tinkering, and every touch sent a spark of heat through Jayce's exhausted body. Viktor leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Jayce's ear.
Jayce shivered. "V—"
"Please..." Viktor's voice dropped, low and commanding. "Let me."
And then he was moving, pushing Jayce back against the door—the same door Jayce had come through not five minutes ago—with a strength that belied his slender frame. Jayce went willingly, his back hitting the wood with a soft thud, and Viktor was in front of him, between him and the rest of the world, one hand on Jayce's chest and the other holding his cane. Viktor looked up at him through his lashes.
"Viktor, sweetheart..." Jayce tried again, but his voice came out rough. Needy.
Viktor smiled. "Yes, dearest?"
"What are you—"
Instead of answering, Viktor lowered himself to his knees.
Jayce's brain, pretty much, short-circuited.
Viktor never did this. Not because he didn't want to—he'd made it very clear over the years that he enjoyed putting his mouth on Jayce—but because his bad knee made kneeling difficult. Painful, even. Viktor was proud, stubborn, hated showing weakness, and he usually found other ways. Other positions. But here he was, on his knees in the entryway of their home, his left leg—the one with the brace—resting on top of Jayce's bare foot to take the pressure off.
Viktor's hands came up to Jayce's belt. His fingers were deft, practiced—he'd undone this belt a hundred times, a thousand, and he did it now with the ease of long familiarity. The leather strap slid free. The buckle clinked. Viktor pulled it open and let it hang loose. Then his hands moved to the button of Jayce's trousers.
"V," Jayce breathed. "You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." Viktor looked up, and his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. "I want to. I've been thinking about this all day. About the way you sound when I make you feel good." He popped the button open. "Now be quiet and let me take care of you."
Jayce's mouth snapped shut. Viktor pulled his trousers down. They pooled around Jayce's ankles, leaving him in nothing but his boxers—soft cotton, dark gray, tented slightly by the shape of his body underneath. Viktor looked at it like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"God," Viktor murmured, pressing his palm flat against the front of Jayce's boxers. The heat of his hand seeped through the fabric, and Jayce's hips jerked forward involuntarily. "I never get tired of this."
"Viktor—"
Viktor leaned in, pressing his mouth against the same spot his hand had been. He breathed—hot, damp, deliberate—against the fabric, and Jayce had to brace his hands against the door to keep from buckling. He kissed Jayce's cunt through the boxers. Then he did it again, lower, where the fabric was already damp with Jayce's growing arousal.
Fuck.
Jayce's fingers curled into Viktor's hair. He didn't pull, didn't push, just held on, feeling the soft strands slip between his fingers. Viktor hummed against him, a pleased little sound, and the vibration went straight to Jayce's clit—his cock, as Viktor called it. Viktor mouthed at him through the fabric, his tongue pressing wetly against the seam of Jayce's boxers. He traced the shape of Jayce's cock, the length of it, the way it pressed against the cotton. He kissed his way down to Jayce's thighs—the soft, thick skin there, the coarse hair—and then back up again, over his happy trail, his belly, the soft curve of his lower stomach.
"You're so fucking handsome," Viktor murmured against Jayce's skin. "I tell you that all the time, but you never believe me. Look at you. You're my dream man."
Jayce's eyes were closed. His head was tipped back against the door, his breathing ragged. Viktor continued, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Jayce's boxers, tugging the fabric down slowly, revealing Jayce's cock inch by inch. As the cool air hit Jayce's damp skin, he gasped. Viktor pulled his boxers down to his thighs, then stopped. He sat back on his heels—on Jayce's foot, carefully—and just looked.
Jayce's cunt was wet. Obscenely wet, arousal slicking his inner thighs, his cock standing out from its hood, flushed and swollen and huge. Viktor had always said that, had always marveled at how much bottom growth Jayce had gotten from testosterone, and even after years of hearing it, Jayce still felt a flush of embarrassed pride every time.
"You're so big," Viktor breathed, reaching out to trace a finger along the length of Jayce's cock. Just a touch, feather-light, and Jayce's whole body shuddered.
"Viktor, please—"
"Please what, dearest?" Viktor's eyes glittered up at him. "Use your words."
But Jayce couldn't use his words. He couldn't think. Viktor's fingers was still stroking him, barely touching, just ghosting over the sensitive head, and Jayce was already leaking, already trembling, already desperate.
