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Viktor hadn’t been sure what to expect when Jayce invited him to spend the weekend in Tulsa. The trip had been pitched casually, with an offer to test out the weather drone Jayce had been working on, followed by a breezy, “You can meet my mom.” But it had taken on a strange weight the moment they crossed out of Norman. As much time as they’d spent together since meeting at the meteorology conference, most of it had unfolded in professional spaces—at the university, around labs, or threaded through tech talk and field prep. This was being invited into something personal, taking a proverbial next step.
They’d spent most of the day out in the field, testing the drone’s sensors against live conditions and comparing the readings to verified datasets Jayce had brought along. The work had been hands-on, companionable, filled with shared notes, light bickering over calibration techniques, and long stretches of silence broken only by wind and the soft hum of the drone overhead.
By the time they rolled back into the driveway, the sky had shifted into a bruised purple, and the air carried the faint scent of rain just on the edge of arrival. Viktor stretched his legs as he stepped out of the truck, joints stiff from the ride and the hours spent out in the field. Jayce clapped him lightly on the back as they climbed the front steps.
Inside, the house was already alive with the clatter of pans and the rich scent of garlic and tomatoes simmering. Ximena stood at the stove, a sunshine-yellow apron with white frills tied neatly around her waist, wooden spoon in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. Soft music drifted from a speaker on the counter.
She glanced over her shoulder as they entered. “Perfect timing. Dinner’s halfway there.” She paused, wrinkling her nose. “You two smell like sweat and dirt. Wash your hands at least.”
Jayce leaned in to kiss her cheek, entirely unfazed. “Thanks, I missed you too.”
Viktor lingered by the door, shrugging off his jacket before making his way into the kitchen. Jayce moved through the space with easy confidence, washing his hands and forearms in the sink before grabbing a cutting board. He pulled open a drawer, picked up a tomato from the bench, and began slicing with the kind of fluidity that spoke of deep familiarity—like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Viktor washed his hands more slowly, feeling a beat or two out of sync. Jayce and Ximena worked together seamlessly, bumping elbows, trading tools, stealing small bites of food with no apologies. It was the kind of comfortable, wordless rhythm that only came with years of practice.
Ximena nudged Jayce with her hip. “You’re on salad.”
“I always get salad.”
“That’s because you have a knife and ten fingers, and I need you to keep both.”
Viktor settled on a stool at the far side of the counter—close enough to listen, but just outside their orbit. He rested his chin in one hand, watching them move together. Jayce grinned as he spoke about their day, and Ximena rolled her eyes in the fond way of someone who’d long since given up pretending she wasn’t charmed.
They passed a bottle of wine between them as they cooked, refilling each other’s glasses without needing to ask.
Jayce poured one for Viktor too, sliding the glass across the counter with an easy smile. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s still good.”
Viktor took it with a small nod. “Thank you. The food smells wonderful.”
“Compliments like that’ll go to our heads,” Ximena said as she stirred the pot.
They ate at the kitchen table, laughter and clinking glasses layering over the quiet percussion of rain beginning to fall against the windows. The meal was simple—pasta tossed with roasted vegetables, fresh bread, the kind of dinner that didn’t need a recipe, only timing and care.
Jayce talked with his hands as he told a story about almost getting bitten by a startled raccoon while fixing a rattling engine. Ximena kept interrupting to fill in missing details—most of them unflattering. Viktor didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. He was comfortable in the quiet, letting their warmth fill the space around him.
Watching them tease and lean into each other’s space, he felt like he was observing a memory that had been unfolding long before he arrived. And yet, he never felt excluded. Jayce kept turning toward him mid-sentence, looping him in without pause, and Ximena occasionally patted his hand with a fond smile whenever she asked him a question.
He didn’t feel like an outsider. He just felt... full. Not from the food, but from the quiet, settled sense of being somewhere safe.
After dinner, Jayce leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, plate pushed forward, glass half-full. Ximena was already collecting the serving dishes with the swift, practiced movements of someone who didn’t believe in letting food sit cold. Viktor stood to help, but Jayce waved him off with a small shake of his head.
“You go shower first,” he said, nodding toward the hallway.
