Chapter Text
***
The new brace is acceptable. It’s no miracle worker, but the metal no longer cuts into his sensitive flesh, and the thoughtful padding makes it easier to stand in one place without growing tired so quickly. Viktor is unable to put his gratitude into words, and that frustrates him. So he stands in the middle of Jayce’s study, and stares at him until he starts to crack a smile.
Jayce stamps a piece of paper with a seal, then shoves it into a pile as tall as the desk. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Viktor squints. He gives one long look around the solar; the mess of scattered papers, coronation plans, tax records, trade agreements, military reports. Viktor takes his cane, taps it to the floor, and organizes the piles into individual stacks with a fleury of gold speckled magic.
“There,” Viktor huffs.
Jayce hovers with his quill in hand, eyes wide and staring blankly at his promptly tidied desk. He blinks twice, then says, “Well, you just made my secretary’s life a hell of a lot easier.”
“No more favors,” Viktor points, turning on his heel. It is pleasant that he can do so without wobbling over.
“We’re married, dear,” Jayce teases. “You can’t call them favors.”
He chooses to ignore that comment. However, Viktor stops on a dime, head swiveling as he catches something on the corner of Jayce’s desk. It’s in the pile now consisting of Jayce’s personal side projects, and he tips his head to get a better look. “Is this supposed to be a calculation for lateral thrust?”
Jayce immediately recognizes what he’s referencing, signing another paper without looking up.
“Yeah. We’ve started a joint project with Zaun to rebuild the old bridge across the river. Would cut the trade route in about half.” Jayce stifles a yawn. “I was looking over the plans from my architect, but the load distribution didn’t look right, so I started redrawing it.”
“You’re supposed to have people to do that for you,” Viktor monotones. He flips through a few of the plans. “Hence, the role of an architect. Also, they didn’t solve for the strain on the support beams here. The central pillars are carrying too much weight.”
“Oh shit,” Jayce mutters. Viktor perches on the desk edge, and Jayce uses a piece of charcoal to scratch out his mistake. “Good catch. They teach you that in Zaun?”
“We are not all uneducated.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I had a mentor.” Viktor glances at the time on the grandfather clock, and Jayce follows his thought before he even finishes it. As always, it’s warm in here, and Jayce rolls his cuffs to his forearms with a casualness that makes Viktor suspicious.
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
Viktor narrows his eyes. He looks at his reorganized pile, then makes up his mind. He shoos Jayce away from the bridge plans, and picks up a quill. “I’ll do it. Finish stamping your silly papers.”
Jayce gives a fond look that is too much for Viktor to handle. He sounds extra human when he says, “You don’t need an excuse to stay. You’re my partner, I told you I value your insight.”
Viktor clicks his tongue. “I do not make excuses.” Though, he does peek at Jayce from the corner of his eye. “Why are you still pretending to care about Zaun?”
Jayce answers as easy as, “Because I do care.”
While he can be clumsy in his efforts, Jayce maintains this genuine desire to help others. Viktor thought it all for show, but as the weeks go on, he wonders if he was wrong about that too.
“You are much more progressive than the rest of your people.”
“I’m not,” Jayce shrugs. He heats up a wax seal, and presses it to an envelope. “I mean, maybe a little. But not everyone in Piltover is as conservative as you think they are. Many had been calling for peace for a long time.”
Viktor fixes the diagram of the bridge structure with a few straight lines. “I thought the treaty would be the end of Piltover’s graces.”
“Zaun committed many crimes against Piltover – some that our council won’t forgive. But that was in war. I know that place is your home.” Jayce frowns suddenly, and Viktor looks up from the paper in surprise. Jayce’s expression is serious when he says, “I’ll do what I can to take care of it.”
Viktor doesn’t like how touched that makes him feel. He counts in his mind, writes down the answer, and mutters, “Worry about yourself.”
They work in an easy silence. An evening with Jayce is surprisingly simple – like solving structural mathematics.
***
When Sky comes asking for another favor, Viktor welcomes the distraction.
He spends his first day out of the palace barely a mile down the road. Her classmates are conducting clinical trials at the nearby hospital, and questioned if he would like to visit the sick there. Of course, Viktor agreed.
