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It is official. Viktor hates summer.
Not because he is forced to wear lighter clothes that show too much skin and his thin frame, or because the AC in the lab always—without fail—chose to the hottest three weeks of the year to die.
Not even the fact that his brace felt like a furnace strapped to his legs, more suffocating and stuffy with a demand for deep cleaning more often.
No.
It was this.
The fact that he was stuck in the middle of nowhere on the side of a sun bleached road with a flat tire. No way to contact anyone because his phone had died, the closest convenience store he chanced upon was a twenty minute drive away, and not a scrap of shade nearby.
Sweat glued his shirt to his back, temple steadily pounding from dehydration, and the two Vicodin he had swallowed to dull the pain in his knee only made him sluggish. He was supposed to be on the way to an Innovators Conference Heimerdinger was making him attend. A ploy to parade him and deliver a panegyric in his stead for Arcane Tech, the ‘World’s Leading Eco-Technology Innovators.’
But here he was. Baking alive on the asphalt, cursing the season and its creator, the conference, as well as any lucky, air conditioned driver that did drive by without so much as a glance. His students would be snickering at his current state if they happened to see him.
It would all be fine and dandy if it weren’t for the suit.
Already, he had frustratedly hooked a finger into the knot of his absurd red tie and haphazardly discarded it somewhere in the back of his small electric car, navy blue suit jacket crumpled next to it. Wrinkles be damned.
The gumption of his mind—brilliant and inventive—could not, for the life of him, recall how such a mundane task as changing a flat tire was performed. Yes, he knew that his vehicle was equipped with a spare. Yes, Viktor had bought the tools to get the job done, too. And yes, he had even entertained the idea of looking up a tutorial. Eventually.
But of course, today of all days, he was heavily weighed down by the mechanical leg brace hidden under his pant leg. A heavy reminder of how susceptible to his condition he is.
There were sweat stains under his arms, sour and stubborn, already overpowering the deodorant he had applied in the morning. It grossed him out, made his skin crawl. Always being one for presentation, organization, and cleanliness—prided himself in them. And here he was, disgruntled and damp, reduced to praying for kindness from strangers on a lone summer road.
Staying inside his car was a no-go. No one would notice his predicament. His only option was to pray and hope that another car would take heed of his distress and be kind enough to lend a hand when they saw him outside. Preferably before the sun finally melted him on the cement.
Which is how he found himself on the side of the road, hand extended out as if he were some run away hitchhiker. Most of his weight was on his cane while the summer heat took the rest. He was tired and sweating, depleted of essential electrolytes that had long surrendered to the sun.
Surely, someone would stop for the crippled, hollowed looking man on the road. Stranded by destiny and poor planning. Surely.
What feels like the edge of forever ticked by in the crawl of cars zipping by sporadically. Tinted windows and smoke that clung to his lungs passed by, ignoring him. With the sun hung high in the sky, Viktor could only squint through his discomfort and the beads of sweat building on his brow. The ache in his outstretched arm was starting to get the best of him, throbbing until the dull ache became unbearable.
As another car roared by without even the blink of brake lights, he couldn’t help but seethe with frustration. He felt ridiculous, a sorry spectacle on the side of the road. Much like his cat, Rio, after being forced to bathe—dignity trampled.
“Kurva!” The curse is ripped out of his throat, raw and sharp in the endless road before him.
Running a clammy hand through his slicked back hair, Viktor exhales hard. His hope, what little of it he had, was withering into nothing. A slow and pitiful death under the sun’s fervor.
Viktor supposes this is the best way to go, too. Dehydrated and frustrated instead of on a surgical table, being cut open and prodded like a horrid science experiment. The likes of which he’s known his whole life.
He’s deep in self deprecation when, at last, the low rumble of a Toyota Tacoma—in the ugliest shade of burnt umber he’s ever seen—pulls up behind his small car.
Viktor makes a face at the sheer size of it. Of course—the thing was horrendous. Behind his compact vehicle, it looked like an elephant about to trample a mouse. Blacked out windows. Glossy black wheels, oversized, the likes of which belonged in a monster truck rally. He could practically see the imaginary gas pump attached to it, its carbon foot print sure to leave a dent in the atmosphere. Already, his mind makes out the bearded, small dicked and brained driver behind the wheel, armed with more horsepower than wit. A Neanderthal on four wheels.
Viktor was ready to make the dry remarks he’s known for.
Except that whoever it is doesn’t come out right away. The seconds stretch into minutes in a scorching sun Viktor had no business being under.
A good ten minutes pass and Viktor becomes frustrated. Whoever had decided to lend a hand was sure as hell taking their sweet time and when ten minutes stretched to fifteen, Viktor was sure they had mistaken his location as some sort of pit stop.