Viktor hesitated, torn between guilt for not helping and the lure of a hot shower. “You’re sure?”
Jayce glanced back with a small smile. “Yeah. You’re the guest, remember.”
Ximena didn’t comment, just bumped Jayce lightly with her hip as she handed him another dish.
Viktor nodded once and stepped away. The living room was dim, quiet aside from the clatter of dishes behind him. It felt unfamiliar, but not in a bad way—like being gently folded into someone else’s familiar routine. He climbed the stairs to the guest room, finding a towel waiting for him on the dresser. He gathered his change of clothes and headed for the bathroom. The moment the hot water hit the tile and steam began to curl up, he felt the last of the tension ease from his spine.
When he came back down, skin warm and hair damp, the house felt different—softer somehow. The kitchen lights had been dimmed, and a second lamp in the living room cast a gentle glow across the space. Jayce stood at the counter, uncorking another bottle of wine. Ximena was curled up in an armchair by the window, legs tucked beneath her and a blanket thrown over one shoulder. She looked completely relaxed, wine glass in hand, and her smile was already forming when she saw him.
“There he is,” Jayce said as Viktor stepped into the room. “Feeling human again?”
“Significantly improved,” Viktor replied, easing down onto the couch and accepting the glass of wine Jayce handed over.
They drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, the rain now whispering against the windows in a steady rhythm. Jayce pulled an old, well-worn deck of cards from a drawer and began shuffling, his fingers moving with practiced ease.
“So,” Jayce said, giving the cards a final tap, “we decided on cards while you were in the shower.”
“Jayce won’t let me play Monopoly,” Ximena interjected. “He says I’m not allowed to bully you, but really, he’s just afraid we’ll team up against him.”
Jayce scoffed. “I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to scare Viktor off.”
“You’re just bitter that I won last time.”
Jayce snorted, starting to deal the deck. Viktor leaned back with one ankle crossed over the other. The couch was comfortable, and the room still smelled faintly of garlic and red wine. Rain hummed softly outside, a steady, calming backdrop.
They played a few rounds at an easy pace, laughter low and unhurried. Ximena won most of them, her victories punctuated by Jayce’s exaggerated complaints. Viktor watched their banter with quiet amusement, content to observe the affectionate back-and-forth.
Midway through a slow hand, Ximena shifted in her chair and let out a quiet groan. She rolled one shoulder, then the other, and grimaced.
“Ay, my shoulders are sore,” she muttered. “Jayce—mijo. Be a good son and fix your mother.”
Jayce set his cards down and sighed in mock exasperation. “You cook one amazing dinner and suddenly I’m your full-service spa.”
Ximena gestured grandly, though her eyes sparkled. “You owe me for giving birth to you.”
He circled behind her without further argument and placed his hands on her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently at first, then more firmly as he worked into the tension near her neck. Viktor watched from the corner of his eye—there was an ease to the motion, practiced and surprisingly gentle for someone with Jayce’s build. It was oddly soothing to witness.
“See?” Ximena murmured. “Best use of that engineering degree.”
“Glad I could finally put it to good use,” Jayce said dryly, using his knuckles to trace the curve of her neck.
He glanced over his shoulder toward Viktor. “Still up for a movie after this?”
Viktor nodded. “If you’re not too tired.”
“I’ll rally,” Jayce said, flashing a crooked grin.
After another minute, Ximena waved him off, eyes half-lidded and satisfied. “That’s enough. You’ll bruise me with those brick hands. I’m going to bed.”
She ruffled Jayce’s hair on the way past, then turned to Viktor with a warm, sleepy smile.
“Night my boys. Don’t stay up too late.”
Jayce shooed her off with a wave. “We won’t, ma.”
Then he stretched with a contented groan, arms lifting overhead until his shoulders popped faintly.
“I’m gonna grab a shower,” he said, running a hand through already-mussed hair. “And get into something less... dusty and sweat-flavored.”
Viktor gave a nod.
Jayce pointed toward the remote on the coffee table. “Pick something to watch while I rinse the field off me. Nothing too tragic—I’m fragile.”