He’s feeling well enough that he can spare some mana for the critically ill in the intensive care unit. Viktor senses universal skepticism the moment he steps in the sterile room. A few patients outright refuse his care – until they see his magic start to soothe, calm, and heal – then, they are not so opposed to it. With his curse seeping his energy like the open wound that it is, Viktor doesn’t have enough power to fully restore, but he gives all that he has.
As Viktor tends the bedsores on an elderly woman, her complaints turn to praise. He finds the hot-and-cold attitude amusing, though one of Sky’s peers gives him a long look. “Do they offend you, my lord?”
“Ignorance does not offend me,” Viktor replies. He flexes his hands, feeling tingly from his magic. “People fear what they don’t know. And Piltover hasn’t known magic for some time.”
“Well, we should!” The old woman scoffs. “I feel wonderful! Look, I could even dance –!”
Two nurses jump out of their seats. “Please, refrain!”
Viktor always found it difficult to visit places like hospitals, because it’s difficult to stop at his limit. Even when his body is shivering in mana depletion, it’s impossible to walk away from the hands outstretched in need. Especially when they are tiny little hands.
As the child’s face finally falls into a blissful sleep, Sky catches Viktor with an arm around his back. “You’ve done enough, sir.”
“I can walk,” Viktor argues, struggling for his cane. The shakes are a neurological response – a sign of his body saying empty, empty. “Thanks to your stubborn ox of a king.”
“And yet he married another,” Sky teases. She pushes up her glasses to avoid Viktor’s flat glare.
A bath is already waiting when he returns, his nightclothes laid out neat on the bed. It’s hard not to feel spoiled with all the good soaps and oils lined up on the shelf. He actually falls asleep in the tub, and is only awoken by the staff that concernedly knock on his door.
It’s been some time since Viktor has run on empty, and the mana-exhaustion has him passing out as soon as his head hits the pillow. The feeling is akin to being drunk; phasing in and out of consciousness, full body aches, dizziness, nausea.
Whispers float through his dreamscape.
“We got him into bed around an hour ago.”
“Good. Did he eat?”
“No. I’m sorry, your majesty. I told him he was pushing himself too hard, but he –”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you were looking out for him. I’ll take it from here.”
“Yes, sir.”
Viktor tries to open an eye, but his lids are too heavy. He can feel the arcane like little snowflakes on his skin, the world’s energy slowly seeping into his body, filling him back up again.
A hand sweeps his bangs from his forehead. The palm checks his temperature, then cups his cheek. The placement of a thumb lines up suspiciously well with his mole.
“You have a sweet side to you, Viktor.”
Viktor wants to scoff. He also wants to lean into his palm like a dog.
***
Viktor sleeps so long and so hard, he has no recollection of Jayce crawling into bed with him.
However, he is very, very sober when he realizes that Jayce’s big arm is wrapped around his waist.
Eyes wide open, Viktor stares blankly at the wall in front of him. A hanging portrait depicts a woman draped dramatically over a couch, half naked and reaching for a wine goblet. It is relatable at the moment.
The world is sleepy and warm inside their blankets. Everything smells like Jayce, now tenfold with him breathing hotly at his neck. His arm is heavy and bare; twiney muscle is wound tight from his wrist to his bicep, and Viktor is afraid to even breathe too hard.
Jayce presses closer, and Viktor squeezes his eyes shut. There is no mistaking the hardness pressed up against him.
It’s not Jayce’s fault, but Viktor internally curses him anyway. He feels flushed from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, and as Jayce’s fingers twitch along his belly, his own body stirs.
This is a happenstance of cold mornings and a single bed. Viktor knows better than to read too deeply into it; if Jayce really knew who he was touching, he would be mortified.
Birds are singing on the balcony. Somewhere in the courtyard is the sound of quiet laughter. Jayce lets out a sigh, unconsciously pushing his hips against his rear, naturally seeking pressure in his sleep – and Viktor can nearly feel the steam come out of his ears. He really should stop this (god he is big).
His body’s reaction is bordering on pathetic. Goosebumps down his neck, sweaty palms, his heart is racing in the pit of his stomach and his cock is filling embarrassingly fast. He can’t bring himself to pull away.
Viktor can sense the exact moment that Jayce wakes up, because the loose arm around his waist suddenly stiffens into iron. He hears his breath hitch, and feels his weight immediately leave his back. It leaves him cold and achy.