"Please," he managed. "Use your mouth. Please."
Viktor smiled. "That's my good boy."
The first touch of Viktor's tongue was hot and wet and perfect, tracing the underside of Jayce's length from base to tip, circling the head where Jayce was most sensitive. Viktor's lips closed around him, sucking gently, and Jayce made a sound that was almost a sob.
"Shit," he gasped, his hips jerking forward. "Sweetheart—". Viktor hummed around him, and that was worse. Better. Jayce's nails dug into his own palms where they were braced against the door.
Viktor pulled off just enough to speak. "Spread your legs a bit more for me, handsome." His hands were on Jayce's thighs, pushing them further apart. Jayce obeyed, bracing himself wider, feeling the stretch in his hips. Viktor rewarded him with a long, flat lick from the base of his cock all the way to the top, and then another, and another, until Jayce's entire cunt was slick with Viktor's spit. "God," Viktor murmured against him. "You taste incredible. I could do this all day."
He focused on Jayce's cock, sucking it into his mouth, working his tongue along the length. His nose pressed against Jayce's pubic bone, his lips stretched wide around the girth, and Jayce watched him through half-closed eyes—watched Viktor's cheeks hollow, his eyes flutter shut, his free hand come up to grip Jayce's hip for purchase.
I love you, Jayce thought, but he couldn't say it. His voice wasn't working.
Viktor pulled off with a wet pop. "I fucking adore your cock," he said, and it was filthier than any profession of love Jayce had ever heard. The most romantic one too.
Jayce lost track of time. There was only the hot wet suction of Viktor's mouth, the stroke of his tongue, the occasional scrape of teeth that made Jayce hiss and jerk. Viktor worked him like he was made for it, like he'd been born to kneel between Jayce's thighs and make him fall apart. And Jayce was close. So close, his orgasm building low in his belly, his thighs trembling, his cock throbbing against Viktor's tongue. But something was missing, he figured.
It took him a moment to figure out what he wanted. Viktor's mouth was good, better than good, but there was an ache within that his mouth alone couldn't reach.
"V," he managed, his voice wrecked. "Vik, stop—"
Viktor pulled off immediately, concerned. "What's wrong, dear? Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
"No, no, you didn't—" Jayce swallowed, his face flushing. "I just... I want..." Viktor waited. Patient. Watching. "Can you use your fingers?" Jayce finally said, and his voice was barely a whisper. "Just one. To try. Inside me."
Viktor's eyes went wide. His mouth fell open slightly, and then he smiled—not his usual sharp, teasing smile, but something softer.
"Jayce," he said, and his voice was gentle. "You've never let me—"
"I know. I know. But I want—" Jayce's face was burning. "I want to try. With you. Just... just one. Please."
"Okay," Viktor said softly. "One finger. And if you don't like it, you tell me and I will stop. Promise me."
"I promise."
Viktor kissed his hip—a brief, sweet press of lips—and then he shifted on his knees. His hand traveled down, down, past his cock, past his slick folds, to the entrance of his cunt. He didn't push inside immediately. He just pressed his fingertip against the opening, feeling how wet Jayce was, how ready.
"You're soaked," Viktor murmured, and there was wonder in his voice.
Jayce couldn't answer. His whole body was focused on that single point of contact—Viktor's finger, barely inside him, the barest suggestion of it.
"Okay," Viktor said. "I'm going to push in now. Slowly. Breathe for me, dearest."
Jayce breathed as Viktor's finger slid inside. It was... different. Not bad. Just different. Jayce was so used to being on the other side of this, to being the one fucking Viktor's pretty pussy with his fingers and his tongue and his strap on special ocasions, that he'd forgotten what it felt like to be opened. Viktor's finger was slender—he had long, elegant fingers, perfect for tinkering, perfect for this—but Jayce still felt the stretch.
"Everything okay?" Viktor asked.
"Y-yeah. Okay."
Viktor pushed deeper. His knuckle disappeared inside Jayce's body, then another, and then he was in, seated to the second knuckle, and Jayce's cunt was clenching around him.
"Oh," Jayce breathed. "Oh, fuck."
"Good or bad?"
"Good. Don't stop."
So Viktor didn't. He began to move his finger, sliding in and out, slow and gentle.
"Can I try something?" Viktor asked. "I want to find your sweet spot."