He disappeared up the stairs, his bare feet quiet against the floorboards. Viktor waited until he heard the bathroom door click shut, then slowly pushed himself to standing.
Back in the guest room, he changed out of his clothes and into the sleepwear he’d packed: a soft grey T-shirt and lightweight cotton shorts. Familiar, comfortable. He sat for a moment on the edge of the bed to unfasten the Velcro brace from his knee, setting it carefully on the bedside table. His leg always felt strange without it—liberated and unsteady all at once.
When he returned to the living room, the space was dim and quiet. He reclaimed his spot on the couch, folding his good leg beneath him and stretching the other out in front, careful of the ache in his knee. He turned on the TV and scrolled through the movie options, quickly figuring out which streaming services the Talis family had set up.
Something light, Jayce had said. Easy.
Eventually, he settled on a sci-fi adventure—something with a questionable plot, decent humor, and just enough romance to round it out. Nothing emotionally taxing. As the opening music began to play softly, he set the remote down and let the quiet of the house settle around him.
The rain had faded to a hush, a steady whisper against the windows. The whole house felt wrapped in that particular stillness that came only at the end of a long, satisfying day. Viktor sank deeper into the cushions and waited.
Jayce returned with his hair still damp, sticking out at unruly angles. He’d changed into a pair of old joggers and a thin, faded T-shirt that clung slightly to his chest, worn soft from countless washes. Barefoot again, he padded into the room and paused beside the couch when he caught sight of Viktor.
“Wow,” he said, grinning. “This might be the least formal I’ve ever seen you.”
Viktor didn’t look away from the screen. “Did you expect me to sleep in a button-up and slacks?”
Jayce chuckled and dropped onto the couch beside him, the cushions shifting under the added weight. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have been that surprised. But shorts and bare knees? Historic.”
Viktor didn’t answer, but one corner of his mouth curved faintly.
Jayce stretched out, one arm slung over the back of the couch, a knee pulled up as he settled in beside him. He nodded at the screen. “This the pick?”
“You said nothing tragic.”
Jayce gave a nod of approval.
They watched in companionable quiet for a while, the flickering screen casting shifting light across their faces. The ridiculous action plot unraveled with just enough absurdity to be entertaining. Viktor could swear he felt heat radiating from Jayce’s side, even with half an arm’s length between them.
As the movie rolled on, Viktor shifted slightly, fingers pressing into his thigh and knee in an attempt to ease the deep, familiar ache left by the day’s activity. He drew his right leg up and rested it across the opposite knee, flexing his foot, stretching out the tension. His hand drifted to the joint without thinking, fingers working into the muscle just above it with practiced pressure. It wasn’t a conscious decision—just habit. The ache was always worse in the evening, especially after navigating uneven ground.
Jayce must have noticed. His voice was quiet but direct.
“Want me to help?”
Viktor didn’t stop kneading at the joint. “It’s fine.”
He grabbed a throw pillow from behind him and dropped it into his lap, patting it once. “Put your leg here.”
“I don’t—” Viktor started, but Jayce was already reaching.
“Come on. I fix things for a living.”
“That’s hardly—”
“Let me help,” Jayce said again, gently tugging at Viktor’s ankle.
Viktor exhaled through his nose but didn’t resist as Jayce eased his leg into his lap. The pillow was soft, the contact gentle. Jayce’s hands were warm and confident, his thumbs finding tension points and easing them loose with surprising ease.
It didn’t feel clinical. It didn’t feel awkward. It just felt... kind.
Viktor leaned his head back against the couch, eyes slipping half-closed as the movie carried on, letting the rhythm of Jayce’s hands and the background sound of dramatic spaceship battles fill the space around them.
~~***~~
Viktor faded back into wakefulness slowly. He wasn't exactly sure when he’d fallen asleep, or for how long—somewhere past the halfway point of the movie, lulled by the quiet room and the warmth at his side. His body was heavy in that pleasant way, boneless and still, with a gentle weight draped across his legs and another pressed firmly against his side and up his back.
He breathed in deeply, the scent grounding him: soap, metal, and a warm and familiar musk, touched faintly with that ozone-like sharpness that clung after long days outside.