But then the door swings open, and dear God—it is not some beer bellied, toxic male, but a man.
The weight of the truck shifts as the driver steps out. The first thing Viktor notices are the cowboy boots, scuffed and broken in. The type that’s more for utility than fashion, though presumably leather nonetheless. Paired over them are dark blue denims. Being close to the border between Mexico and Texas, he supposes this is normal wear. Ergo, a little tacky, but normal.
The second thing Viktor takes note of—aside from the damn car still being on—is the tight white tank top that does little to hide just how much time in the gym this stranger spends. Broad brown shoulders, corded muscles hard to miss. Hairy chest and underarms that only made Viktor keenly aware of how hairless he was (picture perfect twink here). Slap this man on the cover of a magazine and title it ‘Top Masculinity.’
Everything about him was peak virility.
The third, and probably most glaring, thing was the dark brown shaggy hair and the salt and pepper beard that framed proportionally appealing features. A pair of aviator sunglasses on the bridge of a straight and defined, but not delicate, nose. Deliberately crafted by God himself to stand out—broad shouldered, strong, unapologetically handsome. A balminess unrelated to the sun clung to this handsome stranger and Viktor found himself wanting to burn some more.
If Viktor’s mouth wasn’t already parched by the agonizing summer heat, it would have been robbed of its moisture by this man.
“Need a hand?” He asks, rugged voice to match his rugged exterior. Vibrating inside Viktor’s chest. Viktor can’t help but feel like that voice sounds familiar, like maybe he’s heard it elsewhere, though he couldn’t place where.
“I, uh—yes. Yes, I do.” Viktor responds, tone thinner than intended, betraying the momentary spell he found himself under.
Men the likes of him must often have strangers falling at their feet. And often in the claws of this type of attention. So Viktor does his best to remain professional through it all. He will not be another casualty to this stranger’s fatal looks.
“My tire,” he says, careful and clipped. “It got punctured with something and it’s useless.”
The stranger nods, lifting the sun glasses up into his hair. “Do you have a spare?”
Dear lord—Viktor could see then that God did, indeed, have favorites. Could count in his hand the many times he’s had the breath knocked out of him by someone’s appearance, but this man eclipsed them all. Coral green eyes stare back at him. Striking in a way that felt as though he were staring into his soul. The like Viktor’s never seen before. All logical and comprehensible thoughts fly out the window. For once that afternoon, he is thankful for the sun already dusting his cheeks pink. It hides the heat pooling there for reasons other than the weather.
“Uh, yes.” He stammers. “In the trunk. Got the tools, too.”
“Prepared but unable to do the job, huh?” The stranger says. Was it his imagination or was there a teasing lilt in there? Viktor swore he caught it in the way his mouth curved.
Viktor falters. Then, because this stranger still has his car on and Viktor was an environmentalist first, he says, “Ah, well. I could change it, but then who would remind you that leaving your engine running is bad for the environment?”
The stranger smirks, arching a thick eyebrow, steps closer to where Viktor stands. “Oh, finding yourself in a predicament and still have the wits about ya to scold your rescuer?”
“Wits and time is all I have,” Viktor dryly responds. His pulse beating a tad faster. “The last five petitions I signed are currently being unmade by your exhaust fumes alone.”
The earns him a laugh. The type that reverberates in Viktor’s bones, full bodied and deep. The man pulls off his sunglasses and tucks them into his back pocket. He digs into his front pocket to produce a fob and lazily clicks it a few times. The truck’s rumble comes to a still. “Electric vehicles have a smaller carbon print, I suppose. I studied that much in college.” Viktor raises an eyebrow at that. The casual reveal makes Viktor’s curiosity spark. He finds himself wanting to learn more about this man.
“For you, it is off now. Happy?”
Viktor deadpans, though the corner of his mouth lifts. “I could dance.”
“Ah, that you can do.” The man’s grin deepens.
Never being one to shy away from self-deprecating humor, Viktor points to his right leg with a wry tilt of his head. “As much as my crippled leg will allow me to.”
The stranger exhales a laugh, loud, bright, pointing to his own left leg. “Suppose between you and me, we have a good pair.”
Viktor had been so enraptured by the tall man, he had barely registered the raised lines on his already thick leg. A brace of some kind hidden beneath the too tight jeans. It makes Viktor’s stomach flutter. Intrigue and a pang of something he refuses to give a name to. There was also an air of familiarity around him, as if he had seen that face somewhere before. The effect is disarming.
“It’s Jayce, by the way,” he extends a hand probably two times the size of Viktor’s.