Jayce, with his eyes closed, nodded frantically. Viktor pushed in again, and this time, he curled his finger upward—toward Jayce's belly, toward that spongy spot inside him. Jayce could have sworn he saw stars. His whole body seized, his hips bucking forward, a desperate moan tearing out of his throat. Viktor's finger was pressing against that point no one, not even himself, has touched before, something that made Jayce's vision go white at the edges behind his eyelids.
"There," Viktor said, and his voice was smug. "Found it." He pressed again.
Jayce sobbed. It wasn't a quiet sound. It was loud, raw, torn from somewhere deep in his chest. Viktor kept pressing, kept stroking that spot, and Jayce's cunt was gushing around his finger, clenching and releasing, and he was close, so close.
His orgasm crashed over him like a hot wave, and his body responded in a way he'd only experienced a handful of times—his cunt spasmed, his cock pulsed, and a rush of fluid gushed out of him, soaking Viktor's hand, his wrist, his face. He fucking squirted, all over Viktor's beautiful face, and he couldn't stop, his body pumping out wave after wave of fluid as Viktor kept fingering him through it. Viktor didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. He just took it, his eyes closed for a moment, his mouth open slightly, smiling to himself.
When Jayce finally stopped—when his body went limp and his legs gave out—Viktor caught him. Held him up. Gently pulled his finger out and wrapped his arms around Jayce's waist.
"Easy, dear" Viktor murmured against his stomach. "That was good, huh?" Jayce was crying. He hadn't realized it, but there were tears streaming down his cheeks, and his whole body was shaking. Viktor kissed his belly—his hard, scarred abdomen—and held him through it. "That's it," Viktor whispered. "Let it out. I've got you."
It took a long time for Jayce to stop shaking. Viktor stayed on his knees the whole time. His face was a mess—covered in Jayce's release, his hair sticking to his forehead, his lips swollen and red. When Jayce finally opened his eyes, he looked down at Viktor and started laughing.
"What?" Viktor asked, mock-offended. "Is something funny?"
"Your pretty face," Jayce managed between laughs. "You look like—like a glazed donut—"
Viktor's eyes narrowed. Then he reached up, wiped a hand across his cheek, and licked his fingers clean.
"Delicious," he said, deadpan. Jayce laughed harder.
Somewhere in the distance, Blitzcrank yowled, probably annoyed at the noise.
They made it to the couch eventually. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting the room in soft orange light. Viktor deposited Jayce onto the cushions and then climbed onto his lap without ceremony.
"Viktor, I'm still—" Jayce started, but Viktor shushed him with a finger to his lips.
"I'm not done with you yet," Viktor said. "You think I'm going to let you fall asleep with all that tension still in your shoulders?"
Jayce wanted to argue, but Viktor was already slipping the robe off his own shoulders. The blue silk puddled around Viktor's hips, leaving his upper body bare. Jayce's breath caught. Viktor was beautiful—there was no other word for it. Slim and sharp, with pale skin that looked almost luminous in the firelight. His chest was mostly flat, soft, his nipples a dark pink and peaked from the cool air. Jayce reached out without thinking and touched Viktor's chest. His palm covered one small breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple. Viktor shivered.
"You're so pretty," Jayce said, and his voice was hoarse. "How are you this pretty?"
Viktor rolled his eyes, but his cheeks flushed. Viktor reached for the buttons of Jayce's shirt. "Stop talking and let me undress you."
Viktor's fingers moved slowly, deliberately, undoing each button one by one. He pushed the fabric aside, baring Jayce's chest—broader than Viktor's, softer, covered in graying hair and the scars of a lifetime of work. Viktor pressed a kiss to the center of Jayce's sternum.
"There," Viktor murmured. "That's better." He pushed Jayce's shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Jayce did the first thing that came to mind. He leaned forward and took Viktor's nipple into his mouth. The younger man gasped—a sharp, surprised sound—and his hips jerked against Jayce's stomach. Jayce sucked gently, circling the hardened peak with his tongue, and Viktor's fingers tangled in his graying hair.
"Jayce, dear." Viktor breathed.
Jayce switched to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. He sucked, licked, gently scraped with his teeth. Viktor squirmed in his lap, his breathing ragged, his hips pressing down against Jayce's belly.
"Someone's sensitive here," Jayce murmured against his skin.
