Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day is grey, cold, and wet as Jayce drives to the center, and he lets out a dry laugh, fitting really. It matches his mood perfectly. His therapist recommended trying something new, like volunteering. She told him he doesn’t socialize enough, that isolating himself wouldn't help anything. Jayce heavily disagreed.

Sure he could put on a mask and charm just about anyone, but faking that much emotion was fucking exhausting. He'd asked if he could just up his meds instead. Her answer is why he's now heading into Zaun at 8 in the morning to check out a youth shelter. Out of the handful of volunteer options she'd offered, it was the only one that he thought he could tolerate.

Kids, in his opinion, were far less draining than adults. Adults were…layered. Complicated. There’s more pressure to appear stable, competent, and in control, even when his mind is fracturing. But kids? Kids were raw and blunt, messy. They didn’t ask him to perform. They weren’t dissecting his tone or watching his mood like he was glass about to shatter.

He pulls into the meager parking lot after only getting turned around twice. To say the building is dilapidated would be generous. Two of the windows are visibly broken and hastily boarded up. Off to the side, a basketball court sits neglected, its fence missing entire sections. The steps leading up to the entrance are crumbing, and a large pothole gapes at the base, as if something exploded there. A rotted wooden sign hangs above the door, reading Zaun Youth Center. Graffiti covers more than half the building, some of the more vulgar pieces have been scrubbed at in half-hearted attempts to wash it away.

Jayce makes a mental note to find a new therapist.

Avoiding the uneven ground, Jayce makes his way up the stairs and opens the door. The inside is somehow worse. The lobby is dim, lit by a few buzzing fluorescents that flicker just enough to be annoying. The air smells like damp drywall, industrial strength cleaner, with a faint hint of something burnt underneath it all. The floor tiles are cracked, patched in places with duct tape. A mismatched collection of plastic chairs lines one wall, most of them missing at least one leg cap, giving the whole place a lopsided feel.

Jayce exhales through his nose and closes the door behind him. It groans on its hinges like even it doesn’t want to be here. There's no front desk, just a folding table with a stack of clipboards and a half dead plant wilting in a chipped pot. He hears voices down a hallway, kids, maybe staff - but no one comes to greet him.

He considers turning around. No one would know. He could be back in bed, or maybe his workshop, within the hour. But then he hears his therapist's voice in his head, soft and reasonable, and fucking infuriating.

“Just give it a chance. One day, that’s all. If this doesn’t work out then maybe we can see about adjusting your medications.”

Jayce clenches his jaw, sighs, and moves forward.

One day. He can do one day.

Probably.

He doesn’t get far before a heavy door swings open down the hall and a man steps out. Broad-shouldered, bearded, and solid in that immovable kind of way, he looks like he was built to break up fights and carry too many chairs at once. He wears a threadbare hoodie and boots that have seen better days, but there’s a steadiness to him—like the kind of person who’s seen enough to not flinch at much anymore.

“You Jayce?” the man asks, voice rough like gravel but not unfriendly.

Jayce nods. “Unfortunately.”

The man cracks a smile. “I’m Vander. I run the place — well, I try to. Thanks for coming in.”

Jayce shrugs. “Therapist’s orders.”

“That so?” Vander’s smile widens just a little. “We get a lot of that. Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

He turns and starts walking without waiting for a reply. Jayce follows, his footsteps echoing in the mostly empty hallway.

“We’ve got a rec room at the back—TV’s busted half the time, but the kids don’t care. They mostly hang out, play cards, argue about music. Kitchen’s on the left—don’t drink the coffee unless you like it burnt and bitter. Staff office is down here, though we’re usually out and about.”

They pass a few peeling posters on the wall, anti-drug campaigns and hand-written schedules. Everything feels slapped together with duct tape and hope. Vander gestures to a door on the right. “Classroom. We do tutoring sometimes, homework help, that sort of thing. Attendance is optional, so you can guess how that goes.”

Jayce raises an eyebrow. “And where do I come in?”

“We’ll figure that out. Depends on what you’re good at. Or what you’re least bad at.” Vander grins sideways. “Honestly, most days it’s just showing up. The kids notice that more than you think.”

Jayce hums noncommittally, not ready to admit the simplicity of that hits harder than he expected. Vander stops at the end of the hall and turns to face him. “Any questions?”

“Just one,” Jayce says. “How soon is too soon to pretend I’m sick and leave?”

Vander chuckles, unbothered. “Give it an hour. If you still hate it, you can mop the bathrooms instead.”

Jayce exhales sharply, could be a laugh, could be defeat. “Guess I’ll take my chances.”

Vander leaves him with a vague nod and a half-hearted “make yourself useful,” disappearing behind a door marked Staff Only. Jayce takes that as permission to wander.

He moves slowly, hands in his pockets, surveying the place like it might collapse if he steps too hard. The rec room is first, a cluttered space where a group of kids crowd around a beat up console, passing a controller back and forth while shouting over one another. The couch is sagging in the middle like it’s given up, and someone’s drawn a crude smiley face on the wall in permanent marker. Lovely.

Down the hall, the tutoring room is quieter. Two volunteers sit with kids, pointing out math problems and underlining lines in textbooks. The energy here is gentler, but still distant. Jayce watches from the doorway, unnoticed. It’s all just noise, until he turns a corner and sees him.

The kid sits hunched over a pile of unrecognizable parts. Wires, circuits, a mangled casing of what used to be a radio or alarm clock. His hands move with surgical precision, rewiring without tools. Well, proper ones; scattered about are bent paperclips, a chipped razor, and something sharp from what looks like a mechanical pencil. He moves with practiced grace — fingers nimble, coaxing stubborn wires into alignment, splicing connections with nothing but nail-beds and ingenuity.

Jayce freezes at the threshold, something in his chest snagging like cloth on a nail. The room is quiet. There’s a low hum of fluorescent light above, and occasional distant shouts from the rec room, but here, it’s still. The kind of stillness that feels deliberate. Other kids pass by, peeking in, giving the space a wide berth. None stop. None speak. As if they’ve all quietly agreed: this room belongs to the teen. And Jayce can see why.

There’s something about him. Not just the confidence of his hands or the strange calm he radiates, but the look of him. Disheveled, a little worse for wear, but unmistakably beautiful. Lovely in the kind of way that‘s startling. His hair is too long for his face, falling from a bun pulled back sloppily with a rubber band. There’s grease smudged across the bridge of his nose. Jayce catalogues high cheekbones, a mouth that seems too soft for someone so clearly hardened by life, and long lashes that cast shadows over sharp, amber-gold eyes.

The man exhales slowly. Forgets to move. What the hell are you doing? he asks himself, but doesn’t stop staring.

Jayce watches as the kid frowns down at the circuitry, mutters something in another language, then adjusts a wire and holds his breath…the cracked screen in front of him blinks to life. Just for a second. Then dies again. The boy smiles, small, private. Like even failure is progress if it’s on his terms.

The snag continues to tug inside Jayce — a thread pulled taut and humming. He doesn’t realize he’s stepped into the room until the floor creaks under his foot. And that’s when he looks up. Their eyes meet, and Jayce knows he’s never going to forget that face.

“If you’re here to make me join one of your stupid team-building games, you can leave.” the boy says before looking back down. The accent is thick, clipped, Eastern European. His voice is drier than Jayce expected. Older. Tired.

Jayce arches a brow. “Do I look like I run dodgeball drills?”

He looks up again, squints at him, suspicious. “You’re new.”

“Volunteering.”

“Pity project?” his mouth curves into a ghost of a smile. It’s not friendly. “You Piltover types love those.”

Jayce smiles despite himself. “You always this charming?”

“Only to strangers.”

“Good. I like a challenge.”

That earns a slight flicker behind the eyes. Interest, maybe. Wariness. Jayce glances at the scraps on the table. “You fix that yourself?”

“I try.” he shrugs. “Not like anyone else here will.”

Jayce nods, then pauses. He gestures to some kids running past the door. “You always sit on your own like this?.”

He just shrugs again. “They think I’m weird.”

“Are you?”

The boy meets his gaze, head tilting. “Maybe.”

Jayce doesn’t flinch. His gaze stays locked on the teen, heart ticking a little faster, though he doesn’t know why. He steps forward, stops on the other side of the table. Picks up the broken casing, turns it over in his hand. “I’m impressed. Where’d you learn this?”

“Taught myself,” he says simply. “Books. Junk. Watching people smarter than me.”

Jayce smiles. “You think I could be one of those people?”

He hums noncommittally, but there’s a glint in his eye now. “You certainly dress like you want people to think so.”

Jayce chuckles. “What’s your name?”

A pause. "It’s Viktor."

Jayce extends a hand across the table. “Jayce.”

Viktor eyes the hand, but doesn’t take it. Jayce’s smile lingers anyway. Something in him shifts — sharp, magnetic, inevitable. A new fixation settles in his chest like a slow burning fuse. Well, he thinks, maybe this won’t be a complete waste of time after all.

Chapter Text

Jayce went home that night with his head full of Viktor. His sharp tongue. His quiet, lilting voice. Those eyes, too piercing, too jaded, for someone his age. They'd talked for most of the shift.

Well, Jayce had talked. Viktor only responded when he felt like it, reticent in a way that only made Jayce more determined. He needed to know him.

He was able to draw out bits and pieces. 16, no parents. In and out of the system. One of the few who actually slept at the center because he had nowhere else to go. He wore a brace on his knee, used a cane to move around.

And the kid was smart. Unnervingly so. Sharp in a way that made Jayce forget he was just a teenager. Viktor had shown interest in, asked questions about, Jayce's work — tossed back thoughts that some of his interns wouldn’t have come up with. He wasn’t just intelligent, he was brilliant.

Now Jayce lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, restless. He's already assembling a list of ways to get Viktor to open up more. Maybe he could bring him tools, something better than broken wires and scrap. Or food. Something decent. Something to help fill out his too-thin frame.

He thinks back to what Vander told him, Most days it’s just showing up. Jayce wonders if that would be enough for Viktor. Somehow he doubts it.

He rolls onto his side and sighs. He’s trying to tamp it down, he really is, but this new fixation has already taken root, wriggling itself deep in his psyche. It has been so long since anything made him feel this much. Since anything made him want. And if this, whatever it was, could pull him out of the quiet, dragging low he'd been drowning in…well…it couldn’t be that bad.

He falls asleep with Viktor still in his head, those eyes watching him, curious and wary. Even in his dreams, Jayce is staring right back.

----

Jayce wakes around seven, blinking at the pale light tracing across his ceiling. For a moment, he debates if it's too early to show up at the center. Would it seem desperate? Overeager? He tells himself it doesn’t matter. He'll go through his usual routine and decide after that.

He makes his bed. Showers. Dresses. The shirt he picks is one of his better fitted ones, clean lines, snug across the shoulders. Just a coincidence, he tells himself. It's not for anyone. He wants to make a good impression is all.

He's too worked up to eat anything, instead tidying up the apartment in a vague attempt to burn time. He rearranges a few books, throws out some take out boxes and washes the few dishes in the sink. He only checks the clock five times in twenty minutes. By the time he finally grabs his keys, it's just after 8:30. He's waited long enough.

On the way, he stops for coffee. He hesitates at the counter. He orders two, then changes his mind. He doesn’t even know if Viktor drinks coffee. The kid barely spoke, certainly hadn’t offered up preferences. So instead, Jayce gets a pastry. Something warm and sweet. A safe option.

As he parks outside the center, carefully maneuvering around the trash and broken glass littering the curb, he leans back in his seat for a second. What did he want to ask Viktor? Everything, maybe. How he learned to wire circuits by feel. What he wants from life — why he looks like he doesn’t expect to have one.

Mostly, though…Jayce just wants him to look up again. To meet his gaze. To engage. To want to.

The center is already awake when Jayce walks in. Kids are moving through the halls, their voices echoing off crumbly walls, too-loud music playing somewhere in the background. He nods to a staff member, making a beeline to the same room as yesterday.

As he turns the corner to the room, he lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Viktor is sitting in the same spot, still hunched over the same beat up radio. His brows are furrowed, tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth in concentration. The sight hits Jayce like a punch to the gut, sharp and unwanted and no less addicting than the first time. He swallows it down, clearing his throat as he steps in.

Viktor doesn’t look up, but after a few seconds, he mutters, “So, they made you come back?”

Jayce smirks faintly. “No one makes me do anything,” He moves closer, trying not to hover. “Came to see if you finally got that radio working.”

Viktor’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything else. Jayce sets a small pastry box on the table and slides it towards him. Viktor stiffens, eyes flicking to the box, wary as if it might bite.

"I wasn’t sure how you feel about coffee," Jayce says casually, "but I figured you can't go wrong with something sweet."

Viktor lifts his gaze. Sharp, unreadable eyes full of suspicion. Jayce feels the weight of that look, and something in him tightens. He can't blame the kid. From what little he's picked up, Viktor's had more reasons to mistrust than most.

"They were giving them away this morning," Jayce adds, lying without hesitation. "I already ate, figured someone here might want it."

That seems to land. Viktor’s demeanor shifts minutely, not into warmth, not yet, but something closer to consideration. He looks down at the box, and slowly opens the lid. The pastry flakes on delicate fingers as he sniffs it, cautious. Then he closes his eyes and takes a small bite. The sound he makes as he chews — a soft, involuntary groan — makes heat climb up Jayce's neck. He rubs the back of it and quickly looks away.

"Glad you like it," he says, keeping his voice level.

Viktor doesn’t respond. Just takes another bite, slower this time. Jayce watches from the corner of his eye, struck by the way something as simple as a warm confection can light up a face usually so closed off.

He doesn’t say anything out loud, but a thought catches, blaring like a siren in his head: He wants to be the reason Viktor looks like that again.

Viktor finishes the last bite with slow precision, like he's savoring every crumb but trying not to show it. He brushes the flakes from his fingers and sets the empty box aside. Jayce takes that as permission and pulls out the chair across from him. He sits, not too close, but close enough to notice the fine tremble of Viktor's hands as he picks up the broken radio again.

He wants to ask a dozen things. Why he's alone. What happened to his parents. What keeps him up at night. But he starts small.

“You do this without any tools?”

Viktor doesn’t look up right away. Just shifts one of the wires into place with something sharp and bent he must have scavenged. “I adapt,” Viktor replies, sounding almost bored.

Then finally, his eyes lift again and meet Jayce's. “You talk a lot.”

Jayce huffs a laugh. “You don’t.”

Silence settles between them, but it’s not awkward. It’s a test, a line. Jayce crosses it.

He leans forward just slightly, elbows resting on the table. His voice lowers, tone gentler now. Not casual, curious.

"You said yesterday you liked solving problems."

Viktor's brow raises, eyes narrowing with interest.

"So solve this one," Jayce continues. "Why is a sixteen year old with a brain like yours stuck in a place like this?”

For a moment, Viktor says nothing. He sets the radio down, brushes metal dust from his hands, and stares at Jayce like he's trying to decide whether to respond or tell him to fuck off.

And then, "Because the world doesn’t give a shit how smart you are when you come from nothing."

There's no anger in the words. No bitterness. Just bone-deep resignation. Jayce feels them settle heavy in his chest.

Viktor leans back slightly, still watching him. "That's your answer. Still want to play therapist?"

Jayce holds his gaze, steady, "No." A pause. "I just think it's a waste, is all."

Viktor tilts his head, mouth twitching like he’s amused by the idea of anyone giving a damn. Jayce watches him, too closely. He can already feel the pull again. That strange magnetism, the hum of quiet brilliance burning under every guarded look and sharp retort. It’s almost overwhelming.

And the worst part? He wants to be the one to fix it. To fix him.

He catches himself. Shifts in the seat, clearing his throat. “I brought tools,” he says, almost too fast, pulling a small pouch from his coat pocket. “They're not new," he says, like an apology. "But they're solid. Maybe you'd put them to better use than I have lately."

He sets the tools gently on the table between them. Viktor doesn’t reach for them immediately. Just stares at Jayce a beat longer, like he's trying to figure out what the man wants from him. Then, finally, his gaze drops to the pouch on the table.

He pulls it toward himself and unzips it slowly. A small sound of surprise escapes him as he sees what's inside. Precision screwdrivers, needle nose pliers, a soldering pen, even a multimeter. Nothing fancy, but an obvious upgrade from paperclips.

"These yours?" Viktor asks, voice low.

Jayce shrugs. "Some of them. Figured you’d use them more than I would."

Viktor brushes his fingers over the handles, oddly reverent. His hands still shake, but there is something steadier in his expression now. Enthusiasm overtaking suspicion.

"You do this a lot?" he asks without looking up. "Rescue broken things?"

Jayce exhales, lips twisting into a crooked smile. "Lately? Yeah."

Viktor glances up again, and something about the way he looks at him makes Jayce's stomach flip. There’s no softness in Viktor’s expression, not exactly, but there’s interest. A challenge. Like he’s daring Jayce to keep showing up.

The man leans back in his chair, letting himself relax into the moment. He watches Viktor pick up one of the tools and test its weight in his hand. He moves with careful precision, and Jayce wonders, how long has it been since someone gave him something just because? He wants to ask. Wants to know everything.

Instead, he says, “That radio’s not going to fix itself.”

That earns him the barest curve of Viktor’s mouth, more a suggestion than a smile, but it’s there. Jayce feels stupidly proud of it. For the next twenty minutes, they don’t speak much. Jayce watches while Viktor works. The kid is fast, efficient, even graceful in the way he rewires and adjusts. It’s like watching a pianist move over keys.

Eventually, Viktor says, “You’re not like the others.”

Jayce raises an eyebrow. “What others?”

“The ones who come here for a week and leave. People who make promises they don’t keep. Who look at us like we’re a way to collect charity points.”

Jayce lets the words sink in. “And how do I look at you?”

Viktor doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly: “Like I’m not a kid.”

Jayce’s throat tightens. He tries not to let it show. “Maybe that’s because you don’t act like one.”

Viktor’s eyes flick up to meet Jayce’s, sharp and unreadable. “Doesn’t mean I’m not still a kid.”

Jayce swallows the words building behind his teeth. Then, quieter, Viktor adds, “I know what I’m doing.”

It strikes something deep and raw in Jayce. Gods, does he? The weight of it coils low in his stomach, threading heat and dread together into something that feels dangerously like hunger. His pulse ticks at his throat. He feels it again, that tug, that pull.

Viktor said it like it's a fact. And that unsettles Jayce more than anything else. His mind fights to rationalize it, just a clever kid, trying to win control of the only place he can. But it doesn’t stick. There’s an edge behind Viktor’s words that makes it hard to breathe. Jayce shifts again in his seat, gaze dropping to the radio. He focuses on the wires and the casing, anything but Viktor’s eyes. He knows, deep down, he's already past the point of no return.

-----

Jayce doesn’t leave until someone flicks the hallway lights marking closing time.

“You staying tonight?” he asks as Viktor begins packing up.

Viktor nods. “Nowhere else to go.”

Jayce nods, like he hadn’t already known. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Viktor doesn’t look up from the tools. “You say that like I have anywhere else to be.”

Jayce chuckles, but there’s a softness behind it. He turns, starts walking toward the door. Just as he reaches the hallway, Viktor’s voice calls out, quiet, nearly drowned by the creak of the floorboards.

“I like it sweet.”

Jayce stops. Looks over his shoulder. “What?”

Viktor doesn’t look up. “My coffee. If you’re going to keep bringing it.”

A smile tugs at Jayce's mouth. The words settle in his chest, warm and sharp all at once. “Sweet like milk and sugar? Or sweet like dessert in a cup?”

Viktor looks up at him, gaze dry and direct. "Sweet like something that doesn’t taste like coffee."

Jayce huffs a soft laugh. "Noted."

He tucks away the tidbit, leaves with that odd satisfaction curling beneath his ribs, a feeling almost like pride — and another he won't name.

Jayce shows up the next morning and places both a coffee and pastry down next to where Viktor works. The teen’s lips twitch. He kicks out the chair across from him where Jayce has been sitting. A tiny, silent invitation. Jayce sits. And something begins.

Chapter Text

Over the following weeks, Jayce leaned fully into operation ‘Open Up Viktor’; he started bringing more gifts.

It began with books. Dense engineering texts Jayce pulled from his own shelves, dog eared and lined with notes in the margins. Viktor inhaled them like they were oxygen, devouring the pages with a hunger that made something ache and glow in Jayce’s chest.

Then came the parts.

One Monday Jayce strode in with a box filled with random circuitry, broken components, scrap parts carefully selected from his workshop — avoided anything too nice, nothing that would risk suspicion or rejection. Viktor’s eyes lit up in a way Jayce hadn’t seen before – sharp and greedy, hands diving in to pick through the pieces like buried treasure.

It was stupid, what that look did to him. Jayce knew exactly what this was, familiar with the addictive rush of dopamine.

It wasn't gradual. It wasn't subtle. Viktor had taken up residence in his head so swiftly and completely, Jayce was already too far gone to stop..

He'd been here before - this kind of fixation. The unrelenting hum under his skin, like his brain wouldn't slow down unless it was looping around Viktor's voice, his face, his presence. An endless chant of Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

He knew this feeling, and the after.

The crash that always came later. It would catch up with him, eventually, but for now, it felt like clarity after months under fog.

A few days later, Jayce casually placed one of his own well-worn hoodies beside Viktor’s chair. “You’re freezing half the time,” Jayce muttered when Viktor glanced at it.

Viktor didn’t say a word, but the next time Jayce saw him, the boy was wearing it. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the hem nearly swallowing his thin frame. The sight had his stomach tightening, a gratifying heat settled like turned coals. He tells himself it was good — that he was happy to see someone he cared about have what they need.

But somewhere beneath the surface, Jayce knew the truth. It wasn’t just about making sure Viktor was warm, or fed, or safe. It was about keeping him close, making himself indispensable. About wrapping care around longing and calling it something noble. Because if he dressed his obsession up in kindness, in usefulness, he wouldn’t have to name it.

------

It’s later than Jayce usually stays. The center has mostly emptied out, shadows stretching long across the worn floors. He and Viktor are still hunched over the old laptop Jayce had brought him earlier in the week, trying to coax life back into the battered machine.

They work side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing, conversation drifting between soft silences.

Jayce leans back, rubbing his face and reigniting their on-and-off game of 20 questions. “Alright, my turn to ask. Favorite color?”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, glancing sideways. “Red.”

Jayce raises a brow. “Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

Viktor smirks faintly. “My turn. Go-to comfort food?”

Jayce chuckles softly, eyes going a little wistful. “My mom’s croquetas. Though, no matter how many times I try, I can’t quite get them to taste like hers did.”

Viktor hums, a soft sound of acknowledgment. For a few moments, they both focus on the screen, fingers moving over keys, sitting in comfortable silence.

The gentle clicks on the keyboard slow to a stop.

Then Viktor speaks again, his voice more careful. “I’m trans, you know.”

Jayce blinks, looking over. Viktor’s watching the laptop, not him. His tone is casual, but there’s tension in his shoulders, like he’s testing how the words land.

“I’ve been on T for about two and a half years now,” Viktor continues when there’s no response, voice even, almost clinical, “There’s a health program – Zaunite-funded and barely stitched together – but it covers that much.” His fingers tap lightly on the table. “Didn’t pay for top surgery, though. A little over a year ago now, I scraped together some money. Repaired anything I could - old phones, radios, whatever was salvageable. Word spread a bit and people started bringing me things. It wasn’t much, but it added up slowly. I found a back-alley doctor to do it.”

