Chapter Text
It all starts with a simple suggestion. A negotiation, as they will both quote.
"How committed are you to a partnership?"
Silco is used to Piltovans haggling their plays in an attempt at cutting him short. Rules of the game: ask for too much, settle for half; never grovel, but understand that Piltover always comes out on top.
Naturally then, Silco comes prepared to haggle.
They do. In a way.
The boy just has a different idea of what the rules of the game entail.
"I must say, I never expected someone of your...stature, to be comfortable on his knees for a Zaunite."
The slight dig at the Councilor's importance — and height — awakens a blush on the boy's face. But he doesn't bite. Quite the opposite. He shuffles just that bit closer, to hide a narrowed glare on the flared opening of Silco's coat.
Jayce, meanwhile, feels a curl of shame burst to life within his gut. It makes his chest tighten. Blood rushes to his face in a flood of embarrassment. But he doesn't back down to the taunt.
He's got his pride, after all — even if this isn't exactly a position that he feels very, prideful in...
Well. Yes, he is on his knees in front of the Silco, crime lord of the underground, and yes, Jayce is undoing his worn belt and the buttons of neat slacks. All to prevent a violent civil war from breaking out. There are certain things one does that they would not normally do, when pushed into such a corner.
Pride has no place in negotiation.
It's this justification that Jayce is clinging to, to keep himself from feeling too ashamed of how he got himself down on his knees because, after all, wouldn't the other councilors do the same, in his shoes?
No, they definitely wouldn't, Jayce’s mind immediately provides, very helpfully. You are most definitely the outlier here, Jayce Talis.
He ignores these doubts in favor of pulling down the trouser fabric that hides Silco's sex, keeping his gaze trained to only here, down instead of looking up to the scarred baron—
Jayce blinks several times at the weight of it in his hand. It's a little daunting. Now when's the last time I sucked someone off? Back at the academy? Before that...? His head shakes once, stops the distraction from setting in. He has already decided he will do this. Come on, just remember, commitment to partnership.
"Partnerships are built on trust," he muses as his hand cautiously begins to stroke the length, marveling at the feeling of a cock slowly hardening in his grip. "And on mutual exchange. This is a good...example of the two."
Jayce's gaze flicks up to Silco's attentive stare, only to quickly drop back down — Don't do that again, dear gods. Eyes down, or he’ll psyche himself out. He swallows, hard.
Silco notices. Even half-blind, he’d notice how embarrassed the other man is.
He holds back the grin threatening to bleed through his lips. It's almost endearing, the councilor’s nerves showing.
"Trust," Silco hums. "A good way to put it." They are both exposing themselves to something normally of intimate privacy, while out in a hidden pillar of the bridge that holds their two cities in hostility. "I trust you know what you are doing?"
This is still part of the game (ask for too much, settle for half). A smart player doesn't give away his cards. Silco maintains an air of aloof disinterest, which eggs on the boy's courage.
Still, he is not immune to the furrowed look in darting eyes. Who else gets to have the esteemed Councilor Jayce Talis on his knees? he thinks pointedly.
Sex is not politics, and yet, the rules of mutual exchange wager well to it. It'll be worth it. His nation, freed of topside. His daughter, left alone. So far, Silco will only lose time and compromise.
That is, if Jayce Talis isn't stabbing him in the back anyway. Trust, indeed—
He's taken out of his thoughts when Talis finally licks around him.
It's not inexperienced. More like, experimental, like Jayce Talis testing his grip, the firmness in his palm, recalling things that aren't quite ingrained into muscle memory but are familiar in a different, mechanical capacity. Silco wonders, a man who works with his hands all his life should be quite adaptive.
However, "Don't be shy, boy," he eventually urges, when the most Talis does is flex his hand down and up until his palm is left sweating.
Jayce's brow twitches — I'm not shy — and maneuvers his lips to the side of Silco's cock head, mouthing at the crown of it and licking languidly at the underside to try and get a... feel, or some kind of sense, for how he should go about this. He strokes up, holds, down and up, holds, down and up, repeating the rhythm as he continues to swirl his tongue experimentally around the tip and its ridges. Falling into a familiar groove, so to speak. Ignoring the smokey undercity smell on the man's clothes, the gravelly voice above him, he can pretend this is in more favorable circumstances, with someone who's actually deserving of getting head semi-publically from him.
Yeah, he can swing with that. Can't he?
Nope, all these smells, sounds and senses are pretty consistent reminders of just who stands above him, who he’s servicing. His hammering heart doesn't let him forget.
I can do this. He halts Silco's cock still, and licks a thick stripe with the flat of his tongue down the underside to the base. He mouths and laps at the skin where dick meets the rest of a lean body, nose nuzzled against some wiry hairs there, and then he pulls back with the same wet slide, his grip returning to the hilt. Just keep going. His tongue cups under the head of that now fully erect cock.
Pulling his tongue back and forth to further wet the tip, he can practically smell the beads of precum collecting in the slit before he can taste them.
It's with a sense of finally that Jayce inhales through his nose, taking in that sharp, smokey, chemical scent that clings to Silco’s clothing, and then wraps his lips around the head at last, hollowing his cheeks to a suction.