Jayce sits up and quietly groans. Viktor feigns sleep long enough to hear him land on his feet, rummage through one of the drawers, then limp his way over to the bathroom. Viktor rolls onto his stomach to hide how mortifyingly aroused he is. A few more minutes, and Jayce is stepping into his shoes, poking the fire in the hearth, then walking out to greet his retainers. Viktor couldn’t imagine shoving himself into a pair of trousers right now.
When it’s safely quiet again, he slowly rolls to his back. Viktor presses a hand to his erection to keep it from pitching such a tent, but he is literally soaking wet.
What the hell.
Viktor flops his arms to his sides, and stares at the ceiling. No, no no. No way.
He closes his eyes to try and get himself under control. He needs to get some work done at the lab, before Sky pulls him into those nonsense coronation rehearsals.
Fuck, he is aching. And from what? Literally nothing, a silly biological response.
Viktor hesitantly reaches for the waist of his breeches. He lifts it, and watches his erection twitch with the desire to be touched. This is frankly ridiculous, he hasn’t done this in years. His cock drools obscenely onto his navel, and Viktor huffs in frustration, finally gripping himself and squeezing.
His mind is all filled with Jayce; the scent of him still lingers on his pillow, and his belly still tingles where his fingers laid. What a silly daydream it is, to imagine that Jayce would want to touch him. To consider that Viktor would want him to.
It’s been so long that in three short strokes, he’s already coming. Viktor bites down on his cheek, stifles any noise he might make, and shivers as it rips through him. He feels filthy and obscene, and hot all the way down to his bone marrow. He spills all over his stomach, then trembles with aftershocks – and as his body gives a final throb, Viktor lies back and curses himself in every language he knows.
***
Viktor struggles to pay attention during the council meeting.
Jayce sits on that throne, mighty sword at his side, engraved buttons pulling at the peak of his chest, statuesque in his absolute authority – and Viktor feels hot as a whore in bloody church. Not to mention that Mel is giving him all sorts of odd looks, which isn’t helping.
(The evil bits of himself curl over in satisfaction, knowing that it is not Mel that wears Jayce’s handmade wedding ring. He touches the grooves with his thumb just to make sure. The possessiveness feels foreign in his veins.)
“With all due respect, I really think you should push off the coronation,” Mel says. “We’re already hosting the summer games, if we wait until we receive next year’s taxes –”
“That is non-negotiable, and I don’t want to hear it,” Jayce snaps. Mel huffs, clearly holding her tongue. “Salo, you’re next.”
Viktor turns his ring in circles.
***
“Hi,” Viktor greets.
Vi tosses a pair of dice, and leans back on the pegs of her chair to pat him on the arm. “Hey Vik! I’m back by the way. You want in?”
Viktor really only came by the garrison hall because he knows this is where they keep the good liquor (the real stuff, smuggled in by the knights, for the knights).
His only evening plans were to drink himself to the point of amnesia in the restricted section of the library, so.
“Whatever.” The other guards look on in horror as Viktor drags up a chair to gamble.
“Woo! Alright, we’re playing undercity rules.” She starts to deal out cards, then pauses, looking him up and down. “Your hair’s getting long.”
Instinctively, Viktor feels up where his hair now skims his shoulders. He hasn’t cut it in a while, and perhaps Sky is too polite to suggest that he needs to.
“I might keep it,” Viktor shrugs. He looks up across the hall, sees Steb and Lorris, and waves them over with a short gesture. Steb looks unenthusiastic, but Lorris doesn’t even hesitate to start digging in his pockets for change.
“I bet the King finds it sexy,” Vi replies. Viktor flicks two fingers, using magic to topple over her drink. She scrambles to catch it.
“New tattoo?”
“Fuck you. Yeah, got it in Zaun.”
“Looks good. Put me in for fifty.”
“Thanks. You gambling with your husband's money?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The big barn doors swing open, and Caitlyn comes stumbling through the hall with a bloody lip and a black eye. The knights begin to stand at attention, and Caitlyn waves them off with an annoyed huff.
“Shove it, I am officially off duty.” She comes around to plop herself in Vi’s lap, who continues to dish out cards like nothing has happened. “Deal me in.” Viktor raises both eyebrows, and Caitlyn narrows hers. “Don’t say it.”
