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As Viktor appraises himself in the mirror, it occurs to him that he now has a solid grasp of what it must be like to go temporarily insane.
It’s Jayce’s fault, of course. As far as Viktor was concerned, this latest gala was no different from any of the others he’s declined to attend in the past. Yes, the Hexgate has done better than even Councillor Medarda could have hoped during its first year of operation, and yes, Viktor is… quite proud of what they have accomplished. But today is no different from any other day. The Hexgate’s three-hundred-and-sixty-fifth day of operation is significant only in that it correlates with the passage of one year – according to human timekeeping, at that. But Jayce had only rolled his eyes dramatically, grinning, and called Viktor a spoilsport when he ruminated aloud on that subject.
Viktor had put his foot down, initially. They conducted their usual dance: Jayce slid the invitation into a conversation with what he certainly thought was tact and poise, Viktor brushed him off, Jayce argued that he wanted Viktor to share the well-deserved adulation and spotlight, and Viktor responded with a smile that he enjoyed the shadows just fine, thank you. Now could you please focus, Jayce, we are already behind on this deadline.
Because… discounting his hatred of parties, he didn’t need a ballroom full of rich idiots and smug politicians showering him with platitudes to make him feel successful. Jayce’s blazing grin and boyish, hopeful enthusiasm were quite enough to achieve that. So, once they began producing the kind of positive results that warranted this kind of attention, they slid almost seamlessly into their now agreed-upon roles: Jayce handles the public engagements, and Viktor commands the realm of grant proposals and procurement and lab management. It’s not a perfect split; Jayce is always happy to ‘get his hands dirty’, and Viktor will occasionally get frustrated enough to hound a councillor or investor directly, but it’s more or less how they divide their efforts outside of their time working together. And the evidence shows that it is a good system.
Once again, Viktor concludes (despairingly) that he must have had a slight mental break to have concluded that veering so far from the way they always operate was the correct course of action.
“I mean… c’mon, Vik,” Jayce says out of nowhere. One foot is kicked up onto his desk and he’s leaning back, his chair balanced with the front two legs hovering off the ground. “If you were gonna come to any gala, this’d be the one.”
Viktor eyes him with dubious amusement from where he’s standing at one of the huge chalkboards, wondering offhandedly if he’ll lose his balance this time and dump himself onto the floor. Again. “Because of an entirely arbitrary excuse to use our success as social currency and parade us around like circus animals? Yes. What fun.”
Strange. This is the… third? Yes, the third time Jayce has brought up the topic of Viktor attending the gala. He usually isn’t this tenacious; he might tease, but he takes Viktor’s answers more or less at face value. It’s odd of him to be so fixated on getting his way, this time.
Jayce snorts, tossing a loose screw he’s been fiddling with repeatedly into the air. “As if you’d let anyone parade you anywhere.”
Viktor waves his hand expansively and then turns back to the board, focusing on the equation he’d been puzzling over. “Exactly. This is why you go to the parties, Jayce. You deal much better with being on display.” Viktor tilts his head, frowning as he erases a few numbers and replaces them with some slightly different ones. “And you’re much better at not insulting them to their faces.”
Jayce doesn’t respond to that, but Viktor doesn’t notice, absorbed as he is. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but the intermittent sound of his chalk on the board and the occasional creak from Jayce’s chair.
“I really want you to come, Viktor,” Jayce says. Uncharacteristically serious.
Viktor’s chalk stills.
“It’s just…” Jayce goes quiet for a moment. “Sometimes they talk about our work like it’s— like it’s all mine. And I hate that, Vik, I really do. I just… I dunno. I want to show them that it matters. That you matter.” He lets out a quiet, dark-edged laugh. “Hextech would’ve burnt up in the Academy incinerator, without you. They owe you everything they have. And I just… I dunno. I don’t want them to forget that.”
The unsaid half of that statement, the one that slips along under the surface like a slim, silvery fish, does not escape Viktor.
“Well,” he says eventually. Despite the surprisingly large knot of emotion balled up in his throat, he manages to keep his voice fairly even. “You certainly make a convincing point.”
There’s a screech and an uneven tha-thunk that means Jayce just narrowly avoided overbalancing and falling flat on his back. “Wait, really? You— you’ll come?”
Viktor looks over his shoulder, suppressing a smile. “Eh. Perhaps.”
Jayce tosses the screw once more before catching it in his fist, grinning with a new spark in his eye that makes something do a funny little flip in Viktor’s stomach. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Yes. Completely inexplicable. Maybe he was delirious from too much time on his feet.
But he had, for some reason, agreed to attend. Jayce was positively giddy, and he started spending a suspicious amount of extra time in the forge after Viktor changed his mind. He often arrived at the lab still smelling of smoke and sweat, ash and metal dust staining his cuticles and knuckles. Viktor let him walk around for almost a whole day, once, with a smear of charcoal high on his left cheekbone. It was funny, with his waistcoat and tie. Made him look a little rakish.
Thankfully, Viktor found that a small dip in productivity is easily explained away by the mention of the gala. And Jayce was too excited by whatever he was doing in the forge to notice much else.
Progress waits for no one, though, and it certainly does not deign to ease off for a little party. Councillor Medarda had dropped in to the lab late last week to check up on their current projects, throwing yet another wrench into things. Viktor dislikes her little visits; he is… oddly protective of their lab. It feels wrong to have her poking around, her sharp eyes taking in every loose note, every equation. He wishes Jayce held her at more of a distance — surely it’s obvious that she is here for her own political motivations and not out of the goodness of her heart. Viktor doesn’t trust her.
But then again, he’d thought bitterly to himself as he watched Jayce guide her over to one of their concept boards. Maybe that’s exactly what he thinks.
Because one of his hands was resting squarely on the exposed skin of her back, where today’s version of her usual white gown left a diamond-shaped window from just above her shoulder blades all the way to her waist. Viktor’s hand had tightened on his cane, the metal warming under the irritated pressure of his fingers.
This is just how Jayce is, he’d tried to reason with himself. He’s the most tactile person Viktor has ever encountered; he is forever greeting Viktor with a hand on his shoulder, getting his attention by tugging on a wrist or tapping his arm, hugging him exuberantly whenever they overcome a particularly sticky problem. No matter that it makes Viktor’s heart skip a beat every time, it’s simply how Jayce is. He is endlessly generous with his affection; thoughtless, even. It meant less than nothing, his hand on her back.
That made absolutely no impact on Viktor’s jealo— annoyance, though.
And that wasn’t even the most frustrating part of that encounter. No, that happened after Jayce excused himself for a meeting, leaving the Councillor alone with Viktor.
“I hear you’ll be joining us at the gala,” Medarda says, looking hilariously out of place in the barely controlled chaos of their lab, with the haphazard notes and half-finished prototypes strewn about. She pauses, moving a few pages of notes aside on one of the lab benches to take a closer look at an abandoned sketch before leaving it and focusing back on Viktor, all manicured politeness and calculating eyes. “I must say, you’ve surprised me. I didn’t think you were fond of these things.”
Viktor gives her a tight smile. “You would be correct. However, Jayce very much wanted me to come. I decided to indulge him this time.”
The Councillor laughs brightly. “Careful. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile. We may be seeing you more often, now.”
Viktor just shrugs. “We shall see.”
Medarda steps closer, then, her hands folded demurely in front of her. “You know,” she offers smoothly, “I suppose you haven’t had need of it until now, but there is a clothing budget set aside for you. You’re one of the cocreators of Piltover’s greatest economic asset, it’s expected that you might have additional expenses associated with the public aspects of that role. It’s a small thing, really. Even my aide has something similar.”
And just like that, Viktor’s mild annoyance sublimates into hard, bitter anger.