Something tickled at the nape of his neck. Soft. Rhythmic.
As his awareness returned, Viktor realized it was fingers—Jayce’s fingers, gently threading through his hair.
His eyes opened slowly, the picture coming together as his mind caught up. He was sprawled across Jayce’s lap, one leg draped over his, torso nestled in, cheek resting against the curve of Jayce’s shoulder. Jayce had an arm curled around him, steady at his hip and back, fingers idly playing with his hair like it was second nature.
The position should’ve been uncomfortable—would’ve been, on any other couch, with anyone else. But he felt fine. No twinge in his back. No ache in his hip.
Just warmth. Just stillness.
He stayed still, unsure whether to move. The movie had ended; the screen displayed a quiet stream of recommendations now, its soft glow the only light in the room. The rain outside had stopped, replaced by the occasional creak of cooling wood and the low hush of a sleeping house.
Jayce hadn’t really moved—just shifted, his fingers still stroking along the edge of Viktor’s hair.
Viktor cleared his throat softly. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
Jayce’s voice was low, close, and touched with amusement. “I’m not complaining.”
Viktor made a quiet sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and didn’t lift his head just yet.
“You always let people fall asleep on you?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet.
Jayce’s breath puffed a soft laugh into Viktor’s hair. “Only the special ones.”
That made Viktor go very still. Not in alarm. Just... uncertainty. He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to.
Jayce didn’t press. He just shifted a little, brushing a thumb behind Viktor’s ear before letting his hand fall still again.
The minutes stretched.
Jayce’s breathing had slowed, steady and warm against Viktor’s temple. Neither of them spoke, and Viktor could feel his awareness beginning to drift again. The edges of his thoughts softened. His leg wasn’t aching. His back wasn’t tight. He was cocooned in warmth, body and mind suspended in the stillness of the room and the security of the arms around him.
Then Jayce moved, just slightly.
His hand curled gently around Viktor’s shoulder, anchoring him for the briefest moment. Then he pressed a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head. Soft. Barely there.
But Viktor felt it like a spark down his spine. A quiet intake of breath caught in his throat.
He lifted his head slowly.
Jayce didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned in closer, brushing Viktor’s temple with the tip of his nose before pressing another kiss, lower this time, just above his ear.
Their eyes met, hazy in the low light, and Viktor saw it written there—hesitant, but sure. A kind of quiet wonder, as if Jayce wasn’t entirely sure how they’d ended up here, but didn’t want to be anywhere else.
So Viktor leaned in.
Drawn like gravity, their lips met—tentative at first. A soft brush. Then again, a little firmer. Jayce tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss without urgency, one hand slipping to cradle the back of Viktor’s neck. It was warm and unrushed, just touch and breath and the quiet exchange of affection they hadn’t spoken aloud.
Jayce’s hand slid from Viktor’s leg to his jaw, thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone as their mouths met again and again. Each kiss lingered a beat longer than the last. Viktor inhaled through his nose, hand finding Jayce’s thigh for balance. His fingers curled slightly into the fabric there, grounding himself in the heat and solidity beneath him.
Jayce kissed like he didn’t want to stop.
The softness gave way gradually to something heavier. Jayce’s thumb stroked the hinge of Viktor’s jaw as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss once more. Viktor let him, lips parting slightly to share the taste of wine and warmth.
It made him dizzy.
Made him sharply aware of his position, stretched across Jayce’s lap with one leg draped fully over him. Jayce’s other hand skimmed along his side, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Viktor shivered and pulled back slightly, breath catching. Jayce’s hands fell away with care. He looked at him—eyes darker now, still open, still so soft—and Viktor forgot why he’d meant to pull away. So he didn’t.
He leaned in again, mouth finding Jayce’s with more purpose. There was no hesitation now, no tentative testing of boundaries. Only warmth and breath, and the slow slide of lips deepening into something deliberate.
Jayce’s hands were on him again, one at his jaw with a thumb brushing Viktor’s cheek, the other slipping under the hem of his shirt to rest against bare skin. Viktor felt the press of Jayce’s chest, the pull of him drawing them even closer.