Jayce’s chest goes tight. “Gods, Viktor…”

A sharp little grin flickers over Viktor’s face, but his eyes stay distant. “Yeah, well. Luckily I didn’t wake up in a bathtub of ice, missing a kidney. Guy’s pretty well known here, goes by the name Singed.”

Jayce feels his stomach lurch. His hands flex on the table, fingers curling into his palms. The thought of Viktor – younger and vulnerable, walking into a place like that alone. Desperate, risking everything just to get a piece of himself back.

It guts him.

It also twists into something darker.

Because Viktor trusts him with this.

It wasn’t something handed out easily – Jayce knows. Feels the weight of what he has been given in that quiet confession. It’s exactly what he’s wanted, the precious confidence he’s been allowed after weeks of careful work.

It riles the fierce, possessive heat in him, something territorial and prowling under his ribs. Viktor didn’t owe him this truth, but he’d still offered it unprompted. Jayce wrestles with himself, doesn’t know how to hold it without snapping, without wrapping both arms around the teen and never letting go.

Not just to protect, or comfort. But to have.

Viktor belongs to no one, and Jayce hates how badly he wants to be the one to change that.

For a moment, he can’t speak. He just stares, watching the shape of Viktor’s profile. The faint shadows beneath his eyes, the subtle edge of exhaustion in his mouth. That quiet defiance that never fully leaves him, even now. It makes Jayce feel unsteady in his own skin.

Realizing that his silence could easily be misinterpreted, Jayce clears his throat, voice raw. “I’m… glad you’re here, Viktor. And I’m glad you wanted to tell me. ”

Viktor gives him a small, crooked smile, glancing down at the table. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Me too.”

Later that night, Jayce sat in his kitchen, aching with the admission – like he’d been trusted with something real. And all Jayce could think about was how easily he could ruin it.

---

It’s not long after that on his way in, Jayce is called over by one of the permanent staffers. .

“Hey, Jayce, can I grab you for a sec?”

He turns, jumping slightly at the interruption. “Sure, what’s up?”

She gives him an easy smile. “You’ve been showing up a lot lately, and we really appreciate the help. I was wondering… would you mind leaving your phone number? Just in case we’re ever short staffed, or need an extra hand last-minute?”

Jayce blinks, “Uh, yeah, of course.” Scrawls his number on the sheet she offers him.

As he writes, she glances over her shoulder toward the room where Viktor sits, curled up with one of the books Jayce had brought him. “By the way…” she adds, lowering her voice slightly, “I’ve noticed Viktor’s seemed… I don’t know, lighter, maybe? Since you started coming around.”

Jayce’s heart gives a small, startled kick. He looks up briefly to where Viktor is relaxing in the chair. “Yeah – he’s a good kid. Smart.”

Smart doesn’t even cover it. Viktor was a razor-sharp mind wrapped in secondhand clothes. And Jayce was the idiot who kept reaching for the blade.

She smiles again. “He’s always been prickly, a little… closed off, you know? But these past couple months he’s come out of his shell a bit.. It’s good to see.”

Jayce swallows, a flush rising faintly in his neck. “Yeah?” he murmurs, trying to sound casual. “I guess I hadn’t noticed.”

It was a lie.

He had noticed.

He noticed everything about Viktor.

The way his instinctive sharpness now softened when they talked, the way Viktor's gaze lingered on him just a little more every day. How he had grown comfortable with Jayce’s presence – no longer tensing when Jayce sat too close, or when their bodies brushed while leaning over the same board.

He knew it was wrong. How easily he blurred lines he wasn’t supposed to cross. And now this – reinforcement, being told that he was helping. That he was making Viktor better.

Jayce wanted to throw up.

He wasn’t helping Viktor. He was watching him. Obsessing. Wanting him in ways that made his breath catch, stomach turning with anticipation and nausea while his conscience screamed.

And still – every night when he went home, couldn’t stop thinking about the way Viktor looked at him. Calm. Direct. Like he saw straight through Jayce and didn’t mind what he found there.

“Thanks for telling me,” Jayce replies softly, forcing a smile.

She pats his arm. “We’re glad to have you around.”

As she walks away, Jayce lets himself glance back to Viktor. The boy’s still reading in his chair.

But as if sensing Jayce’s gaze, he lifts his head and their eyes meet across the way. A slow, sly little smile tugs at Viktor’s mouth. Private. Knowing.

Jayce knows this is wrong. But knowing doesn’t stop him from coming with Viktor’s name caught between his teeth each night like a confession, chasing that look in the dark, shame tangling with want.

And it doesn’t stop him from showing up the next day. All the better that to outsiders, his transgressions read as care.

-------

Jayce arrives late the following Monday, pushing through the center's front doors with a muttered curse. His therapy appointment had run late. She was pressing him with questions about how much time he’d been spending volunteering, how it made him feel, what he was getting out of it.

He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth. Couldn’t tell her about Viktor. About the way a thin, honey-eyed boy had hooked into his mind like a splinter he couldn’t stop digging at.

He’d chosen his words carefully - improved energy, better focus, positive social engagement. Let her think this place was helping him, that he was helping himself. And the thing that wound tighter in his chest with each visit? He kept that caged behind his smile.

He heads straight to their room, eyes finding Viktor immediately. The teen is perched on the battered couch, still fiddling with the same board from last week, an old paperback lying ignored at his side.

Viktor’s eyes lift as Jayce steps inside.

“You’re late.”

Jayce arches a brow, smirking faintly. “Miss me?”

Viktor doesn’t respond, but shifts, making space beside him on the couch. That’s answer enough. Jayce drops into the seat, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

"Show me what you've been working on,"

For a while they work side by side, Viktor explaining the progress made, Jayce occasionally reaching over to hold something steady or asking a question about his methods. Their arms brush now and then, small points of contact that Jayce feels keenly every time, zinging under his skin.

Jayce finds himself lingering just a little too long now, whenever their skin meets, warm on cool and feather-light. Each touch is a spark, feeding into his addiction — the building flame singing in his blood — and a growing part of him wants so badly to lean in more, to close the small space between them. He steals moments to watch Viktor closely, wondering if the boy notices, if he feels it too.

Viktor never pulls away, doesn’t flinch or step back like he used to. It’s a silent permission that makes Jayce's heart race. It gives him a quiet hope that maybe Viktor wants this, even if neither of them has acknowledged what this is out loud.

Later in the afternoon, as they finish up the circuit board, Jayce sits back, watching Viktor's hands move. "Do you ever want to do anything besides this?" He asks, tone light, curious.

Viktor snorts softly, "Doesn't matter much. I don’t really leave." he hesitates before adding, "But sometimes, yeah." His voice is quiet, like he isn’t sure if he should admit it.

Jayce catches the subtle shift, the quiet longing beneath his words, though Viktor's expression remains neutral, guarded.

"Well, maybe you should — we could grab some food. Break from the routine of vending machine garbage you’ve been living on..."

For a second Viktor’s expression stays unreadable, then with the faintest smirk, he reclines back into the lumpy couch, arms folding lazily. “What, like… you’re taking me out?”

Jayce feels heat climb up the back of his neck. He lets out a huff, half a laugh. “If you want to call it that.” His voice dips, softer now. “Come on, I’m buying.”

Viktor hums under his breath, eyes sharp, glinting like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sure,” he says smoothly, pushing up out of his seat with a grip on his cane. “I guess that would be alright, Jayce."

The diner is nothing fancy - a small, slightly grimy place on the edge of Zaun, half lit with flickering neon signs. Jayce figures Viktor wouldn’t mind. Honestly, Jayce wasn’t sure Viktor noticed surroundings the way most people did.

They sit across from each other in a corner booth. Jayce watches him eat, chin propped on his hand to affect an air of nonchalance as his runaway heart rate settles. Viktor is hunched over his plate of fries, lazily dragging them through ketchup, eyes flicking occasionally to Jayce with his usual sharp, calculating look.

Jayce sits up with a soft chuckle. “You’re allowed to enjoy it, you know.”

Viktor raises a brow, deadpan. “I’m enjoying the part where someone else pays.” He takes another bite, chewing thoughtfully, then adds, wry, “You sure know how to treat a boy, Jayce. Almost like this is a date.”

The words slide home like a knife, slicing through pretense like soft tissue.

Jayce’s breath catches, his lungs locking up. He fumbles for a second, eyes darting up to meet Viktor’s. The boy is looking at him steadily, dark gold eyes glinting with something unreadable, half mocking, half… testing.

Jayce chuckles softly, though it comes out breathless, quieter than he means. “Careful, Viktor,” he murmurs, “You keep saying things like that, I might start believing it.”

Viktor hums softly, almost like he’s amused, but he doesn’t answer. Lets Jayce’s volley pass overhead and out-of-bounds, unreturned, notably unrejected. He just watches the older man, steady and unblinking, like he’s turning something over in his head. Jayce’s pulse picks up again, double time— because Viktor is brilliant, sharp-tongued, and achingly young — Jayce knows better. He knows better.

But sitting here, watching Viktor’s soft mouth quirk into the faintest, knowing smirk— Jayce can feel the hairline crack split wide through his resolve to be good, to the point that knowing better is starting to not matter. Was this not part of the plan, after all?

They finish eating quietly, Viktor's lilting accent— a date, a date, a date — rattling through Jayce's mind. As he pays for the meal, Viktor lingers by the door, cane tapping against the laminate floor.

"I… I don't want to go back just yet." he says softly, eyes flicking up toward Jayce. "Can we just drive around or something?"

Jayce glances at his watch— it's getting late, later than he had planned. Viktor has to be back by eleven, before the doors are locked for the night. But there's no way he's turning down the chance for more alone time together, he’ll just keep a close eye on the time.

A slow smile pulls at his mouth. "Sure. Any place in particular you wanna go?"

Viktor hesitates, thoughtful. "There's this park near the river…I haven't been in years."

Jayce's grin widens, another aspect of Viktor’s history an enticing treat. "Let's go then." He steps back, gesturing with a playful sweep of his arm. "Lead the way."

It’s past nine when Jayce pulls the car over to the edge of the water. They sit in the dark, windows cracked, cool night air slipping in. Viktor leans his head back, eyes half-closed, the faintest smile on his lips. The soft spill of lamplight outside brushes the sharp edges of his face, casting him in pale gold, a devastatingly beautiful vision.

Jayce takes in the sight, throat tight. He should look away. He should absolutely look away.

But he doesn’t.

The night feels like a held breath, and Jayce lets himself sink into it. Into the quiet, the closeness, the sharp thrum of wanting that he’s no longer able to ignore, deep breaths contrasting with a ratcheting pulse.

Viktor cracks one eye open, the corner of his mouth tugging up just a little more. "You're staring."

Jayce huffs, forcing a crooked grin, trying to play it cool even as his heart skips a beat. "Am I?"

Viktor's smile turns sly. "Mm. You are. I must be very distracting."

Jayce laughs under his breath, raking a hand through his hair, cheeks going warm. "You're impossible, you know that?"

Viktor lets out a soft, amused noise. "And yet, here you are. Still looking."

A sharp knot twists in Jayce's chest. He exhales slowly, glancing away toward the river, heartbeat drumming too loud in his ears. "Yeah," he murmurs, voice rough, "here I am."

Viktor's eyes close again, but not before Jayce catches a hint of a real smile on his lips. Jayce continued watching him from the corner of his eye, his fingers loose on the steering wheel, knuckles brushing the leather in a slow, aimless pattern.

And then, uninvited but unshakeable, Viktor’s earlier words come back to him. Like a date.

Jayce feels wild with it, breaks the silence. “My turn for a question. Earlier, when you said it was almost like a date…” He trails off, letting the words hanging the air. When Viktor doesn’t say anything, Jayce pushes a little further, heart thudding slow and heavy. “Have you ever been on one? Dated someone, I mean.”

The question settles over them, loaded and unfinished. He wasn’t sure if it came from true curiosity, or something darker. Like Jayce was trying to catalog all the ways in which he hadn’t been the first for Viktor.

There’s a longer pause, this time. Jayce waits, patient, trying not to crowd the moment. The soft rush of the river outside the car and faint rustle of fabric as Viktor shifts in his seat occupy the silence.

Finally, Viktor speaks, his voice quiet and cautious. “Once. There was a boy at the center.” He doesn’t look at Jayce, keeps his eyes on the water, glinting in the dark.

“We were…close.” He rolls the words out carefully like they might crumble if he speaks them too quickly. “Met a bit after my surgery. We ended up sharing a room for a while, when there wasn’t space. It just…happened from there.”

Jayce’s chest tightens. There’s gratitude in Viktor’s voice, but it’s colored with something else. Sadness. Distance.

“There were times when I thought it could’ve been something more…but we never did get there. He turned 18 shortly after and was gone the next day. Didn’t keep in touch.”

He doesn’t sound bitter, just factual. A truth Viktor has clearly repeated in his head enough times to file down smooth.

“It didn’t mean anything,” Viktor says after a beat. “Not really. It’s hard to have expectations when you’re always waiting for someone to disappear.”

Jayce listens in silence, that last statement burrowing deep, like it wasn’t talking about the boy anymore. He wants to say something, to promise Viktor, I won’t disappear. That he wasn’t going anywhere. But the words catch behind his teeth.

He knows assurances don’t mean much, not to someone who’d been let down often enough. Just saying it won’t make it real, not for Viktor. So Jayce swallows the useless words— he’ll show him, instead.

Jayce shifts in his seat, pleather creaking in the heavy quiet. Viktor looks back over at him, his voice low, "My question, now. What's the last thing you really wanted? Something you couldn't ignore, even if you tried?"

Jayce’s breath stills, a slow warmth spreading beneath his skin like wildfire. How to answer such a dangerous question, with the real answer sitting right beside him? His throat clicks as he swallows, navigating around the full truth to a safer response.

"I want something that makes the chaos bearable. Something solid to hold onto when my own mind won't let me be."

Viktors eyes flick away and back, thoughtful. "Well. I suppose you're not the only one." Impassive, but his gaze lingers on Jayce for a beat too long.

The way he says it, like it doesn’t matter, like it wasn't close to an admission, makes Jayce's heart lurch. Viktors eyes hold a quiet intensity, a flicker of something wanting, trying to communicate something more.

Jayce, the coward, hesitates, "I should get you back now."

Viktor finally looks away, nodding slowly. "Yeah, alright." He adjusts in the seat, reluctant but resigned.

The drive back is silent but for the low drone of the radio. Jayce parks outside the center, stepping out and circling to Viktor's side. As he opens the door, Viktor tilts his head up at him, and without hesitation slides his hand into Jayce's offered one, to steady himself as he rises.

Their fingers linger together a few moments longer than necessary, neither pulling away. They walk quietly to the entrance, the night stretches soft and cool around them. Viktor stops at the door, looking up through his lashes, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of his bag.

His voice is quiet when he breaks the silence, "Thanks for tonight. I…enjoyed myself."

Jayce smiles, feeling the air charged around them, thick with something he isn’t sure he’s imagining anymore. "Anytime," he replies softly, voice rougher than intended.

Viktor doesn’t look away. His gaze holds steady, a hint of something darker shining there, subtle and warm. His mouth curls slightly. "You sure you're not tired of me yet?

Jayce huffs a soft laugh, “It’s not your turn,” he jokes before looking down at their feet, suddenly aware of the little space between them. "I don’t think I could get tired of you if I tried.”

Viktors smile deepens - small, but edged, lined with something that sends Jayce's heart rate spiking once more. “Careful,” he says softly, throwing the man’s words back at him, “You keep saying things like that, and I might start believing you.”

When Jayce finally looks up, Viktor is watching him again, face startlingly open, unguarded in a way that quiets something deep in Jayce’s chest. It wasn’t just the warmth in his eyes, it was the beginning of trust – raw, fragile, real.

Then Viktor looks away, reaching for the door handle. "Goodnight, Jayce," he murmurs, voice low, leaning almost intimate.

Jayce watches him slip inside, the door clicking shut on a metallic groan. He stands there for a long moment, heat crawling up his spine – slow and choking, every nerve alive and burning.

By the time he makes it back to his apartment, the want inside is coiled tight, potential spring force threatening to tear him apart. Dark and restless, desire courses through his blood, howling under his skin like a starved creature.

He kicks the door shut and strips down quickly, jeans shoved past his thighs as he sinks onto the edge of the bed. He’s already hard, painfully so, worked up since the second Viktor flashed him that wicked, parting grin.

Jayce groans, head tipping back as his hand wraps around himself, a hiss tearing through his teeth.

He can’t stop picturing Viktor. The way Jayce could wrap a hand around both his wrists and still have room to spare. How easy it would have been to press him back against the metal door, how little pressure it would take to keep him there. How Viktor would just look at him – steady, unafraid, lips curling like he was daring Jayce to lose control.

That image alone has Jayce’s hips twitching up into his fist. He strokes harder, jaw clenched.

Viktor’s pale skin. Those clever fingers wrapped around a pencil, a wire, a mug – fuck, wrapped around him. A canine flashing under one of his sly smirks. That razor wit. That fucking mouth. Jayce bites down on a groan, thumb sliding over the leaking head, hips jerking up into the movement.

It’s filthy. Shameful.

But all he can think about is how Viktor would sound—If he’d gasp or moan quietly just for him. How his smaller frame would look spread out across Jayce’s sheets, flushed and marked, mouth parted, smirk loosening in pleasure as he came apart.

Jayce’s stomach tightens, the rhythm of his hand growing frantic, desperate now. It’s too dry, friction on just the right side of painful, but it doesn’t matter because he’s right there — his whole body tenses. A few more rough strokes, and he spills over his hand with a choked breath, Viktor’s name breaking from his mouth like a vow.

And then silence.

Chest heaving, jaw tight, he stares at the ceiling – drenched in it. Guilt, sweat Heat. The ache of longing he can’t even hope to stop.

He wipes himself off with shaking hands, but the hunger doesn’t fade.

It never really does.

It settles over him all at once, his new reality.

Viktor isn’t going to be just a lingering thought. Not some passing interest or fixation that Jayce could wait out – could shrug off once things calmed down or real life crept back in.

Over the last two months, he’s carved himself into Jayce's very soul. Into the shape of his days. The rhythm of his routines. The quiet spaces where Jayce used to be alone.

He’s a searing brand, a spectre that haunts his every moment. An obsession Jayce can no longer hold back from.

Chapter Text

The days after their first night out blurred together in a way Jayce hadn’t anticipated. He found himself stopping by the center more and more — dropping off bulk snacks, extra coffee for the staff, boxes of donated art and school supplies. He showed up so often, the other volunteers started joking about him taking a staff position.

Jayce would just laugh it off, say the place needed all the help it could get. And yeah, maybe it did, but that wasn’t why he kept coming back. They didn’t need to know it was Viktor. Always Viktor. Whether it was smart or not. Whether he could handle it or not. .

And Viktor… Viktor had started to meet him halfway.

Something had shifted. Like a current beneath still water — dangerous, unseen, pulling him in deeper every time they crossed paths. Their interactions had developed a deliberate edge, heavy with intent from both sides, now. Jayce felt it with each passing glance, each unfinished sentence.They were circling something inevitable together.

It shone in the smile Viktor gave when Jayce arrived — just a small, inviting curl of his mouth, like he was amused by a joke only he knew. In the lingering touches as they passed something between them, less and less plausible to frame as accidental. In the way Viktor knowingly looked at him, when Jayce leaned in closer than necessary to explain something. Allowing the increased proximity, purposefully winding the cord of tension around delicate knuckles. Waiting to see what it would take, when the older man would break.

Oh, how Jayce wanted to.

Their conversations had begun to shift, as well — Jayce didn’t have to fight for Viktor's attention, the back-and-forth coming easier, lasting longer between pauses. The teen still kept himself firmly tucked behind emotional walls, but he’d chiseled out deliberate cracks — openings wide enough for Jayce to slip through.

It still wasn’t enough. Jayce wanted everything, craved the unfiltered version — the raw, authentic self beneath caustic wit and wary eyes. He wanted to peel the boy open, piece by piece, to see who Viktor is when no one is watching.

They kept working together – tinkering with old tech, eventually moving on to more intricate designs with Jayce’s guidance and resources. His visits still centered around the work, but their time together had evolved. Jayce found reasons to pull Viktor away from the center more often, working from his mental list of the teen’s needs, whatever he lacked that Jayce could provide.

One afternoon, Jayce took Viktor to the Piltover Library. He didn’t speak, only watched as Viktor stepped inside. Observed how his gaze lifted, how the vast space seemed to unfold around him. For a heartbeat, his usual wariness slipped — the barest flicker of awe breaking through, making him seem gentler. Younger. Too young.

And despite never before looking his age so much as in that moment, softened by reverence, guard down, bright-eyed beneath all the knowledge suddenly within reach — Jayce’s attraction could not be curtailed. Sickeningly, it seemed to only grow.

The realization twisted something deep in him. Disgusting. Wrong. He should’ve looked away. Should’ve shoved the desire down hard and fast, tucked it away into the void of his soul where it belonged.

But he didn’t.

He wanted him. Gods help him, he wanted – and worse, some darker part of him craved to be the only one to ever see Viktor like this. To keep this version of him. Just for himself.

The fantasy of Viktor belonging to Jayce alone was not new. But that night, the memory of his doe-eyed boy in the library had the man drawing blood from his knuckles where he bit them as he came.

Another day, after weeks of weathering through excuses, Jayce finally convinced Viktor to shop for clothes that weren't falling apart at the seams. Viktor complained the entire way there, but didn’t argue when Jayce handed him a few shirts and nudged him toward the fitting room.

Jayce waited just outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

Inside there was a pause. The soft rustle of fabric. Then Viktors voice, low with discomfort, “It’s too much.”

Jayce shifted. “What is?”

A beat. “This. I’m not -” another faint huff of breath, “- someone who looks like this.”

Something in Jayce slipped, the words spilling out before he thought them through. “You do. You have no idea how good you look.”

Silence.

The curtain shifted as Viktor stepped out – chin tipped up in stubborn defiance, though his flush betrayed him. The shirt clung in all the right places, dark and soft over pale skin. The jeans hugged narrow hips, long legs pulling Jayce’s gaze without mercy. Shit. His mouth went dry – he’d picked it for him. Fucking idiot. Now all he could think about was getting him out of it.

Jayce didn’t bother masking it. His stare dragged over him, heat rising, stark and unhidden. Need roughened his voice when he finally spoke. “You’re keeping that one.”

And fuck, the way Viktor’s breath caught – he’s be replaying that sound on repeat in his head every night for a week.

-------------

One morning, they were squeezed into a small table in the back of a cramped café, a snack break before heading to a pawn shop rumored to carry decent spare electronic parts.

Viktor toyed with his lemon bar, idly picking at the sugared edges while Jayce talked, stream of consciousness running unchecked. Viktor didn’t seem to be listening, head tilted, gaze flicking away. Then, without warning, he lifted his thumb to his mouth and slowly licked the sugar clean.

Jayce froze mid-sentence. His mouth parted, breath gone – no words, no thought, just a sudden flood of heat low in his gut.

Viktor glanced up, cool and direct, pleased to have caught him watching. His mouth curved into a ghost of a smile. “You were saying?” Viktor asked — tone light, innocent on the surface, but his eyes said otherwise.