Vi looks like a happy cat with her big arms wrapped around Caitlyn’s waist. Fine then. Good for them. Somehow, those two managed to fight and make up faster than Viktor can put his own feelings together.
“Did you give ‘em hell?” Lorris teases. Caitlyn scowls, and wipes the dried blood from her mouth.
“I’d like to see a squire question my authority again.”
“Did the king see it?”
“Oh, yeah. But he pretended not to.” Caitlyn wraps her arm around Vi’s shoulders, and directs her sharp gaze to Viktor. “Do you know how to play?”
Viktor looks at his cards, and keeps his face neutral. “Zaun invented gambling.”
“Told you,” Vi grins. “He’s not a total nerd.”
“I’ll remember that.”
***
Let it be known that the king of Piltover is in a foul mood. Because he has definitely let it be known.
Viktor walks out of his lab to empty halls; no maids, no retainers, no vendors or guests or even the musicians that sometimes play harps in the foyer. He takes one look at the stiff guards stationed at the wing entrance, and raises an eyebrow.
“Where is he?”
Eyes straight ahead, the guard lifts his right hand to point left. That would be the royal lounge.
Viktor decides to brave the fire.
The lounge is in the back of the king’s personal wing — a space Viktor has rarely lingered, because he’s not one for sitting around with a thumb up his ass. The furniture is too nice, the decor too formal, like a theater stage. This is likely where Jayce would bring other royals for a personal drink.
He finds Jayce on one of the finely embellished couches, an ankle crossed over his knee, eyes stuck on the roaring fireplace and a strong drink in hand. His hair is greasy, stringy in his face, and the back of his shirt is damp.
Viktor takes a moment to gather himself, then steps around the tapestry rug.
“I see we’ve decided to terrorize the staff today.”
Jayce glances at him from the corner of his eye. Viktor maneuvers himself to the other couch, and Jayce wipes a tired hand down his face.
“Not in the mood, Vik.”
Ah. Viktor regards him with an even stare, and Jayce scowls into his scotch.
“Shall I start guessing, or would you like to save me the breath.”
“It’s not your concern.”
“I’ll play, then. Salo back on your nerves?”
Jayce grits his teeth, and Viktor feels a bit like he’s poking a bear. This is the same man that marveled over flowers, smithed him a mobility device by hand, and gently stroked his hair in his sleep. The big man in charge, the mighty king, slayer of dragons, destroyer of worlds and all that hogwash.
A log in the fire pops, then crackles.
“No. Just let it go.”
Viktor plucks the bottle of scotch off the coffee table, and smells it. The stench is so strong, it reminds him of home (Silco’s breath during war meetings, the back of Vander’s ranky bar, Vi curled up in the medical tent).
“I don’t want to.”
An unsettled silence stretches. The bottle feels heavy in his hand. Jayce scratches along his beard, shifts slightly, then sighs in concession. “Yesterday was the anniversary of my mother’s passing. And I got so caught up in political bullshit, I forgot all about it.”
Oh.
Viktor sets down the bottle with a reverent click.
“I’m sorry. Will you visit her grave?”
“I want to, but it’s a week-long trip. Could be a while until I can make it up north.”
Viktor nods slowly. Jayce looks miserable all the way over there. He wants to stand up, walk to that couch and crawl under his arm. It would be a brazen thing to do.
“How long has it been?”
“Geez,” Jayce rubs between his eyebrows, tired and frustrated. “Ten years, I think. Fuck.”
Grief is a miserable poison. Viktor has always preferred to swallow his alone (as Jayce is clearly attempting to do) but as he has come to know this man, the hints of Jayce’s real self in the privacy of closed doors, Viktor feels that solitude isn’t what Jayce truly wants. Jayce, who is always reaching for him; touching his shoulder, his arm, the mid of his back. Like he desires human touch, but is too far away in his tower.
Jayce looks miserable, and Viktor gets an idea.
He rises, tucking his cane under his arm as he extends a hand. “Walk with me?”
Round eyes marvel back at him. The air hangs with tension, before Jayce finally brings himself to stand.
He takes Viktor’s hand; big, sweaty, and warm, smothering Viktor’s own. For once, Jayce looks almost relieved to be the one led; his shoulders sag, and his droopy eyes are ringed in heartache and exhaustion. In that moment, Viktor finally sees the human in him. The man beneath the suit of armor – a boy who misses his mother.