“Thank you,” he forces out. Somehow, he manages to reign himself in and come across as merely chilly instead of glacial. “But I do not need it. You forget that I assisted Councillor Heimerdinger for many years. I assure you, I am perfectly able to dress for the occasion.”
Medarda smiles apologetically, raising her hands slightly in mollification. Viktor sees the tiniest pull of muscle at the corners of her eyes, though, and allows himself a small measure of satisfaction. “Of course. I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t. Regardless, the money is there whether you choose to use it or not. You simply tell the tailor or clothier your name and indicate that you’re on the Council list, and everything will be taken care of.” She rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment. Viktor wants to smack it away. “Why not treat yourself? This gala is for you and Jayce. You deserve it.”
What drivel. Viktor smoothes his face into a pleasant mask, though; it wouldn’t do to be rude and strain things for Jayce. “You are… too kind.”
Her smile doesn’t waver an inch. “Not at all. Good day, Mr. Milenov.”
That does throw Viktor, briefly. He hasn’t heard the surname he made up for himself when he first arrived in Piltover spoken aloud since his earliest Academy days. That, and… his mother’s name, obscured by derivation and Councillor Medarda’s round, honeyed accent, sounds hopelessly wrong. He dislikes it immensely.
“Please,” he says, and he’s a little surprised by how sharp and steely his voice is. “It’s just Viktor.”
Judging by her wide eyes, apparently the Councillor is just as taken aback. Putting him on edge… wasn’t her intention, then? “I… of course. My apologies, Viktor.”
Viktor, utterly thrown off-course and completely baffled by his inability to pin down what she wants, inclines his head but says nothing. Thankfully, Medarda takes the hint and moves to leave.
She pauses at the door, though, luminous in the late afternoon light streaming in through the tall windows. “If you do decide you want a new suit,” she says carefully, “I would suggest the clothier’s at the corner of Sidereal and New Port Street, in Midtown. They offer tailoring as well, should that be all you need. They’re slightly less… ostentatious, than anywhere I suspect Jayce would think to suggest.”
It’s a little unsettling, how close Viktor comes to letting out a reflexive huff of amusement; he only just manages to catch it in time. Still. Damn the woman, but she has a point. “You may be right, Councillor.”
At the door, Medarda’s lips twitch, a suppressed ghost of a smile. “Just a piece of friendly advice.”
Then she is gone. And Viktor is still both angry and deeply confused.
He still has no idea what her motivations are. But… he was in Midtown last week, picking up some specialized parts for a new prototype. And as he walked back along the street, parts in hand, he stumbled upon the clothiers that Medarda had suggested: Willan & Co., a quiet little shop set slightly back from the bustle of Sidereal Avenue. And then… three quarters of an hour later, he’d walked out of said store with a fairly substantial bag in hand.
He’d used some of his own savings; just for the accessories that the charming (and surprisingly devious) old woman running the shop had refused to let him leave without, though. The fashionable, slim cut trousers, wide belt, and new boots he left with went on the Council’s tab. Corinna (“Oh, no one’s called me Mrs. Willan since my boy was in school”) assured him that the style was perfectly suited for his purposes, and oddly enough he is inclined to take her at her word; she was warm but no-nonsense, with no trace of the fawning artifice he had been prepared for when he walked in. And she absolutely insisted on matching everything to his cane. “Red and gold suit you well,” she’d said with a smile, holding the belt up to him. “Brings out your eyes and the colour in your cheeks, young man.”
Looking at himself now, Viktor can’t argue with her assessment. But he’s afraid the colour in his face has more to do with the warmth spreading across it than with any trick of colour theory and light.
He already owned a suitable shirt, purchased several years ago when he found himself occasionally in need of something more formal than his Academy uniform. He’d had it tailored, at the time, to accommodate his back brace; he’d worn it much more frequently when he lived in the dormitories and it had a frustrating habit of snagging and subsequently tearing the backs of his shirts. So this one has a neat triangular slit at the back, with the point starting all the way up at the high collar. It increases his range of movement and keeps the fine fabric safely away from his spine, where the fasteners and metal components of his brace would then be covered by the sturdier material of his waistcoat or jacket.
He’d explained this, in slightly less detail, to Corinna. Who then, with a frighteningly giddy glint in her eye, had steered him firmly away from the waistcoats.
It’s odd, being fully dressed and yet still feeling the air of his room on his back. He quite likes how he looks, though: he feels… good. The red and black brocade belt Corinna suggested slims and lengthens his body, while the loose tuck of his shirt broadens his shoulders and chest. And then there’s the delicate gold chain he had been all but bullied into buying; it brushes his spine whenever he moves, ticklish and cool against his skin. He’d had quite the time, figuring out how to attach it, but he managed. It clips onto his collar at the top and then to the top edge of his belt, drawing attention to the opening in the back of his shirt.
Gods. Viktor shivers a little, quietly delighted. He barely recognizes himself.
And of course… he turns from the mirror to his bed, setting his cane aside to pick up the pauldrons from their padded box. They shine in the lamplight, burnished to a beautiful sheen.
“Okay,” Jayce says. He’s fidgety, almost nervous, and he’s holding a box. “I have something for you.”
Viktor’s heart flutters. He raises an eyebrow. “Does this have something to do with all the extra time you’ve been spending in the forge?”
Jayce laughs a little, lifting a bashful shoulder. “‘Course you noticed. Yeah, it does.”
Viktor smiles, leaning his cane against the lab bench so he can take the box and open it up. “Thank you. Although I wonder if this wasn’t as much for you as it was for me, Jayce. You do love to bang away in there with your hammers—”
And he stops. Stares at the contents of the box.
Jayce is standing very close. “I mean, I don’t even know what you’re wearing, they probably don’t match,” he says quickly when Viktor says nothing, starting to babble the same way he does when he’s been awake for too long and his mind-to-mouth filter starts to disintegrate. “And the crest is a bit much, I know, but I thought we could match— I have the same ones. Make sure they remember you’re with me, y’know?” He pauses, giving Viktor a chance to interject; a chance he doesn’t take. Jayce’s hands ball into fists. “I— fuck, sorry V, this is stupid. You don’t have to wear them, you—”
“No,” Viktor says sharply, cutting off Jayce’s self-flagellation. Somehow one of his hands has found its way to Jayce’s wrist, where he’s holding him so tightly his knuckles ache. “Jayce. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Jayce stares at Viktor’s hand for a moment before looking into his face. Viktor doesn’t even care that his eyes feel dangerously watery. “I would be honoured to wear them,” he says, and his voice is embarrassingly wobbly but he puts as much sincerity as he can muster into his words. “This is… the most thoughtful thing anyone has done for me in a very long time. Thank you.”
“Oh,” Jayce says simply. His face clears, slowly, and his lips quirk into a devastatingly sweet grin. “Uh. That’s… good. Glad you like ‘em.”
Janna above, Viktor wants to kiss him.
Instead, he unwinds his hand from Jayce’s wrist and blinks hard, trying to dispel these damned silly tears. “Yes, well. Don’t go getting a bigger head.”
“Bigger? Don’t you just mean ‘big’?”
“No, I meant ‘bigger’. Your ego is already the size of this room.”
Jayce throws his head back and laughs. “Ouch, Vik. And after all the effort I put into these.”
Viktor stares at the divot at the base of Jayce’s throat. He smiles weakly. “You’ll survive.”
It’s the work of seconds to put the pauldrons on, attaching them to his shirt with the clever little mechanisms on the undersides. He turns to the side in the mirror, reaching across his body to trace his fingertips gently over the raised golden “T” in the centre of the curved red plate.