Viktor shifted, dragging his body fully astride Jayce. It wasn’t graceful, but he didn’t care. Jayce made a low sound in the back of his throat and kissed him again, this time with more heat and less caution.
Viktor gasped softly, fingers twisting into the fabric of Jayce’s shirt. Jayce responded by kissing him harder, slow and thorough, like he was learning Viktor by touch alone.
His pulse pounded in his ears. His bad leg throbbed faintly beneath him—not from pain, just pressure. Jayce shifted without needing to be asked, adjusting his hold to offer support, like he’d already noticed.
Jayce’s mouth left his for only a moment, brushing over Viktor’s jaw before trailing lower. His teeth grazed lightly against sensitive skin, and Viktor tilted his head back, lips parting as Jayce kissed his throat once, slow and reverent.
It wasn’t rushed. It was careful, but not cautious. There was hunger beneath it, yes, but threaded with something steadier. Like Jayce wanted to touch him in ways that meant something. Viktor leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jayce’s. His breath came out shaky.
“Jayce…”
It slipped out rougher than he meant—breathy, uncertain, too honest. Maybe it was a question. Maybe a warning. But Jayce heard it as permission.
“Still okay?” he asked, fingers brushing Viktor’s cheek.
Instead of answering, Viktor reached for the hem of his own shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. The fabric slipped from his hands and hit the floor with a soft flutter. His chest rose and fell, skin flushed, hair tousled from sleep and kisses. His leg twinged in protest from the position, but he didn’t care. Not when Jayce was looking at him like that—like he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
Jayce didn’t ask again.
He surged forward, one hand on Viktor’s hip, the other threading into his hair, gripping firmly as their mouths met—hot and deep and shameless. Viktor shifted where he was straddling Jayce, slotting their bodies together with only a few layers of fabric in between.
Jayce’s hands roamed Viktor’s bare skin, mapping him, learning the dip of his spine, the bumps of his ribs, the muscles that tensed when he moved. Viktor rocked against him with a soft, involuntary sound, breath catching as Jayce’s mouth trailed lower—over his jaw, his throat, his collarbone.
“Bed,” Viktor rasped. “Now.”
Jayce was already moving.
They stumbled down the hall in a fevered blur—Jayce supporting Viktor’s weight with ease, Viktor dragging Jayce’s shirt off and tossing it somewhere along the way. The door opened. They almost fell. The guest room filled with half-laughed gasps, curses swallowed in kisses, and the rustle of sheets pulled hastily aside.
Jayce laid him down like something precious—then set to work undoing him completely.
He leaned in again, mouth catching Viktor’s in a rough, open kiss that made Viktor hum low in his throat. His hands slipped around Jayce’s ribs, pulling him closer, grounding himself in the weight of the body above him. Their skin met from chest to thigh, heat building between them.
Jayce’s skin was hot beneath Viktor’s palms, firm and flushed from the growing heat between them. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. Viktor slid his hands across Jayce’s back greedily—over broad shoulders and the curve of muscle, then over his chest and the faint trail of hair that led downward from his sternum, catching on his ribs where sweat had started to gather.
Jayce’s mouth moved down Viktor’s throat, lips parting to taste the sweat at his collarbone. His hand slid along Viktor’s side, fingers curling under the waistband of his sleep shorts, pausing just enough to make Viktor’s breath stutter.
“Off,” Viktor murmured, lifting his hips.
Jayce obliged, pressing kisses down Viktor’s stomach as he eased the shorts away, careful not to pull at his knee. When Viktor was bare before him, Jayce lingered, crouched low near his thighs. His cheeks were flushed, lips dark and parted, eyes bright and full of something that made Viktor’s chest tighten.
Desire, yes—but also tenderness. Admiration. Affection.
It made Viktor’s breath catch again, though for a different reason this time. One that had less to do with heat and more to do with the way Jayce looked at him, like there was nothing else in the room worth noticing.
“You sure?” Jayce asked.
Viktor reached for him again, pulling him down, mouth meeting Jayce’s.
“Yes. But… do you have any—” Viktor paused, “any lubrication?”