A little tenderness can go a long way.
***
Jayce opens the door to the tower balcony and breathes in the crisp night air. The cool breeze carries the scent of cooking fires and dewy grass.
Viktor gravitates towards the railing, looking out upon all the lit street lamps lining the capital streets. It is a cloudless night, giving view to thousands of stars in the sky.
“You can see the astral serpent tonight,” Viktor says quietly. Jayce turns to the constellation, knowing right where to look. “As you theorized, fire-based spells will be easier to cast under her constellation.”
Jayce glances back at him, hesitantly approaching the rail. “Viktor…why are we here?”
He bites his bottom lip as he chooses his words. The arcane swells within him.
“There’s a tradition in Zaun that is done to mourn the dead,” Viktor explains. Jayce straightens, his curiosity piqued. “We light paper lanterns, and set them into the sky. With such limited space, we have to cremate our dead. The lanterns are meant to guide their spirits home.”
“That’s beautiful,” Jayce whispers.
Viktor cups his hands to his own mouth, exhaling a soft breath laced with magic. The faintest shimmer dances between his fingers, and he turns to Jayce, his expression determined. “Give me your hands. Both of them.”
Jayce doesn’t bother protesting anymore. Viktor hovers over his hands, calm and deliberate, as he curls his fingers to form a cage around Jayce’s. A faint glow begins to pulse between them. “Hold it tight now. Yes, like that.” Light slithers between the cracks in his fingers, illuminating the veins through his skin.
“Woah.” Jayce’s voice is barely a whisper, gruff in awe. “It feels… tingly. Is that –”
“Now let it go,” Viktor instructs, nodding to the open air.
Jayce turns over his hands, and opens his cupped palms. The glowing embers rise, flickering and spinning as they catch the breeze. They scatter like golden fireflies, multiplying with every passing second, filling the air around them in a radiant, shimmering dance. Like snowflakes on the wind, raw magic in a form so pure-of-heart, he can feel it sing through the arcane.
“I have no lanterns,” Viktor says gently. “And I don’t know where souls go after we pass. But an honored memory will always forgive a forgotten one.”
Jayce follows every last ember with his eyes, one hand gripped to the rail like he would jump over the edge and chase them. A boy again, forgiven of all the worldly responsibilities cast upon him.
Jayce turns to look at him with tears in his eyes. Viktor’s breath catches, and his feet freeze in place as Jayce steps up to him.
“Thank you, Viktor.”
With the magical embers ascending around them, it’s like they’re bathing in the stars. Little dots in his brunette hair, gold shining in his hazel eyes. They are suddenly too close again, and Viktor fears he does not have the strength to pull away.
This moment becomes infinite; every second now an hour, every breath a slow surface for air. Jayce is staring at his mouth again, and Viktor’s cold hands yearn to tangle in his messy hair.
“You don’t know how badly I want to kiss you,” Jayce whispers.
Viktor’s heart rips up into his throat like a crack of a whip. They stand on a precipice of possibility.
He croaks, “What is stopping you?”
Jayce stares straight through him.
Then, Jayce’s large hand reaches to cusp the side of his neck, sliding to the back of his skull, and Viktor’s eyes roll shut as Jayce tests his mettle, and kisses him. His mouth is hot and oppressive, kissing with an enthusiasm that is maybe too similar to a dog. Viktor adores it.
The grommets in his back brace click against the railing through his layers of clothes. Jayce grabs that rail, corners him up against it and uses his big paw to tip Viktor’s head where he wants it, and the manhandling rushes heat through him like a wildfire. He wants to push back, bite his tongue and hiss – he also wants to succumb to it. Roll over and show his belly.
Viktor grabs at his bicep, mostly to keep himself standing, and Jayce sighs into his open mouth – a deep sound that resonates low in his belly.
Viktor is not thinking of all the reasons why this is a bad idea. He is thinking of the tongue that licks the seam of his lips; the taste of scotch, the scent of leather and metal and a burning forge. He can’t get enough air through his nose – it’s just one kiss after the other – and Viktor shares the blame. He cups his jaw with his other hand, pets through that short, course beard (it is as soft as he imagined), and uses his leverage to keep Jayce from pulling away. He doesn’t even try.