Jayce coughed, nearly choking on his own saliva. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what the hell he’d been talking about.

Viktor raised a brow, utterly unbothered. “You’re terrible at this, you know.” He said, dry as ever.

Jayce let out a quiet chuckle, looking away before doing something he’d regret.

-----

It’s late again, rain pattering against the windows, rags stuffed on sills where cracks let in moisture. Whatever small repairs Jayce had come to help with have been long forgotten — they sit on the floor of a back room, shoulders nearly touching, a half-eaten takeout container between them.

Viktor stretches his good leg out with a soft sigh, head tipping back against the wall. His hair falls across his forehead, catching in the low light in strands of muted gold. Jayce’s stare lingers.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Viktor murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he turns to meet his gaze.

Jayce lets out a low, breathy laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Viktor’s mouth twitches, amused. “Thinking deep thoughts, Jayce?”

His heart kicks painfully in his chest. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But there’s something in Viktor’s voice – that dry teasing, soft-edged and curious – it cracks his will open, truth trickling forth.

“Yeah,” Jayce hums. “Something like that.”

The silence that follows settles heavy, close. The room suddenly feels too small.

Then Viktor shifts, his knee bumping lightly against Jayce’s.

“Tell me one.”

Jayce hesitates. His fingers twitch where they rest on the floor between them. He glances down, then up at Viktor. At the expectant little smile, the glint in his eyes that made it so damn hard to think straight.

I want you.

The words claw at his throat. Burning, reckless. Real. But it’s too soon, he can’t. Not yet.

Instead, he puts on a strained smile and exhales slowly. “You’re dangerous. You know that?”

Viktor’s grin turns wicked, eyes narrowing. “Am I?”

Jayce’s heart thunders, a rush of heat washing over his skin. He should pull away. Should say goodnight, stand up and leave the room, before they cross another set of blurred lines.

But he doesn’t, and when Viktor presses his leg against Jayce’s, firm and deliberate, his eyes flick down to Jayce’s mouth.

And Jayce can’t move.

Doesn’t even try, really.

It goes against everything he’s tried to tell himself about restraint, contradicts the self-imposed boundaries drawn in quiet, sleepless hours. Every reason he’d clung to about why it was ok to ingratiate himself with Viktor, how his darker fantasies would never become reality. They couldn’t. He is 27. Viktor is 16. Too young, far past the edge of something Jayce has no right to touch. He knows. But on the receiving end of the advances...he’s beginning to care about what’s right less and less.

Viktor isn’t naïve. He’s smart, measured, self-contained in a way that makes him seem far older than he is. There’s a weight behind his eyes, a bitterness in his voice that doesn’t belong to someone who’s barely started living. He isn’t innocent, doesn’t act like a kid.

The justifications come fast, desperate as the heat of their pressed thighs seeps through the fabric of his pants. Viktor isn’t a child, not mentally. He knows what he is doing. And maybe – maybe – if Jayces gives in, just a little, it wouldn’t be crossing the line. Not if Viktor is the one to push, the one who keeps looking at him like that. Not if he wants it just as bad.

Jayce tells himself that it’s enough. That it could be. Feels himself slipping rapidly out of the modicum of control he’d maintained up to this point, as something deeper in him registers – if they start, it won’t stop here .

Viktor’s gaze still lingers heavy on his mouth, and Jayce can’t speak. Can’t breathe, swears that the teen moves infinitesimally closer.

So he leans in, just enough to close the space between them. Enough to feel the warmth of Viktor’s breath catch. Their mouths brush, brief, electric. A soft, stunned exhale ghosting against Jayce’s lips.

Then Viktor kisses him back. Barely. A tilt forward, the faintest pressure, a quiet surrender.

It lasts barely more than a second. Maybe less. But it’s real. It is everything.

And then – A distant noise. Footsteps echoing in the hallway just beyond the door.

They break apart, tension snapping and recoiling with the sting of fear. Jayce turns his head sharply, heart thudding like a hammer in his chest as he moves to an appropriate distance. Viktor shifts back against the wall, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants, eyes wide – but not with regret.

Silence settles again, not exactly the easy kind from before. This one is charged, adrenaline buzzing in their veins.

Jayce drags both hands through his hair, forcing a shallow breath. “We’re not alone.” He mutters, turning back to him.

Viktor’s voice was quiet. Steady. “No. We’re not.”

They don’t touch again, but he never looks away. Neither does Jayce. Rain rattles in fits against glass, matching the mismatched staccato beating in their chests.

----------

It’s still pouring when he shoulders his way into the lab. He’s not avoiding Viktor, per se — he’d already planned on spending time at work today. But he had considered bringing the boy along, and reluctantly decided against it. Jayce needs to focus, and process, and prepare himself for the next time they’d—

Well. Prepare for the proximity, at least. Plan out his next steps, when the command he wrestled back over his senses inevitably unwound once again in Viktor’s presence. Where to take him next, where they could... continue.

So while he leans back in an uncomfortable lab chair, adjusting numerical parameters and logging the results into cells of the project spreadsheet, his mind strays back to soft lips and softer gasps. He’ll be ready tomorrow.

Of course, he should have expected his plans to immediately become obsolete.

The call comes just after midnight. Jayce’s phone buzzing on the nightstand, jolting him from half-sleep. He fumbles for it, heart leaping into his throat when he sees the youth center’s number.

“Jayce? I - I’m sorry it's so late, it’s chaos here,” came a shaky voice on the other end. “There’s been a flood, pipes burst, water’s everywhere, the kids are scared - can you help?”

Jayce is already sitting up, swinging his legs off the bed. “I’m on my way.”

The drive was a blur of flashing streetlights and slick roads, the rain relentless. His chest feels tight, a ball of dread lodged beneath his ribs. He wishes he could say it was for the center as a whole, but that would be untrue - all his thoughts are for Viktor. His mind turns in circles, panic creeping in at the edges. Is he okay? The books, electronics, clothes — all of that could be replaced, but navigating flooded tile with a cane... surely they would’ve mentioned if he’d fallen?

When Jayce pulls up it’s, as expected, a mess. He sees staff members rushing around with flashlights, shouting instructions, some kids were huddled under umbrellas or blankets. Vander was on the phone, pacing back and forth. Water streams out the front door, pooling with the rest of the grimy puddles in the parking lot.

His eyes search frantically, paying little mind to the chaos as he sloshes through a swamp of floating school supplies and dubious garbage. He hardly takes a breath until he finally spots him — off to the side, dripping wet and leaning heavily on his cane.

At a quick glance, Viktor seems alright, clothes clinging to his thin frame, hair plastered to his forehead. His free arm wraps tightly around his middle as he surveys the mess with a grim expression.

The relief crashes through Jayce, leaving him dizzy.

He makes a beeline, calling out over the din, “Vik!”

Viktor’s head snaps up, eyes widening – surprise flashing clear before softening into unmistakable relief. “You didn’t have to come.” His voice thin and unsteady, ripping across Jayce’s heartstrings.

He crosses the space between them, breath tight. “I know.”

A beat passes. Then Viktor offers a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I'm not your problem, Jayce. The other kids—”

Jayce’s response is gentle but firm. “You're not a problem Viktor. And even if you were, I'd still be here. You’re my priority” He pauses, letting the words land. “Are you okay? Are you —"

Jayce glances around at the scene unfolding. Staff speaking in hushed voices, organizing transport, scrambling to find places for the younger kids to sleep. The air hums with tension. Too many questions and not enough answers.

His focus returns to Viktor, who stands stiffly beside him, trying to look detached. Like none of it touches him. But Jayce sees through it anyway. The pronounced hunch in his shoulders. The way his fingers grip the edge of his coat sleeves, knuckles tight.

“Where are you going to stay?” he asks, quiet but pointed.

Viktor hesitates, avoiding Jayce’s eyes. “I don’t know yet.” He says after a moment. “I think the younger ones are being taken to a community shelter. I was going to…figure something out.”

There is a vulnerability in his face as he says it – scared, unsure, like he’s already bracing for the part where he’s left behind. As if he’s not allowed to hope, or to ask.

Jayce doesn’t let himself overthink it. He steps forward and lays a hand gently on Viktor’s shoulder, fingers just skimming his nape, warm and steady against damp skin.

“You’ll stay with me.”

Viktor blinks up at him, startled. “Jayce – “

But Jayce shakes his head. “You’re not just some afterthought,” he says roughly, brooking no argument. “Not gonna be left behind to figure it out alone. Or shuffled around until there’s a spare bed somewhere. No.”

His hand stays where it is, grounding them both.

“You’re coming with me.” And then quieter, less of command, more an admission. “It’s not a favor. I want you there.”

Viktor’s mouth parts, as if to argue, but nothing comes. He just stares, an openness flickering through his eyes. Shock. Like he can’t quite believe someone would choose him. As if there’s no way anyone would offer.

It hits Jayce hard, gentle grip flexing lightly in response.

But then Viktor’s eyes flutter shut, and slowly, almost uncertain, he leans into the touch, nodding once. The tightness in Jayce’s chest unspools as he informs the staff and guides them back out to the parking lot.

--

By the time they pull up to Jayce’s apartment, the storm has eased into a steady drizzle. Iridescent streams glisten on the road under the streetlights.

Jayce parks the car and cuts the engine, glancing over. “You okay?”

Viktor gives a small, tired smile. “I’ve had worse nights.” His voice is soft, a little hoarse with exhaustion. It’s nearly 2 am.

Jayce just hums in response.

Inside, the apartment is warm and a little cluttered. Viktor steps in slowly, damp clothes still clinging, his cane tapping softly on the hardwood. His eyes sweep over the space – clean lines, worn furniture, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air.

Jayce rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh… I can grab you some towels, throw your clothes in the wash. You can borrow some of mine and take the guest room.”

Viktor just smiles faintly, cheeks pink and gaze warm. “Thank you, Jayce.”

Their eyes meet — the ever-present connection tugging at the space between them. Jayce clears his throat and turns away, heading down the hall for towels.

When he returns, Viktor is leaning against the wall for support, peeling off his soaked jacket. He shakes out his damp curls with a tired sigh.

Jayce offers the towel, his grip tightening briefly when he brushes Viktor’s chilled fingers, fighting the urge to take them in hand.

"The bathroom is just down the hall – second door on the right. Guest room’s straight across, next to mine." he says, throat dry. "I'll go find you something to wear."

Viktor nods, gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary before he turns and disappears down the hallway.

Jayce manages to find an old shirt and his smallest pair of sweats. He knows they’ll likely hang off of Viktor, but it’s the best he’s got. He places them neatly outside the bathroom door and knocks twice.

"Hey, Vik, I put some clothes out here for you."

Jayce hears a muffled 'thanks' over the sound of the shower running. He lingers a second longer before forcing himself to step away.

The man drops onto the couch, sinking back into the cushions, eyes fixed on the ceiling. His mind won’t stop racing.

Viktor is here. In his apartment. In his shower. Vulnerable. Trusting him. It’s a dream come true, and a horrid temptation.

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, willing the thoughts to stop. They don’t.

All he can think about is how Viktor looked at him the night before. The way his mouth felt, just for a moment, pressed against Viktor’s. How easy it would’ve been to keep going, had they been alone. Like right now.

He groans quietly, breathing deep through the heat rising in his chest. He needs to get it together. This isn’t the time, not when Viktor’s just lost everything again. Not when he’s here because he has nowhere else to go. Jayce knows that. He keeps repeating it like a lifeline.

His spiraling is interrupted when Viktor steps out, hair still damp and curling faintly at the edges. He’s wearing Jayce’s old T-shirt, the hem brushing nearly to his knees.

"The pants were - uh, not workable." He says, trying for humor but sounding too tired for it to land.

Jayce looks at him – flushed skin, wet curls, drowning in an old shirt that brushes against pale thighs. It’s too much, overwhelming and personal.

Then Viktor’s gaze shifts, softening. His words come quieter, “Thank you again. For tonight. For everything.”

Jayce swallows. “Yeah. Anytime, Viktor.”

Viktor holds his gaze a moment longer – eyes dark, searching. Not quite an invitation, but something close. “Good night, Jayce,” he murmurs, barely above a breath, before turning down the hall to the spare room.

Jayce doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

He stares at the hallway like the echo of Viktor’s voice might still be hanging there. His heart pounds, blood roaring in his ears. He didn’t want Viktor under his roof. He wanted him in his bed.

He wants to follow him, push open the door, and say everything he’s been holding back. He wants to bury his hands in Viktor’s hair, kiss him until he forgets what it's like to be left behind. To fill his head with only Jayce so that he knows what it’s like, this all-consuming need.

His hands clench in his lap instead. His chest pulls tight, a different sort of tension than the fear he held on the way to the center, before. This is a more familiar ache, the longing reserved for nighttime, normally tempered by distance. Muscles contract and gut twists over everything he’s not letting himself do. It follows him to bed, settles between his ribs, and hums beneath his skin, tormenting him until the sky begins to pale.

-------------------

Morning comes too soon — and not soon enough. Jayce barely slept, too aware of the warm body scant feet and a thin wall away. Being this close is torture. Knowing Viktor was right there, asleep, unaware, while Jayce was coming apart over the idea of him occupying space nearby.

He drags himself out of bed before he can wallow for too long, and throws on a shirt before heading to the kitchen, head still heavy with exhaustion and half-formed thoughts.

He stops cold in the doorway.

Viktor is already there, bent slightly over the counter, fighting with the coffee maker. Jayce nearly forgets to breathe when he catches sight of his legs – bare, long, and lean in the morning light. The hem of the oversized shirt rides up slightly as he moves, revealing the faint indentations left behind by his brace on a slim upper thigh.

He hadn’t had the chance to fully appreciate the sight last night.

Freckles and moles scatter across the exposed skin, and Jayce has to grip the doorframe to compose himself, to keep from crossing the room, just to trace them. To discover where else they might be found.

Viktor mutters something under his breath, then makes a small, satisfied sound as the machine finally sputters to life. He turns — and jumps when he sees Jayce standing there.

"Shit, Jayce," he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. "I didn’t hear you. You were still asleep, so I thought I'd get coffee started. I was unprepared for the machine to hate me."

Jayce chuckles, stepping further in. "Yeah, it's a pain in the ass, but it works when it wants to." He grabs the creamer from the fridge. "I've been meaning to replace it. Seems like you’ve bullied it into submission, though."

He steps up beside Viktor, reaching over to grab the mugs from the shelf above. It brings their bodies close, a bony shoulder brushing Jayce’s chest. He can smell the faint trace of his own soap still clinging to Viktor’s skin.

He hands one of the mugs over, then grabs the sugar so Viktor can make his coffee – well, more like coffee-flavored milk. As Jayce pours his own cup, the ease of the moment hits him.

A quiet routine, the shared space. Standing barefoot in his kitchen with Viktor in one of his shirts. It feels so natural it knocks the wind out of him, some version of a life he isn’t supposed to have, but can picture so vividly.

The way Viktor leans slightly against the counter, brushing Jayce's arm again. Like he belongs there. It's domestic, familiar. A glimpse into what could be. The sudden intensity of his yearning takes Jayce by surprise. Most of his fantasies involving Viktor were possessive - focused on the physical, on having him. But this…this new edge of desire was different. It slid in right alongside the rest of it. Another thread in the tangled need winding deeper through him. The need to have him. To keep him. His Viktor.

Breathing through his first major revelation of the morning, Jayce finishes fixing his drink and takes a seat on the stool, sipping from the mug. Staying leaned against the counter, Viktor watches him from over the rim of his own, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You didn’t have to bring me here," he says quietly. Not accusing, just observing.

Jayce leans back against the opposite counter. "I know."

"They probably could've squeezed me in with the others somewhere."

"Probably," Jayce agrees. "But I didn't want that." Might as well be transparent when he can.

Viktor's fingers tap lightly on his mug. "You're very bad at pretending this is just kindness."

Jayce doesn't look away. He stands up and closes the space between them with a single step. “It is kindness. But as it so happens, it’s also what I want. I wanted you here. Safe, close.” he says, steady and low. "Where I don’t have to wonder if you’re okay. Somewhere I’ll know for sure."

He watches the words hit. The subtle way Viktor stills, like he wasn’t ready for that kind of honesty. His expression shifts only slightly, but it’s enough to know he caught him off guard.

Jayce stays where he is, barely a foot away. Doesn’t take it back. He meant every word.

Viktor’s fingers tighten around the mug. “Then I’m exactly where I should be,” he says, tilting his neck back to meet Jayce’s eyes.

For a second, Jayce doesn’t trust himself to speak. He lets the moment hang there, feels the heat creep through as Viktor’s words settle under his skin.

When he does respond, it’s rough around the edges. “Then stay.” His throat works, bobbing around a swallow. “As long as you want.”

Viktor smiles at him, one brow lifting. "Planning to keep me?"

Jayce exhales slowly, the ache sharp behind his ribs. He holds Viktor’s gaze, voice quieter, but no less honest. “I’m not in the habit of letting go of the things I want.”

He leaves it there, lets Viktor feel the weight of it. Lets himself feel it too.

---

The rest of the day is…a blur.

Viktor doesn’t press the conversation any further, but he doesn’t give Jayce space, either. He moves through the apartment like he belongs there now, drifting in and out of rooms, settling too close on the couch when they pause for a coffee break between projects, brushing past him in the kitchen with the barest glance over his shoulder. Every little thing purposeful. Subtle, but clearly meant to be noticed.

Jayce catches himself watching. Too often and too long. And when Viktor stretches an arm up to a high shelf, when he leans against the counter with his legs bare beneath that damn shirt, when he looks over with a flicker of amusement like he knows…it takes everything in Jayce not to snap.

He manages to survive the day without losing it. Barely.

He’s slipped off to the bathroom three times already – each time jerking himself off in rough, desperate strokes that do nothing to ease the ache that’s settled deep in his gut. It isn’t enough. Not when Viktor is still here, still moving through his space like some unspoken promise. Viktor’s clothes are dry and folded in the guest room. Jayce doesn’t mention the fact that Viktor could change whenever he wants — Jayce knows he’s aware.

Night falls. The apartment is quiet now. Jayce sits on the couch, nursing a glass of something strong, trying to will the tension out of his shoulders, out of his chest. Trying not to think about the way Viktor’s voice had sounded when he’d said I’m exactly where I should be.

He hears footsteps come down the hallway, the telltale click of his cane on the floor. Then Viktor rounds the corner into the living room, eyes landing on him, sharp and unreadable in the low light.

Jayce doesn’t move. Just watches him over the rim of his glass.

Viktor crosses the room without a word and sinks onto the couch beside him. Too close, again. Their thighs brush, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of Jayce’s sweats. Viktor’s hair is still damp from a shower, curls clinging to his temples, another one of Jayce’s shirts hanging loose over his body.

Jayce forces a slow breath through his nose. Doesn’t lean away.

For a while, neither of them speak. The ambient noise of the apartment hums with the low tick of the clock, the occasional creak of settling wood.

Then, Viktor’s voice, close enough to stir the hairs at the nape of Jayce’s neck, “You’ve been staring a lot today.”

Jayce huffs a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re hard not to look at.”

That earns a small smile, sharp at the edges. Viktor turns slightly toward him, knee pressing more firmly against Jayce’s. “I wonder what you’d do if I stared back long enough.”

Jayce’s grip tightens around the glass. His mouth opens, then closes. Whatever he might’ve said isn’t safe. Not for tonight, not yet.

Viktor watches him, clearly amused by the restraint. “You’re very disciplined,” he murmurs. “Most wouldn’t be.”

Jayce finally finds his voice. “You shouldn’t test me on that.”

Another flicker of a smile. Viktor leans back slightly, pointedly, but doesn’t move away. “Maybe not tonight,” he says, tone light— but there’s an edge beneath it. A promise.

The tension coils tighter with every breath. Jayce drains the rest of his drink, sets the empty glass aside with more force than needed.

After a moment, Viktor unfolds gracefully from the couch, brushing a hand through his damp hair as he hauls himself up on his cane. “I’ll leave you to your self-control,” he says, glancing down at Jayce, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Goodnight.”

Jayce, once again, doesn’t trust himself to speak. He just nods once, jaw tight. Watches Viktor disappear down the hall, the faint sound of the bedroom door clicking shut a moment later.

He exhales, shaky and wrecked, and tips his head back on the couch.

It’s going to be another long fucking night.

-------

Jayce wakes restless, still wound tight from the night before. A cold shower doesn’t help. Coffee barely cuts through the haze.

Viktor is already in the kitchen when Jayce emerges, perched on one of the stools, hair tousled from sleep, fingers wrapped around a mug. The oversized shirt hangs off one shoulder now, collar slipping low enough to reveal the sharp line of his collarbone. Jayce’s gaze drags over it before he can stop himself, flicking between the moles dotted there. His throat is suddenly dry.

He pours his own coffee, trying to focus on the simple rhythm of the morning, but the palpable tension between them remains, an excited electron field vibrating around every breath.

Finally, he sets his mug down with a quiet sigh. “I have to go to work for a few hours. Some deadlines in the lab I can’t push off. I should be back before six.”

The words feel heavier than they should. He doesn’t want to leave, not when every part of him itches to stay close. Not when the line between them feels thinner than ever...Though perhaps some distance will help settle his haywire nervous system.

Viktor arches a brow, lips curling faintly. “You look like you’re about to warn me not to set the place on fire.”

Jayce huffs out a short breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly. Just…” He trails off, shakes his head. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

That earns a soft laugh. Viktor sets his mug down with a little click. “What do you think I’m going to do?” he asks lightly, but eyes are sharp. “Steal your TV? Rewire your stereo out of spite?”

Jayce can’t help the half-smile that tugs at his mouth, though the ache in his chest stays sharp. “Not worried about my stereo.”

He meets Viktor’s gaze, “Just…feels a little wrong leaving you here on your own.”

That draws Viktor up short, long enough for Jayce to see the flicker of something softer in his eyes before it’s smoothed away. He bites his tongue, resisting offering to bring Viktor along. He really needs to catch up with work.

Viktor’s voice is warmer when he answers. “Go. I’ll be here. Just don’t take too long.”

Jayce exhales, lingering a second longer than he should before grabbing his keys. “I won’t.”

---

The hours at the lab crawl. Turns out it doesn’t matter that he didn’t bring Viktor; Jayce still gets next to nothing done. Every calculation slips sideways. Every prototype feels off in his hands. He checks the time too often.

More often than not, his mind drifts back to the apartment. To Viktor moving through it freely. He pictures him curled on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket, reading with that slight furrow between his brows. Or ambling through the kitchen, reaching up on bare toes for something in the cupboards. Maybe sitting at the window, knees drawn up, watching the city drift by below.

Maybe he’s in his room. Thinking of the same kinds of things that keep Jayce up at night. Not even bothering to close the door when he touches himself. The image comes to mind too easily. Viktor stretched out on the bed, skin bare beneath thin sheets. Fingers trailing idly over his own body, lost in the same restless desire that haunts Jayce.

The thought coils tight in his gut. Makes the empty space around him feel unbearable.

Jayce scrubs a hand down his face, tries to focus, fails again. The numbers blur. The hours stretch. The next time he checks the time, it’s later than he meant to stay. Later than he said he’d be back.

Shit.

He grabs his things in a rush, barely remembering to shut down his station. The drive back feels like it’s taking longer than it should. The whole way his chest thunders with a restless pulse of guilt and need. He told Viktor he wouldn’t be late. He can’t stand the thought of him there, alone and waiting.