He agreed to wear them. He wants to wear them. But branding himself with Jayce’s name feels like a dangerous game to play.
Then again… his eyes sweep over the rest of his body, catching on each flash of red or gold, before finally coming to rest on his cane. The cane Jayce made for him not long after that first electrifying breakthrough, when they’d broken his old one barring Heimerdinger’s door. The one he uses every day that is entirely crafted in House Talis colours.
Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound — as much as he might come to regret it later.
Besides, he has to get moving or he’ll be late, which won’t do at all. Viktor has a party to get to.
— - —
If someone were to ask Viktor to describe the gala, “opulent” would be an understatement. The hall they’ve chosen to host it in has soaring, arched ceilings, which are draped with banners and hangings for the occasion and lit with fountains of warm golden light. Music emanates softly from some unseen corner, weaving in and out of the hubbub of conversation and laughter; the party is, technically, already underway. There is a cocktail hour before the speeches and dancing begin, and Viktor planned to arrive a little late so he could slip in without much notice. Although his main reasons for not attending these things usually fall more towards the kind of company they attract and the galling hypocrisy of it all, part of it does lie in the fact that Viktor simply does not enjoy large crowds.
But despite his attempts at being overlooked, he still feels the weight of more eyes than he would like as he walks through the door, and he immediately feels a little silly and out of place standing there alone in his fine new clothes. He searches the crowd, suddenly desperate to find someone— anyone, really— that he knows. Jayce. Heimerdinger. The Kirramman girl. Even Councillor Medarda would suffice, as insane a thought as that is to have. Viktor adjusts his grip on his cane, cursing Jayce’s earnest requests and soft golden-brown eyes. He would be home in bed right now if not for that.
Thankfully, though, he’s saved from having to seek salvation from any of the less desirable options on his mental list, because on his third hurried sweep of the hall he finally sees Jayce. And that’s also when Jayce looks up and sees him.
The relief slams into Viktor like a wall, in perfect tandem with Jayce’s smile.
He doesn’t know how he keeps his composure as he watches Jayce excuse himself from his conversation and start making his way over; Jayce is practically glowing, resplendent in— in a gods-forsaken cape, honestly, where does he find these things— all broad shoulders and bright eyes and that wicked little strand of hair that always falls down over his forehead, just begging to be smoothed back.
It’s Viktor’s opinion that he’d be perfectly justified in simply keeling over where he stands. No one could reasonably expect anything more than that.
“You came,” Jayce says in lieu of greeting, his voice a little breathless with wonder. Like a child who’s just been handed a surprise gift. “I can’t believe you actually came.”
Viktor rolls his eyes to cover the flutter of shivery enjoyment that pulls from him, his face warm. “Is that who you take me for? Some sort of lowlife who doesn’t keep his word?” He wiggles his shoulders a little for emphasis. “Besides, you went to all the trouble of making me these.”
Perhaps that was a mistake, though, because now Jayce is looking him up and down, taking him in. Viktor’s heart stutters. “I couldn’t leave them to languish in a box,” he continues hurriedly. “You would have pouted for weeks.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Jayce says. He meets Viktor’s eyes again and grins. “And I don’t pout. But… you look great, Vik. Are these new?”
Viktor shrugs, taking the opportunity to look down at himself and escape the intensity of Jayce’s attention. “Eh, some of it. I did my best.”
Jayce’s hand lands on Viktor’s arm, drawing his gaze sharply back up. He’s still smiling. “It’s perfect. I mean, you look better than half the people in here. You killed it.”
Viktor, because he is wholly and utterly lost, reaches up to brush his fingers over the clasp of Jayce’s cape. “Do you include yourself in that half? Because this, this is…”
Incredibly attractive, somehow, you infuriating man.
“…ridiculous.”
It’s Jayce’s turn to roll his eyes now, laughing a little. “Ah, bullshit, you just wish you’d thought of it first. Now c’mon, I wanna introduce you to some people.”
“Oh joy,” Viktor deadpans, a small smile still playing around his lips. But he follows, when Jayce starts to move back towards the small, glittering group he’d left. Of course he does.
Thankfully, the whirlwind of introductions and frothy pleasantries that follow are more than enough to distract Viktor from… everything else. A few names he recognizes from grants and projects, and a few people do seem more invested in their endeavours than Viktor had expected. It’s… nice, seeing the other side of things, the way Jayce must. Even if Jayce insists on wildly overblowing Viktor’s abilities and accomplishments at every possible juncture. And in fact, Viktor soon finds that he has almost recovered from the delirium of those first few minutes. Almost.
Of course, that’s when it happens.
Another of Jayce’s acquaintances approaches, and as Jayce says, “Mr. Ballard, good to see you! Let me introduce you to my partner, Viktor,” he puts a warm, gentle hand on Viktor’s back.
And every nerve in Viktor’s body explodes like an overloaded circuit.
His cane slips a little against the patterned tile, and he watches the man’s mouth move but registers none of the words. “Glad to meet you, sir,” he says automatically, shaking the man’s hand on instinct alone, because he still— Jayce is still— the little gold chain is pressing into Viktor’s skin where Jayce’s hand is resting, a terribly distracting counterpoint to the warmth of his fingers, and Viktor is—
Viktor will not allow himself to come across as some sort of halfwitted fool because of Jayce’s blithe, thoughtless timing. So, with an intense effort, he focuses on what this man is blathering on about and does what he can to ignore everything else.
Jayce doesn’t make it easy.
When the man finally excuses himself and sails off to bother someone else, Jayce moves his hand to Viktor’s arm, his smile fading to concern when he hears Viktor’s sharp intake of breath. “Hey. You alright?”
Viktor smiles tightly. “Yes, of course. It’s just…” he gestures around them. “People.”
He’s lying through his teeth, obviously, but he’s enough of a confirmed hermit that all Jayce does is grimace sympathetically. “Yeah, I know. Ballard’s a little much. I—” His eyes widen. “Oh, shit. I’m a terrible host. I haven’t even gotten you a drink yet— you want anything?”
Thank Janna. “Please,” Viktor says, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice. He peers around Jayce, both avoiding his gaze and trying to see the refreshments table. “Do they have… champagne?”
Jayce raises his eyebrows, the corner of his lips ticking up. “Even more than you could drink. One glass of champagne, coming up.”
Viktor waits— waits until Jayce has disappeared in the direction of the refreshments table, behind a few clusters of people— and only then does he let out the long, shaky breath he’s been holding. “Shit,” he mutters quietly to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. He… he needs to decide how to handle this. Because— he swallows back a single, slightly hysterical laugh— he cannot react like that if Jayce decides to touch him again.
He supposes— he is prepared, now. Not for unexpected contact, but at least for the specific features he can expect: Jayce’s body heat, for one. The size of his hand. The slight catch of his calluses. (Gods above.) None of that will be a surprise any longer, seared into his mind as it is.
The only thing he has to decide, right now, is how he wants to handle this. He can’t address it; he’d embarrass both Jayce and himself, and selfishly, he doesn’t want to shatter the illusion of tonight. Jayce probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, let alone consider that it might send Viktor careening out of his mind. So the only option open to him is to “roll with the punches”, as they say. He will simply try to act as if everything is… normal.
What a joke. Tonight just became considerably messier.
“Your drink, sir.”
Viktor looks up, confused, and promptly snorts a surprised laugh. Because the owner of the comically exaggerated Piltover accent is, in fact, Jayce. Who is holding out Viktor’s promised flute of champagne, his own in his other hand.
“What a gentleman,” he teases in spite of himself, plucking his champagne from Jayce’s hand. “I could get used to this, you know.”