The breeze makes his back feel cold. It’s a blunt contrast to the blaze against his tongue. Viktor fights back, pushing to feel the points of his teeth for himself, and Jayce makes a sound that he may never forget.
“Viktor,” he rasps. That clumsy hand pulls his wavy hair off the side of his neck. He physically shivers when a breath pants past his ear. “Viktor, Viktor.”
It is like being drunk. He can’t see straight, can’t complete a full thought. Jayce is gripping the rail so hard he can hear his skin squeaking against the metal. Subconsciously, or maybe on purpose, Viktor tips his head slightly to allow for his mouth to kiss down his jaw. Jayce accepts the invitation without hesitation.
Jayce seethes, “You’ve been driving me mad.” Viktor feels like he’s about to start seeing double.
“Oh, god.” Hot and invigorated, Viktor grips into Jayce’s hair and yanks him back to his mouth. The kiss misses, then rights itself. And as Viktor allows himself to fall deeper into this sudden desire, he feels the arcane boil up inside of him. This all-powerful force of nature has the nerve to be happy. Yes, he’s assigning human emotions to something incapable of feeling, but there’s no right word to describe it. It’s like he’s going to shiver apart and explode.
Jayce sucks in a shaky breath through his nose, and Viktor realizes that he is damn near suffocating this man. He pulls away with a horrified gasp, but Jayce dives right back into him. Their bodies now pressed close, Jayce takes a deep kiss from him, then rasps, “No, don’t stop. Kill me, I don’t care.”
“There is something wrong with you,” Viktor pants. “Mentally.”
Maybe it’s easier to pretend in the darkness. Bottled up tension with nowhere to go – Viktor is aware that this is a matter of convenience. He has learned to enjoy the fleeting things in life.
“You are gorgeous,” Jayce mutters. “Can I touch you?”
Jayce carries the highest status in this land, second none to whatever god they believe in. He doesn’t need to ask for his desires, and yet.
“I already wear your ring on my finger,” Viktor replies in a whisper. That must be the wrong answer, because Jayce pulls away with a scowl furrowed between his brows.
“Forget that right now. Do you want me to touch you? Yes or no.”
Viktor works his jaw. He is still clinging too hard to the back of Jayce’s hair. He slides his hand to his shoulder, feels the muscle under his palm, and grits through his teeth, “Yes.”
Visibly relieved, Jayce moves in to kiss him again, but this time his hand leaves the rail to slide at his lower back, and Viktor finds himself arching right into him.
It gets messier from there. Tongue and spit, the kind of debauchery that Viktor would normally turn his nose up to. Jayce touches him like he’s trying to drink of him through the palms of his hands. Grabbing his waist, his hips, his rear; if he is disgusted by how skinny he is, then he does not show it. That knee between his legs is downright unfair.
Viktor chokes, and digs his nails into both of Jayce’s biceps. The coat protects him barely, just.
“If you tease, I may really kill you.” He bites off into stunned silence as Jayce drives that thick thigh between his legs again. They are both wearing too much to go further, not to mention the effort it would take to remove all their supports – so Jayce gets creative, and lifts him up on the rail, shortening their height difference and putting their hips at the same level. Viktor clings to him as he glances down at the plummet below, a nasty slide of shingles and balconies. “Christ, Jayce!”
He is practically purring. “I like when you say my name.”
“Get a grip.”
“I won’t drop you,” Jayce mutters. Viktor claws the back of his head, and Jayce goes slack, allowing Viktor to wretch his neck back for another kiss.
One strong hand locks him up on the rail, and the other begins to dig in his trousers. He is clearly aroused, and Jayce meets that with a happy hum, and a big palm around his cock. He fits entirely in his hand, which is embarrassing in its own right – but Jayce doesn’t seem to care, because he spits in his palm and strokes him down with a rough tightness that Viktor has never experienced.
He’s squirming, huffing and arching, dangling precariously on his tower balcony. He wants to get his hands under Jayce’s shirt, wants to feel his chest, his bare skin, wants to hold that heavy arousal bulging down the leg of his pants – but Jayce doesn’t spare half a second to his own wants, as his only concern is gorging himself on Viktor.