Outstretching his own, Viktor makes sure to firmly grip the calloused palm that slips into his in spite of the sweat slicking his skin. The hand is steady—too steady—and the contact makes a cold shiver go down his sweat stained back in spite of the heat. “Viktor.”
“Nice to meet you, Viktor. Now, let me get this straight,” the stranger, Jayce, begins. His grip lingers, thumb suggestively—maybe?—caressing the back of his knuckles. “You’re the type to read an instructions manual before lifting a tool.”
“And you’re the type to pretend as if brute force is a skill. Foregoing a manual has got to be your specialty.” The retort is quick, being voiced as it is thought out.
Jayce’s grin grows wider. Lips full enough that make any type of smirk unforgettable. Viktor feels like a teenager with the way his stomach tingles, wired. “You’ve known me for, what? Five minutes? And you already got me figured out.”
Viktor flushes, adding to the heat already setting his body ablaze, averting his gaze to their hands. “It’s an, eh, educated guess.”
“Educated, huh?” Jayce’s tone dips lower, teasing laced with something more. “Alright, Professor. Why don’t you just stand there and analyze while I do most of the grunt work, then? That way, you can still feel morally superior and get your lil’ electric car fixed.”
Viktor raises an unimpressed eyebrow, but the playful lilt in his voice is unmissable. The teasing may not be entirely innocent. “I would, but you seem to enjoy holding my hand.”
The startled look on Jayce’s face as he realizes that, yes, they’re still shaking hands, makes an unforgettable image that tattoos itself in Viktor’s brain.
“I am curious to see how long it takes before you injure yourself,” he adds. A sense of regret lodges itself in Viktor’s chest when he finally lets go, slipping a hand into his own pocket for the key to unlock the trunk.
“So much faith in my abilities. Not to worry, I’ll make sure to bleed eco-friendly if it comes to that.” Jayce chuckles again, light, teasing, warm. And Viktor thinks he’s getting addicted to the sound.
It takes Jayce only minutes to open the hidden compartment in the trunk, reach in, and take out the necessary tools to change the tire. All done methodically. As if this is something he’s done a million times. Viktor tells himself he’s observing for education purposes, but his gaze lingers on the way Jayce’s forearm muscles cord and tighten when he grips the tire iron, the stretch of his broad shoulders as he reaches into the trunk, the veins standing out along his hands. When he hefts the spare tire with a grunt, his biceps flex and harden under the too tight shirt, the fabric like a second skin molding into every prominent line.
The slight limp in Jayce’s gait becomes more visible now that he’s on the move, only helping to pull Viktor towards his magnetic field. Heat pools in Viktor’s stomach that is unrelated to the sun’s rays.
Viktor moves closer to observe. For future reference, of course—in case he’s ever stuck in a dilemma such as this and there’s no handsome rescuer coming to his aid. For now, he was at the mercy of this beautiful giant’s benevolence. And the way the light seems to catch every sculpted line in all the wrong, distracting places.
He was definitely not observing the way Jayce’s outfit clung to him like a second skin, stretching over muscle and newly sweat damped fabric.
“See? No blood yet. Impressed?” He asks, shooting a toothy grin Viktor’s way. A fulgent gap in his teeth that was kinda… cute, really.
“It is hard to impress me. It is also far too early for gravity to take effect. Give it time for it to work its mischief.” Viktor quips, doing his best to ignore the way the tank top lifts on his back as he bends over to inspect the flat wheel. Two dimples on the small of it and a nice, round ass that’s too perfect for Viktor’s peace of mind.
For a fleeting moment, he wonders if Jayce is doing this on purpose.
Jayce laughs as he straightens, the sound full and unguarded. “Don’t make it sound like the universe is out to get me now.”
“Perhaps it is, considering some poor animal died to supply you with those leather boots.” Viktor says dryly. Though his gaze betrays him, dragged upwards just by the sheer size of the man in his line of sight.
Jayce grins, stepping closer to Viktor. Tilting his chin up, he realizes just how tall Jayce is. “So the universe will cut me a break if I go green, you say?”
Viktor sniffs, pretending to be disinterested. “It’s gotta commence somewhere.”
Jayce leans in close enough that Viktor could smell the bergamot perfume on his skin, citrus bright with the warmth of the sun. Hazel irises drag down the length of Viktor’s face, seeming to stop on the mole on top of his mouth.
“Would you cut me a break, too, Viktor?” Jayce leans close enough that the air between them is all heat and spice. Towering above him in a way that will haunt him forever.
Now Viktor was the flustered one. His breath catches and suddenly the sun is too hard to stare at. And he wasn’t talking about the one in the sky. Viktor’s skin slowly becomes aflame with the slow toll of desire. “I—I am not in the business of rewarding strangers.”