Jayce clinks their flutes together. “After tonight, I think I’ll probably owe it to you,” he says, his eyes skimming the crowd. “I know… this isn’t your thing.” His gaze lands on Viktor again, and it softens perceptibly. “I, uh. I’m glad you’re here, though.”
And… possibly disastrous or not, the truth is that Viktor is too. So, steeling himself for whatever assaults on his self-control the next few hours might bring, he tilts his head and smiles. “Shockingly, I feel the same. Cheers.”
— - —
As it turns out, Viktor was correct: although the feeling of Jayce’s hand coming to rest still shocks him every time, he recovers more quickly with each new instance. By the third time he barely even blinks; his mental preparation works just as he’d hoped.
What he failed to consider, though, was the wild card that is Jayce.
Because sometimes Jayce will start absently rubbing his thumb back and forth over a patch of skin. Once his hand landed a little higher, and his fingers slipped under one edge of the opening in the back of Viktor’s shirt to rest on his shoulder blade. And— well, now—
Viktor is trying to have a conversation about sustainable energy solutions and Jayce is— fiddling with the gold chain hanging down the back of his shirt. Viktor is holding himself completely still, nodding thoughtfully in response to what this woman is saying, while trying to ignore the way each little tug on the chain pulls at the collar of his shirt and the maddening brush of Jayce’s fingertips against his spine.
Another thing he failed to consider: how hopelessly turned on this would make him.
It’s not as if he hasn’t had to smother the impulses Jayce inspires before; the man has an unfortunate habit of standing too close and otherwise testing Viktor’s ability to focus even in the lab. One time he’d put a hand on Viktor’s hip as he reached around him to amend a calculation, and Viktor had nearly thrown professionalism to the wind right then and there. He is tempted, regularly: Jayce stretching so his spine pops, arriving sweaty from the forge, hopping up to perch on a bench, lounging in a chair. Bored, invigorated, focused— it doesn’t much matter what he’s doing. Even in his frustration Viktor always notices something to admire.
But all of that can be dealt with by setting Jayce a task that takes him out of the way for a while, or even just moving to the other side of the lab. This… this is constant, and inescapable. And Viktor is only human. His grip on his self-control has loosened almost to the point of losing it entirely.
The woman says her goodbyes, and Viktor looks up at Jayce once she’s gone. “She was nice,” he says. “I think I despised speaking with her the least of everyone here so far.”
Jayce nods. “Lady Arvino has been a huge help. We wouldn’t have half the support we do from her husband without her.” A little smile pulls at his lips, though, and he leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Did I tell you she tried to proposition me once? Ages ago.”
Viktor blinks, surprised, and tries not to let his gaze fall to Jayce’s mouth. “No. But isn’t she…”
“Married, yeah. I think…” Jayce’s eyes unfocus slightly, his grin going a little strained. “I think it was a joint invitation, if you get what I mean.”
Viktor shakes his head, suppressing a laugh. “Well. At least they have good taste?”
Jayce’s hand slides down to Viktor’s waist as he laughs, and of course Viktor sways a little closer. Jayce still doesn’t let go, though. He just starts into the next story about yet another of the truly impressive number of investors who’ve implied they would happily go to bed with him, subtly pointing out the culprits in the crowd around them and generally being an outrageous gossip.
And Viktor knows, with painful clarity, that he can only laugh at any of it because Jayce is so clearly uninterested by any of the offers he mentions.
This is becoming more and more dangerous by the second.
— - —
Viktor has, worryingly, reached the point where he is asking himself with complete seriousness why it would really be such a bad idea to see if Jayce would be receptive to him.
For better or worse, after all, he has been weaker than usual tonight: while he hasn’t encouraged Jayce, he hasn’t discouraged him either, and he has allowed himself to flirt, a little, when he probably shouldn’t have. Definitely when he would not have normally. And if anything, the frequency with which he’s found Jayce’s hands on him has only increased.
That’s just the champagne, admonishes a harsh, bitter voice in the back of his head. He’s drunk and you’re convenient.
Viktor ignores it.
Jayce’s hand had lingered throughout Councillor Medarda’s entire speech, after all. The room had been dimmed, and despite when a spotlight found them during their acknowledgment and the terribly embarrassing applause that accompanied it right at the beginning, for the rest of it they were merely part of the crowd. In fact… now that Viktor thinks about it, he’s fairly sure Jayce wasn’t touching him before the applause started; perhaps feeling Viktor stiffen at his side when they were unceremoniously illuminated spurred him to it, but the comforting warmth of his palm had stayed where it was even after both the spotlight and the attention had slid away to shine on Councillor Medarda again.
There wasn’t anyone to impress or intimidate, then. No image to project. It was just Jayce and Viktor.
He sighs, picking at the small plate of canapés he has balanced on the windowsill next to him. Jayce is currently making some of his less enjoyable rounds in the few brief minutes before the dancing starts, and had promised to return with more drinks if Viktor would stay and eat something. So here he is, alone with his thoughts and increasingly of the opinion that if he does not leave soon he may do something extremely stupid.
All the reasons he’s given himself in the past for why following the pull of his heart is not an option seem flimsy and contrived, now. Firstly, he’s told himself that they’re professionals and it’s inappropriate more times than he can count. Well, given the rumours he’s heard and what Jayce himself has said tonight, it would barely be noteworthy; they don’t even really have any bosses to speak of who would be concerned about anything that occurred, so long as they continue producing results. In a related point, he’s often told himself it would distract them from their work. But that falls apart under his current scrutiny, too: Viktor is already distracted, and look at all they have accomplished. The resolution of all his directionless yearning would probably make him more productive, if anything.
The only reason that gives him pause is the one he tries to acknowledge least often, actually. Because it is the most subjective, and also the most… vulnerable. He refers, naturally, to the all-too-plausible possibility that he has cooked up all of this in his head, and that Jayce does not feel remotely similar.
He could not bear to lay out his feelings and lose this partnership as a result. Not for all the aching in his chest would he risk that.
But… he is not convinced that he is alone in this. And especially after tonight, he feels far more confident that he might have a chance than he has ever dared to allow himself before.
“Viktor. Here you are.”
Viktor blinks, his spine straightening. “Councillor,” he says, making sure nothing leaks through in his expression. “Your speech went well. Congratulations.”
Councillor Medarda, frustratingly as always, is easily the most beautiful woman in the room. She’s traded her customary white for a black gown that shimmers with blue undertones, an oil slick against her dark skin. With the gold dripping from her ears and neck, and scattered prettily across her cheeks, she practically shimmers; the night sky taken human form.
Viktor wonders, not very charitably, exactly how many straggling moons she’ll have collected by the end of the night.
Medarda shakes her head. “Please, I only had anything to talk about because of you and Jayce. As I said before, this is your night.” She smiles then, her eyes skimming approvingly down his body. “I see you picked up a few new things. You look wonderful, really.”
It feels absolutely nothing like it had when Jayce had done the exact same thing. To distract himself Viktor tries to tease out the buried insult in her statement— is there an implied ‘for a Zaunite’ wormed somewhere in there? But he comes up empty-handed. It unsettles him. “Thank you,” he decides on, after a just-barely-too-long pause. “You as well.”
Medarda inclines her head and looks away, out at the sea of people. With the speeches finished, a small, ragged circle is beginning to open up in the centre of the hall; the dancefloor. “Tonight has been a great success,” she says in her matter-of-fact administrator voice. “You and Jayce have been the talk of the evening, you know. And not just because of his cape.”
Viktor’s lips curve into a slight smile, a genuine reaction that he doesn’t quite bother stifling all the way. “He certainly cuts an eye-catching figure, doesn’t he.”
The Councillor rolls her eyes a little, but it’s more fond than exasperated. “I don’t know how, but somehow he manages to pull it off. And extremely well, at that.”