Jayce’s eyes widened, the flush on his cheeks deepening from arousal to something more bashful. He scrambled off the bed, hurrying out of the room without another word. Viktor let out a surprised laugh, collapsing back against the pillows, propped on one elbow while he waited.
It took less than a minute. Jayce returned with a bottle in hand, breath a little short. He placed it on the bed next to Viktor, then slipped out of his joggers and boxers in one motion before climbing back onto the mattress.
Viktor cupped his cheek immediately, guiding him into another kiss. Jayce groaned into it, hands already moving again—slow and reverent. His fingers found the line of Viktor’s ribs, dipping into the hollow at the small of his back, brushing reverently down the curve of his waist. His touch was both tender and hungry, like he was trying to memorize him, not a single inch taken for granted. Each pass of his palm left a trail of warmth in its wake, branding this moment into Viktor's memory.
Viktor arched under him, not with grace but with need. Jayce responded instantly, his hand sliding down, guiding their hips together in a slow roll that made Viktor gasp. The friction was maddening. Perfect. He clung to Jayce’s shoulders, nails raking lightly across muscle as his breath left him.
Their mouths met again and again, hot and deep, lips parted, tongues brushing. Jayce’s touch burned slow and deep as he spread Viktor out beneath him, kissing down his chest until Viktor’s head fell back against the pillow with a gasp. He let his legs fall open, his bad leg trembling slightly from exertion, but he barely noticed. Every nerve in his body was tuned to the places Jayce touched. Kissed. Ground into. His breath was warm, his stubble scraping lightly, deliciously, against sensitive skin. When his lips closed around one of Viktor’s nipples, Viktor inhaled sharply and threaded his fingers into Jayce’s hair, anchoring himself with a shaky moan.
Jayce smiled against his skin—Viktor could feel it—and moved lower, worshipful in his descent. His hands stroked Viktor’s thighs, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle, spreading warmth through him with every touch. He kissed just above the bend of Viktor’s hip, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking up for permission he didn’t need. He had it already.
Viktor’s back arched again as Jayce’s mouth closed around him, warm and wet and patient. It wasn’t rushed. Jayce wasn’t trying to overwhelm him; he was savoring. Every flick of his tongue, every hollow of his cheeks, was like a slow unspooling of control. Viktor's fingers tightened in Jayce’s hair, breath shattering into broken fragments as pleasure curled low and hot in his stomach.
He tried to be quiet. But Jayce coaxed the sounds from him—soft, breathless, utterly involuntary. In his distracted state, Viktor didn’t hear the subtle click of the bottle opening, but he felt it when one slightly cool and slippery finger pressed against his entrance. He groaned, heat pulsing low in his stomach—not just at the sensation, but at the thought of what it meant, of what was coming.
Jayce flicked his tongue as he pressed in, and Viktor didn’t even care about the little bit of strain, too distracted by the mouth below him. Jayce continued to work him, almost delicately. His mouth moved slow and steady, taking Viktor in, while a long, thick finger followed the same rhythm, deep and slow inside him. Viktor tugged at Jayce’s hair, telling him to hurry up without words, and Jayce hummed around him before pressing in a second finger.
This time, Viktor definitely felt the strain and gasped—but instead of pulling away, he pressed down on the two fingers, chasing the feeling of pain and stretch and satisfaction. He rocked his hips, almost unconsciously, seeking more of that feeling inside him.
Jayce pulled back, mouth dropping to gently suck at his balls before pressing his tongue hard at the base of Viktor’s cock. Viktor let out another moan he couldn’t control, and he could feel Jayce smile against him.
Jayce licked back up his shaft, wrapping his lips gently over the head. His tongue slid over the tip—not teasing, just touching. Viktor felt a third finger press in and begin to slide inside. It almost hurt, but not quite. That same satisfying edge of pain that made him want to go faster, not slow down. He ground his hips back more firmly against Jayce’s hand, forcing the fingers deeper.
Jayce’s mouth followed the rhythm of his hand, slow and deliberate, until Viktor was trembling with the effort of holding still. The sensations were too much and not enough, cresting just short of what he needed. His fingers curled tightly into Jayce’s hair, a wordless plea, a signal that he was close to being undone.