Jayce just hums low in his throat, clearly amused. It makes Viktor wonder what he’d sound like under other—
“So, Viktor, you always this charming when you meet someone new?” Jayce asks, kneeling by the wheel, loosening the bolts. Muscles cording once again with every movement. Each turn of the wrench draws his shoulders deliciously taut. Already, the hair by his hairline has started matting from exertion. Give him five more minutes and he’ll be drenched like Viktor.
He keeps on telling himself he’s only watching for the sake of distraction, for the next time he’s stranded, but the truth is so much less innocent.
He internally winces at that. All too aware of his B.O. making an unwelcome appearance. Not that he was trying to impress the man—for goodness sake, he didn’t even know if Jayce wanted to be impressed. Probably not. Masculine men like Jayce normally went in tandem with feminine women that threw themselves at them without him even batting an eye. Women he could scoop up with his eyes, a smirk, a look.
For once in his life, he felt a type of dejected jealousy at not being born one.
That thought makes him lean more into his cane, visibly miffed.
“Normally, my charm is reserved for people who do not mock me, I assure you.” Viktor responds, narked, clipped—still watching him work from a close distance, his eyes refusing to look elsewhere. Jayce crouches, tank top stretched tight, sweat beginning to dampen the fabric across his broad back. A single bead rolls down the side of his neck, catching the sunlight and Viktor swallows hard against the ridiculous, sudden urge to lean in and taste it.
“Not even tall, handsome strangers who come to your rescue?” He’s still joshing Viktor, dragging his attention back to the teasing smile and he doesn’t know how to feel about that. Sure that the friendly banter was him trying to be nice.
“Quick to label yourself as ‘handsome.’ Not very humble, are you?”
Jayce smirks, brushing dirt from his hands on his jeans after correctly propping the car jack in place. His voice lowers. “I didn’t hear you disagree, sweetheart.”
Oh.
Oh.
Viktor feels the heat climbing his throat again, furious with himself for blushing. He mutters “you’re insufferable” under his breath. Meant for only his ears, but the man—on top of being deliriously attractive—has supersonic hearing.
“Good,” Jayce instantly shoots back, grinning ear to ear. “Means you’ll remember me.”
Jayce proceeds to hit him with a smoldering look over his shoulder that has Viktor’s breath hitching. The kind that has him careening back to sweat and salt and how it would taste on his tongue.
Viktor prides himself on being cool, collected, unshaken in the face of adversity. Having been faced with many challenges in his life meant he had to find a way to adapt, to hold himself steady, and not let the cracks show.
The look, however, that Jayce regarded him with was undoing it all. If the summer heat failed to melt him, he was sure Jayce would get the job done. Clear as lighting, Viktor is struck with the fact that Jayce is hitting on him.
And suddenly he feels too aware of his sweaty state. His brown hair—reminded how the heat tends to curl it at odd angles, messy and unruly. The awkward turn of his foot, more noticeable today due to the pain he had woken up with. It is subtle, the way Viktor attempts to stand straighter, as if he suddenly wanted to look good for this man he didn’t even know.
“You’re ridiculous,” Viktor murmurs, gaze greedily snapping to the way a dark line of sweat traced down Jayce’s spine, dampening the thin white cotton of his tank top.
It grows darker, longer, as Jayce leans into the jack, cranking it with both hands. The vehicle begins to lift with a low groan. Body moving with confident strength.
“Ridiculously good at this, you mean?” Jayce beams that fulgent smile again, sliding the flat tire off effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing.
Sweat was now gathered thick on his forehead, running into his beard, glistening on the carved lines of his arms. Every muscle now standing out sharper, cleaner, under the sunlight.
Viktor swallows, throat dry. Never before has he entertained the thought about a stranger, nor had he had the desire to. But it sits there, a sick curiosity had rooted itself and refused to leave… he wanted to know. Wanted to lean in and press his tongue on that glistening skin. Wanted to know if Jayce’s sweat was as intoxicating as he looks.
The want pulses through him, as hot and unrelenting as the sun.
Viktor tears his gaze away, trying not to stare at where the sweat trails. He clears his throat, aiming for cool indifference. “I meant it in general. Though… I suppose you’re doing a well-enough job. Your competence is noted.”
“Oh,” Jayce muses, rolling the new tire into place. Another incandescent grunt escapes him as he hefts it up, and the sound goes straight to Viktor’s belly. Feeding the fire already smoldering there. “A compliment from Mr. Sarcastic. Careful, I’m a sucker for those.”