The pleasure is dizzying. He is still so pent up, he knows he won’t last another minute. Viktor manages to fight his way between his legs, grabbing his belt and pulling. “Jayce. Let me – mm.” Jayce rubs his knuckles under the sensitive head, and Viktor curls up and arches so tight, he creaks the leg brace against Jayce’s hip.
Pointed teeth are at his neck. The cool night breeze isn’t enough to calm the heat in his face. Through great effort, he yanks open Jayce’s belt and pets beneath his trousers, and is pleased to find him throbbing hard and wet at the tip. Jayce gives an answering groan that makes his skin spark with magic. Runes glow through the white fabric of his shirt.
The embers are floating away. Viktor tries to stroke him, but the angle is wrong. All he succeeds in doing is giving Jayce something warm to thrust up into, which must work, because Jayce sighs like he just entered inside him.
Oh, isn’t that a picture.
Viktor squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the urge to fold his knees together and kick him away. The stimulation is so much – too fast and good, he’s afraid the orgasm might stop his heart.
“It’s okay,” Jayce whispers.
It is not okay.
But for the first time of his life, while dangling precariously on the metaphorical and physical edge, Viktor feels safe. He feels –
Jayce ruts into his palm, his beard tickling his skin as he buries into his damp neck and strokes his cock like every inch of him is worth adoring.
– wanted.
Viktor comes entirely silent, too shocked by the pleasure that rivets through him. Jayce sees him spill sticky between his fingers and comes right after him (by mere seconds, like it was triggered only by Viktor’s pleasure). And what a sight that is – to have appointed royalty clinging to your touch, moaning deep in your ear. Viktor wants to bottle up the sound and stop anyone else from hearing it ever again.
“I promise I did not bring you here for this,” Viktor pants, catching his breath. Jayce’s shoulders shake in a quiet laugh.
“I guess that’s my bad.”
The afterglow is making him overly affectionate, but Viktor can’t stop touching his hair. Sweaty, greasy, he doesn’t care. He is a man, and that raw masculinity opens all the doors of desire that he once slammed shut. He can’t feel his own toes.
“You might have to carry me back.”
“I can do that.”
***
Like two old men, they both wobble back to their room stiff and sore. The guards are smart enough to look the other way.
Jayce runs them a bath (no maid should see this), and Viktor uses his magic to heat it up to the point where it steams. The tub is big enough that they both fit, and so Viktor lies with his back to Jayce’s chest, and allows his brain to melt out of his ears for a while.
So much warm skin against his own is maddening. Jayce props one arm up on the rim of the wooden tub, and Viktor follows the veins in his forearm with his finger.
His right leg is hidden under the bubbles, giving himself the illusion of normalcy. Jayce’s chest rises and falls slowly behind him, and Viktor peels open his eyes when he hears him rumble.
“You’ve been quiet.”
“Mmm. Am I making you nervous?”
“Yes,” Jayce says, genuinely. Viktor’s mouth twitches.
He pokes around Jayce’s wrist bone. Follows his knuckles, and prods him to turn his hand over so he can feel those blacksmithing callouses. He would be deadly with a sword.
“Just wondering.” He pokes the center of his palm, then follows his lifeline. “If this is just a matter of circumstance. If you prefer a mistress, I won’t stop you. Fidelity was not in our marriage agreement.”
Jayce goes stiff.
“Why are you saying this?”
Viktor turns partway to glare at him. “You would really choose me over any woman?”
“Yes,” Jayce says, distressed. Viktor’s eyes go wide at his honesty.
“Get real, Jayce. I know what I look like.”
“I like –” Jayce starts, then stops. He bites his lower lip (a little swollen from so much kissing), and then he leans back against the tub, and pulls Viktor tight to his chest. “I need to tell you something.”
Viktor squirms from the manhandling. “And you cannot look me in the eye while you say it?”
“No.”
Viktor pauses. He looks at their entangled legs. The purple, oil-slick like texture crawling up his own upper thigh, and Jayce’s big, gnarled scar down the front of his shin. What a pair they make.
“Okay.”
The small bathroom fireplace casts shadows. He can almost see Jayce’s silhouette on the wall.
“You don’t remember this,” Jayce starts softly. “But we met once before.”
Viktor’s mind immediately stutters to a halt.
“Pardon?”
As Jayce shifts his legs, the water rocks in the tub. His chest expands again, and the arm around him squeezes tight.