By the time he finally walks through the door that evening, his nerves are wrung raw. Strung so tight he can barely think.

He closes the door and stops dead.

Viktor is there, laid out on the couch like sin itself. One leg draped over the armrest, hair loose around his face. He’s wearing yet another one of Jayce’s old shirts, thin with age and hitched up just enough to bare a slice of pale hip, soft knit boxers clinging to his thighs, riding higher with the way he’s sprawled.

Jayce can’t tear his eyes away. He looks untouched, unbothered and entirely too tempting. Jayce’s hands ache with the want to ruin it.

A record spins low on the stereo, soft tune slow and intimate, wrapping around the room like another layer of heat.The smell of something rich and spiced lingers in the air. Dinner. A candle burns low on the table.

Viktor glances over, lazy, deliberate. “You’re late,” he says, tone soft and dangerous as a knife’s edge. “You really shouldn’t leave things you want unattended.”

He doesn’t move from the doorway, mouth gone dry. “Viktor, I – fuck.”

Viktor watches him for a moment, eyes bright, his grin smug. But his voice stays light and casual. “Come on,” he says quietly. “Let's eat before it gets cold.”

He gets up, moving toward the table without another word, leaving Jayce to follow.

Jayce forces himself to move. Drops his bag. Peels off his jacket while he toes out of his shoes.

“You cooked?” he asks, the words coming out strained.

“I told you not to be late,” he says, a faint lilt in his reply. “But since you were, I had to keep myself entertained.”

Jayce grits his teeth and follows him stiffly to the table, muscles wound tight as cable wire.

Viktor stays maddeningly close, taking the seat beside him instead of across, their knees brushing beneath the table. Through the entire meal, he leans in too often, voice soft, teasing. Fingertips grazing the rim of his glass, lips brushing the edge of his fork with measured slowness. Every glance he casts sideways is another strike of heat in Jayce’s blood.

Jayce barely tastes the food. His fork slows. His breathing frays.

Jayce sets his fork down with too much force. “You keep doing that—” the words slip out low, taut with warning. His gaze snaps to Viktor’s mouth, then up to his eyes. “Careful.” His hands flex against the table, every muscle is pulled too tight, his control slipping with every breath.

Viktor just watches him, unflinching, mouth curving slow.

Jayce’s voice roughens further, barely holding. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

For a moment, Viktor holds perfectly still, then he sits back. The teasing in his voice softens, now edged with something real.

"You say I don’t know," he murmurs, breath shaky. “But I do. And I’m still asking.”

Jayce shoves back from the table, chair scraping back with a harsh shriek across the floor. He stalks out toward the living room, breath tight, fists flexing at his sides.

It doesn’t matter anymore. All the carefully drawn lines, the should-nots and can’ts he’s clung to for weeks. Useless now. Viktor wants him. Viktor is sitting here in his space, in his clothes, looking at him like that, asking for it.

And gods help him, he wants Viktor more than he’s ever wanted anything. The rest of it, the morality, the right and wrong – it’s drowning beneath the fever winding low in his gut, beneath the raw, aching need clawing up his spine.

He doesn’t just want to take. He wants to keep. To leave Viktor with no doubt of who he belongs to, of whose space this is, of whose body he’s tempting like that. To stop pretending he hasn’t already made his choice.

Jayce hears the click of a cane approaching. He looks up to see Viktor stop in front of him, reaching his hand out, fingertips grazing his arm.

Jayce moves without thinking. His hand snaps out fast, hard – gripping Viktor’s wrist tight enough to draw a sharp breath.

The size difference is dizzying. His palm nearly spans Viktor’s forearm, carpal bones delicate beneath his fingers. He could break him. Could ruin him. And Viktor? Viktor doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch. His pulse flutters against Jayce’s grip – fast, eager.

Jayce speaks low, voice hoarse and dark with intent. “You still asking, Viktor?”

Viktor’s throat works in a swallow. His lashes lower, then he meets Jayce’s eyes again, gaze unwavering, edged with need.

"Yes."

Jayce’s restraint cracks like a fault line - final, absolute. And gods, there's no turning back now.

Chapter Text

His yes echoes in Jayce's mind. Yes. Yes. Yes.

No more lines. No more pretending.

Jayce's grip tightens on his wrist. And then he’s moving, crowding Viktor back before he even registers it, body going on instinct, a hunger that’s driven him long past reason.

Viktor gives ground willingly, backpedaling until the wall catches him. A soft sound leaves his throat, a breathless and broken thing.

He surges forward, mouth crushing Viktor’s in a kiss that isn't tentative — it's claiming. The result of everything that has been building since the day they met. Every glance, every brush of their bodies. Every night Jayce laid awake, wanting.

And fuck, it feels good. Feels right for the first time in weeks, to stop fighting, stop denying, let the desire take hold.

Jayce groans into the kiss, rough, helpless. Months of denial spilling out all at once. His hands roam without thought — one gripping the back of Viktor’s head to steer the kiss, the other sliding roughly up his side, dragging his shirt with it, palm skimming bare skin, hot and soft beneath his touch.

And Viktor, gods. He gasps against him — hushed and wrecked — arching up into Jayce’s body without shame, hands twisting in his shirt, nails biting through fabric. His mouth opens under the larger man’s willingly, eagerly, tongue meeting his in a desperate, breathless slide.

Jayce barely recognizes himself, has never felt so wild with a lover. His grip is bruising, a thigh pressing between the teens legs, grinding in slow. The taste of Viktor’s needy whine on his tongue wipes his brain of all thought, no space for anything else but this.

He wants to ruin him. Wants to have him so thoroughly that neither of them remembers where one body begins and the other ends. And fuck. Viktor is letting him. Is asking for it. Every breath, every kiss, every tremble screams for this all-consuming union — Jayce won’t stop until he’s screaming for real.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he breathes against Viktor’s mouth. "I won't let you go after this."

The boy doesn’t answer with words.

He whimpers — high and broken, the sound ripping straight through Jayce’s core — and then he rolls his hips down, grinding over Jayce’s thigh, dragging him impossibly closer, fingers clawing into his shoulders, his hair, anywhere he can reach.

Jayce shudders, moaning against his mouth. That response is all the answer he needs.

His hand curls possessively around Viktor’s throat, just enough to feel the rapid pulse hammering there, to feel the way he arches into it. A soft, helpless gasp ghosts over his lips in response.

Fuck. Every sound Viktor makes is ruining him. Stealing the breath from his lungs, setting him alight from the inside out.

Jayce groans low, mouthing along his jaw, biting at the delicate skin beneath his ear. Viktor moans again, his hips still jerking helplessly against Jayce’s leg, sweet sounds spilling from him with every wave of pressure.

"Jayce-" he gasps, voice ragged, head tipping back to bare more of his throat. His fingers clutch lightly at Jayce’s grip at his throat, not pulling away — just holding on, needing something to anchor against the heat dragging him under.

"Please."

And the sound of that plea, desperate and breaking, hits him harder than anything else so far.

“Tell me what you need,” Jayce breathes against his lips, words falling between kiss-bruised mouths. Because he’d give it. Anything. Everything.

His head tips forward, panting against Jayce’s broad chest, clenching tight around the clothed thigh beneath him. "I - I don't…" he breathes deep, shaking slightly. "Just...more, Jayce."

Gods, listening to him beg like that— "Hold on," Jayce growls, voice raw with the want coursing through his veins. Broad palms sweep down, gripping under the teens thighs, carefully lifting him with little effort.

Viktor gasps, good leg wrapping around his waist, shuddering against the feel of his body pressed closer, nodding frantically, arms locking around his neck, mouth seeking Jayce’s again with a hungry, desperate need. The man stalks the few steps to the couch and drops down, pulling the wrecked boy to straddle him properly, pressing their bodies together fully.

Viktor keens — back arching. His legs tighten around muscled hips, grinding down hard, chasing friction. His head falls back, mouth open, a wrecked moan tearing free.

The sound is deafening in comparison to the quiet noises from before, and the contrast lights Jayce’s insides on fire. His hands are already moving, rough palms sliding beneath the thin shirt, pushing it up and out of the way, claiming every inch of newly bared skin.

He palms the beautiful boy's ribs, thumbs brushing over sharp edges of bone, greedy to feel all of him, to map out every mole, every freckle. Viktor’s hands are tangled in his hair now — pulling as if trying to drag Jayce closer, even with no space left between them.

Viktor kisses him again, their mouths slipping into something messy and aching, all teeth and tongue and heat. Jayce pulls back just long enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside, eyes drinking him in— greedy, like he hasn’t imagined this a hundred different ways. None of them even came close to the vision in his lap.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, voice rough and reverent. His hand smooths over Viktor’s bare chest, earning a sharp hitch of breath when Jayce’s thumb brushes the edge of a scar. Drags the other across a nipple just to hear the breath catch again.

Viktor trembles over him, beneath his hands, lips parted, eyes dark and dazed. “Jayce…”

That’s all he gets out before he’s being kissed again — deeper, filthier, tongue sweeping into his mouth as Jayce rolls his hips up into him, making them both moan. Jayce's hand moves lower, toying at the waistband of the boxers.

His voice breaks between kisses, breathless and hoarse. “Are you still okay?”

“Yes,” Viktor’s answer is immediate, wrecked but steady. "Keep going. Please."

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Jayce’s hand slips beneath the thin fabric, finds it soaked and sticking to Viktor’s groin. Gods, he feels delirious at the realization, calloused fingers dragging over slick heat. He circles them soft and slow, trying to be careful despite the frantic roar for more in his veins — and the reaction is instant.

Viktor jerks hard in his lap, a sharp cry tearing from his throat. His hips grind down frantically against the light sensation of fingers tracing him.

Jayce’s breath punches out rough, arm locking around the boy’s smaller frame, holding him close. “Fuck-” Every time Viktor moves, he’s brushing right against his crotch, driving him insane, cock straining against the confines of his clothes. He’s barely holding on, forces himself to keep a languid, deliberate pace, teeth gritted.

“Easy,” he breathes against his ear, slowing his fingers just enough to hold him there. “You feel so fucking good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Viktor whimpers, breathing shallow. His back arches once more as Jayce’s hand moves again, learning the shape of him. Letting him rock into the pressure, desperation and pleasure building with every movement.

Jayce slides one finger inside after a few more moments of teasing— and shit — a choked breath tears from him at how hot he feels, how overwhelmingly tight. Viktor’s wanton, broken groan at the intrusion shakes him back into motion.

He works into him slowly, giving him time to adjust to each knuckle. But every moan, every trembling shift of Viktor’s narrow hips drives him harder, hungrier. It’s not long before he adds a second finger, watching the slim body shudder around him. Jayce wants to give him everything, to watch him fall apart in his hands.

His mouth moves to Viktor’s throat again, biting down gently over a beauty mark as his fingers speed up, soaked and rhythmic, the slick sounds between them leaving nothing to imagination. Viktor is shaking, moaning openly, shamelessly, clinging to Jayce like he can’t hold himself upright on his own anymore.

Jayce whispers, voice gruff and awestruck against his sweat-slicked skin, “Look at you. You’re doing so well.”

Viktor’s breath hitches, breaking into ragged gasps, each one sharper than the last. His fingers claw at Jayce’s back, thighs trembling around his waist as Jayce’s hand works him with steady, relentless pressure.

Jayce pulls back and watches, eyes locked on his face, drinking in every twitch, every moan. How his lips part, the way his brows draw tight, teetering on the edge and barely holding on.

“That’s it,” he croons, lips brushing his cheek, then his jaw, then lower. “You’re right there, baby. Let it happen.”

Viktor’s whole body tenses — back arching one last time, mouth falling open in a silent cry before the sound finally rips free. A moan, cracked and vulnerable, utterly undone. His release crashes over him, pulsing against Jayce’s fingers as he grabs hold of him tight, like he might shake apart if he lets go.

Jayce kisses the corner of his mouth, then his temple. His movements tapering off but never pulling away, holding him through it, whispering soft things he doesn’t even realize he’s saying out loud.

“So beautiful,” he breathes, kissing him gently. “So fucking good for me, baby.”

Viktor collapses forward — tucking against his chest, breath coming in soft, halting little pants. Jayce’s hand is still between them, slick with release, his own pulse hammering in his throat.

Slowly, Jayce moves him, withdrawing from the ruined boxers. He makes eye contact as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them in deep, tongue dragging slowly over every trace of Viktor left behind. Lets himself savor the salty, tangy essence of Viktor, a low groan rumbling in his chest.

He lets the digits slip free with a quiet, deliberate pop, holding Viktor’s gaze. “Could taste you all night,” he murmurs, sounding strung out.

Viktor lets out a faint, whispery sound — half a whimper, hips twitching involuntarily in his lap, face flushed deep to the tips of his ears. He sags in Jayce's arms, boneless and breathless, still shaking slightly.

Jayce loosens his hold just enough to ease him down, gently guiding him to sit on the couch. Viktor’s limbs are unsteady, glassy-eyed and staring as Jayce maneuvers around him. He stays close, kneeling on the floor in front of the boy on the cushions, hands still on his waist, steadying him.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, rough with emotion.

Viktor nods, barely. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Jayce’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet between them. “Yeah,” he hums. “More than okay.”

Jayce smiles, thumb brushing against his thigh. He stays there a moment longer, hands stroking slow over pale legs, supporting him as he comes down— trying to steady himself, as well. His pulse is still hammering, body wound too tight.

Finally, he shifts back, making to get up. “I’m gonna grab your shirt,” he murmurs. “Then water. You need anything else?"

Viktor’s mouth quirks. “Maybe just my legs back,” he teases, still dazed.

Jayce huffs a laugh despite himself. “Fair.”

He eases Viktor’s thighs back together, leans in to press a kiss to one trembling knee before pushing to his feet. He grabs the cane and sets it within reach, then helps Viktor back into his shirt.

He turns to get them water, but Viktor’s fingers catch his wrist before he can step away.

“Jayce.”

Jayce stills. The teens gaze has clarified now, cutting through the haze. He shifts, pulls him in closer, voice quieter but no less sure. He looks down.

“Did you…finish?”

Jayce exhales harshly, mouth twitching at the question. “No. Wasn't about me,” he starts, but Viktor’s already tugging, insistent.

“Come here,” he says, quiet, coaxing now, but there’s steel resolve beneath it. “I want you to.”

And helpless to resist, he lets himself be pulled down, sinking back onto the couch, braced over Viktor’s body as the boy’s thighs part instinctively, pulling him in close. And then he’s rocking up against him, hips deliberate, dragging against the hard line of Jayce’s cock through his pants.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he pants against Viktor’s throat, voice dark with it.

He lets out a breathless laugh, “Just a little death.” Then, a sharp-edged command, “Hurry up and die for me.”

That does it. A low growl tears from his throat as he catches slim hips in rough hands, taking over, grinding down hard, desperation given free reign now. Viktor arches beneath him, gasping, hands fisting in the back of Jayce’s shirt as he ruts against him, mindless with it.

It’s quick—too quick, he’s too keyed up, too far gone from watching Viktor fall apart under him minutes ago, the taste of him still fresh on his tongue. A handful of hard, frantic thrusts and it hits him, sudden and blinding, ripping through him like a live wire. He spills with a ragged curse, shuddering against the warm body beneath him.

Fuck. Like a goddamn teenager.

Which might be funny — if Viktor wasn't the actual teenager here.

Jayce lets out a rough, shaky laugh, forehead dropping. “Fuck,” he breathes. “That’s humiliating.”

Viktor just huffs a wicked little sound, fingers threading through his hair now, smug and satisfied and fond all at once. “Looked pretty fucking good from here.”

Jayce groans softly, forcing himself upright after a beat, body still trembling faintly from the crash. He rakes a hand through his hair, glancing down at Viktor—shirt rumpled, cheeks still flushed, watching him with bright, pleased eyes.

Fucking hell.

“I’ll- hang on,” Jayce rasps, pushing to his feet. He makes quick work of grabbing a clean cloth, and crouches again as he cleans Viktor up.

Viktor’s gaze follows him the whole time, eyes half-lidded but sharp beneath the haze of afterglow.

When Jayce is done, he brushes knuckles over Viktor’s thigh. “Come on,” he murmurs, voice soft. “We’re not sleeping out here.”

Viktor doesn’t argue. Doesn’t hesitate. He braces himself on his cane when Jayce offers a hand, and lets himself be pulled up, following easily as he leads them to his bedroom.

And at that — how easily Viktor moves with him now — pure contentment settles deep in Jayce’s chest.

In the bedroom, Viktor drops onto the edge of the bed, still loose-limbed, legs a little shaky. The air is still charged with everything that just passed between them.

Viktor tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t take much to finish you off,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion, but teasing all the same.

Jayce huffs, a dry laugh slipping free as he peels off his pants, tossing them aside to grab a clean pair of boxers. He can feel Viktor’s gaze lingering.

When he glances over, Viktor’s eyes flick up too late, like he hadn’t meant to get caught staring. Face flushed, mouth parted, trying to play it cool and failing.

Jayce’s mouth curves lazily. He turns to face the bed, gaze dragging down Viktor's body as he pulls the boxers on, watching Viktor’s eyes track him.

“Oh, that was just me catching up,” he says, voice husky with promise. “Next time,” Jayce warns “You won’t be teasing after I've made you come so many times you forget your own name.”

Jayce watches Viktor's breath hitch— eyes going wide as color floods his cheeks. He drops his gaze, attempting to school his expression as Jayce crosses the room in a few strides, climbing into bed.

“Come here.”

Viktor goes to him, sliding beneath the covers. Jayce follows, tugging him close the second they’re both beneath the sheets. Viktor melts against him easily, one leg hitching over Jayce’s, an arm slipping around his waist. His breath is warm against Jayce’s throat, fingers idly tracing the line of his ribs.

For a few breaths, they’re quiet. Then Viktor murmurs, voice soft with the edges of exhaustion, “You’re gonna have to stop looking at me like that in public you know.”

Jayce lets out a low sound — half laugh, half groan — and tucks him in closer, one hand splayed over Viktor’s back.

But beneath the warmth, beneath the bone-deep exhaustion beginning to pull at him, something eases in his chest.

It’s a relief, to finally be on the other side of so many imaginary lines. And for the first time, he allows himself to rest in it — no more fighting, no more holding back. Jayce presses a kiss to Viktor’s temple, arm tightening around him.

He doesn’t know what the hell happens next. But he’s Viktor's, just as much as Viktor is his. They’re where they both belongThis is where he belongs — together.

--------

Viktor wakes slowly, caught somewhere between sleep and the weight of an arm slung heavy across his waist. It takes him a second to remember where he is — Jayce’s bed, sheets tangled, heat pressed solid against his back, breath slow and warm against his neck.

And then the night before slams back into him. Every look, every sound, every touch. He huffs a breath out, pressing into the pillow, his cheeks flushing hot, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

Not after everything that’s led them here. It's not like he had much to wake up to, before all this...Before Jayce.

He’s been staying at the center full-time for a couple years now. Not like it’s his home, not really. It’s not meant to be a group home, isn’t anything officially backed by the city. Just a space Vander keeps open as best he can, letting the ones with nowhere else to go crash in whatever spare room hadn’t already been claimed.

Vander never made promises. He couldn’t. The place barely stayed funded most weeks. Half the walls were patched with duct tape and prayer, but it was better than the street. Better than sleeping with one eye open in the alleys of Zaun, where no one gave a shit about forgotten kids scraping by.

And that’s what Viktor had been. One more stray no one would miss. A name on a clipboard, a body in a bunk, a problem no one had the time or patience to solve.

Sure, it had a roof and rules, and someone was always on rotation to make sure no one overdosed in the bathroom or started a fight in the halls. But that was about the extent of the care available.

The staff were overworked or undertrained — often both — and the volunteers meant well, mostly. But there were too many kids and not enough eyes. Too many cracks to slip through, and Viktor knew exactly where they were. He’d been navigating them since the day they handed him a bunk and a plastic bin for his things and told him to make it work.

And he had. Of course he had, there was no other option. But the flood had proved just how fragile everything really was. How little attention there was to go around, none left to pay to even the most pressing issues. The pipes had been leaking for weeks, water staining the ceiling tiles like bruises, and every time he mentioned it, someone shrugged or made a note on a clipboard that no one ever seemed to check again.

When it finally burst — water rushing down like the whole place was trying to drown itself — he’d been woken up by cold soaking through his mattress, not by anyone checking to make sure he was safe. There was shouting, panic, scrambling to shut off valves, but no one noticed him in the corner, soaked through and shivering, trying to salvage what little he had from the rising water.

No one had asked if he was alright. No one had looked.

He could still hear the chaos, feel the freezing water soaking through his clothes, the sick twist in his gut as he realized, once again, that if he didn’t look out for himself, no one else would.

That’s what made Jayce so dangerous — he’d noticed him. Jayce, who smiled like he meant it. Who showed up time and time again, stayed late, brought extra food, noticed when Viktor wasn’t talking and didn’t try to fix it, just sat with it. With him.

And Viktor didn’t know what to do with that, when the rest of the world had already taught him not to trust it.

At first, he hadn’t cared. When he first saw Jayce at the center — bright eyed, polished, and Piltie as hell — Viktor had written him off without a thought. Just another do-gooder thinking he could throw his time at a place like this and feel better about himself.

Viktor had been sure he’d leave like the others. They always did. So he’d ignored him. Let the man waste his own time.

But Jayce kept coming back, week after week. Late nights after work, his days off, always finding some excuse to be there. Fixing a broken light, patching walls, hauling supplies. But more than anything, he spent that time with Viktor. Never treating him like a project. Never acting like he was doing him a favor. He just… showed up. Again and again.

So slowly, without meaning to, Viktor had started watching for him. And fuck — that had gotten under his skin more than anything else, waiting on some Piltie like a sad puppy in a shelter. He reacted to attachment in the only way he knew how: baring his teeth, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He started testing Jayce. Little barbs, dry comments. Seeing how far he could push before Jayce lost interest... Except he didn’t. If anything, he seemed to like it. And Viktor found he liked seeing him flustered. Liked seeing a big, steady man trip over his words when Viktor aimed something sharp and knowing his way.

At first, it was just for fun. For the rush of feeling like he could get to someone like that, make them lose composure. But after a while… it stopped being a game. Because Jayce kept looking at him like he mattered, like he wasn’t something broken.

Somewhere along the line, his annoyance and defensiveness had turned into curiosity. And then curiosity had begun to twist into something worse.

There were little things. How Jayce’s gaze would stick a bit too long when he thought Viktor wasn’t looking. How his voice got lower, softer, when it was just the two of them late at night. The way Jayce always sought him out, always sat next to him when he didn’t have to, always asked how he was doing and actually fucking listened to the answer.

It was stupid, really. He wasn’t supposed to notice that kind of shit. Wasn’t supposed to want it, especially not from a grown man. But the attention, the persistence…it had started to feel addictive.

It felt good, too good. Dangerous.

That’s when the crush started. And fuck, Viktor was a teenager with a bad temper and worse judgement and he’d tried so hard not to let it turn into this. By the time he realized there was a problem, he was apparently already too far gone.

He’d catch himself thinking about Jayce on days he didn't come, wondering when he’d show up that week, wondering if he was thinking about him too. It was pathetic. He knew that. He had no clue what he was doing, why he couldn’t rationalize his way out of this nonsensical yearning.