Baffled, Viktor stutters. “Wha—what?! Absolutely nothing of the sort was said. And Mr. Sarcastic, really?”
“Fine. Mr. Gloom and Doom, perchance?” Jayce asks, laughing at his own joke as he rolls the nuts into place with steady precision. “Relax, Vik. It only adds to the appeal. Makes you mysterious, even. People go wild for that stuff.”
“Perhaps not.” Viktor tilts his head, narrow eyed. “Am I to assume you’re ‘people’ in this scenario?”
“Absolutely.”
The word lands heavier than it should.
By the time Jayce finishes bolting the tire, Viktor is dehydrated enough that he can’t help but stare again. At the sheen of perspiration on Jayce’s forehead, at the way it breaks from his hairline and runs in rivulets down the thick column of his throat. Viktor wants to drink it and see if it will hydrate him properly.
Jayce stands, moving to place everything back in Viktor’s trunk. Including the flat tire. Viktor’s gaze never failing to snag at the man’s every movement.
Jayce finishes and comes to stand close to him, blocking the sun. Viktor breathes a shaky sigh of relief at the shade. Still, his attention remains fixated on the beads of sweat that dribble down his neck, slowly mapping the outline of a sharp collarbone, and ending its courageous trek on the patch of chest hair revealed over the dip of the tank top.
Viktor swallows, suddenly feeling very, very parched. Tongue sticking dry to the roof of his mouth.
“Your head is too big.” He mumbles, voice audibly strained. “It might not fit in that car of yours.”
Jayce leans in close, much too close. “We can both fit in there. Wanna see it from the inside?”
“I do not make it a habit of getting into a stranger’s vehicle.” Viktor’s voice is clipped, but his voice shakes with the tremor in his chest.
“I do not invite just anybody into mine.” Jayce’s smile is razor sharp. “You need to stop flirting like that.”
Another moment. Another lucky bead of sweat that gets to touch the strong line of Jayce’s neck, sliding down with agonizing patience over his chest. A shameful, delirious part of him once again wonders what it would taste like.
“Lásko, if I were flirting,” Viktor mutters, low, “it would be much different.”
“Using your mother tongue on me, I see,” Jayce smirks, eyes settling on Viktor’s lips and remaining there. The innuendo not going amiss on Viktor, pulsing heat landing low in his stomach.
He tilts his head up, drinking in the stranger’s ruggedness. His brown skin glowing under the sun. The way hazel-green eyes have flecks of gold melting in their depths. The well kept hair on his beard. “Thank you… I suppose. For fixing my car.”
The stranger steps closer, large and looming, and Viktor is forced to back up. Suddenly feeling like prey. Unsure of whether this is something he likes or not. Heart slamming hard, once, at the notion that he does, that he’s not recoiling away from it. A thrill coursing through him.
“’Thank you, I suppose?” Jayce repeats, voice low, threaded with something darker. “I think you owe me more than that.” That wolfish smile plays on his lips. Showing impossibly white teeth, rivaling the sun’s shine.
The aureate of Viktor’s eyes narrow to a sliver as Jayce prowls another step forward. Viktor takes another step back, cane pressing against the hot pavement. “Compensation? I could perhaps replenish that tank of yours with gas—“
“I’m not looking for gas money, sweetheart.”
Viktor swallows again, loud in the stifling silence, a betrayal from his body. Sweat trickles down his temple and spine, but it isn’t only due to the sun anymore. He can’t tear his eyes away from the gleam of sweat on Jayce’s arms. Still wanting to know what it tastes like on his skin—a thought that’s impossible to vanish. “I do not have cash on me, but if you follow me to the—“
Startling when his back hits the bumper of what he assumes is Jayce’s truck, Viktor cuts off mid sentence. He watches as if in slow motion as Jayce closes the distance, step by slow step. “I was thinking of something more fun.”
Viktor lifts his chin, masking the flutter in between his legs with a roll of his eyes. “Fun? And what exactly do you define as fun? I assure you, if it involves alcohol, drugs, or anything remotely wasteful, do not count me in.”
Jayce grins, leaning close enough that the smell of his warm breath ghosts over Viktor’s nose. “You sure know how to party, don’t you, Mr. Mood Killer?”
“It is a gift.” Viktor deadpans.
Jayce lowers his voice, suggestive. “Maybe you just haven’t been shown the right kind of fun.”
Viktor sputters, clutches his cane as if it were a shield. “I have known you for all of thirty minutes and you’re being incredibly forward.”
Jayce smirks knowingly. “And yet… here you are still.”
Trying to put up a front, Viktor angles to step around Jayce and move towards the safety of his car. But Jayce shifts too easily and a large hand settles on the hood of the car. Close, but not close enough to touch. Just to feel the heat radiating from the other man in waves. Like a forge.