“When I became king, I was an idiot with big shoes to fill,” Jayce explains. “I wanted to end the war with Zaun, but I thought the only way was through absolute victory. The council had convinced me that Zaun was too hostile, too dangerous. That they needed leadership and a firm hand.” Viktor makes a face, and Jayce replies like he can see it. “I know. But I had a lot to prove – so I decided I was going to join the front lines. Show our army that I was in solidarity of our cause.”
Viktor’s eyes widen.
“When was this?”
Jayce traces his fingers over the indents of Viktor’s skin, where the brace rubs red lines. “Over a year ago. And lord was I humbled. I got injured, badly – crushed all the bones in my leg, passed out and was buried in the mud. I laid there for three days, waiting to die.” His big fingers find the indents of his bare ribs, fitting his hand there like it belongs. “And then, on the third day, the Zaunites came through to collect their dead. And I saw you.” Jayce swallows, then makes a broken laugh. “You were like a fucking angel. I knew you were the enemy, but I just…”
Viktor’s face falls.
“You reached out for me.”
Jayce nods, his beard tickling the back of his neck. He mumbles, “You didn’t know if I was friend or foe, but you healed me anyways. Your magic kept me alive long enough for my own people to hunt me down and drag my sorry ass home.” Viktor’s gaze falls on Jayce’s knee again; he can see all the places they cut him open…and faintly, the little webbings where the arcane held his flesh together.
“They barely salvaged my leg. I was laid up in hospital for months, but my life had already changed. I decided I was going to parlay with Zaun, so I spent all my time working on a treaty that Silco and my council would agree to.” Jayce lets out a shaky breath as his palm skates up Viktor’s chest. He splays his fingers over his heart. “All because I fell in love with you the moment I saw you.”
Viktor’s ears begin to ring. In the depths of his memory, he hears his own words spat back at him.
We are not friends, and I will not love you.
“I didn’t know that was you,” Viktor whispers. “You could’ve been any man.”
“I know. That’s why it meant so much to me.”
All this time.
Wait.
All this time?
Viktor turns in his lap, startling Jayce to the point where he’s able to straddle in his naked lap. Water sloshes over the sides, extinguishing a few candles sitting on a stool.
“You recognized me at the courting party.”
Jayce looks down, guilty.
“Yes.”
Furious, Viktor opens his mouth, shuts it, sucks in a breath, then sags. He balls a fist and presses his forehead to that big mound of a shoulder.
“But now you know the truth. That I am no saint.”
Slowly, Jayce’s hand comes to support his lower back.
“You were nothing what I expected, and everything better for it. Clever and witty and a bit of an ass.” Viktor pouts, and Jayce rubs a soothing circle along his bumpy spine. “Mind you, I didn’t draft the peace treaty with marriage in mind. It really was all Mel’s idea – though I did go a little off script, when I saw you. God, I never thought I’d see you again, and then you were just there.” His voice shirks a little. “I was prepared for you to hate me. I accepted that common courtesy might be the most I would ever have.”
“I don’t hate you,” Viktor mumbles. He presses his face to the warm side of Jayce’s neck. He’s just so soft; all this squishy muscle. “I like you, and I don’t know how to.”
He can practically hear the smile in Jayce’s voice. “Give me a thousand nights just like this one, and I’ll die happy.”
Viktor sits back on his lap, and ignores his own aches and pains for the sake of cupping his face and looking him in the eye. His heart feels like a shallot too full.
“Do you really want this?”
Jayce smirks at him, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes.
“We’re already married, sweetheart.”
Viktor pinches his nose and kisses him. Jayce chuckles into the kiss, and Viktor’s magic twinges in the air.
He sets a hand on Jayce’s bad knee, and waits until the kiss ends to ask, “If I was at full power, I might be able to…”
“No.” Jayce steals his hand away, and sinks lower so Viktor is forced to hold his wrist instead. “Not yet. It reminds me not to make the same mistakes again." Viktor shoots him a judgmental look, and Jayce smiles gently. "But tell you this, you find a way to beat that curse of yours, and you can do whatever you want to me.”
Full of surprises, indeed.
“That’s a dangerous promise, your majesty.”
“Ha. I’ll hold you to it.”
Viktor chooses to forget about the time left in his sandy hourglass. Just for a little while.
***