Still — Viktor had stayed careful, jaded enough to know better than take kindness at face value. After all, people didn’t stick around, not with him. He's too complicated, too much work. Too much...well, too much him.

But it was that night — that first night out after the diner, parked at the river — when everything shifted for him.

Viktor could still feel it. The weight of Jayce’s gaze when he wasn’t looking. The way the air had felt too charged inside that car. He hadn’t been stupid, he had seen exactly what was hanging there between them. Both of them pretending it wasn’t a thing.

But it was. There was...something, tangible and definitely not one-sided...

For the first time, Viktor had let himself believe it. After that, it had been impossible not to push, to test this thing growing between them in new, more disreputable ways.

More little things, this time with added flirtatiousness. A sharper glance. A teasing retort, meant to bite just on the side of inappropriate. Standing too close, lingering a second longer than necessary. Watching how Jayce reacted, how that careful control of his frayed thinner and thinner with every pass. And when Jayce had looked at him — really looked — like he was something he wanted, something he shouldn’t touch but couldn’t resist?

That was it.

From that point on, Viktor had one goal in mind. He wanted Jayce to stop fighting it. Because suddenly it wasn’t just some stupid crush, wasn’t something hopeless to shove down and forget.

He knew Jayce wanted him, actually cared about him. And he wanted Jayce right back.

So he started testing the limits, inching further towards the lines he knew Jayce felt they shouldn’t cross. Holding his gaze just a little too long. Brushing past him on purpose, making excuses for them to touch. Letting his voice dip softer, lower. Viktor catalogued every reaction — the flicker in Jayce’s eyes, the sharp breath he tried to swallow down. The way his hands flexed tight whenever Viktor got too close, allowed the teen to prolong a touch, bordering on a caress.

And gods, seeing that barely-restrained desire, directed his way, had wrecked him. Left him restless, wound too tight. Wanting, for the first time in a long while.

Late at night, alone in his cot, Viktor couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jayce looked at him. The way his gaze dragged slow and heavy, like he wanted more. Like he was barely holding himself back. It left him aching in a way he didn’t know how to handle.

He’d tried touching himself — clumsy, frustrated. Palming between his legs, chasing something just out of reach, seeking relief from the coiled heat building low in his gut. But it never worked. It felt awkward. Empty. Half the time he barely finished, and when he did, it was rushed and unsatisfying. Like his body was waiting for something more.

Then, there was that fateful night at the center. The kiss had lasted barely a second, quickly shoved away by the fear of being caught, a return to careful distance, but it had happened. That one stolen taste had undone him, reducing all other thoughts to background noise. After that, Viktor didn’t want to tease or test anymore. He wanted it all. Wanted Jayce to stop holding back, tiptoeing around what was between them. He needed Jayce to give in, to take him fully. To stop pretending, age discrepancy be damned.

So when he’d ended up staying at Jayce’s apartment after the flood, sleeping under his roof, in his space — it had been too easy to stop holding back. To stop playing at subtle, fully act on his wishes for the first time in he can’t remember how long. To see how far he could bend that careful control Jayce kept holding onto.

And last night, he’d finally found the breaking point.

It had happened so fast, after all the planning and fuss over making dinner, arranging himself in what he’d hoped had been an irresistible display. One second, tension strung tight between them over a candlelit meal — Jayce still trying to hold back, obviously losing his grip on his self-control — before he finally snapped. Suddenly Viktor was slammed back against the wall, his wrist caught in a bruising grip. And Jayce was on him, kissing him furiously, hungry, nothing like the careful way Viktor had imagined. It was wild, unrestrained. Like he’d been starving for this and couldn’t get enough, like it would physically pain him to stop touching Viktor.

He hadn’t known his body could feel like that, so good, in the aftermath of wanting. Not desperate and empty, the way it had been before. Not reaching for something that never quite landed. But full, overwhelming. A need so sharp and hot it burned through him, left him trembling — wrecked and aching in the best possible way, satiated as he’d never experienced.

It had been more than he’d ever let himself hope for.

He swallows, throat tight. Skin still humming where Jayce had touched him, where those rough, wide fingers had left him gasping and begging without shame.

He’d been nervous, more than he hopes he’d let on. He had never done anything like that before. Was it supposed to feel so consuming? Was it normal to want more already? To want Jayce’s hands back on him again, to want him closer?

He knows it was reckless. Maybe he should care more — about how this would look, the years of difference between them, about where he was and why. Too close now to needing Jayce more than he should. But none of it matters. Not when Jayce touched him like that, while wanting him like that. Not when he finally knew what it felt like to be chosen.

The thought’s still circling, keen and cloying in his head, when he feels it. A slow inhale, the kind that comes from leaving deep sleep, stretching into something conscious. Then a low, almost inaudible groan as Jayce shifts closer, his arm tightening slightly around his waist.

Jayce is waking up.

Viktor’s pulse kicks up, a swift, sharp beat all over again. Because no matter how good last night felt — how much he’d wanted it — he knows damn well how it’d happened. Knows exactly how hard he’d been pushing. The past two days had been very deliberate.

He’d gone too far on purpose. Sprawling himself out on the couch like bait, knowing full well Jayce would be coming home exhausted and strung tight. Staying too close, tone far too suggestive. Draped in the man’s clothes as if his own were not clean and folded in the guest bedroom.

He hadn’t even known if it would work. If Jayce would take the bait or shove him away for good at the audacity, or for fear of their moral dubiousness. Viktor had assessed the variables and deemed it worth the risk. An initial success, but now it was time for the aftermath.

In the cold light of morning, nerves gnaw at him, twisting his insides. What if Jayce only gave in because he was pushed past the edge? What if this wasn’t about wanting him, just losing control? Because it’s one thing to be wanted in the dark. It’s another in the daylight.

His chest feels too tight. Every instinct says to pull away, to act like it doesn’t matter. To protect what little pride he has left, anticipate the fallout so it hurts less when he’s dumped out on his ass.

But he can’t move. Because if there’s even a chance Jayce really wants this — really wants him — he can’t bear to let it go.

So he stays perfectly still, heart racing, caught in that awful space between hope and dread. Waiting to see what Jayce will do next.

Jayce shifts beside him again, pulling Viktor closer with one arm and tucking his nose into the curve of his shoulder, like he’s content to stay there all day.

Jayce nuzzles sleepily into the hollow of his neck, voice rough with sleep as he murmurs, “You’re awake.”

Viktor hums, soft and noncommittal. He doesn’t trust his voice yet. Doesn’t want to shatter the quiet.

Jayce lets out a faint, contented sound and pulls him in a little closer, palm spreading wide across his stomach. His thumb moves in slow, absent circles against Viktor’s skin.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment. And maybe that’s what makes it worse. The waiting, anticipation. Viktor stares at the wall, heart picking up despite how calm his body feels. He doesn’t want to ask, wishes he didn’t need the answer, but it slips out anyway.

“You don’t regret it?” he whispers.

Jayce pauses. Not long enough for it to mean he’s weighing an answer. Just a beat, like he hadn’t expected the question.

Then quiet and firm, “No. Not even a little.”

Viktor doesn’t answer for a few breaths. Then he exhales, hushed, and admits, “It’s just hard for me to believe. That I mean something to you.”

Jayce doesn’t speak, but his hand tightens a little over Viktor’s waist, just enough to ground him.

“I’ve had people pretend before,” Viktor continues. “Foster homes that wanted to play ‘rescuer’ until they got bored. Caseworkers that smiled and said I was easy, because I didn’t cause trouble. Volunteers who called me special until I stopped being interesting, or didn’t react the way they wanted.”

He keeps his voice flat. He’s good at that, years of practice at making things sound clinical. Detached.

“They always left,” he finishes. “Eventually. Doesn’t matter how kind they seemed at first.”

Jayce is quiet for a long time. Viktor risks glancing over. He expects pity, or guilt, or some kind of look that’ll make him want to crawl out of his own skin.

But Jayce just looks at him, there’s nothing dramatic in it. Just something steady. Anchored. Like he’s listening, processing all of it, and not flinching away.

“You’re not temporary to me,” Jayce says softly. “I’m not here to fix you. And I’m not going to disappear because you stop being convenient.”

Viktor feels tears sting behind his eyes. He swallows hard and turns back to the ceiling, jaw clenched, willing them away with gravity.

Jayce shifts beside him, moving slowly until his chin rests lightly against Viktor’s shoulder. “You don’t have to believe it right now,” he murmurs. “I just ask that you let me prove it.”

The following silence is thick but not uncomfortable.

Eventually, Viktor nods. Just once. He lets Jayce lace their fingers together again, lets the weight of that arm stay around him like something earned.

He shifts just enough to glance at the hairy, muscled arm draped over his waist, then mutters, "Didn’t think I'd ever wake up half naked with a six foot man clinging to me like a body pillow."

Jayce huffs a soft laugh. “I’m not the clingy one.”

Viktor turns his head, raising a brow. “You’re literally holding me down.”

“I’m holding you.” Jayce corrects, voice warm. “Big difference.”

He feels Jayce’s fingers brush his, gentle and slow, waiting for permission. Viktor doesn’t pull away. He lets them tangle.

“You don’t have to trust me all at once,” Jayce murmurs. “But I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t regret a thing.”

Viktor doesn’t speak. Can’t, really. But he nods once. Small, barely there.

Jayce shifts closer again, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw, soft and careful. Like he knows how fragile the moment is. Like he’s willing to wait as long as it takes. Viktor closes his eyes, hand tightening faintly around Jayce’s.

They lie there for a while in the quiet, Jayce’s hand warm in his, their fingers lazily linked beneath the covers. Viktor’s heart has mostly settled, though there's still that quiet ache low in his chest—something raw and exposed, but not unbearable.

He focuses on Jayce’s breathing. Slow, steady, present. Still here.

Viktor doesn't know what to say next. The weight of what he’d admitted lingers in the air, too fresh to be shrugged off. He flounders, wondering how normal people segue out of heartfelt confessions.

Jayce shifts beside him, just slightly. Then asks, “Are you hungry?”

Viktor blinks. “What?”

Jayce lifts his head, looking down at him with the faintest smirk. “You heard me. Or we could stay here a while longer, unpack more trauma. Real cozy way to start the day.”

He shifts, kissing Viktor's shoulder. "Gods know I've got enough of my own rattling around in my head. Might as well make it a group project."

Viktor groans and drags a pillow over his face. “Tempting. But I prefer to do my emotional unpacking after coffee.”

Jayce lets out a warm laugh, then leans over to press a soft kiss to Viktor’s temple. “Alright then, caffeination first. Come on. I’ll make it how you like.”

Viktor turns onto his side and props himself up on one elbow, watching Jayce roll over to get out of bed. His hair's a mess, chest bare, blinking up at the ceiling like he’s trying to remember how to be human again before getting up.

It’s absurd how good he looks like this. Unmade. Relaxed. Comfortable in his space..

Viktor watches him stretch, broad and shameless in the morning light, before rolling onto his back and groaning. “If you burn the toast again, I’m blaming your lack of trauma-processing skills.”

“No pressure or anything,” Jayce calls over his shoulder as he pads toward the kitchen.

Viktor lies there a moment longer, covers warm around him, a faint smile pulling at his mouth as he noses the pillows for Jayce’s scent. Then he drags himself upright, sore and still reeling, but lighter than he was when he woke. He can smell the coffee already.

Maybe, just maybe, he can let himself believe this won’t disappear.

—

Jayce unlocks the door quietly, letting it fall shut behind him with a soft click. The apartment is dim—curtains half-drawn, the last of the afternoon light bleeding orange across the floor. He sets his keys down on the table with one hand, the small bag in the other swinging slightly against his thigh.

“Hey,” he calls, voice casual. “I’m back.”

There’s no response at first, but then he hears the faint creak of floorboards, Viktor’s uneven gait padding in from the hallway.

Viktor steps into the living room a moment later, dressed back in his usual clothes, worn jeans and layered shirt, sleeves pushed to the elbows. His cane taps lightly as he walks, hair still a little messy from earlier. He looks like he belongs here, but somehow can’t believe it, curled inward like he’s still waiting to be asked to leave.

Jayce doesn’t say anything right away, just crosses the space between them and leans in, brushing a kiss to his lips, like it’s as natural as breathing. One hand finds the back of Viktor’s neck, fingers curling there gently. Possessive in a way he doesn’t mean to be, but doesn’t pull back from either.

“Missed you,” he says, voice low.

Viktor’s brow lifts, faintly amused. “You were gone half a day.”

Jayce shrugs, but doesn’t move away. “Still too long.” He steps back, lifting the bag in his other hand.“I picked up your T. I don’t think that place is up to code, they just handed it over, no questions. And I’m pretty sure the guy behind the counter was on something.” He pauses, grabbing the second bag. “And I brought you something else, too.”

Viktor’s gaze narrows slightly as Jayce sets it on the counter and pulls out the slim box inside.

“You got me a phone?”

Jayce nods. “You didn’t have one, and I don’t like the idea of you being here without a way to reach anyone. Not that you have to go anywhere,” he adds quickly. “I just… you should be able to text. Call. Order food. Message me. Not be stuck waiting for anyone.”

Viktor doesn’t move. His expression shifts just slightly, not in rejection, but something cautious settles behind his eyes. He doesn’t say anything as he runs his fingers lightly over the box, like he doesn’t know what to do with it.

Jayce continues, tone casual. “It’s yours, you can set it up however you want.”

Viktor just stands there, cradling the sleek smooth packaging like it’s something precious. He eyes it warily, but there's an undercurrent — a curiosity, youthful excitement. Jayce pushes a little further, voice still light. “And while I was at lunch, I had a minute to look some things up. Schools. GED programs. A couple are close by. One of them offers placement testing, really flexible, no cost.”

He watches Viktor carefully for any reaction. Something in him tightens when Viktor just blinks at him, silent.

“I figured,” Jayce goes on, quieter now, “you could look at them when you’re ready. No pressure. Just… options.”

Jayce moves to the kitchen, starting to unpack the rest of the bag — half talking to VIktor, half thinking aloud.

“I know it’s a lot. But I just want you to have everything you need. You shouldn’t have to start from scratch. Not while you’re here. I’ve got room, time, connections. Why not use them?” He glances back. “And I want to. Would you let me do that?”

Jayce doesn’t press any more. He just gives the teen a small smile and turns back toward the kitchen, willing himself to give Viktor space to process.

“I was thinking we could do something easy tonight,” he says over his shoulder. “Stir-fry, maybe. Or pasta. You good with either?”

Viktor just hums in agreement as he slowly makes his way to the couch. Jayce glances back, just long enough to see the way he’s holding the phone in both hands now, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to turn it on.

Jayce doesn’t comment. Just opens the fridge, starts pulling out ingredients. His movements are calm, practiced. He likes the rhythm of small domestic tasks. Likes the idea of Viktor watching him from the couch, quiet but near.

He fills the silence with easy talk while chopping the vegetables, letting muscle memory take over in the kitchen.

“I put a couple contacts in already — me, Vander, and the center’s line. You can add whoever else. I figured it’s better than just leaving you here without anything if I have to work late.”

Jayce stirs spiced oil into the sauteé, tossing the veggies lightly before returning the pan to the stove. He takes a deep inhale over the sizzling dish, glancing back toward the couch again. Viktor’s sitting back now, legs pulled slightly up, one hand resting lightly against the brace on his knee. The phone is still in his other hand, screen dark.

He’s never been very good at waiting for people to ask for help. He always jumps two steps ahead; Fixes it first, explains later. It’s easier that way. Safer. He doesn't mention that he turned location sharing on, just in case Viktor ever got lost. Or needed help. Or… anything. Because in Jayce’s mind, this is what caring looks like: filling the gaps before someone can fall through them. Anticipating a need before it’s spoken, before they’re even aware it exists.. And if he’s already building a life Viktor can step into, well, that’s not about control. That’s just being prepared. That’s care.

He lets Viktor know dinner is done as he plates the food. Behind him, he hears the faint creak of the couch cushions, the soft sound of Viktor setting the phone down — not far, but not pocketed either.

They eat at the kitchen counter. It’s quiet at first, and Jayce lets it be. Viktor picks at the stir-fry for a bit, then gradually starts actually eating. By the time they’re halfway through, the tension has eased, the silence replaced by the occasional clink of silverware and Jayce making small talk about some idiotic thing a coworker said.

It’s only as they’re finishing, — Jayce pushing back his empty plate, Viktor chasing the last bite of rice around his bowl — that Viktor speaks again.

He doesn’t look up when he says it. “Thank you. For the phone.”

Jayce blinks, then glances over. Viktor’s ears are a little pink. His voice carries an affectation Jayce has become familiar with, the faux-casual tone of someone trying not to trip over it.

“It’s just- ” Viktor starts, then stops. Fork tapping once against the side of the bowl. “You didn’t have to.”

Jayce keeps his voice even. “I know.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I just...” He shifts in his seat. “I don’t know how to take stuff like that. It’s not something I’m used to.”

Jayce gives him a soft smile. “I didn’t get it to put you in debt, Vik. I got it so you’d feel a little less...stuck. That’s all.”

Viktor finally lifts his gaze, and Jayce sees it. That wary kind of gratitude, like he wants to believe it’s just kindness, a true gift without conditions or strings.

Jayce just stands and says, “Come on, let's go watch a movie.”

------

Their choice of film flickers in the background, dialogue low, barely filling the quiet.

Viktor shifts again on the couch until he’s curled lightly into Jayce’s side. Not draped over him, not obvious about it. Just… nestled in. Shoulder tucked under Jayce’s arm, his legs drawn up, the edge of his knee brushing against Jayce’s thigh.

Jayce doesn’t move. Just lets him settle. It’s the first time Viktor’s touched him tonight without hesitation.

Jayce keeps his arm loose around him at first, fingertips grazing lightly up and down Viktor’s arm in a slow rhythm. Viktor sighs, soft and barely audible, and leans in further — temple resting just against Jayce’s shoulder now, hoodie sleeve half hiding his hand where it curls in against Jayce’s chest.

He turns his head, just slightly, enough to look down at him. Viktor’s lashes are low, mouth soft, face relaxed in a way Jayce doesn’t see often. It brings him a deep sense of satisfaction, pride in that his Viktor feels so secure in his embrace, under his care.

“You tired?” he murmurs.

Viktor makes a low, noncommittal sound, the kind that means not really, but I don’t want to move. Jayce shifts his hand, knuckles tilting Viktor’s chin just slightly, guiding him to look up.

Their eyes meet.

He doesn’t rush it, just dips his head and brushes their mouths together, the kind of kiss meant to ask can I? Viktor answers by leaning in.

The kiss is searching, slow. Viktor’s hand slides up to Jayce’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Jayce responds by tugging him closer, his free hand cradling the back of Viktor’s neck, thumb sweeping through the soft curls at his nape. Viktor presses in, all quiet desire and shaky breath, like something he’s been holding in all day is finally slipping loose.

Jayce shifts, pulling him in more fully, Viktor now tucked completely against his chest, legs draped partly over his lap. The position makes him feel smaller somehow, looking vulnerable in a way that brings on a hot coil of possessiveness in Jayce’s chest.

He strokes a hand along Viktor’s side, slow and claiming, fingers skating just under the hem of his sweatshirt, and kisses him again, deeper now, tongue sweeping across Viktor’s lower lip until the boy makes a soft, needy sound against his mouth.

Jayce pulls back just enough to murmur, “That okay?”

Viktor nods, breath shallow. “Yeah. Just…don’t stop.”

And his breath stutters as Jayce kisses him again, lips opening with a needy, unguarded sound that fans the flames sweeping down Jayce’s spine.

He’s curled so tightly into him, all narrow limbs and sharp edges pressed into Jayce like he’s trying to disappear into the warmth. One of Viktor’s legs is slung over Jayce’s thigh now, his hips tilted just enough to —

Jayce groans into his mouth as Viktor rocks forward, subtle but unmistakable. It doesn’t seem deliberate, but like his body knows what it wants before his mind can catch up.

Jayce’s hand slides under his hoodie, splaying warm across the bare skin of his back, dragging up slowly. Viktor shivers, mouth parting further, breath catching as Jayce pulls him closer.

“Fuck, Vik…” Jayce mutters against his lips. “You feel so good like this.”

Viktor doesn’t say anything, just presses harder into his chest, hips rolling again with a stuttering motion that makes him gasp.

Jayce exhales sharply, steadying him with a warm palm on his waist. He kisses him again, more demanding now, until Viktor’s moaning into his mouth, hands fisting in Jayce’s shirt like he’s anchoring himself.

Jayce tilts his head, dragging his mouth along Viktor’s jaw, then kissesg behind his ear where he now knows he likes, moves to the hollow of his throat. Viktor arches into it instinctively, breath drawing in short, desperate little gasps.

“You’re shaking,” Jayce whispers, fingers brushing just under the waistband of Viktor’s jeans. “That from me?”

Viktor nods, cheeks flushed, grinding down with more pressure. The friction between them feels messy, despite the barrier of their clothes. Jayce slides a hand down, pressing his palm flat over the heat of him, slow and deliberate.

Viktor lets out a sound that’s half-moan, half-whimper, hips jerking into the touch.

“Thought about this all day,” Jayce murmurs, his voice rough against Viktor’s ear. “Coming home to you. Getting my hands on you again. You like that?”

Viktor nods frantically, jaw slack. “Y-Yeah-”

“Yeah?” Jayce grins, hand moving with more purpose now, grinding the heel of his palm just right against the seam, swears he can feel dampness through the denim. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” Viktor breathes. “Jayce- please-”

Jayce kisses him again. Crushing, possessive, one hand tangled in his hair, the other working him through his jeans. Viktor’s a mess in his lap, grinding desperately, trembling with every pass of friction. And Jayce loves it. Loves how sensitive he is, how wrecked he gets from so little. The sound of his name, breathless from Viktor’s kissed-bruised lips.

“Come here,” Jayce murmurs against them.

He shifts, guiding Viktor back, one hand sliding down to catch under his thigh as he urges him to lie down. The couch isn’t huge, but it’s enough space to lay out the slight teen. Viktor lets him move him, breath catching as Jayce eases him onto the cushions, stretched out beneath his hulking frame, flushed and panting.

His hoodie rides up as he settles, baring a sliver of pale stomach. Jayce doesn’t hesitate, he pushes it up with one hand, his mouth following, kissing over warm skin until Viktor shivers beneath him.

“You remember what I said last time?” Jayce murmurs, dragging his thumb once more along the waistband of Viktor’s jeans. “I meant it. You looked so good coming apart for me. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

Viktor groans as Jayce’s hand moves to his fly, popping the button, easing the zipper down slow enough to make Viktor squirm. He helps him out of his jeans, tugging them down his legs along with his briefs, careful around the brace but not coddling.

Jayce exhales when he sees him — swollen and flushed, slick smeared along his inner thighs. His mouth floods with saliva at the sight.

“Fuck,” he mutters, low and reverent. “You’re already soaked.”

Viktor bites his lip, one hand coming up to hide his face.

Jayce catches his wrist gently. “No,” he says, leaning in to kiss the inside of Viktor’s arm. “Let me see you.”

Viktor drops his hand, gaze hazy, lips parted. Jayce runs his fingers down, slow and deliberate, between Viktor’s legs, circling him with just enough pressure to make his back arch off the cushions.