Viktor huffs, attempting to hide the quickening of his pulse as best as he can. “Only because leaving on foot would’ve been highly inconvenient.”
Then he makes to go around him again, but the other large hand blocks his path, too, coming down against the car. Effectively caging him in the furnace of his body. The amount of blood rushing south has him on the verge of passing out from their overwhelming proximity.
Goodness, when was the last time someone had been this forward with him? This sure? Jayce radiated a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And if Jayce’s peachy dry lips weren’t already being wetted by a slow sweep of tongue, Viktor might’ve thought this some cruel joke.
“Sure. Inconvenience,” he says, voice low and sure and somehow mocking. “Let’s call it that.”
Viktor’s cheeks warm up, jaw tightens, clinging to the last of his composure. “Such silly notions. Do not presume too much. I have no interest in reckless strangers.”
Jayce tilts his head, searches Viktor’s face, eyes softening. “Then why are you shaking.”
Viktor nearly chokes on the breath that threatens to catch in his throat. Lord, Viktor prays Jayce doesn’t look down. At the way he’s clutching his cane white-knuckled, how his legs are pressed together, or the humiliating tent straining in his slacks. Seeing how keen Jayce is, however, Viktor knows it is much too late. Every word had been having the effect Jayce most likely desired.
Surely, he was being punished somehow. Surely, Jayce had been sent as a temptation from the devil to see if he’d fall. And if Jayce kept pressing on the way he was, Viktor would surely stumble.
Viktor is so eerily still then. Lips parting but no words come out. His throat has abandoned him.
Then Jayce is leaning in again. Closer still. “I don’t think you really want me to, baby.” The murmur is soft but dangerous. “But say the words and I’ll back off.” His mouth hovers over Viktor’s, each warm breath ghosting over his lips.
For one suspended moment, Viktor holds on to the head of his cane with a bruising grip. Trying to cling to his restraint as if the leather handle will anchor him against the pull. Glaring at Jayce as if it might keep the heat—the wrong type of heat—at bay.
But the answer comes in the form of prolonged silence from Viktor.
With a salacious and certain smirk, Jayce leans in. He captures Viktor’s lips with his own. Pressing them firmly together with a hungry and sure inevitability. Viktor resists for a heartbeat, stiff against him out of pure instinct. His cane is positioned defensively in between them and his free hand hovers uselessly in the air.
His voice is muffled against Jayce’s mouth, lacking conviction. “Stop—“
Jayce pulls back, letting the tease slip with a sharp grin. “That didn’t sound convincing.”
Breath unsteady, Viktor glares daggers, mustering venom. “That’s because you’re a big oaf and I can barely breathe. I’m suffocating here.”
Jayce’s grin widens, feral. “I can think of a few other ways to make you suffocate, angel.”
Jayce leans in anew and presses his mouth to Viktor’s once more, harder and deeper. He parts Viktor’s lips with his own. Languidly pressing his tongue against Viktor’s, coaxing it into a small battle of dominance. It only lasts a few seconds—Jayce obviously wins it, dominance claimed with an ease that makes Viktor’s stomach flutter. A deep shudder raking down his spine. Delicious and sweet.
Fuck. What does Viktor do? What can he do?
Being at the mercy of this stranger, he can only grumble in protest and attempt to push him away. But when Viktor’s free hand presses against the soaked front of his tank, he is reminded of just how much he had wanted to clean the sweat off of his drenched body. The feel of taut muscles damp with sweat is exhilarating.
So instead of pushing, the reminder ignites the hunger he had been feeling since he saw the man.
With a very frustrated sound, he fists the shirt and pulls him closer. The heady swirl of bergamot, salt, mixed with the smell of body heat, unmistakably male, smothers him. Has his cock swelling out nice and long and hard against the fabric of his slacks, betraying him completely.
Jayce shifts his weight, moves the weight from his bad leg to the other. In doing so, his hip accidentally brushes against Viktor’s obvious predicament. The movement is small, subtle, a chance graze. But enough to steal his breath in a gasp.
Once is accidental, a thing of chance. A mishap.
But then it happens again. Firmer this time. More intentional.
And again.
And again.
Until Viktor moans, low in his throat. Muffled by the drag of Jayce’s teeth on his bottom lip, teasing the swell. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yet here you are…” Jayce growls against his mouth. “Still here and hard,” he mumbles in between kisses.
A large hand finds Viktor’s length through his trousers. Broad, calloused fingers sliding along the fabric, catching on the seams as they map out his shape. The friction sends shivers down Viktor’s spine, his grip tightening uselessly on the head of his cane.