He, sort of remembers this, now. The old flings of his past were just that, flings, and they were few and far between, never quite going past a messy blow job and heavy petting. It's not instinctual, the way he begins to carefully take more into his mouth, nor is it practiced, but he's not entirely clueless. Sort of like riding a bike, he's gotta just, get familiar, and...
Firm strokes settle on the length of Silco that's not within his mouth, to keep stimulation going even where his tongue isn't touching. Jayce tries to recall the last man he tumbled with, eyes going a bit unfocused as he digs around in his memories back to that heated affair.
And where he lingers on untrained skill, pleasure builds up in the lower pit of Silco's gut.
Lips mouth at him in all the right spots, not hesitant at all, with a determined wrinkle between Jayce’s brows. A man that doesn't do things by halves. Silco finds himself actually aroused, not just flowing in the motions of stimulation. It's good.
"That's good," he encourages. One of his hands threads lightly over tousled, wind-ruffled hair and guides the boy a tad lower. Silco catches the brief snap of hazy eyes, sharp to attention, up to him — they snap to the folded crease of Silco's shirt in the next second.
Can't stand to see who you're at mercy of, hm? It doesn't offend him at all, though he finds himself doing the opposite. Through the mounting pleasure, he fixates his eyes to the top of Jayce Talis' head, never taking him out of his sight. This is a dangerous man, he knows, and only a fool would pretend this is kindness.
Of course, then Talis hollows his cheeks again, with a contemplating, rumbling hum in his throat, and Silco can't bite back the hiss.
'That's good' bounces around inside Jayce's head as he maneuvers back and forth around Silco's cock, his plush lips wetting from the spit collecting in his mouth, gliding along the older man's length. The breaths puffing through his nose get a little more forceful the more he rocks to and fro, and the hand against the back of his head causes an unwanted pang of heat to bloom rapidly within his gut.
No, he thinks angrily to himself, as the distantly familiar sensation of arousal begins to dampen his underwear. You are not supposed to like this, enough.
With so much spit gathering in his mouth, he can now take cock further down his throat. Maybe. It's been a long time. His gag reflex isn't very active at least, so he has to pray that it stays passive for this next action.
Closing his eyes, Jayce inhales through his nose a few times, eventually taking a gulp of air, then...
He holds it. Sinks himself forcibly down, chokes, a little, to groan around Silco’s hot length.
It doesn't quite all fit in — Gods, how big is he? He's not even a large man — and with resistance making his throat flutter, he instinctively begins to swallow.
His treacherous body heats up even more, tingling pleasantly, as if his throat is directly connected to his core. Hot, pulsing, breathless—
Jayce finally pulls back enough to gasp, the head of that spit-soaked dick still resting against his lips like a tease. He blinks several times, taking in air, shocked that he was even able to do that much.
And then goes down on him again.
He won’t half-ass anything, that's all. He's got two goals to reach now; achieve a partnership with Silco that will benefit both Zaun and Piltover, and properly deepthroat the stupid cock in front of him.
Can’t be that impossible. Can it?
Silco would digress.
He has to spare a second to inhale quietly, heavy enough to hurt in his lungs and center himself again. This is my enemy.
But it's been some time since someone did this to him well. Sinking as far as he can go, and not stopping.
The hardened glint on the boy's face beckons his hand to fist on dark hair. He doesn't pull, doesn't interrupt the great effort the boy is making to push past the natural resistance of his tight throat. And it is tight, he marvels. Jayce Talis knows to slacken his jaw, and push his tongue out against the drag of the underside. He makes room where there otherwise isn't. It works.
For a short moment.
Silco's spine nearly bows when Talis pops the head of his cock into his throat. There's a flutter of muscles, a telltale groan that turns into a gag that squeezes deliciously good around him, and—
Talis splutters back on his calves.
Fuck. Silco carefully locks his knees to stay standing. Fuck, there's even a thick string of spit still connecting the tip of his cock to Talis' panting, coughing lips. He feels his body cry out for that tender, wet pressure everywhere again.
"Ah, not so...easy, is it?" He clears his throat midway, not to sound affected.
Jayce pants heavily through slack lips. "It's fine," he rasps with another cough. He reaches up to wipe the tears that threaten to spill from his lashes with his thumb. The thick string of spit wobbles, and he brushes that away too, only for it to get on his chin and dirty Silco's slacks. "S' fine, just—ung."
His knees are starting to ache, his feet going a bit numb, but he's not about to stop before the man cums. That would be like ending an agreement and parting with no handshake at this point.
Jayce steadies himself again, and puts both his hands on Silco's thighs. The sweat on his brow cools his skin as the temperature begins to drop with the sun steadily disappearing. They have to finish before the evening comes to a close; he doesn't think anyone is looking for him, but he can't risk anything if someone is seeking him out.
The spit pooling in his mouth is swallowed back. Jayce slows his breath and wraps his lips around that damn cock.
This time, he gags before the tip gets to breach his throat, and that's unfair. He pulls back halfway with a disgruntled groan, frown deepening further. This isn't fucking working.
Watching the frustration flash in his eyes, Silco's not above being mean. He wants to mess his hair back out of place. He's preparing to.