Viktor decides, abruptly sour, that it’s best he doesn’t respond.
Medarda doesn’t seem phased by his silence, though. “He’s been very attentive to you tonight,” she continues. “I can’t blame him, though. Truthfully… despite how much he’s spoken about your decision to attend, I still thought it more than likely that you would bow out.” Her eyes lock onto Viktor again, pinning him in place like an insect to a naturalist’s specimen board. “You’ve surprised me again.”
Viktor swallows, his heart suddenly thudding wildly against his ribcage. “Jayce… spoke of me?”
Medarda’s mouth twitches— damn— but she nods. “Endlessly. To everyone who would listen. It’s been among the opening and closing topics of nearly every conversation I’ve been privy to since you said you’d come.”
“Well,” he says after a beat of soaring— something. Panic? Hope? He can’t tell. He clears his throat, trying desperately to salvage an unaffected tone. “I’m sure he thought it would be very funny to encourage some excitement about my attendance. He knows how little I enjoy these engagements.”
Medarda hums. “Perhaps. Personally, though, I think he was just excited to have you here.”
Viktor, still trying and failing to regain his composure, jumps slightly as the Councillor’s nails click against his left pauldron. He blinks owlishly at her as she turns towards him, brushing her fingertips over the Talis ‘T’ in a featherlight caress. “That’s what everything I’ve seen tonight tells me, at least,” she says lightly. Her hand drops to his arm, her fingers trailing over the curve of his bicep in a shock of warmth. She tilts her head like a bird of prey and looks almost coyly at him through her lashes. “What does it tell you?”
All Viktor can do is gape.
“Mel! Hey!”
Viktor, like nothing so much as a machine with a faulty connection, jumps yet again. His head snaps around—
Only to find the beautifully tooled clasp of Jayce’s cape roughly three inches from his nose. “Oh,” he says lamely. “Hello, Jayce.”
Jayce’s tone was— ah. For a single insane moment, Viktor almost classifies it as territorial. But that’s… no. He must be wrong.
“Hey, Vik,” Jayce says, his voice softening from whatever it was before to how he usually sounds. Viktor is looking up— up— up at him, as close as he is. He presses a flute of champagne into Viktor’s hands. “Here’s that refill.”
The Councillor’s hand is notably absent from Viktor’s arm as he takes the glass, and she’s withdrawn a pace or two. When Jayce turns his attention back to her he is grinning his wide, toothy media smile, the one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I wondered where you’d snuck off to,” he finishes his earlier greeting. “Your speech was amazing.”
Medarda has a knowing, enigmatic half-smile on her face that Viktor wishes he could scrub right off. “Thank you, Jayce. I was making my rounds— looking for you, actually. We must have just missed each other.” Her smile grows slightly, the cat that got the cream. “But then I had a stroke of luck. I saw Viktor over here, standing all alone, and I knew you wouldn’t be far off.”
Jayce’s hand— gods, Viktor could kill him— lands on Viktor’s waist in a widely telegraphed movement that there is no possible way for Medarda to miss, curling possessively around his hip. Viktor holds his flute so tightly he fears it might shatter. “You were right,” Jayce says, in that same intensely affable voice as before. “Here I am.”
“Indeed.” The Councillor bows her head slightly, making eye contact with each of them in turn. “Well, I’m happy to give you some well-deserved congratulations, Jayce, Viktor. Enjoy the party.”
“You as well,” Viktor says before Jayce can open his mouth. That’s quite enough of that. “We will see you later, Councillor.”
And with that, Medarda finally takes her leave. Viktor waits until she has sashayed off into the crowd, disappearing behind a cluster of laughing men and women, before scowling up at Jayce and elbowing him in the kidney.
“Ow, Viktor, what the fuck,” Jayce hisses, nearly dropping his champagne as he tries not to wince too visibly. “Pointy asshole—”
“What are you doing?” Viktor hisses back, beyond relieved to have something to distract from his racing thoughts and rabbit-quick pulse. “She’s our benefactor, Jayce!”
Jayce’s eyebrows knit bullishly together. “Yeah, I know, I just— I mean, she was doing her manipulation thing to you, and I—”
“Yes,” Viktor interrupts. He stares him down, hard. “I know. And it wasn’t working. Because I’m not a doe-eyed Piltovan imbecile.”
Jayce opens his mouth to argue—
Stops.
Closes it. “No,” he says slowly. “You’re not.” He winces again, this time in a decidedly chagrined way. “Fuck. Sorry.”
Damn him. He always apologizes so endearingly. Viktor rolls his eyes, exasperation adding a new component to the dangerous cocktail of highly-strung emotions bubbling in his chest. “It’s… fine. I’m sure you can blame it on the alcohol, tomorrow. And it was, eh.” He hides a smile in his champagne flute, his eyes flicking briefly up to Jayce’s face. “A little entertaining.”
Jayce rubs his free hand — which Viktor had, distressingly, dislodged from its place on his hip when he elbowed him — through the short hair at the back of his head, looking sheepish and a little embarrassed now. “Ha. Yeah, well. I’m glad someone enjoyed it.”
Viktor takes another sip of champagne, desperately willing his heart rate to calm. “So,” he blurts, casting around for a suitable subject. “How was Councillor Salo this evening?”
Jayce’s hand goes to his brow, rubbing at his temples, and he groans. (Viktor chokes quietly on his champagne.) “I don’t know how someone can be that much of an annoying kiss-ass all the time, V, I really don’t. You should’ve heard him talking about the import figures, he doesn’t even understand what he’s quoting…”
And, blessedly, the invitation for Jayce to vent his frustrations takes care of the flow of conversation for a good few minutes, during which time Viktor simply has to hum or click his tongue disapprovingly to keep it going. His thoughts are still moving so fast that it feels like he’s mentally tripping over himself, but at least his pulse starts to inch back towards his resting heart rate and the jittery buzz in his limbs starts to fade.
Because—
Medarda knows— Jayce was being possessive, he thought she was flirting— well, yes, but certainly for her own reasons— Jayce didn’t like her flirting with me— the grasp of Jayce’s hand, firm and territorial— Jayce’s eyes, Jayce’s voice— Jayce, Jayce, Jayce—
Unnoticed by Jayce, who is now waving his champagne flute around as he rants (quietly) about Hoskel’s blustering and posturing, Viktor briefly squeezes his eyes shut. People will stare, they shouldn’t do this, but… fuck it.
Then he knocks back the last of his champagne, sets the glass aside, and lays his hand squarely on Jayce’s chest. “Jayce.”
Jayce, for his part, froze mid-sentence the moment Viktor made contact. If Viktor wasn’t so terrified he’d laugh out loud at the look on his face.
“…yeah?” he says eventually, his eyes locked unerringly on Viktor’s.
Viktor clears his throat. “Finish that. I would like to dance.”
Jayce is still just staring at him, and Viktor can practically see the cogs churning away behind his eyes. “With… me?”
Viktor resists the urge to smack him. “No, actually, I was thinking Heimerdinger. Yes, obviously I meant you.”
Jayce nods jerkily. He still hasn’t looked away. “Right. Yeah, I— okay.” A small, wondering grin pulls at his lips. “Okay.”
Viktor just rolls his eyes again and looks away. Because if he watches Jayce finish his champagne they can forget dancing— he’ll kiss him right here in the middle of this godsforsaken crowd.
— - —
The musicians have just finished re-tuning their instruments by the time he and Jayce make their way to the edge of the dancefloor. The lamps have dimmed in preparation for this next, longer phase of the evening, bringing the shadows down low over the crowd and softening the triumphant shine of the glass and pale stone to an elegant shimmer. Then the music starts up again, which acts as an unspoken signal; people begin moving out onto the floor, arm in arm, and soon the space is full of swirling bodies, skirts and tailcoats and finery as far as the eye can see.