Jayce understood. He always did.
He let Viktor go with a final kiss just beneath the head, then pressed a trail of softer kisses up the inside of his thigh, over the sharp jut of his hip, until he reached his mouth—kissing him deeply, openly, sharing the taste of him in a way that made Viktor’s toes curl.
Jayce pressed their foreheads together, breath mingling. “You’re so—” He broke off, voice thick. “Viktor.”
It wasn’t a sentence. It didn’t have to be.
Viktor pulled him in and kissed him again like he needed it to stay whole, then shifted his weight and flipped them, more effort than grace. Jayce let him, surprised laughter spilling into a groan as Viktor straddled him fully.
“You talk too much,” Viktor murmured, biting softly at Jayce’s lip.
Jayce’s eyes darkened. His hands slid up Viktor’s thighs, steady and grounding.
“Then shut me up.”
Viktor did.
He leaned down, their mouths colliding again—slower now, deeper. Less hungry, more consuming. His hands settled on Jayce’s chest, palms splayed across heat and muscle, feeling each rise and fall beneath him. Jayce’s hands stayed at his hips, holding him steady, thumbs drawing soft circles against his skin.
They moved together without rush or urgency, every shift of weight and breath deliberate. When Jayce rolled his hips up, Viktor bit back a moan, head falling forward against Jayce’s shoulder. Jayce’s fingers slipped lower, curling around his thigh, the pad of his thumb brushing over the tendon there.
His voice was low at Viktor’s ear. “Tell me if anything’s too much.”
It wasn’t.
Viktor lifted himself just enough to let Jayce guide them, the slick, careful alignment stretching seconds into something heavier. Jayce was warm, thick, and Viktor’s breath hitched as he sank down slowly—inch by inch—until they were fully joined, seated deep and still.
He exhaled sharply, jaw tight, blinking through the edge of sensation. Jayce’s hand settled at the base of his spine, steadying him.
“God,” Jayce whispered, voice rough, “you feel—Jesus, Viktor.”
A shiver ran through Viktor. He braced himself with one hand against Jayce’s shoulder and began to move.
It wasn’t smooth at first—more instinct than rhythm—but Jayce met him, hips rolling upward in a slow, rocking push. Every motion sent sparks up Viktor’s spine, pressure blooming deep in his belly. He knew he couldn’t hold the position for long; his knee and hip would give out eventually. But for now, he rocked into it, finding a pace that made Jayce groan and left his own knees shaking for a very different reason.
Jayce’s hand slipped between them, wrapping around Viktor’s cock with a gentle grip that stole his breath. Viktor stuttered forward with a choked gasp, skin slick now where they moved together, thighs trembling with the effort to keep going.
Jayce, as though sensing Viktor’s weakening limbs, released his grib and instead took one hand to his right thigh, high up near his hip, the other cupping under his left. Viktor moaned long and loud as Jayce lifted him as if he weighed nothing and dropped him back down on his cock. The stretch, the fill, the pressure. Viktor knew two languages and could not have found words between either to describe it.
They found a rhythm together—tight, close, insatiable. Jayce lifted him and let him drop, hips rising to meet him, Viktor curling forward to kiss him between gasps. One of Jayce’s hands briefly left his thigh, reaching for one of Viktor’s and guiding it to his neck. He pressed Viktor’s hand there, wrapping it low around his own throat, eyes dark and heavy as they locked onto Viktor’s. Then Jayce’s hand returned to his thigh, coaxing him back into the rhythm that had briefly faltered.
Viktor hesitated, momentarily unsure—then understood. He applied pressure to Jayce’s throat, not a grip so much as firm contact. A shiver ran through Jayce’s body beneath him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. A different kind of heat sparked through Viktor at the sight. Definitely something to explore—later. When there was time to talk, to set boundaries.
The pressure inside Viktor was building, coiling deep and hot, slipping beyond control. He pressed harder against Jayce, urging him faster, and Jayce understood without needing words. His grip shifted, moving from thighs to hips, and suddenly Viktor wasn’t riding so much as being held—Jayce thrusting up into him with steady intensity.