“You want it like last time?” Jayce asks, voice low against his throat. He’s desperate to get his mouth on him — but that feels like it might be too much for the boy right now.

Viktor nods, breath hitching. “Y-Yeah. Please.”

Jayce groans, watching intently as he slides two fingers along his slit, gathering slick before rubbing over his little cock in steady, purposeful strokes. Viktor’s whole body shudders, his hips lifting into the touch, desperate for more friction.

Jayce leans down and kisses him again, swallowing the sound Viktor makes when he starts rocking onto his hand.

And it’s messy, frantic. Viktor’s thighs spread wide as he can, twitching under Jayce’s fingers as he moans and rocks against him.

Jayce doesn’t let up. “Look at you,” he breathes. “Laid out for me. So fucking needy.”

Viktor gasps, his hands gripping Jayce’s arms, fingernails digging in.

“You gonna come for me like this again?” Jayce asks, his voice rough, hot and humid between their mouths. “You gonna soak my fucking hand, Vik?”

Jayce’s finger slides lower and enters him, every movement dragging another moan from his throat. Viktor’s hips twitch, thighs trembling under Jayce’s grip, but even through the haze, his smaller hand moves too – shaky but determined, sliding down between them until it presses against the front of Jayce’s jeans.

Jayce groans low at the first touch, Viktor’s palm rubbing over the hard line of his cock through the fabric, tentative but eager.

“Fuck,” Jayce mutters, hips rolling just slightly into his hand. “Look at you. Still thinking about me?”

Viktor nods, breath stuttering. “Wanna make you — feel good…” His voice catches halfway through.

Viktor fumbles with Jayce’s waistband, finally managing to get the button undone while Jayce maintains his steady pace, fucking into him with deliberate curls of his wrist. Viktor’s hand slips beneath the fabric — his palm is hot, tentative, trembling a little as he wraps it around Jayce’s cock for the first time.

Jayce shudders at the contact, letting out a sound that’s half curse, half groan. “Shit, Vik-”

His grip’s too loose at first, then too tight, clearly he’s not sure how much pressure to use. His strokes are uneven, hesitant, like he’s trying to remember what he’s trying to do through the fog of sensation wrecking him from below. Jayce’s rhythm stutters when he’s hit with the realization that this is likely the first dick Vik has ever held in his hands. It’s but half a second before he resumes with renewed fervor, prideful satisfaction and arousal washing over him at the thought — he would be the only one.

Viktor lets out a soft, choked sound, flushed down to his chest as Jayce adds another finger. His brows knit, lips parted, eyes fluttering half-shut as he tries to move his hand in time with Jayce’s thrusts, but his rhythm keeps breaking. Every time Jayce presses in deeper, every time his fingers drag over that perfect spot, Viktor’s breath hitches and his hips buck, and the motion of his strokes falters again.

“You’re trying,” Jayce murmurs against his mouth, teasing dark with hunger, “but you’re too close, aren’t you?”

Viktor nods with a shaky breath, forehead pressing to Jayce’s shoulder. “I-I’m sorry…I’m trying to-”

“Don’t apologize,” Jayce cuts in, rough and breathless. “You’re perfect like this.”

He kisses Viktor again, hard and open-mouthed, swallowing the little gasping sounds he makes as his body rocks helplessly into Jayce’s hand.

Viktor’s strokes slow, falter, then stop entirely as his thighs tremble. His hand stays curled loosely around Jayce, but he can’t keep moving it anymore. He’s too close, too wrecked, everything in him drawn tight as a wire.

“Jayce- fuck…I can’t - can’t,” he gasps, fingers digging into Jayce’s side now, nails biting through cotton. “Please-”

Jayce doesn’t stop. His hand moves faster, rougher now, grinding the heel of his palm against Viktor until he cries out, hips jerking as he comes with a sharp, broken wail. His body shakes, slick spilling down Jayce’s fingers, thighs trembling around him.

Jayce keeps working him through it, slow and deliberate, murmuring soft praise until Viktor collapses back against the cushions, eyes glassy, lips parted, chest heaving.

Viktor’s hand is still resting on Jayce’s cock — warm, twitching slightly — but unmoving. Jayce kisses him slower now. Languid, possessive. Trapping the heat of their bodies between them like a treasure, covetous for the flush swept across his lover’s skin.

He shifts back slightly after a few moments, pulling his hand from between Viktor’s legs with care, his own jeans still open, cock hard and aching where it hangs. He lets out a rough breath as his hand wraps around the base, slick from Viktor, his fist already moving slow and tight.

Viktor watches him through half-lidded eyes, dazed but focused, like the sight has hooked into something in him. His lips part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

Jayce strokes himself with long, deliberate pulls, thumb swiping over the head, using the wetness Viktor left behind to ease the friction. His other hand grips Viktor’s thigh possessively, fingers pressing into soft skin just above his brace.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice thick. “Fucked out and perfect.”

Viktor blushes deeper, turning his face slightly into the cushion, but not all the way. He’s still watching him.

Jayce groans low, fucking into his hand now with growing urgency. His eyes dragging over every inch of Viktor — the flushed chest, the trembling thighs, the way he’s obediently spread open, not trying to close himself off. Like he knows who he belongs to.

“Want to do this every fucking day,” Jayce grits out. “Come home. Lay you out. Watch you fall apart for me.”

Viktor lets out a soft, breathless sound, eyes tracking the movement of Jayce’s hand like he’s mesmerized. Jayce strokes himself faster now, hips jerking slightly with each movement. His breathing turns ragged, jaw tight, hand pumping hard and slick over his cock as tension coils sharp in his gut.

He keeps his eyes locked on Viktor, voice low and hungry. “You look so good like this, Vik. You have no fucking idea.”

He jerks himself with a rough grip, knees digging into the cushions, hovering over Viktor like he can’t bear to pull away. Viktor’s still spread open for him, his hoodie bunched up, belly streaked with sweat, swollen lips parted as he watches wide-eyed.

Jayce groans low in his throat, dragging his hand faster. He watches the way Viktor stares, his gaze flicking between Jayce’s face and the tight, slick rhythm of his fist. His mouth moves, soundless at first — then he speaks, voice hoarse and still frayed around the edges.

“You-” A swallow. “You look good like that.”

Jayce chokes on a breath, the words hitting somewhere low, zinging electric up his spine. He strokes harder, chasing it, heart hammering under his ribs.

Viktor’s gaze drops again, more deliberate this time. Curious. Like he’s trying to understand the mechanics of it, how it works, what makes Jayce tick, what exactly he did to pull that sound out of him. His fingers twitch where they rest near his stomach, dragging down to rest over Jayce’s hand on his thigh before he asks, quietly:

“Will you show me how to do it for you? Next time?”

Jayce bites down on a curse, his spine bowing as he laces their fingers together. He strokes himself faster, rougher, needing…needing…

“Gods, Viktor-” He comes with a sharp gasp, spilling over Viktor’s belly in hot, pulsing stripes. His vision blurs for a second, muscles locking as every ounce of restraint gives out at once.

Viktor blinks up at him, stunned but unflinching. He shifts slightly as the heat spreads across his skin, then glances down, quiet, fascinated. Jayce brushes his thumb over Viktor’s hip without thinking, smearing a bit of the mess across his skin. Viktor doesn’t shy from the sensation. If anything, he leans into it.

He leans back slowly, chest still rising hard with each breath. His hand is sticky with come, jeans pushed halfway down, and Viktor’s stretched out beneath him, flushed, dazed, legs spread where Jayce had worked him open with nothing but his fingers and a filthy mouth.

“I’ll show you anything you want,” Jayce says, voice rough with the weight of it. “Anything." As he kisses Viktor once more.

He pushes off the couch and is back a moment later with a warm, damp cloth. He kneels between Viktor’s legs again and starts cleaning him up, slow and careful. Viktor flinches once from the overstimulation but doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t speak. Just watches with a pleased shine in his heavy-lidded eyes.

Jayce tosses the cloth aside when he’s done, then helps him back into his clothes — pulling soft fabric over shaky legs, tucking his waistband back into place. He doesn’t say much, but his hands linger, brushing Viktor’s hip, smoothing his sweatshirt down.

The TV’s still droning in the background, their half-watched movie long forgotten. Jayce picks up the remote, switches it off. The silence that follows is warm and heavy.

"Let's go to bed," He suggests, and helps Viktor off the couch.

By the time they reach the bedroom, Viktor’s more leaning than upright, still dazed, one hand limply gripping the doorframe as Jayce turns down the bed. Jayce walks back to him and kneels without a word, hand already resting on the side of Viktor’s leg.

“Hold still,” he says softly, voice low as he fingers the fastenings on the brace.

Viktor blinks down at him, eyes bleary, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t question his care.

Jayce undoes each strap gently, peeling them away from his leg like he’s unwrapping something precious. The tension eases from Viktor’s posture with every layer Jayce unbuckles.

Once the brace is fully off, Jayce sets it aside then looks up at him again. “Better?”

Viktor nods faintly, the softest hum slipping from his throat.

Jayce helps him the rest of the way into bed, pulling the blanket up over both of them, curling in behind him without hesitation. His arm winds around Viktor’s waist again like it’s second nature. Jayce listens as Viktor’s breathing evens out, pressed warm against his chest. It’s too easy to imagine a future like this every night.

His mind goes over Viktor’s reaction to the phone, to the research he did on options for potential schooling. He just wants Viktor to have everything he deserves. But he doesn’t want to overwhelm him, doesn’t want to scare him off — he wants Viktor to feel able to rely on him. To look for him. To need him. It’d be too easy to drown the boy in it. Smother him in everything Jayce wants to give.

Viktor doesn’t know it, but he’s what keeps Jayce from slipping, makes the noise go quiet for a while. Gives him a reason to wake up, come home. To stay steady. To keep trying.

But he hasn’t seen the full picture yet.

Not the manic days when Jayce talks too fast, moves too much, starts five things and finishes none. Not the weeks when sleep won’t come for days, when the world feels too loud, too bright, like it’s grinding against his skin.

And he hasn’t seen the lows. The stretch of empty days where Jayce can’t get up, can’t bring himself to care, can’t fake it — when even breathing feels like an insurmountable chore.

He knows it’s only a matter of time.

Part of him wants to keep Viktor sheltered from it. Hold him here, keep him tucked in this version of him that’s easy to hold. The one Viktor curls into at night.

But another part — deep-rooted and unflinching — is desperate for Viktor to see it all. Every dark corner, every ominous facet of his soul.

And stay, regardless.

Because if Viktor wants to stick around through that, through the worst of him, then that means this is real. That means he’s his.

And Jayce can’t — he won’t let go of that.

Jayce has never really done love before. He’s not sure he even knows how to love right, if he’s even capable. But if this isn’t love, it’s the closest he’s ever had. It might not be the kind of love people write sonnets about. But it’s theirs.

He knows Viktor’s never had much — not safety, not comfort, not someone who he could trust to stay, relying on his own cleverness and suspicion for protection. But Jayce is determined to give it to him. Again and again, until Viktor forgets how he ever lived without it. Until this, the warmth, attention, the steady weight of someone who won’t leave, becomes the only version of love he recognizes.

If it comes to it, he’ll make sure Viktor never wants to leave. He’ll give him everything. Fill every need before Viktor can even name it. Become so essential that walking away wouldn’t just be hard — it’d be impossible.

That’s what love is, right?

Making sure the person you need has every reason to stay.

Even if they don’t realize it.

Chapter Text

Living with Jayce is quieter than Viktor expected. Not silent really — Jayce hums when he moves around the kitchen, mutters to himself when he’s fixing something, curses when he stubs his toe and then apologizes to the table — but it’s a kind of quiet that soothes. The kind that leaves space to breathe.

Not like the youth center, where the noise was constant and close — voices bleeding through paper thin walls, doors slamming at all hours, someone always arguing down the hall or coughing through the night. Even when it was calm, it never felt still. Every thought had to fight for space inside the noise.

Zaun was worse. The sound of the city never stopped. Trains groaning along rusted rails, machinery shrieking in the distance, vendors shouting over each other in the streets. Fights breaking out half a block away — sometimes over territory, sometimes over nothing. Raised voices, shouts that turned to screams, gang bikes howling past revving engines loud enough to shake windows. You learned to keep your head down and move with it.

But this — this is different.

The noise here doesn’t press in. It doesn’t demand attention. It just lives in the walls and beneath the floorboards, steady and forgettable. Something that fills the space without taking it over. Viktor is still learning how to live inside it without waiting for the next interruption.

Most mornings start with that low rhythm of what Viktor can only assume is a normal life. The hiss of the shower, the gentle clink of dishes, Jayce brushing by to press a kiss to Viktor’s temple before heading out the door. Sometimes he pulls Viktor in by the waist and kisses him properly, slow and lingering — the kind that leaves Viktor blinking after the door clicks shut, heart doing somersaults in his chest.

The apartment feels bigger when Jayce is gone. Not empty, just…still.

Viktor fills the time the best he can. He tinkers, reverting to the motions of his familiar skills, made sweeter by the fact that he’s not relying on it for income — though he realizes quickly that it’s now something he’d rather do with Jayce. The thought makes him pause. It’s never been like this, having someone to want to share his work, his passions with. The tools are delicately replaced in their kits for when they can puzzle on repairs together.

He cooks. Not because he has to, but because it feels good to do something with his hands, to have something ready when Jayce gets home. He watches TV, reorganizes things that don’t make sense to him, fixes the loose drawer in the kitchen. Sometimes he leaves little notes on the counter. Jayce always finds them and writes something back. He dives into study guides and supplemental prep texts for re-entry into the education system — is surprised to find them rather simple, but diligently takes notes and rereads modules as if he’s already being graded.

Sometimes he just thinks about Jayce.

Not just about the way Jayce kisses him before he leaves, or the way he smiles like he’s already looking forward to coming home. It’s the way Jayce remembers how he takes his coffee, how he likes his toast in the mornings. How he always pulls the blankets up over Viktor’s shoulders when he falls asleep on the couch. How he listens intently, even when Viktor’s just rambling about something dumb, never makes him feel like he’s wasting his time.

It’s a casual kindness. The quiet kind of attention. The way Jayce moves around him like they’ve always shared space, like Viktor belongs here without needing to prove anything. Calm, confident hands on his shoulder in the kitchen, lazy massages to his knee on the couch.

But it’s also the way Jayce touches him in intimacy — slow, steady, deliberate — like he’s not just trying to get Viktor off, but to use each caress to telegraph his affection.. Takes his time everywhere, like he’s learning Viktor’s body piece by piece, categorically storing every sound and shiver for later analysis.

His mind often drifts to a few short weeks ago, the first time Jayce went down on him. A vivid memory branded in a way he doesn’t think will ever fade.

It hadn’t been planned, just one of many quiet nights. Jayce had come home tired but smiling, pressing a soft kiss to Viktor’s temple before setting down the takeout he brought. They’d eaten on the couch, knees touching. Viktor had made a dry joke about Jayce’s chopstick technique, and Jayce had retaliated by grabbing his hand and licking sauce off his thumb in a way that made Viktor go still.

They’d ended up in bed not long after. Jayce was over him, open mouths slotted together, hungry with intent. Then he kissed his way down. Past Viktor’s chest, along his stomach. Lower still.

Viktor’s breath had stuttered when Jayce pushed at his legs, spreading him open as he settled between them. He hadn’t expected that, wasn’t even sure Jayce wanted that from him.

“Wait, are you – ” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But the words escaped, sharp with surprise.

Jayce had looked up, calm as ever, beard tickling sensitive skin as his mouth barely brushed over the inside of his thigh. "Let me taste you."

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t something to be negotiated. Viktor was vaguely startled by the shock of arousal that darted through him in response, to have no real choice, to be excited by rather than fearful of his partner’s possessive need. He’d found himself nodding before he even realized he was doing it.

Then Jayce leaned in.

The first stroke of his tongue had Viktor gasping, back arching off the bed, thighs futilely trying to close around Jayce’s head. He’d never felt anything like it. Jayce’s mouth was hot and sure, lapping over his folds like he’d been made for it. Every flick of his tongue was deliberate, every sound he made against Viktor’s cunt reverent, almost greedy.

And gods, the way Jayce moaned — moaned — into him, like the taste of him alone would be his undoing.

Viktor didn’t last. He couldn’t. Jayce was relentless, tongue insistent, until Viktor was writhing under him — coming once, then again, thighs trembling, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity of it. Jayce never stopped. Just eased the pressure, shifted his angle, let Viktor feel every wave of it while murmuring praise against his skin.

And then he felt his fingers. Calloused and careful, gently gliding through folds to slick them before dipping inside. Just one at first, then another, sliding deep while his mouth stayed exactly where it needed to be, wet lips pursed over his sensitive cock. Viktor remembered hearing himself beg, voice shaking, hands gripped in Jayce’s hair, coming again before he could even catch his breath. This time harder. Messier.

When it was finally too much, when Viktor was shaking and half-sobbing, Jayce only pulled back to kiss the inside of his thigh and murmur something he couldn’t quite hear.

He’d crawled back up and kissed him after. Softly, mouth still glistening. Viktor tasted himself on Jayce’s tongue, and to his own surprise, he didn’t mind it. It felt intimate. Unfiltered. Even now, just remembering it makes his stomach clench. Because it didn’t feel like Jayce had just gone down on him, he’d felt changed, worshipped.

After, Viktor had been dazed. Boneless. Still gasping for breath as he buried his face in Jayce’s neck and tried to stop shaking. Jayce had held him close, whispering soft praise into his hair until he had fallen asleep.

He thinks about it more than he should. How much further they could go. How much he’s starting to crave it, the yet unexplored aspects of their budding sex life. About what it would feel like to have all of Jayce, nothing in between.

-----

Jayce takes him out often — small errands, little lunch dates. Picking up takeout, grabbing new soap or toothpaste when they run low. Nothing particularly interesting. But it’s always together now. Two people moving through the world, a pair. Viktor relishes it more than he lets on.

The way Jayce slows his steps so Viktor can keep pace without needing to say anything. The way he steers the cart lazily with one hand while the other is wrapped around Viktor’s waist, or tucked possessively at the small of his back. How he rests a palm on Viktor’s thigh under the table when they stop to eat somewhere, thumb tracing slow circles, like he needs the contact just to stay grounded.

Sometimes they stop into places they don’t need to. A hardware store where Jayce points out tools he thinks Viktor might like, or a bookstore Viktor gets lost in for half an hour while Jayce just waits, leaning against the shelves with that same patient smile, gaze rarely straying.

Viktor doesn’t say much about it, but he feels the implications. That they look like a couple. That people might see them that way.

Jayce doesn’t seem to care. Doesn’t pull away when Viktor bumps into him in the grocery aisle. Doesn’t hide the way he brushes Viktor’s hair out of his face, or tugs him closer when they stand in line at the pharmacy, as he pays for Viktor’s prescriptions without blinking.

Viktor doesn’t hesitate much anymore, sometimes he even leans into it. Pressing his shoulder to Jayce’s arm, letting himself be kissed in broad daylight, in full view of strangers. Once, outside a convenience store, he grabbed Jayce by the collar and kissed him first.

This iteration of their dance is still new, but it’s becoming theirs. He doesn’t know what to call it yet, but they're not pretending it’s all that casual anymore.

-----

Viktor’s got the hang of his phone now. At first, texting felt like trying to speak underwater, but now he’s quick enough to keep up with Jayce. Their conversations are a mess of inside jokes, reminders, good-morning texts, and the occasional photo. He’s still figuring out tone, timing, pacing, but he’s starting to enjoy it.

Especially when Jayce plays along.

There’s not much to do today. The apartment’s already clean, laundry folded, dishes put away. He’s wandered from room to room, flipped through channels without watching, even tried to nap and failed. Everything’s done, and yet he can’t settle.

He’s bored. Restless energy buzzes alongside the chronic pain.

The consistent testosterone doses aren’t helping, either. Now that he’s on schedule, his body’s catching up fast. More energy, more tension, more horniness that won’t go away no matter how many times he shifts under the blankets or distracts himself with something else. It’s like his whole body’s humming, wound up and waiting. His thoughts wander in circles that always end in the same place — Jayce.

The way his mouth feels. His hands. His voice in the dark, close and filthy. There’s a pulse between his legs that just won’t go away.

He shifts, thighs squeezing together slightly, the soft fabric of his pants doing nothing to help. Jayce won’t be home for hours. Viktor’s scrolled through his texts three times already, re-reading whatever stupid jokes or check-ins they’ve traded today.

A thought comes to him as his fingers hover over the camera icon, nerves sparking just beneath his skin.

He’s never sent anything like this before. But he’s tried lots of new things with Jayce, and has truly begun to trust his affection. The fiery ache in his gut building throughout the quiet stretch of the day makes him bold.

He flips the camera, shifts just enough to arch his back subtly, the afternoon light dragging shadows across his spine, and catches the shot. Just enough skin, just enough of the sharp angle of his waist and the low dip of his sweatpants to make it obvious this isn’t innocent.

He stares at the screen for a moment, then sends it.

[3:38 p.m.]

might have to touch myself if you don’t get home soon.

[3:39 p.m.]

wonder how many times I could come if you were here helping instead.

Jayce replies almost instantly.

[3:40 p.m.]
Don’t you dare touch yourself without me.
Be home in twenty. You want to be good? Keep your hands off until I walk through that door.
[3:41 p.m.]
I’ll make you forget how to count.

Viktor drops the phone beside him, face hot, heart pounding. He doesn't move.

Eighteen minutes later Jayce strides through the bedroom door. He doesn’t speak, just drops his keys, crosses the room, and kisses him like he’s starved. Then he’s tugging at Viktor’s waistband, guiding him out of his clothes. Jayce murmurs low and filthy into his skin, promises that make Viktor’s knees go weak, before pressing him into the bed.

Jayce lays him out, mouth dragging down his body, slow and focused in contrast with his rush home. His tongue finds his sex easily, lapping over him with practiced ease, mouth parting him like he’s the only thing worth tasting. Viktor twitches at every wet stroke, every soft groan Jayce lets out between his legs.

It doesn’t take long for the first one, too keyed up from waiting, thighs trembling from the first drag across his cock. But Jayce keeps going, eases him through the waves of ecstatic sensation, licking him gently through the aftershocks. Large warm hands keep him spread, open and twitching beneath Jayces ministrations. There’s hardly a pause before he’s diving back in, starting all over again.

Viktor doesn’t know how long this cycle lasts.

It starts to blur together — his mouth, his fingers, the noises they make growing messier every minute, the way Jayce talks him through each crest, the only time his mouth isn’t pressed to Viktors skin. The build comes again and again, and Viktor is helpless to stop it. His whole body buzzes with raw nerves and adrenaline, too hot and washing cold at the same time. He’s lightheaded, breath caught in his throat like he can’t pull enough air in. His thighs are soaked and chafing from how long he’s been kept open, how thoroughly Jayce’s mouth has worked him apart. Viktors bad leg rests in the crook of Jayce's elbow, its twinges of pain overshadowed by the continuous flood of endorphins.

Viktor dimly notes his own wailing, too wired to feel shame for his nonsensical whines and whimpers as Jayce slows. He’s past the point of control, completely overstimulated. Everything’s too much. Tears prick at his eyes, muscles twitching with every touch. He’s hypersensitive, pleasure and pain rippling through him in equal measure, but still Jayce licks him through it, savoring. Like he wants to draw every last flicker of pleasure out of him and swallow it whole, wring him dry.