And Viktor remembers, stupidly, why he doesn’t dance as a general rule.
He looks up, his hand tightening on the elbow Jayce had offered him with a slightly shellshocked aura of awkward gallantry after draining his champagne. “Ehm— Jayce. When I said I wanted to dance—”
Jayce smiles. “You meant sway a little on the spot? I, uh. I figured. I’ll hold your cane.”
The warmth high on Viktor’s cheekbones can only mean that he has gone traitorously pink there. “Ah. Yes, that sounds— yes. That is fine.”
They both pause, then, hesitating in this uncharted territory they’ve stumbled into. Jayce lets out an embarrassed little huff, his eyes soft. “Do you, uh. Even know how?”
Viktor’s cheeks are practically on fire as he makes a dismissive sound. “Tch, I can do complex mathematics. It can’t be that hard. You just…”
He trails off, his hope that an answer would present itself shrivelling into dust in his mouth. Jayce doesn’t laugh, but his expression makes it clear that it’s a hard-won victory. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”
So Viktor lets Jayce lead him out into the edge of the open space, where they won’t be in anyone’s way. Jayce moves him into position: taking his left wrist and bringing his hand up to rest on his shoulder, tugging him in close by the waist, taking his cane and holding both it and Viktor’s other hand in his own.
“Lean on me as much as you need to,” he says as his right hand slides up from Viktor’s side to rest just under his shoulder blade. “If we were doing this by the book we’d be a little farther apart, and the arm position would be a little higher and more rigid, but—” He grins. “Fuck the book.”
Viktor manages a grin in return, his fingers twitching against Jayce’s shoulder. “We are good at spurning convention, aren’t we.”
Jayce says something in response, but to be honest, Viktor doesn’t really catch it. This is so much more— overwhelming than he had anticipated. Jayce is so sturdy under his hands; his shoulders are almost too broad for belief. Then there’s his proximity, and the warmth of his hand through Viktor’s shirt, and the fact that he has no trouble at all holding both Viktor’s hand and his cane in just one of his own. Viktor can’t allow himself to focus on it too hard or it would consume all his attention: the way Jayce’s fingers curl around his, the familiar weight of his cane pressed between their palms like it’s nothing. Jayce hadn’t hesitated for a second, hadn’t looked at Viktor with an ounce of pity. He’d just… done it. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
He drags his attention back to the present, then. See? That’s exactly what he was talking about— he could lose himself in their clasped hands as easily as flicking a switch. Not that he gets much relief by shaking off his wandering thoughts, though. Because the only thing he can focus back in on is Jayce himself.
“Feeling steady?” Jayce asks, smiling down at him.
Viktor’s heart skips a beat. No, if he’s being honest. It feels like his whole world has tipped on its axle, sending everything spinning off in new directions. Jayce was asking more literally, though. “Yes,” he says, looking up at him. And despite the manifold perils of attempting to be light-footed, Viktor decides that he wants to dance more. Besides, Jayce won’t let him fall. He is entirely confident in that.
So he raises his eyebrows imperiously. “Well? Apparently you’re some sort of expert, unless this whole performance was just an excuse to hold my hand. Go on. Show me.”
The flush that rises to Jayce’s cheeks is immensely satisfying, and is very nearly enough to ease the stab of anxiety that had jangled along Viktor’s nerves at attempting something as clearly flirtatious as that. He feels a little like he’s dreaming, or high on some psychedelic compound. It— it can’t be this simple. This good.
“Pushy, pushy,” Jayce teases, his head dipping towards Viktor’s a little. “I’ll let it slide since you don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m leading, right now. So when I step forward…” He does, his knee knocking gently into Viktor’s, their bodies coming nearly flush before Viktor can suck in a surprised breath and take an awkward, shuffling pace back. Jayce grins. “…You step back. Got it?”
Viktor narrows his eyes, fighting a smile. His own face is warm now. “Hm. Point taken, I suppose. I will… do my best to follow along.”
“Good,” Jayce says happily. “Now listen to the music. One-two-three, one-two-three, one…”
At which point Viktor has to focus too hard on where he’s putting his feet to bother with anything else. That’s something of a relief, though; he’d thoroughly lost control of that conversation, and although it hadn’t been bad it still made him feel like the floor was slipping out from under his feet. Best take it slow. Best be cautious.
“And by the way,” Jayce says as the music swells, his voice teasing and confident. “The hand-holding is a bonus.”
He doesn’t manage to hide the thread of nervousness running under that as much as he’d have probably liked, though. So even though the largest proportion of Viktor’s attention is still devoted to making sure he doesn’t trip over himself or Jayce in the clumsy box step they’ve settled into, he sacrifices a little of it to squeeze Jayce’s hand in response and shoot him a curious look. “Hm. Fascinating.”
— - —
Slowly, against all odds, Viktor finds a rhythm. Which allows him to pay a little less attention to where exactly his feet are going, and a little more to Jayce.
For the first song, they don’t do much more than repeat the box step Jayce had led him through initially, which is well enough. The fact that Viktor doesn’t trip doing that is a miracle in itself. But during the second song, Jayce asks if he wants to try something a little more complicated. And Viktor, to his own surprise, says yes.
So Jayce begins to move them, slowly, in a little spiral that takes them along the edge of the dancefloor. Not nearly as elegantly or as quickly as most of the other couples, but in the same general direction, at least. And it is… wonderful. Jayce is warm and confident and attentive, splitting his attention seamlessly between Viktor and the crowd to make sure they don’t accidentally run into anyone. Jayce likes this, Viktor realizes as they chat idly about changes to a newer design, possibly as much as he likes setting his mind against a problem or spending time in the forge; enjoying the process of the thing as much as the end result. While he is good at the politics and the social game, with his likeable nature and his clear passion for what he does, it’s always been obvious to Viktor that he would do away with it if he could. It’s part of why they get along so well, really: Jayce is far more of a solitary man than it might seem at first glance. He enjoys the late, quiet nights in their lab just as much as Viktor does. But this— the intricacy and mastery of one’s own body necessary to be a good dancer, the ability to smoothly string different movements together like a beaded necklace, even the challenge of doing so with such an unequal partner. All of these are things that Jayce enjoys.
Viktor is consumed by a wave of affection so strong he nearly trips over his own feet.
The repetition and the unfamiliar movements soon begin to take their toll, though, as Viktor had been afraid they might. So as the third song begins, he taps his fingers against Jayce’s shoulder. “That’s enough spinning, I think,” he says, smiling. “Perhaps ‘swaying on the spot’ isn’t so bad, after all.”
“Is your leg alright?” Jayce asks, automatically adjusting his hold on Viktor. Which is… more secure, Viktor supposes. Makes it easier for Jayce to take his weight.
It just also puts his hand right back where it’s been gravitating all night, to the slice of Viktor’s back that is exposed to the room. There’s no way he could miss the way Viktor’s mouth drops open slightly, or the tightening of his fingers on Jayce’s shoulder. Damn it. He hadn’t been prepared, this time, and the shock had zipped through him like he’d accidentally brushed a live wire.
Jayce’s own fingers twitch a little against Viktor’s spine.
“It’s fine,” Viktor says. His voice has an involuntarily rough edge to it that makes him want to disappear into the floor, but since he can’t do that he clears his throat and shifts awkwardly. “I just don’t want to overdo it.”
Jayce nods. His cheeks have gone red again. “Yeah, of course. But seriously, if you need to stop, it’s fine. Don’t push yourself, it’s not worth it.”