Their eyes met. Jayce’s pupils were blown wide, his lips parted, breath rough.
“Let go,” Jayce whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you.”
Viktor lost his balance, slumping forward, hands braced against Jayce’s chest as the thrusts grew harder. All he could do was try to stay upright, to hold on as Jayce pounded into him, the slap of skin sharp and unrelenting. The angle shifted—just slightly—but it was enough. Lightning sparked within him at every thrust, sensation breaking past anything he had ever experienced.
Viktor came with a gasp and a shudder, spilling hot between them, his whole body curling forward into Jayce’s chest. The pleasure washed through him in waves, drawn out by the pressure deep inside and the low, broken sound Jayce made as he followed—thrusting up once, twice more before spilling inside Viktor with a desperate groan.
Viktor slumped further, his body pressed against the length of Jayce’s, thighs trembling from exertion and lingering pleasure. His head rose and fell with the rhythm of Jayce’s unsteady breathing.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Breathing.
Touching.
Viktor didn’t pull away, even as the sweat cooled and the aftershocks made his limbs twitch. He could feel Jayce still inside him, slowly softening then slipping free. Jayce’s arms circled around him fully now—one hand cradling his neck, the other splayed wide across his lower back.
He felt kissed open, wrecked and reverent all at once. And Jayce gazed at him like he was something sacred.
When Viktor finally shifted with a faint grimace, Jayce helped him ease off, murmuring something too soft to catch. He disappeared briefly, then returned with a warm towel and a bottle of water. He cleaned them both in the dim light—gentle, quiet, respectful—like it wasn’t just part of the moment, but something he wanted to do.
They crawled beneath the sheets without a word. Jayce didn’t ask to stay. Viktor didn’t ask him to leave.
Their legs tangled together under the covers. Viktor’s head found Jayce’s shoulder, the sound of his heartbeat steady and warm beneath his ear. A hand settled over his waist. Their fingers intertwined.
There would be words, eventually, but not yet. Not tonight.
Tonight, there was only closeness, and breath, and the softness of being wanted—held so carefully it didn’t feel like possession, but promise.
~~***~~
Ximena stretched, her spine popping satisfyingly as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, warm and golden, and the house was still quiet.
She slipped on her slippers, tied her robe loosely, and padded out into the living room, already thinking about coffee. Maybe pancakes.
The first thing she noticed was the blanket—crumpled on the floor by the couch, half-draped across the rug like it had slid off during the night. She smiled to herself. One of them must’ve fallen asleep watching the movie. Probably Jayce, he was always too stubborn to admit he was tired.
She picked up the blanket, shook it out, and folded it with practiced hands before draping it over the back of the couch. She paused when something on the armrest caught her eye.
A shirt.
She picked it up and frowned slightly, holding it out. It definitely wasn’t Jayce’s—too narrow in the shoulders, too soft, more than a size too small. She turned it carefully in her hands. Viktor, then.
She smiled again, this time with a little more amusement.
Ximena turned, changing direction, and headed for the stairs. She might as well leave the shirt by the guest room door before starting the coffee machine. But halfway up, she stopped.
There, on the fourth step from the top, was another shirt. This one larger, slightly wrinkled, and unmistakably Jayce’s. She blinked, then tilted her head, lips slowly quirking into a knowing smirk.
“Dios mío,” she said aloud, but with zero surprise.
Ximena was not born yesterday.
She resumed her climb, more entertained than anything. First, she detoured into Jayce’s room. The bed was neatly made. Undisturbed. Not even a crease in the blanket.
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed to herself.
She laid Jayce’s shirt gently at the foot of his bed, smoothing it like she might with any folded laundry, then moved back to the hall and placed Viktor’s smaller shirt in a neat little stack by the guest room door.
She didn’t knock. Didn’t need to.
Ximena made her way back downstairs, her slippers whispering against the floor, and turned on the coffee machine. As it burbled to life, she stood at the counter, staring out the window over the sink, wearing the contented, private expression of a woman who knew exactly what had happened and had no intention of saying a word about it.
At least not yet.
Not until breakfast.
She poured herself the first cup, added just a splash of milk, and took a long, victorious sip.
Boys.