When Jayce finally lifts his head, his face is slick with Viktor’s release, eyes dark and shining with something that borders on obsession. His tongue drags slowly over his bottom lip, savoring what’s left behind.

Then he moves, one arm gently curling around Viktor’s waist as he shifts and eases them both down. Viktor barely notices at first — fucked out and reeling, until he’s being drawn forward, Jayce reclining back against the pillows, pulling Viktor with him. He settles down flat and drags Viktor higher, hands firm on his hips.

“Up here,” he rasps, voice thick. “Over my mouth. Wanna taste you like this.”

Viktor hesitates, unable to quiet form words. His legs are unsteady, skin flushed and still pulsing, cunt throbbing from being pushed so far already. But Jayce is patient, his grip steady and grounding as he coaxes him up, guides him forward until Viktor’s thighs bracket either side of his head, knees sinking into the mattress.

“Give me one more,” Jayce breathes, words slurring like he's drunk off of him. “Wanna feel you come on my tongue one more time. So fuckin’ sweet when you fall apart for me.”

Viktor’s trembling hands go to the headboard first, bracing himself there, muscles tense and aching. But when Jayce looks up at him, like he needs this, like Viktor’s the only thing that can quiet whatever’s clawing inside him — doubt gives way. Instinct overriding hesitation as his hips settle over Jayce's waiting mouth.

The man groans and pulls him down the rest of the way, swollen lips latching on with hungry precision. His tongue drags through slick heat, slow and measured, and Viktor chokes on a moan, hips jolting. It’s too much, his body already wrecked and oversensitive, and it sends a sharp, helpless shudder through him.

He clings to the headboard for half a second before he’s sinking lower, hands dropping into Jayce’s hair instead, gripping tight, shaking as Jayce devours him like he can’t get enough.

Viktor tries to hold still, but his hips rock without rhythm, chasing every maddening flick of Jayce’s tongue even as it starts to hurt. The pressure coils too fast, too hard, dragging him straight toward the edge again.

And when it crashes over him, it breaks him.

He cries out — loud and wrecked — and everything blanks. His whole body locks up, pleasure-pain hitting so hard and fast it steals the air from his lungs. His limbs shake, fingers tightening in Jayce’s hair like he’s falling, like that mouth has pulled the world out from under him.

He can’t think. Can’t speak. Can barely hold himself up.

All he knows is Jayce — under him, holding him there, keeping him together even as he falls apart, soaking his collared work shirt without a care.

------

Later that night, Viktor’s sitting on the floor, back against the couch, study guide in his lap when Jayce comes in the living room, dropping beside him with a grunt.

“Still cramming?”

Viktor shrugs, leaning into him. “Feels weird not to.”

Jayce leans back on his palms. “You’re ready.”

“You’re biased.”

“I’m observant,” Jayce says. “I’ve seen your practice work. You’ll pass with your eyes closed.”

“I’d prefer not to close them,” Viktor snarks. “Feels risky.”

Viktor flips a page, even though he’s not reading it. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

Jayce bumps their shoulders. “It is. You’re more than ready. I’m proud of you.”

The words land like a soft punch. He swallows, eyes shifting to Jayce’s. “Say it again.” he whispers.

Jayce looks at him, something soft flickering in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Vik.”

Viktor lets the words settle in his chest, warm and solid. He nods, closes the study guide. “Alright then.”

Jayce kisses his cheek. “We’ll celebrate once it’s over.”

Viktor hums. “Only if I pass.”

“You’ll pass,” Jayce says, tugging him a little closer. “I’ve got no doubt.”

And for the first time in a long time, neither does Viktor.

---------

The following week finds Viktor in a quiet testing room, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the sound of clicking keys filling the space. Twenty strangers, spaced evenly apart, eyes glued to glowing screens. He's tense at first — shoulders tight, his good knee bouncing — but the nerves slip away as soon as he starts. The questions are even easier than he expected. Familiar. Like the answers have been waiting catalogued on a shelf in the back of his mind, just waiting to be plucked to the surface.

He finishes early. Double checks everything, and still has time to spare.

When he clicks submit, the screen pauses — then flashes a score.

He stares at it, shock flowing through his system.

When Viktor goes to the front desk, he doesn’t look at the proctor as they silently print out the results and slide the page across the counter. Just takes the paper with slightly shaking fingers, gripping it tight like it might disappear if he’s not careful.

He passed. More than passed. Received the kind of score that might make someone double take, might make them rethink whatever assumptions they’d had just by looking at him.

And it means something, even if he doesn’t quite know what.

Proof, maybe. That he’s not stupid. That the nights spent hunched over found textbooks with aching joints and tired eyes hadn’t been a waste. That every hour he'd poured into learning — alone, unsupervised, uncredited — mattered.

That he’s done enough. That maybe, he is enough.

He folds the paper once, tucks it into his coat pocket and walks out into the cold, back to Jayce.

Jayce is waiting by the car. He doesn’t notice Viktor at first; he’s pacing slow, staring down the street like he’s trying not to overthink. When their eyes meet, Jayce’s expression lifts.

Viktor doesn’t speak as he reaches him. Just pulls the folded paper from his pocket and offers it.

Jayce takes the results, eyes scanning fast, a breath of disbelief leaves his chest. He lets out a low whistle. “Goddamn, Vik.”

Then he looks up at him and grins, wide and golden, like Viktor’s just handed him the fucking moon. “I knew you’d crush it.”

Viktor shrugs, but his face is burning. “I didn’t crush it. Just… passed.”

Jayce laughs, warm and happy. “Vik, you destroyed it. These scores are…seriously, this is incredible.”

Before Viktor can reply, Jayce hooks a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him.

Right there, in the middle of the parking lot. Not rushed, not hidden. His mouth soft and certain against Viktor’s, like this is something he gets to have now. Someone proud of him. Someone waiting for him, to share in his accomplishments.

Viktor kisses him back, fingers brushing lightly at the front of Jayce’s jacket, mouth parting slightly. Enough to say, I want this too, even if I’m scared. It’s not a deep kiss, but it makes something in Viktor’s chest ache anyway.

“You hungry?” Jayce asks when he pulls back, still close enough that Viktor can feel his breath. “I want to take you out. Celebrate properly.”

Viktor stares at him for a beat, caught between wanting to deflect and a quiet, startling want to let himself be doted on. Treated like he’s worth it.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, lips barely brushing Jayce’s. “Okay.”

Jayce squeezes the back of his neck before moving to open the passenger door for him, all casual chivalry, like it’s just part of the routine now. Maybe it is. Viktor climbs in, and when Jayce rounds the car to the driver’s side, Viktor pulls that test result out again, smoothing the crease with careful fingers. Just looking.

Jayce slips into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, one hand already falling naturally to Viktor’s thigh. Just resting there, warm through the denim, thumb dragging idle little arcs back and forth.

He’s always touching, almost compulsively. Fingers brushing Viktor’s wrist while they’re reading on the couch, a hand at the small of his back when they’re out, a kiss pressed to his neck when he’s least expecting it. Not that Viktor minds. But it leaves him…off-balance. Destabilized and warm in a way that lingers, long after the contact fades.

It’s been just over three weeks since he moved in, since the center flooded — still under repairs, as distant from his mind as Viktor seems to be from theirs. Not even a month since they crossed the line, traded charged glances and silent fantasies for something real. Tangible. Hot skin and soft gasps in the dark.

Jayce touches him almost every night. Spreads him open with steady fingers or goes down on him until he’s shaking, whispering praise into the curve of his neck. Let's Viktor jerk him off in return, quiet and red-faced, sometimes clumsy but learning and always eager.

But that’s it, No more. Not once has Jayce tried to press into him, or even voiced his desire to do so. Not even when Viktor catches him staring, hard as hell and breathing rough.

It’s not that Viktor’s unsatisfied, he’s practically a puddle by the end of each evening, gently gathered into a shower or sleepy embrace. But he can’t help but feel inadequate — overactive mind imagining reasons for why Jayce wouldn’t want to fuck him. Maybe Jayce thinks he couldn’t handle it, that Viktor’s too inexperienced. Fragile. Jayce never says it, but there’s a restraint in him that Viktor doesn’t know what to do with. Like he’s constantly holding something back.

But Viktor wants all of it, to prove himself capable — craves what must be the ultimate closeness. The weight of Jayce’s body over his, pushing into him slow and gentle ...or a rough, jackhammer pace. Both. All. Viktor wants to feel everything Jayce is capable of giving. He shifts in his seat, the familiar ache settling lower in his belly. He doesn’t know how to ask for it without sounding pathetic. But gods, he’s starting to feel desperate.

Jayce reaches for the stereo dial, tunes to something upbeat and catchy, then returns his hand to Viktor’s thigh. Thumb stroking slow, absent circles. Possessive, without even realizing it.

Viktor stares out the window, heart thudding under the weight of that maddening touch.

Jayce takes him to somewhere new. Clean, with warm lighting. A row of windows overlook the city lights, decor polished but unpretentious. People speak in low voices, tables filled with couples and families. The air smells like garlic and roasted ginger and something sweet he can’t place.

It’s not fancy, but still nicer than anything Viktor’s been treated to before. It feels intentional.

Jayce slides into the booth beside him instead of across. Close, casual. His knee bumps Viktor’s under the table and stays there.

Jayce does most of the talking, pointing out things Viktor might like, and Viktor lets him order for them. Their food comes quickly — steamed buns, flat noodles tangled with beef and scallions, vegetables still sizzling in a clay pot.

It’s delicious, perfectly spiced and savory. Viktor loses track of how much he’s eaten. Jayce steals bites off his plate like it’s a long-standing habit, and Viktor lets him, even nudges the dish closer with mock exasperation.

“You’re insufferable,” he mutters when Jayce snatches the last bao, failing to restrain the fond smile pulling at his lips.

“You like it,” Jayce shoots back. “Watch yourself, all that academic excellence is making you cocky.”

Viktor gives him a flat look. “I’ve always been cocky. You’re just slow on the uptake.”

Jayce barks a laugh. It draws a look from the table beside them, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

They’re nearly finished eating when Viktor decides to ask one of the pressing questions on his mind as of late — the marginally less embarrassing, if not more important, of the two.

“Do you ever think people look at us and make... assumptions?”

Jayce glances over, calm as ever. “Like what?”

“I mean,” Viktor gestures faintly, not looking up. “You’re an adult. I’m…not. Aren’t you worried about the way you act with me when we’re in public? Kissing me. Touching me. Acting like we’re a couple.”

“I don’t care what people think,” Jayce says, voice steady. “Let them assume whatever they want.”

He leans back against the booth, tone light and sure. “People don’t always look their age. You're almost seventeen, you could pass for eighteen easily. And even if you didn’t, it’s not like we owe anyone an explanation. I’m not going to pretend I don’t want you just because someone might question it.”

Viktor keeps his gaze down and swallows hard at the bluntness of Jayce’s answer — spoken so confidently, as if it’s just that simple. He's not sure what to say to the unabashed honesty he’s received.

“I’m not worried,” Jayce continues. “Because I know what this is for me. I’m not playing at anything. I’m not acting.”

Jayce grabs his chin gently, lifting Viktor’s face up to look at him. His eyes gleam in the low light, gaze steady when he says it. “I want to be with you.”

Viktor can only stare back, heart thudding, but the declaration settles somewhere deep. A warm security slipping into a part of his heart he'd thought was kept shut tight.

“You want me like that, no matter what?” he asks.

Jayce nods without hesitation. “I do.”

It feels unreal. Like something meant for someone else, someone with fewer broken pieces, someone…older. But Jayce is here, choosing Viktor, unhesitant and unwavering in the face of public scrutiny.

“I want you to be mine,” Jayce says. “No half-measures. I want to call it what it is.”

The words are spoken quietly, but Viktor feels them as a resonant echo in his head — Mine. Mine. Mine. It’s dizzying.

He wants to say yes. He thinks he already has, in all the small ways. Letting Jayce kiss him at stoplights, texting every time they're apart. Falling asleep against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Saying it now, out loud, feels bigger. Confessing that yes, we are aware this is a crime. No, we do not care.

So in lieu of a reply, he leans in again, presses his mouth to Jayce’s. And when he kisses him, he hopes he can feel all the things Viktor doesn’t know how to say. It’s soft, hopeful. Just the warmth of lips against lips, a wordless answer, yes.

Jayce’s hand comes up, fingers sliding into the back of Viktor’s hair, his thumb brushing along his jaw as he kisses him back. Steady, sure, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

When they finally part, Jayce doesn't move far. “Yeah?” he asks

Viktor exhales shakily, heart unsteady but full. “Yeah.”

------

The drive home is quiet.

Streetlights slip past in steady bands across the windshield. Viktor’s hand rests between them, and Jayce’s fingers stay laced with his, warm and familiar. They haven’t said much since leaving the restaurant, they don’t need to. Jayce asked him to be his, and Viktor said yes.

He watches the stretch of road ahead, breath tight. The results of his mildly risky questioning had come back overwhelmingly positive — Viktor’s feeling bolder. The second looming question beckons him, writhing in his chest, demanding to be heard. His mind turns over not just how far they’ve come, but how far they haven’t. And being unquestionably Jayce’s now makes it feel like he can ask. Like wanting more isn’t crossing a line, just natural progression.

His gaze drifts to Jayce’s profile, lit softly by the dashboard. His voice is quiet when he speaks.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jayce nods, eyes still on the road. “Yeah, of course.”

“Why haven't you fucked me yet?”

Jayce hits the brakes a little too hard turning onto their street, just enough to make the tires complain. His knuckles go white on the wheel.

“Fuck, Vik.”

“I just wanted to know.” Viktor says calmly despite his racing pulse, still watching him.

Jayce’s hands flex once before he sighs through his nose.

“I think about it all the time,” he says. “It’s not that I haven’t wanted to. I don’t want to — push you too fast.”

Viktor’s pulse hikes. “Because I’m younger?”

“Because I care.” Jayce snaps. Then, quieter, “And yeah, because you’re younger. And because you haven’t… done this before. I didn’t want to fuck it up, you know? Asking for more than you’re ready to give.”

“But I want to,” Viktor says, gaze steady now. “I’ve been wanting to.”

Jayce stiffens, taking a deep breath. He doesn’t respond until the car’s parked in their spot. He leaves it running as they sit there, the air growing charged in the warm cabin.

“I want you,” Jayce says. “More than I know how to say.”

His voice stays level, but there’s an underlying edge, that godsdamned restraint covering something sharper beneath the calm. Jayce finally turns and looks at him, and there’s something in his expression that makes Viktor’s heart flutter.

Open desire. Intense and barely reigned in.

Viktor doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink, just sucks in a breath when Jayce shifts closer and places a hand on his thigh, firm and full of promise.

“If you’re ready,” he says, “I won’t hold back anymore.” He pauses, taking a breath. “But I need to hear it, baby. Tell me that’s what you want. Tell me you’re mine.”

Anticipation and relief run like a shock through Viktor, hesitation swept away by the sudden recognition of just how much he wants this. Wants all of Jayce, and is desired in equal measure.

“I do,” he whispers, plenty loud in the small space. “I am.”

Jayce nods, but his jaw is tense, like he’s still warring with himself. His voice comes out low, tight, like he's barely keeping himself in check.

“Then get inside before I fuck what’s mine in the back seat.”

Viktor doesn’t say anything, tries to ignore the sudden wetness in his pants, unbuckles and slips out of the truck without a word. He settles on his cane, letting the door shut softly behind him. His legs feel like they’re moving ahead of his thoughts, a flush rising sharp and tingly under his skin.

He hears the driver’s door slam a second later.

Jayce follows close behind, heat radiating from him on Viktor’s back.

The walk through the front lobby is silent, except for the steady echo of their footsteps and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Jayce doesn’t touch him here, but Viktor can feel how badly he wants to. The tension thrums between them like a live current.

The elevator arrives with a soft ding. As soon as the doors close behind them, Jayce turns. He doesn't kiss him — just moves into his space, eyes locked on Viktor, searching like he’s making sure he means it. That he hasn’t changed his mind.

Viktor looks back, unwavering despite his trembling knees.

Jayce’s voice is a low growl. “Last chance to tell me no.”

Viktor exhales, gut coiled tight with want. “I meant what I said.”

Jayce presses a hand to the elevator wall beside Viktor’s head, crowding in without touching still. His breath is warm, uneven, brushing Viktor's cheek as he leans closer. “I've imagined this in too many ways — I wanted to be gentle, but—.”

Viktor’s voice comes breathier, shaky. “I don’t want gentle.”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open to their floor. Jayce wastes no time, takes Viktor by the wrist and guides him down the hall. The key fumbles once in the lock and suddenly he’s dragged inside.

The door barely clicks shut before Jayce’s hands are on him again — gripping tight, pulling him in like he can’t stand even a breath of space between them. Viktor stumbles back a step, then another, his shoulder bumping the wall as Jayce walks him toward the bedroom without giving him a second to breathe.

Their shirts are stripped away between sloppy kisses, all heat and urgency brushing away precision. Jayce’s lips are everywhere — pressing into his throat, dragging along his shoulder, teeth scraping hot against his skin. Viktor’s head spins as hands work at his waistband, rough and sure, dragging fabric down with purpose.

He tries to get to Jayce’s belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle, but Jayce catches his wrists and shoves them against the wall, hard. Their bodies slam together. Viktor shudders at the manhandling, the delicious press of Jayce's arousal against his abdomen.

“Keep your hands where I put them,” Jayce growls at his jaw, then kisses him again, all tongue and teeth and control.

Viktor barely has time to moan into it before Jayce lets go, gives him a shove toward the bedroom.

“Go. Bed. Now.”

He stumbles back, half undressed, blood rushing to his face. He climbs onto the mattress, breath stuttering, and Jayce follows, shedding the rest of his clothes in quick, efficient motions, eyes never leaving Viktor.

Viktor tries to settle, to breathe, but he has only seconds before Jayce grabs his hips, yanking him down the bed. His spine twinges when it hits the mattress hard, legs spread by broad palms before he can even think about closing them. And then Jayce is over him — heavy, scorching skin to skin — his hands dragging up Viktor’s thighs like he’s staking claim to every inch.

“I want you to be loud for me,” Jayce says, demanding.

Viktor’s breath catches. His heart pounds in his ears. Jayce leans in, mouth grazing Viktor’s jaw just as his hand slips between his legs, pressing firm, deliberate, right where he needs them.

Viktor gasps, sharp and too loud, and Jayce groans at the sound, like it’s exactly what he needs.

“There it is,” he breathes. “That’s what I want. Good boy.”

Viktor shivers.

Jayce strokes him again, slower this time — intentionally slow. Viktor chokes on another whine, hips twitching up, and Jayce’s eyes darken.

“I want to hear every fucking sound you make,” he murmurs. “Don’t hold anything back.”

And Viktor doesn’t, he can’t. Not when Jayce touches him like this. Not when he’s already coming undone under him. Not when every part of him wants this — wants Jayce — so badly it hurts.

He doesn’t have time to respond, not with words. Jayce’s mouth is back on him in an instant, trailing down his chest, then his stomach. Each kiss more consuming than the last. His hands don’t stop moving, fingers firm on Viktor’s thighs, pushing them open wider, holding him still.

Viktor breathes hard, back arching slightly off the bed. His cock is already swollen, twitching under Jayce’s mouth before he even touches it.

Jayce licks into him, slow and filthy, like he’s in no rush, like he’s going to take his time and ruin him properly. The first drags of his tongue make Viktor whimper, legs tensing where they’re splayed wide. His whole body jolts, unprepared for the heat, the weight of being handled like something meant to be utterly devoured.

Jayce groans against him in appreciation like a man starved. His tongue works light circles around Viktors cock, the barely-there sensation taking Viktor’s breath.

“Fuck –” he gasps, hips jerking up into the light pressure. One of Jayce’s arms locks across his hips, pinning him down.

“Stay still,” Jayce murmurs, voice thick, mouth brushing over him as he speaks. “Let me take care of you.”

Viktor nearly swallows a moan before remembering Jayce's instruction for noise. Pale hands fist the sheets as it rings out, echoes against the walls. Jayce has never been quite this demanding with him before. Never this controlling. Viktor is dizzy with it.

He has imagined it — what it might feel like if Jayce really let go, stopped holding himself back, stopped treating Viktor like he might break. Now that it's happening, it’s equal parts terrifying and addictive.

He likes this side of Jayce. Wants more of it.

He tries to keep still, but Jayce’s tongue is ruthless in its focus. There’s no softness now, just cruel precision. Well-versed in the ways in which he can draw it out for Viktor, to steadily push him until he snaps.

And then he adds his fingers.

One slides inside easily, the second following soon after, and every movement ratchets up in intensity. Viktor whimpers fitfully, turning his head into the pillow, thighs trembling against Jayce’s shoulders. The stretch is wide, dragging, burning just shy of too much, but familiar. His body remembers it, craves it.

Jayce moves his fingers in rhythm with his mouth, driving into his cunt with practiced force, curling just right. His orgasm builds swiftly, heat coiling low and tight, Steals Viktors breath, hiccupping as his body slips toward release with nothing to hang on to.

But then Jayce withdraws his fingers halfway — holding there for a few ragged breaths — then sinks them back in, just to slow him down. Just to keep him strung out on the edge.

“Look at this mess,” Jayce mutters, dragging his tongue through it. “All for me.”

Viktor can’t speak. His mouth opens, but all that comes out is a wrecked, needy whine — aching from the release Jayce just took from him.

His whole body is tense, sticky with sweat, nerves alight.

Then Jayce’s mouth is back on him fully. Lips wrapping around him, tongue moving fast and focused while his fingers thrust deep and sure. Viktor cries out, voice thin and helpless, hips lifting off the bed once more, trying to chase the feeling before Jayce pins him back down with a low, possessive growl.

“I said stay still.”

Viktor moans, nodding. But then without any warning, Jayce starts to work a third finger in — sudden and unyielding. Viktor jolts, muscles locking up, a pained gasp ripping from his throat before he can stop it.

“Jay— Jayce—”

Another cry breaks free as Jayce pushes deeper. It’s too much — thick, too full, nearly unbearable. His hands claw at the sheets, hips twitching, breath catching in his throat.

Jayce’s voice cuts through the rush of sensations.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against Viktor’s thigh, heat ghosting over his skin. “You need to let me in, V.”

Viktor's chest is heaving, his body fighting to adjust — but he nods again. Jayce keeps going, pressing in unhurried, until all three fingers are buried fully inside.

The stretch is intense. It burns in places Viktor didn’t expect, blinding and impossible to ignore.

And this is just his fingers.

If his fingers are this much already…How is he supposed to handle anything else?

The thought sends a cold shock of adrenaline down his spine.

Viktor’s back arches, overwhelmed, when Jayce withdraws them slightly. He can’t stop shaking. “Jayce…fuck. Too much –” The words crack as they leave him.

Jayce groans, like he loves hearing the admission. “You can take it.” His voice is rough, vibrating against Viktor’s sensitive skin. It hits somewhere deep — dark and grounding — and Viktors body responds, tightening around him.

“You’re doing perfect.” Jayce grits out. “Just let me open you up, baby.”

His fingers are moving again, fucking into him slow and deep, the weight of them relentless. His mouth returns to Viktor’s clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl just right, and Viktor feels it everywhere as he lets out a needy whine.