A breath.
“You know,” Viktor says quietly, his eyes trained closely on Jayce’s face, “you can go dance with someone else.”
Jayce’s blush fades.
“You probably should, actually,” Viktor continues, because despite all this, he is realistic. He is a bit of a hermit, yes, but even he knows that dancing with only one person at the massive gala thrown in your favour is some sort of faux pas. “I’m sure it would be rude not to.”
And he… he can’t help but be self-destructive. Not when everything has been so uncannily perfect. He is a scientist. He cannot help but try to find the crack in things, even to his own detriment.
“I don’t care.”
Viktor blinks. “But—”
Jayce glares down at him. “If you say I should, so help me—”
“People will—” Viktor bites back. But… his eyes drop away, landing somewhere near Jayce’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to fight. “People will talk, Jayce.”
“Let them. It’s all they fucking do around here.” Jayce squeezes his hand, and Viktor looks back up at him. He… he is somewhere between frustrated and knowing and exasperated, and Viktor knows that he’s seen right through him. “I want to dance with you. Okay? Can you trust me on that one?”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Viktor swallows, his throat suddenly tight with emotion, and nods sharply. “Yes. I trust you.”
Then, before he can think it through, he steps in closer and turns his cheek to rest on Jayce’s chest.
For a moment, there is nothing but the thunder of Viktor’s pulse in his ears, terror squeezing his lungs, the velvety nothingness of the backs of his eyelids. And he wonders if he has finally made that mistake he’s been afraid he would.
But then Jayce relaxes against him. His thumb bumps over Viktor’s spine, his fingers flex around Viktor’s, and Viktor lets out a quiet, shaky breath.
And, more or less ignored in the dimness at the edge of the dancefloor, they sway.
Far from calming Viktor down, though, the new position only makes his heart beat faster. Jayce is absolutely impossible to ignore, like this; the rise and fall of his chest, his arm around Viktor, the answering thud of his heart somewhere deep in his chest. He can’t help but skim his hand down over Jayce’s pauldron to rest on his arm, marvelling at how he can feel the hard planes of muscle even through his jacket and shirt.
Jayce’s breath hitches, and Viktor feels it, there against his cheek. Jayce retaliates by twining his fingers around the little chain, starting up that fidgeting with it again. It’s the same sort of thing he always does in the lab with pencils, chalk, stray screws— even a Hex crystal, a few times. (Viktor hadn’t been happy with that one.)
It’s not done absent-mindededly now, though. It’s decidedly intentional. Viktor presses his lips together, his hand tight on Jayce’s arm. “Do you know how distracting that is?” he murmurs. Part of him hopes Jayce didn’t catch it.
Something brushes against Viktor’s hair— Jayce’s chin, most likely. “Distracting?” he asks innocently. Minx. He abandons the fiddling to splay his hand across a frankly obscene amount of Viktor’s back, his fingertips dipping under the edge of the slit in his shirt to fit against his ribs. It wrings a delicate shiver out of Viktor that he doesn’t have the slightest hope of preventing. “You’re one to talk. You can’t see how good you look.”
They’re not even swaying anymore, really. Just standing in place, holding each other. His heart in his throat, Viktor lifts his cheek from Jayce’s chest and dares to look him in the face. He’s far too close.
Viktor wants him closer.
He frees his right hand from Jayce’s to give in and brush that little lock of hair back into place. Jayce just watches him, smiling slightly. “I think,” Viktor says deliberately, “that I’ve had enough of the party, Jayce.” His fingers trace down over Jayce’s brow, the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. “Walk me out, won’t you?”
“My pleasure,” Jayce says, his voice low. Viktor doesn’t doubt it for a moment.
They’re very civilized about the whole thing. Jayce lets go and steps back, handing Viktor his cane before folding his hands neatly behind his back. They exit the dancefloor, nodding to acquaintances as they move through the hall together, side by side. The heat of Jayce’s arm, whenever it brushes against Viktor’s, is the best kind of shock.
Exiting the hall through the large pair of double doors is a similar one; it’s cool and quiet out here, abruptly so after the bustle and warmth of the party. The side of the door they left through shuts behind them with a soft whuff of displaced air, immediately muffling the music, the chatter, the laughter. “So,” Jayce says, scanning the empty hallway. The weight of his public persona has started to lift already, leaving him bright-eyed and giddy like he’s successfully snuck out after curfew. “Where’d you wanna—”
He never finishes that sentence. Instead, he is rudely interrupted by Viktor grabbing a handful of his collar and tugging him down into a kiss.
The surprised little noise he makes against Viktor’s mouth, right before he relaxes and kisses him back, is sweeter music than anything Viktor has heard all night. His hands spring to Viktor’s waist, pulling him in closer and holding him there, and Viktor doesn’t care a single bit about the obnoxious, echoing clatter his cane makes when it hits the ground. His newly freed hand comes up to cup Jayce’s jaw, his stubble deliciously rough against Viktor’s palm, and Viktor greedily swallows the satisfied hum Jayce lets out in response.
When Viktor finally pulls back, Jayce actually sways forward slightly, chasing his mouth. A disarming curl of heat twists through Viktor’s stomach at that, warming his chest. Look at him, with his bitten lips and flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. He did that to Jayce. And Jayce very clearly wants more.
“That would’ve been easier if you were wearing a tie,” he says teasingly. He doesn’t even care how breathless he sounds. “It would’ve given me more leverage.”
“Noted,” Jayce says, grinning. “You’ll, uh. You’ll have to show me what you mean next time I’m wearing one.”
Next time. Viktor’s stomach swoops with delight. It would be so simple to drag Jayce back down, right now; his eyes keep dropping helplessly to Viktor’s mouth, and Viktor knows he’s no better. But even though the delirious, sparkling perfection of the moment nearly carries him off, he forces himself to stay focused. He— he needs to ensure that his motivations are understood.
“Jayce…” he says, smoothing his thumb over Jayce’s cheekbone. “You know that this isn’t just… physical. For me. I’m sure I don’t show it very well, but I— I really do care—”
Jayce shuts him up. Extremely effectively.
“I know,” he says, breaking away from Viktor’s mouth to pepper kisses along his cheek, towards his ear. “‘Course I do. Me too, by the way. I’ve absolutely wrecked my sleep schedule trying to figure you out, you dick. I just—” Experimentally, he closes his teeth around the bolt of Viktor’s jaw. Viktor makes a noise that is entirely inappropriate for what is definitely still a public space, his head falling back, and feels Jayce smile against his skin. “—wasn’t sure whether it was just friendly or what, for you. I think, though…” He moves to the expanse of throat that Viktor has helpfully exposed to him, and Viktor’s eyes flutter shut as he works his way deftly, mind-numbingly across every inch he can reach. “That we’re— pretty firmly— in ‘or what’ territory. Right?”
Viktor threads a hand into his hair and tugs Jayce back so he can look him in the face. Jayce grunts at the rough treatment, but…
Well. Judging by the size of his pupils and how willingly he went, he didn’t dislike it. At all. Viktor, his heart pounding, files that away for later.
“Very much so,” he says, his voice much lower and rougher than he’d expected it. “I want you, Jayce. Every way you can imagine.”
Jayce’s eyes widen. There’s a beat.
Then time restarts. “Fuck,” Jayce breathes, his forehead knocking forward to press into Viktor’s. “Okay. Yours or mine?”
Viktor can’t help but laugh despite the searing bolt of arousal that rips through him. “Presumptuous, aren’t we?”
Jayce just drags one hand up to slide inside the back of Viktor’s shirt, again, and then grins wolfishly at the harsh breath Viktor expels into the scant space between them. “No,” he says smugly. “Just a little egotistical.”