Viktor tries to resist again, tilting his head sharply, desperate for air, for composure. So when Jayce goes in for a kiss, he misses. But he only takes that as an opportunity to chase the angle—pressing hot kisses to the corner of his lips, his cheek, his jawline.
“I am not a one night stand type of person.” Viktor huffs, breath stuttering at the drag of Jayce’s beard against his sweat slicked throat. The prickle of hair sure to leave marks. “This is… ill advised.”
“Maybe,” Jayce concedes, grinning against Viktor’s skin, breath hot. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”
“I’m sure you have a roster to have your pick of the day. I will not be one of them,” Viktor responds, trying again to regain his pride, but even then he tips his chin back, baring his neck, letting Jayce feast on vulnerable skin. Breath ragged, breaking, when Jayce latches on to his jugular. Sucking harder, teeth scraping, at his pulse point as if his life depended on it.
“Then why,” Jayce whispers, feverish, palming Viktor’s hardness again, thumb pressing against his head just right, “are you this hard, Mr. Sarcastic?”
“Kurva…” The word is ripped from Viktor in a hoarse, involuntary whisper. Hips twitching into the touch.
“Say you don’t want this, and I’ll walk away.” Jayce murmurs against his ear, hot and low. Demanding, relentless. Viktor truly feels like he’s going to pass out when the man searches for his mouth again, desperate, hungry.
“You are mistaking physiology for desire—mh.” Jayce squeezes harder this time, and Viktor momentarily forgets how to speak. His head falls back against the hood of the car with a thud. A full body tremble wracking through him.
The taller male is messing with the belt of his pants, then the button and zipper. Slow, as if he knows Viktor won’t stop him.
“We… we—we should not.” Viktor manages, but his hips jerk against Jayce’s thighs, seeking friction.
“Your mouth is saying no,” Jayce merely says. Hands traveling boldly up Viktor’s ribs—when did they get under his shirt? “But your body’s saying something else.”
“You’re shameless. Dirty.” Viktor hisses, but it comes out like a prayer.
Jayce shifts closer, pressing his thigh firmly between Viktor’s legs, grinding up until Viktor groans low in his throat with need. Obviously as affected as Viktor. Sweet friction moves him to clutch Jayce’s wet shoulders. Nails digging into his skin there. He makes to push him away but only ends up pulling him closer.
“If you’re so inclined to deny me, why are you pulling me closer?” Jayce whispers against his mouth.
“Because you won’t shut up,” Viktor breathes, words shattering into a moan when Jayce presses Viktor’s hips down harder.
Fuck. Viktor felt like a dirty whore. A filthy, desperate thing. Giving in to being used as if he were just a hole for Jayce to fuck. His restraints had visibly snapped and Jayce had no qualms about it. The thought should horrify him, but it only ignites him further—flooding heat through his veins.
Not many cars passed by this area, but the idea of someone seeing them was a thrill, a consequence, that he was willing to put up with. The adrenaline had a salacious side of him coming out.
The hands move up to his bare ribs again and Viktor makes to twist away. Futile. It ends up with him grinding down harder, increasing the delicious pressure. He’s frantic, wanting to get release and torn between resistance and unbearable desire.
“I can shut up, sweetheart, but you’ll have to make me.”
And so he does. Viktor bites his lower lip with fervor. Making the taller man gasp, a surprised groan. Jayce grins into it, fingers dancing along the seams of Viktor’s underwear. Playing with the elastic until he finally dares to dip inside.
Viktor whimpers, seizing his wrist, trembling, but doesn’t stop him. Instead, he mumbles, “This is madness. Not on the side of the road.”
Jayce’s teeth graze his ear, molten hot as he whispers, “Then why are you leaking through your underwear, Professor?”
Viktor frowns at the title—second time he mentions it. He hadn’t told him he was a professor. Or what he did for a living whatsoever.
The red flag flies out the window the moment Jayce palms him through the soft cotton of his underwear, already damp. Viktor groans, the sound breaking in his throat when Jayce’s hand rubs harder, steady strokes that have Viktor’s legs trembling, biting his lip to muffle the sounds. But the soft gasps escape anyway.
Jayce whispers, dirty and low. “That’s it. Come on, baby, tell me how much you want it.”
The voice, the choked sound, the tremble in Viktor’s voice—how wrecked he is—sounds foreign to his own ears. “You will not get that satisfaction—“
“Then I’ll take it.” Jayce grins. Viktor lifts his hips helplessly as Jayce lowers his trousers enough, yanking down his white boxers next. Cock pathetically hard and springing free in the humid air.