The pressure builds again, from deeper this time, fed by the ache and stretch of being so full. He can't stay still. His body futilely jerks up into Jayce’s mouth, needy and uncoordinated, but Jayce just tightens his arm across Viktor’s waist, holding him firm.

“Stay like this,” he warns. “Don’t move.”

His tone sends a pulse straight through to Viktor’s gut, tingling down his limbs.

He’s right there, pulled tight around the girth of Jayce’s knuckles, his orgasm circling, just out of reach. His body can’t decide if it wants to come or collapse. Jayce adds a little twist of his fingers, and it’s enough.

Viktor cries out, thighs twitching, body going taut, as his orgasm races through him. Jayce’s tongue and fingers work him through it, coaxing out everything Viktor can give.

And gods, it’s messy, all over Jayce’s face, dripping into the sheets. It’s too much. It’s everything.

Jayce groans deep in his throat, pulling back just enough to look up at him, eyes dark, chin soaked. “You have no idea what you do to me, Viktor.” he says, voice wrecked.

Viktor arches into him slightly, out of breath and dazed. “So show me.”

***

Jayce draws his fingers back slowly, savoring the way Viktor’s body tries to follow, fluttering around the empty space like it doesn’t want to let him go. The echo of Viktor’s orgasm still shudders through him.

Fuck, he thinks, staring down at the display, He’s perfect like this. Wrecked and open. Flushed and pliant.

Jayce shifts back on his knees, dragging one hand down Viktor’s thigh, steadying him, while the other wraps around the base of his cock. Viktor is already left raw and twitching from what little he’s already given him — and now Jayce is flushed thick, aching, and too far gone to pretend he doesn’t want to be buried deep inside him immediately.

Jayce fishes lube from the side table, relishing in how he completely covers Viktor in the stretch across. He strokes himself with a freshly slick hand once, twice, before guiding the head of his cock to Viktor’s entrance. He’s still so fucking wet. Still twitching. Still open from his fingers.

“You still with me?” he asks, voice coming out gentle despite the urgency to feel the boy wrapped tight around him.

Viktor nods, small and shaky, but it’s there. He winces as he spreads his legs slightly wider. Jayce’s concern for his leg is easily compartmentalized, so far from taking precedence in this moment.

Jayce drops his head, watching as he presses forward, inch by inch, guiding himself in. The head of his cock catches, then pushes through, and Viktor lets out a pained, unsteady sound, and it punches right through Jayce.

Shit, he’s still so tight. Too tight.

Jayce lets out a guttural groan, grip tightening on Viktor’s thighs. The heat around him is unreal — slick and clenching down, trying to stop him from going any further.

When he looks back up Viktor’s breathing is shallow, almost panicked. His fingers clutch the sheets like he’s bracing for impact, knuckles white against the dark bedding. His eyes are half-lidded, brows furrowed, mouth open as though he's still trying to catch up to the reality of what’s happening.

Jayce slows, sliding his palm over Viktor's legs. Not out of mercy, but because he has to. The clutch of him is suffocating. It feels like he’s being gripped by a vice, like Viktor’s body is trying to hold him out and pull him in at the same time.

“Fuck,” he breathes, jaw locked. “You’re so tight…I’m gonna need you to unclench for me, sweetheart.”

He pushes a little deeper.

Viktor gasps, a small, fractured sound, and his legs twitch around Jayce’s hips. His entire body is tense, caught between the sharp edge of pain and a kind of pleasure he’s never experienced. Jayce watches him carefully. He’s flushed down to his chest, sweat glistening at his temple, every inch of him pulled taut.

“Breathe,” Jayce says again, softer this time. He strokes a hand over Viktor’s waist, grounding him. “I’ve got you. Open up and take it. I know you can do it.”

He doesn’t ask if it hurts. He knows it does. He’s big, and Viktor’s never done this before. Of course it’s too much. That’s what makes this moment theirs.

Viktor exhales in a shaky rush, obviously fighting to relax, but it’s instinct that makes him squeeze down, and Jayce nearly loses it right there.

Jayce grits his teeth and pushes again, a little deeper, until Viktor arches off the bed with a strangled cry.

“Jayce—” Viktor gasps, voice barely there, reedy and high. “I — I don’t—”

“You’re okay,” Jayce cuts in, voice deep and ragged as he presses a kiss to Viktor’s shoulder. “You’re doing so fucking well. Just let me stretch you, baby. You’re already halfway there.”

Viktor’s eyes flutter open, he nods once, but the movement is halting, like he’s not sure he believes it.

Jayce doesn’t wait for more. He eases forward, palms flexing over slim waist, slowly burying the rest of his cock. For every inch forced through Viktor’s tight, pulsing heat, he can feel every muscle trying to accommodate, adjust to him. And he knows it’s too much, but Viktor doesn’t say stop.

When he’s fully seated, Viktor’s body clings tight around him — searing hot and constricting — Jayce finally goes still, barely breathing, trying not to shake.

He took it. All of me.

His breath hitches as he peers down between Viktor’s spread thighs, to where they’re joined. His cock is buried so deep, flushed and thick and almost obscene in how it disappears inside Viktor’s tight little hole.

Jayce groans, deep and guttural, his fingers curling tight against Viktor’s skin.

He shifts his hips, just a fraction, pressing in like he’s trying to go deeper even though he knows he’s already at the limit. Viktor groans beneath him, legs twitching, good thigh trembling where it hooks around Jayce’s waist.

Jayce can't stop staring.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, voice rough and dark. “You’re so fucking full.”

Viktor lets out a shaky moan as Jayce leans forward, pressing a kiss to his throat. His hands settle firmly on Viktor’s hips, grounding them both, even as every part of him aches to move.

Viktor’s eyes are unfocused, lips parting on a shaky exhale. “It’s — it’s a lot,” he forces out, voice barely there, as if he can’t take a full breath. “I didn’t know it would feel like…this.”

Jayce draws back just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth, his jaw, the curve of his throat.

“Too much?” he asks.

Viktor shakes his head, the motion small and unsteady. His voice cracks as he tries again. “No. Just — give me a second. I still want you.”

Jayce’s grip tightens, his restraint fraying.

“You’ve got me, baby,” he murmurs, taking Viktors mouth in another slow kiss, sliding his tongue past Viktor’s lips.

They stay like that for a little while, lips moving together slow and unhurried. Jayce finally draws back, his gaze warm and steady, his voice softens. “You ready for me?”

Viktor licks his lips, breath catching. “Yeah,” he whispers, hesitant but trying. “Just… go slow. F-for now.”

Jayce presses one more kiss to his lips, then slowly draws his hips back, just an inch — enough to feel the tight drag around his cock — then sinks back in, slow but deep.

The sound Viktor makes knocks the breath out of Jayce. A tremulous whine, broken and cracked. Jayce groans, shifting to fuck him shallowly, carefully, but it’s hard. Viktor is so small, so hot, stretched so tight around him, and it’s driving him out of his mind.

“It's so much,” Viktor breathes. “You feel… too big.”

Jayce’s cock throbs at the sound of it.

“I am,” he growls, and he can't help but fuck a little deeper this time. “But you can do this, you were made for me, weren’t you, Vik?”

Jayce’s thrusts are shallow still, but there’s power behind it now. Pressure that builds and builds with every drag of his cock, every inch that sinks back into Viktor’s cunt like he’s molding him, staking a claim from the inside out.

Viktor gasps beneath him, wrecked and teary, and still so fucking tight, like his body’s trying to open around Jayce but can’t quite take the size of him yet.

And gods, that should slow him down. Should make him gentle.

It doesn’t.

Because all Jayce can think is how good it feels to stretch his Viktor so wide, to carve himself into him, deep and relentless. Leaving a piece of himself behind every time he thrusts back in.

He knows that’s fucked up, but what else is new, when it comes to them.

Viktor is letting Jayce ruin him. Clinging to him. Breathing out broken little sounds, whining like he doesn’t know how to stop wanting this either.

Jayce leans in, pressing their foreheads together, voice strained as he showers praise on Viktor.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, baby. Look at how deep I am inside you.”

Viktor’s watery gaze meets his, hazy and fucked out, lips trembling as another sound spills from him, somewhere between a moan and a sob.

Jayce’s head spins. The way his pussy grips him like it doesn’t want to let go. Like it can’t. Each thrust sinks easier than the last, but still tight, still wet, still fucking perfect.

“You feel unreal baby.” Jayce breathes, losing against desire in the war to stay composed as he fucks what’s his.

He glances down again, watching himself disappear into Viktor’s body like it was built to hold him. He's waited so fucking long for this. He's never letting go now.

Jayce picks up his pace, deep, grinding thrusts that let him feel every inch of Viktor’s body around him.

Viktor’s voice breaks through, thin and hoarse: “Jayce — s’too much…feels like you’re — hah — in my throat, like y-you’re everywhere,”

Jayce groans, driving into him harder, heavy and possessive.

“I am everywhere,” he growls against Viktor’s throat, lips sliding on skin gone damp with sweat. “You gave this to me. You let me in. I’m gonna stay, baby. Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember how it felt to be empty.”

Viktor moans as Jayce adjusts his grip, one hand slipping under Viktor’s good knee, the other flattening against the bed near his head, and starts to move faster. His thrusts shift from deep to urgent, every push driving in hard, deliberate, aimed to pull Viktor back toward that edge.

Jayce is close. He can feel it coiling low in his spine, tension building sharp and fast. But he wants Viktor to come again first. Needs him to.

Viktor’s already oversensitive, breath catching on every thrust, moaning, body twitching beneath him like each motion is too much and still not enough. His back arches, hands scrabbling across Jayce’s arms before they fist in the sheets again.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” Jayce growls.

The urgency in his movements builds - Jayce’s body rocking him open again and again, until Viktor’s crying out, voice cracking on every broken moan.

He leans in again and kisses him, open-mouthed, swallowing the noises Viktor makes. Jayce moans into his mouth and drives into him again, a little deeper this time, catching the way Viktor’s whole body flinches, but not from pain — from the way he hits just right.

There.

Viktor sobs into the kiss. His leg jerks around Jayce’s hips, nails scraping down his back, and Jayce groans as the drag of it sends heat flaring through him.

Jayce kisses down Viktor’s jaw, breathing hard, tasting the salt of overstimulated tears. “Right there?” he asks, lips brushing his throat.

Viktor whines, nodding fast, unable to speak. Jayce doesn't hesitate. He moves again, grinding in the same way, palm pressing down over the boy’s abdomen while thrusting at the same angle, and Viktor breaks. His head falls back, mouth open — breathless, incoherent noises spilling out with every thrust.

Jayce watches every second of it.

His other hand slips down between them again, thumb circling Viktor’s cock, a rhythm in sync with the motion of his hips.

“There you go,” he growls, kissing Viktor again, barely able to keep his own breathing steady. “Let me feel you come around me. Let me hear it.”

Viktor's so fucking beautiful like this. Coming apart while wrapped around him. For him. Because of him.

Jayce keeps his hand moving between them and he can feel Viktor clench down around him, tight and fluttering, hips jolting erratically.

“You can do it, you’re almost there, baby.” Jayce whispers, voice low and rough against Viktor's throat, pressing his thumb down harder .

Viktor wails, a stuttering cry that breaks halfway through. His thighs try to close but Jayce’s body keeps them pinned wide, holding him open, helpless, exposed.

“Jayce!” It rips out of him, sharp and aching. “I can't - I-”

“I’ve got you.” The words leave Jayce like a promise, like a fucking vow. “C’mon, let me have it.”

Viktor, of course, gives him everything.

He comes on a silent scream, head thrown back, hands clawing at Jayce’s arms, hips jerking up hard into his touch. He clenches around him like he’s trying to pull Jayce in even deeper, every muscle seizing with the intensity of it.

Jayce groans, desperately holding himself back from his own orgasm.

“Fuck, look at you —” he growls, eyes locked on Viktor’s face as he comes apart, raw and utterly wrecked. “So fucking good to me.”

Jayce can barely breathe. Viktor is keening beneath him, wrecked from his release, mouth parted around shallow, gasping breaths. His legs fall open wider, like his body doesn’t know how to close them again.

He leans down, captures Viktor’s mouth in a kiss that’s messy, more panting into each other's mouths than anything. He can taste Viktor’s dazed little sounds as he rolls his hips once, deep and slow, like a warning.

Viktor shudders, hands gripping at Jayce’s arms again, as if unsure whether to pull him closer or beg him to stop.

Jayce pulls back enough to breathe against his lips. “Tell me you can take it,” he says, voice strained. “Tell me you want more.”

Viktor tries to look at him, barely managing before murmuring a quiet, “Yes.”

It snaps something loose in Jayce.

He kisses him again, harder this time, teeth catching on Viktor’s lower lip as his hips pick up a brutal pace. Not careful. Not anymore. His control is officially shot.

He drives into him, deeper than he should, teetering on the edge of something wild. Viktor’s cries stutter into his mouth, arms winding tight around Jayce’s back like he’s bracing for every thrust.

Jayce’s cock drags along every hypersensitive inch like it’s carving a place for itself. Viktor breaks the kiss, head turning away as another sound escapes him, fragile and undone, shivering and pulsing around Jayce’s cock once more.

Jayce leans back, wrapt, pace unwavering as he watches him fall apart again, pushed past the limit of what his body knows. And he still wants more.

Jayce loses it completely. He fucks into him faster now, every push as far as he can go. Wet, relentless, slick sounds from between Viktor’s legs, a lewd squelching that makes his stomach twist with heat. Viktor’s body keeps clenching around him, fluttering, his moans messier, spilling out with every punishing slide of Jayce's cock.

“You’re perfect,” he growls, catching Viktor’s jaw and pulling him into another kiss. “You were made to take me. Only me.”

His hips snap forward at full force, harder than he knows he should, pace stuttering at the coil of pleasure wrapping around his spine. Viktor’s body jolts under him, tight and molten, voice catching on breathless noises he doesn’t even try to hide.

Jayce kisses it out of him. Every moan, every cry.

He’s being too rough, chasing his orgasm, and he knows, but he can’t stop. Not with Viktor’s mouth moving under his, pliant and willing. Not with the heat wrapped tight around his cock. Not with the way Viktor’s continues to take it.

Release crashes through him, brutal and all-consuming.

Jayce’s groan builds from deep in his chest, ripping through his throat. His hips slam in one final time and stay there, fully buried as he comes. Everything crashes out of him in ragged, stuttering waves.

He kisses Viktor through it — clinging to the heat of his mouth and cunt like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this plane. Every tremor in his body echoes in that kiss – like keeping their mouths together might keep the moment from ending.

Like it’ll keep him inside forever.

He stays there, buried deep, forehead pressed to Viktor’s shoulder, his breath ragged against sweat damp skin. His body’s still trembling from it — his, theirs, the warmth of their coupling still echoing through his limbs.

Jayce forces himself to lift his head.

Viktor lays there, shaking, breath coming in short, uneven bursts like his lungs can’t remember how to work. His thighs are still wrapped around Jayce’s waist, loose now, jerking with every shift of skin against skin. His hands grip weakly at Jayce’s shoulders, nails half dug in like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

“Hey,” Jayce murmurs, mouth brushing Viktor’s cheek. “Easy, baby. I’ve got you.”

Viktor doesn’t answer — his eyes are glassy, barely focused, pupils blown wide. His whole body is flushed and damp, still twitching from the last waves of it, every breath shivering through him like he might come apart from the inside out.

Jayce feels it, the pulse of him still clenching around his cock, nerves shot to hell. He grits his teeth, bracing on his forearms as he eases out carefully, biting down on the sound that tries to break free when Viktor whimpers at the loss.

“Shh, I know,” Jayce whispers, kissing the side of Viktor’s mouth. “You did so good for me, sweetheart. So good. Look at you...”

Viktor’s fingers curl tighter into Jayce’s skin, trying to keep him close.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Jayce presses soft kisses to his temple, his brow, the corner of his eye. “You with me yet? Talk to me, baby.”

Viktor swallows, but no words come. He just makes a small, broken noise and tries to press closer — clinging to Jayce like he’s the only solid thing left in the world.

Jayce cradles his head, holding him steady, and gently strokes down his sides, grounding him. Every touch feather light, almost worshipful. “Too much?” he asks quietly, guilt tugging sharp at the edges of his chest. “Fuck, I went too hard.”

Viktor shakes his head, barely a twitch, but it’s something.

Jayce’s hand shakes a little as he smooths damp curls back from Viktor’s forehead. “You gotta breathe for me, Vik. Can you do that?” He breathes in slow and deep, exaggerating it, guiding. Viktor mirrors him with a halting inhale, shuddering on the breath out. “Just like that. You’re okay. I’ve got you, I'm right here.”

He watches every flicker of expression, every shift of muscle under his hand. He needs to see Viktor come back to him, needs the haze to lift, to know he didn’t break him permanently.

But gods — he likes his boy like this, too. Flushed, ruined, clinging. Completely his. Jayce has half a mind to pull back and inspect his dripping cunt. To spread him apart and revel in the sight of the fruits of their labor — his most intimate claim.

But guilt wins out, prioritizing Viktor’s recovery in the sobering wake of his lust-fueled frenzy.

Jayce presses his forehead to Viktor’s, eyes closed. “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.” His voice cracks a little. “I don’t deserve you.”

Viktor’s fingers finally twitch again, dragging weakly up Jayce’s back. Jayce catches the movement like it’s a lifeline, like it means forgiveness.

He hadn't meant to go that far. Hadn't planned to take Viktor's first time and turn it into something that left him this far gone. But somewhere between the way Viktor looked at him, his whispered ‘yes’, the way he’d opened up, Jayce lost the reins completely.

But Viktor had let him.

“I’m sorry,” Jayce says softly, kissing the side of his face again. “I should’ve been more careful. You were so good for me, sweetheart. You didn’t have to give me so much, but you did.”

Viktor shivers.

Jayce pulls back just enough to tuck a blanket around him for a moment while he gets the bath ready. He moves quickly, filling the tub with warm water. Grabbing Viktor’s lavender soap and a soft cloth. He keeps looking back, reluctant to leave Viktor alone in such a state for too long.

His eyes are still half open, gaze locked on Jayce as he lifts him gently, supporting every limb like any one might give out. Viktor folds into him without resistance, head against his shoulder, hand curled weakly against Jayce’s chest.

Jayce steps into the tub with Viktor in his arms and sinks down slowly, easing them both into the water. Viktor gasps when the heat hits, but Jayce hushes him, holding him tighter.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he whispers. “It’s alright.”

The water laps warm around them, splashing up over the side — the tub’s barely big enough for two, but Jayce doesn’t care. He’s got Viktor in his lap, his boy, soft, quiet, and boneless in his arms, and that’s all that matters.

Viktor’s sleight weight is slumped against him, back to Jayce’s chest, head lolling slightly to the side. Still dazed, floaty. One hand curls into the meat of Jayce’s forearm like a tether, clinging without thought. His breathing’s slowed, but every so often, Jayce feels a twitch or a tremble ripple through him. Oversensitive. Worn out. Beautiful.

He presses his lips to Viktor’s temple again.

“You did so good for me,” he says, softly against his skin. “Took it all. Gods, baby... you have no idea what that does to me.”

Jayce lathers the cloth and gently begins to clean him. Careful movements over the bruises littering Viktor’s chest, his stomach, the inside of his thighs. Every twitch under his hand makes him slow down even more, makes him lean in, pressing his lips to another patch of mole-kissed skin.

Jayce keeps murmuring soft, grounding words, barely more than a whisper. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re mine, you hear me? You don’t have to do anything right now but let me take care of you.”

The guilt is there, yes — but it’s soothed by caring for Viktor, making room for what lies beneath, a twisted satisfaction.

Jayce really likes him like this. He shouldn’t, he knows. But seeing Viktor undone, trusting him so completely, holding onto him for comfort…Jayce feels the dark glee take root deep in his chest.

Jayce kisses his shoulder. His collarbone. A spot behind his ear that still tastes like sweat and something sweeter, Viktor’s natural scent.

The water’s gone tepid, but Jayce hardly notices. He cradles Viktor in his lap, maintaining every possible point of contact as if they could merge into one body — like touch alone could imprint an indelible mark.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “Don’t ever forget it. Perfect for me, Viktor.”

Viktor’s soft against him, damp hair stuck to his forehead, lashes fluttering and eyes unfocused. He hasn’t said anything yet, just the occasional sigh, the smallest grip of fingers on Jayce’s wrist when he drifts too far. He’s still there. Just processing. Spent. Content.

Jayce can't pinpoint exactly when the affection became obsession. When obsession became possession. When his feelings became something heavy, dark and hungry. He just knows he’d bleed for Viktor if asked. Burn the world if he needed warmth.

It settles then, deep in his gut. Quiet. Absolute.

From the beginning, there was no part of him that truly cared if it was right. If it made sense. If it would ruin something inside Viktor he was too young to understand yet.

Now he’s not pretending to himself anymore. There’s no more maybe. No more questioning it.

He loves Viktor.

This is love. Warped and consuming and so compulsive it feels like a sickness.

They were always going to end up here. Jayce knows that now. They were meant to belong to each other. It was inevitable. Undeniable. Already written into the fabric of the universe.

Whatever this love is — no matter what it becomes — it’s theirs.

No one else gets to touch it. Nobody else gets a say.

He kisses Viktor’s neck. Once, then again, a little lower. “My good boy,” he whispers. “You’re everything.”

Viktor stirs, shifting faintly in his arms. His cheek brushes against Jayce’s chest, slow and searching, like he's remembering where he is by touch alone. Then he looks up — blinking, dazed, but present now, gaze pulling into focus as it finds Jayce’s.

“…Jayce?”

Jayce exhales, tension bleeding out of him in one long breath. He cups Viktor’s face, thumbing gently beneath one eye, swiping over the beauty mark dotted there. His palm radiates warmth into the cooling skin, holding steady, reverent.

“I’m here,” he says softly.

Viktor swallows, eyes turning away to look at the water. His lips part, but the words hesitate. When they come, they’re quiet — uncertain.

"Was I…okay?"

Jayce's fingers still, then find Viktor's jaw, guiding him back up to look at him.

"You think there's a version of this where I'd be anything but sure about you?"

He drags his thumb down over Viktor's bottom lip, watching how his mouth parts slightly with the movement.

"Where I'd hold you like this and be anything less than elated?" He exhales through his nose, not quite a laugh, but close. "Vik…I already want you again."

Jayce leans in, his mouth brushing close to Viktors ear, voice lower now. The teen weathers a tremor in his embrace.

"Does that sound like someone who isn't happy with you?"

Then, quieter still, filled with affection, "You were more than okay. You were mine."

Viktor hesitates, eyes finding Jayce’s through the soft fog of exhaustion. His voice is quiet, hoarse from use, but there’s no deflection in it — just cracking, sincere and bare.

“…You mean that?”

Jayce doesn’t even blink.

“Every word.”

There’s no hesitation. No tiptoeing meant to cushion it. Just the truth, spoken like it’s an immutable fact.

He leans in, presses a kiss to the crown of Viktor’s head, slow and deliberate — like a seal, a promise.

“You don’t have to ask me that,” he murmurs. “Never with this. Never with us.”

Viktor doesn’t answer, but his body shifts a little closer, the last of his weight giving in to Jayce, like it’s safe to stop holding himself up now. Jayce wraps both arms around him, pulling him in tight once more.

He’s never letting go.