Ah, well. Viktor never really wanted to stand a chance, anyways. “Yours, then,” he says, and he doesn’t even remember to be sarcastic. “Now help me get my cane or we’ll never make it there at all.”
—
Even now, Viktor still can’t quite believe it wasn’t a dream.
It’s a deeply silly thought to have, given that he’s lying here awake with his head pillowed on Jayce’s shoulder and an arm thrown over his bare torso. All he can see is Jayce’s smooth, tanned skin; he can feel the rise and fall of his chest, hear the faint little whistling snores sneaking out of him. Lit by the morning sun streaming in through his window, it’s all undeniably real. And yet.
You can’t possibly have this, a voice in the back of his head still whispers at him. What have you done to deserve it?
“I can hear you thinking.”
Viktor blinks. He hadn’t even noticed a change in Jayce’s breathing, but— Jayce brings the hand not currently resting at the small of Viktor’s back up to his jaw, tilting his face up so he can deposit a kiss on Viktor’s unresisting mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkle fondly. “‘Morning.”
“Good morning,” Viktor parrots back, staring stupidly into Jayce’s face. It’s… it’s simply too good to be true: Jayce tucking some hair behind Viktor’s ear, his own a tousled mess, practically glowing. Viktor doesn’t… gods. His mind is blank.
Jayce grins, his hand sliding deliciously into Viktor’s hair. “This whole time,” he says, mirth quirking at his expression, “you’re telling me this is all it takes to get you out of your head? We should’ve done this ages ago.”
Viktor raises an eyebrow. This— the easy, familiar give and take of their bickering— this he can handle. “I would’ve let you,” he says, running his hand up over Jayce’s chest to settle on the side of his neck, drawing a shiver from him. “Alas. You left making the first move to me.”
Jayce just kisses him again in lieu of trying to make any other point. Viktor, a needy little noise sighing out of him, can’t help but concede that it’s an effective tactic.
Doubly so when Jayce uses the lapse in his attention to roll them over, pinning Viktor on his back. He’s even thoughtful about it, supporting his weight on the knee now slotted between Viktor’s own instead of letting his body press Viktor’s bad leg and hip into the mattress.
Viktor wishes, feeling distinctly light-headed all of a sudden, that he’d been a little less nice.
“Now,” Jayce says, leaning over him with one arm boxing him in and his other hand stroking distractingly over Viktor’s ribs. “What’s on your mind?”
Viktor groans, covering his eyes with one hand. “My hangover. Next question.”
Jayce— the bastard, he’s in a good mood this morning— just grabs Viktor’s wrist and pins that beside his head, too. Viktor glares balefully at him. “Jayce.”
It doesn’t do a thing. Jayce raises his eyebrows. “Viktor. Something’s bothering you, it’s all over your face. Tell me what it is.”
“I’ve created a monster,” Viktor grumbles, still trying to deflect. “You’re so… entitled.”
“Only because you encourage it,” Jayce says into Viktor’s ear, the warmth of his breath raising swathes of goosebumps across Viktor’s skin. Viktor sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek as Jayce drops to his neck, stubbornly choking back the sounds trying to escape him. “C’mon,” Jayce murmurs in between worrying at a spot high on his throat, just below his ear. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t— ah— do that if you keep doing this,” Viktor manages, his voice gone thready and strained already. “So— either you stop, or—”
Abruptly, Jayce does exactly that. “Okay,” he says expectantly. “Go ahead.”
When Viktor peels his eyes back open, he scowls at the mischievous glitter in Jayce’s gaze. “I hate you,” he mutters. Jayce just grins.
He knows Jayce won’t let this go, though. Especially not now that Viktor has invited him in and asked him to stay. It’s not in his nature. So he sighs, his gaze settling somewhere around Jayce’s shoulder. “I just… I don’t know. It feels too easy. This, I mean.” He closes his eyes. “Us.”
Jayce lets go of his wrist, settling down beside him. “Why shouldn’t it be?” he asks, and of course he’s like this. Of course he would polish this till it shone with that bottomless fountain of hope that wells up from somewhere deep inside him. He can be so naive and positive sometimes, still, and Viktor has no idea how it hasn’t been crushed out of him yet.
“I’m anti-social,” he says, brutal and emotionless as he pushes himself up on his elbows and looks Jayce full in the face. “I lash out when I’m frustrated. I get wrapped up in my projects and forget to be a good friend. I have bad pain days, Jayce, worse than you know. Than I’ve let you see. I can be jealous, and petty, and rude. And I can’t— I don’t spare you those things, sometimes. Even though you’re the— the most important person in my life. Plus, people will…” He swallows and looks away again. He can’t handle Jayce’s expression anymore. “People will judge you for it. Me.” He forces himself to breathe, making it mechanical, repetitive, unaffected. “Perhaps it’s better to… to leave this here. Blame last night on the champagne.”
Gods. Viktor presses his lips together against the sudden, embarrassing heat welling at the backs of his eyes. Isn’t it supposed to feel good to get things off your chest? He wants to find whoever it is who said that and ask them if they’ve ever really loved someone before. And then punch them in the gut when they lie to his face.
“Viktor,” Jayce says quietly into the silence. “Look at me. Please.”
His hand lands soft on Viktor’s cheek. And Viktor, helplessly, lets Jayce bring him back into the warmth of his gaze.
His face is so nakedly gentle and understanding that it steals Viktor’s breath for a moment. “That’s not what you want. Is it?”
The sunlight filling the room almost burns. “No,” Viktor admits. Selfishly.
Jayce smiles a little. “I didn’t think so. And I know that— that there’s nothing I could say right now that’d convince you I mean it. Not fully, anyway. But…” He shakes his head. “You say all that like I don’t already know. Vik, I’m the one who sees you cracking up because we haven’t slept in two days. I’m the one you chuck pieces of chalk at when I annoy you. I’m the one who puts the blanket over you when you fall asleep at your desk.” He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “Sure, you’re an asshole sometimes. So am I. But every time we’ve argued, you’ve stayed. And I have too.”
He leans in and kisses him, then. Just once, and so softly it hurts. Viktor rattles a dry little sob into it. “So yeah,” Jayce finishes, his thumb smoothing over Viktor’s cheekbone. “I want this. I want you. No matter how much you try to push me away.”
Viktor leans into the touch, pressing his cheek into Jayce’s hand. “I will test your resolve,” he says. As much as he hates it, he’s like a dog with a bone in this way. He won’t let go until there’s nothing left to cling to.
“Do your worst,” Jayce says. “It won’t change anything.”
Viktor hooks an arm around Jayce and pulls him into his arms, what feels like a ball of light the temperature of the sun pulsing inside his chest. “We’ll see,” he hedges, his face pressed into Jayce’s neck. Because, Janna save him, he can’t help it. He might be insane, and this might destroy them both, but…
Viktor finds that he almost believes him.
And for now, that might just be enough.
Addendum
“So…”
“Mm?”
“You said something about testing my resolve?”
“Jayce. Tell me you didn’t just try to turn that into an innuendo.”
“...I didn’t just try to turn that into an innuendo.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“That’s only ‘cause it, uh. It already was one, though. If we’re splitting hairs.”
“...go. Get out.”
“Ah, Viktor, c’mon— hey, hands off— this is my bed, you can’t just—”
“I don’t care. I need coffee. You owe me that, surely.”
“...okay, sure, but you don’t need to beat me up about it.”
“You also didn’t let me finish.”
“Fine, fine. Floor’s yours, o valued partner.”
“Quite. What I was going to say, before you interrupted me, was that maybe while you’re gone, I’ll… consider it.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Indeed.”
“Okay, yeah. Ha. Going.”