But the touch on his legs is, unexpected. Stunts him, for some reason. It completely unprepares him for the sheer stubborn heat of Talis’ mouth, upset, but refusing to back down.
Because see, Jayce comes to the conclusion that he’ll just have to do what he can, with as much annoyed enthusiasm as possible.
He sucks Silco off with renewed determination, hollowing his cheeks, swallowing, pushing to take as much as he can. He doesn't get to deepthroat properly again — it would just take too long, he'd cough too much, eugh — but he closes his eyes and commits. His jaw clicks every so often when he bobs his head to swallow at a new angle. The spit beginning to dry on his chin and neck feels tacky. Just cum already. Just. Cum. Fuck.
The hand at Talis' hair instinctively pulls, but he doesn't relent. No, he pushes in, gags again, grimaces at the failure to take half as much as he had before, left to lick messily on what can't fit in his mouth.
An animalistic grunt of dissatisfaction rumbles out of him, around Silco’s cock.
Silco doesn't remember the last time he'd been this hard.
He pants, silently, though visibly twitching to meet each sink of Talis' efforts. He's a bit of a beast, isn't he, cuts through the haze of his mind, and he really envisions it — the strong body kneeling at his feet, work-callused hands pinning him, bull-headed to the point of gagging. Staring at him with furiously, dilated pupils, not letting his thighs go.
Jayce manages to suck another inch of him off, better than before, and it's that self-satisfied pride that has Silco pulse so very close to peaking. He really doesn't give a damn for anything except finishing me.
"Fuck," he gasps, on a squeeze, a drag of rough fingers up to his hips to wrench him that much closer— "You're—"
Can't even finish his sentence through the sudden crash of his orgasm.
"Mmmn." Jayce's eyelashes flutter shut as he feels the throb of Silco's cock finally, finally releasing into his throat. He hums, satisfied. A bit proud of finally getting what he was striving for, even if it's not entirely how he pictured. Diligently he swallows, every last drop.
With that, they've sealed the deal on their new partnership.
I don't think I've ever gone down that hard before, muses quietly through Jayce’s mind. It's a background thought, feeling too pleased at achieving what he set out to do.
He pulls off and away from Silco's spent dick. Wipes at his mouth and chin with his sleeve. His lips are red and raw, face flushed similarly, blushing even up to his ears. Yeah, the shame will come later. Right now, he's easing himself up on wobbly legs, reaching out and leaning against the pillar concealing the two of them for support. Brushes his hair back with one hand, the one not smeared with spit and other fluids.
Upon standing, Jayce has to very firmly ignore the way his inner thighs slide wetly together. Oh, he's fucking soaked.
The councilman clears his throat after a second, "Was that...a proper display of our—newfound trust?"
Silco, however, needs more than a second to put himself back together.
The pressure nearly overwhelming in his spine eases, and he can breathe. He spares that crucial second to school the shivery tremble of his hands, hidden under a sweep of his hair back into place (not a single strand had fallen off, but the gesture is necessary).
Once that's done and he fixes the state of his clothes, he needs another second.
Because Jayce Talis is ruined. His perfect dark hair is in disarray, no matter how he flattens through it. His face is blotchy with a blush, his lips unbearably swollen and glistening. His pristine councilor's suit is scuffed at the right knee. Sleeves stain with the effort to clean himself. He is a ruined mess.
And it's a very good look on him, Silco observes.
"Quite proper...yes. I think this starts a good foundation of trust." A short glance down, as is his mannered custom.
Then, his one good eye blinks.
No indication of physical arousal tents his nice clothes. A puzzling concept, after all, he is just a man, and his body young and healthy.
Jayce Talis extends a handshake. "I'll keep my word, you keep yours. Partners."
Silco carefully keeps his eyes trained on that hand, and not the spot of wetness on the crease of the councilor's thigh.
"And now we've shaken on it."
Pleasure returned hadn’t been on the negotiating table, though, only partnership and trust.
Jayce watches for only a moment as Silco turns to go back the way he came, to his undercity. No use staying and lingering, not as the appearance of his clothing and of himself needs to be tended to, and quickly, lest someone catch him in such a state.
That has him hurrying back, cringing at the damp fabric of his underclothes clinging to his skin with every step. He avoids all main roads, dips into less-traveled hallways, and finally makes it to his private rooms where he can just — fix himself up.
Under the spraying water, he scrubs and rinses and scrubs with soap again, he washes his face and gargles with warm water and spits, again and again, and no matter what he does, he can't stop himself from shakily leaning against the tile, head between his shoulders, with his hips still tingling in vague interest.
It's fine. It's normal, even. Sometimes your body reacts without your mind's approval.
It happens.
Tonight—no. He’s not in his best mind tonight. Tomorrow he'll inform the council of the agreement, and convince them with a missive that Silco is to be trusted in keeping his word for now. That the undercity will have its independence, and that there will be important people arriving to discuss further details. Tomorrow.
Because tonight he needs to focus on something, anything else, to try and forget all he did today for the sake of his city. Piltover will be safer, now.
Tomorrow, he’ll see how a man like Silco keeps his word.