"You know I am," Viktor shot back, but his voice was breathy. "You're doing this on purpose."
"You're the one who started this."
They were both hard now—or, in Viktor's case, his clit was swollen, pressing against the seam of his robe. Jayce could feel it, the wet heat of him, through the thin silk. Viktor was grinding down against Jayce's stomach, chasing friction, and his face was flushed, his eyes half-closed.
"Jayce," Viktor said, and his voice was desperate. "I need—I can't—"
"I know, sweetheart. I know."
Jayce's hands found Viktor's hips, gripping the sharp jut of bone through the robe. He helped Viktor move, guiding his rhythm, letting him rub his clit against the coarse hair of Jayce's stomach. Viktor pulled back, breathing hard, and looked down at where their bodies met. His robe had fallen open completely, baring his cunt—slick and swollen, his clit prominent and flushed. He looked at Jayce's cock, still wet from Viktor's mouth, still hard, still aching. He shifted his hips, lowering himself until his cunt was pressing against Jayce's cock—folds against folds, clit against clit, both of them slick and hot and perfect.
"Fuck," Jayce groaned.
Viktor began to move. It was a slow grind at first, Viktor rocking his hips forward and back, sliding his slick folds along the length of Jayce's cock. Every movement sent sparks of pleasure through both of them—Jayce could see it in Viktor's face, the way his mouth fell open, the way his eyes fluttered shut.
"Is this okay?" Viktor asked, his voice strained.
"Okay?" Jayce laughed, a broken sound. "V, this is—fuck."
Viktor smiled, and it was sharp and sweet and fucking lethal. "Good."
He picked up the pace. Jayce held onto his hips, helping him move, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Viktor's ass. The couch creaked beneath them. Viktor was beautiful like this—his head thrown back, his throat exposed, his chest heaving. His clit was grinding against Jayce's, the friction just right, and his cunt was leaving wet streaks on Jayce's thighs every time he rocked forward.
"Jayce," Viktor gasped. "Jayce, I'm so close—" He was trembling, his thighs shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Jayce took over, gripping his hips and moving him faster, harder.
"V," Jayce breathed, looking up at Viktor with eyes that were glassy with tears and want and... "I love you."
Viktor shattered then. His orgasm hit him with the way his whole body seized, his cunt clenching around nothing, his clit pulsing against Jayce's. He cried out—a broken, desperate sound—and his hips kept moving, kept grinding, chasing every last bit of pleasure.
Viktor sobbed, his face buried in Jayce's neck. Jayce held him through it. Stroked his back. Pressed kisses to his hair.
"I've got you," Jayce murmured. "I've got you, V. You're okay."
Viktor was still shaking when the last waves of his orgasm faded. He was whimpering, small sounds muffled against Jayce's skin, and his whole body was lax and trembling.
They stayed like that for a long moment—Viktor slumped against Jayce's chest, Jayce's arms wrapped around him, both of them panting and sweaty and thoroughly wrecked.
Blitzcrank appeared from nowhere, jumped onto the back of the couch, and stared at them with wide, judgmental eyes.
"Don't look at us like that," Jayce muttered. "You've done worse to the carpet."
The cat flicked his tail and began grooming his paw.
Viktor laughed—a breathless, giddy sound—and lifted his head from Jayce's shoulder. His face was a mess. His hair was a disaster. They kissed. It was soft, almost chaste, nothing like the desperate, filthy things they'd been doing minutes ago. Viktor tasted like Jayce, faintly, but Jayce didn't mind at all.
"Jayce, dearest." Viktor murmured against his lips.
"Yeah?"
"Take me to our bed..."
Jayce's heart swelled.
He looked at Viktor—at his beautiful, brilliant, kind husband—and felt a wave of gratitude so intense it almost hurt. He'd spent so many years alone. So many years thinking he'd never find someone who understood him, who saw him, who loved every flawed, complicated part of him. And then Viktor had walked into his life, young and bold and fearless, and everything had changed. Jayce pressed his thumb between his lips, and Viktor's eyes went dark. He closed his mouth around the thumb, sucking gently, his tongue stroking the pad.
Jayce shivered. "Bed," he said. "Now."
Viktor released his thumb with a wet pop and smiled. "Finally."
They didn't make it to the bedroom for another hour.
But that was okay.
They had time.