A strangled sound from Viktor, another ‘no’ that his body betrays as a yes. His hips lift as Jayce gets his hand around his long shaft. Stroking hard and slick and sure. Viktor claws at Jayce’s shoulders as though furious with himself when a pleasured gasp escapes him. Angry red lines appear in the wake of his nails.
“This is so disgraceful.” Words dissolve into a gasp as Jayce increases the pace.
“Feels good, though, doesn’t it, angel?” Jayce laughs against another stolen kiss. Stroking him faster. And Viktor is trying to crawl away—he really is, but his body keeps rhythm with that large hand. Viktor’s lips press down on Jayce’s, smothering helpless sounds as his whole body arches. Jayce doesn’t falter, his voice becomes filthier with every stroke.
“Look at you.” Jayce growls, holding his dark gaze to Viktor’s helpless one, sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. “Falling apart on the side of the road for a complete stranger. For me. Bet you’ve never had someone do this to you before.”
Viktor once again curses in his mother tongue. Eyes squeezed shut as his hips jerk, heat builds and builds, his body twisting, squirming, into the touch.
“I bet that pink hole tastes good. It’s gonna feel so good wrapped around my dick when I fuck you, princess.”
And that does it.
“Nnng,” he moans into Jayce’s lips. Hips now convulsing of their own. The hand squeezes hard one last time and he cums. Jayce swallows his cry as he spills, shaking, clinging to him for support because God knows where his damn cane went. At what point did he let go of it? Was it when he let go of his dignity?
“Yes, yes, baby. Cum for daddy. Just like that,” Jayce groans, savoring every tremor.
Then, because of course this man is deranged in the filthiest way, he drops down to his knees in front of Viktor.
Jayce sucks on the crown, motivation entirely endogenous, driven by passion rather than external rewards. An avidity in every flick of the tongue and suck upwards that has white hot light flashing behind Viktor’s eyelids. Every suck downward has Jayce’s beard prickling the sensitive area of his balls and inner thighs. Saliva lewdly trails down his lips, under the curve of his neck, and connects with the beard around Viktor’s balls. Slender fingers tightly hold the shaggy dark hair. When Jayce looks up, those coral green eyes are wet, hungry, burning yet another image in the crooks of his hippocampus that will fuel his personal care sessions for years to come.
“You’re so filthy,” Viktor rasps, overstimulated to the point it hurts after his release. But he doesn’t let go, holding Jayce there until he’s licked Viktor’s sweat and spend from his flaccid cock.
Viktor looks utterly, completely, wrecked. And he’s sure Jayce is not done with him yet. He only smirks against his cock, reveling in the wreckage of him.
When Jayce stands, Viktor is already shivering, undone. Jayce wastes no time turning him around, spinning him towards the truck. Once again, he yanks his trousers down just below the swell of his ass and that’s enough. It’s filthy. It’s indecent. It’s perfect.
“Filthy and dirty is how I like it—how I like you,” Jayce breathes against his ear, pressing him chest first into the hood. The metal burns, but so does the furnace of Jayce’s body pressing against him from close behind. He’s truly melting from within and out.
Viktor whimpers when Jayce grips the back of his head, forcing him harder against the car’s hood. Its heat burning on Viktor’s skin, breath stuttering.
“This is a bad idea…” Viktor says through clenched teeth. He wants to collapse. His knee is throbbing. Yet his hips are rolling back, seeking the hardness pressing hot against his ass.
Jayce laughs low, dark and amused. “Such a bad idea,” he drawls, “that you’re spreading your legs for me.” The amusement in Jayce’s tone makes Viktor groan.
He feels more than sees when a cool liquid—saliva—trails down between his cheeks. Then another follows and Jayce is spreading it, working it against his entrance with broad fingers. Viktor’s cock twitches pathetically where it’s caught against metal and his stomach.
Instincts kick in as Viktor reaches back, fingers blindly fumbling with the hem of the white tank top until he finds purchase on the firm curve of his hip. Then the pressure comes—one long, thick finger entering him makes his body shudder.
“Because you won’t—mmm—you won’t get off of me otherwise, you big oaf,” Viktor whimpers, voice strangled, ragged.
That voice comes again, low and filthy and too fucking hot against his ear. “Damn right, angel. Not when you’re this tight for just one finger. Bet you’ll strangle my cock even tighter when I’m inside you.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Ty zasrané zvíře,” Viktor responds, helplessly rocking his hips back in spite of himself. Another finger slides in. The sting sharp, bordering on pain and pleasure. Working him open, loosening him up until a third finger is added and then Viktor is whimpering again for other reasons, knuckles white on the hood. Jayce hooks his fingers, increasing the pace and Viktor swears he can see stars burst behind his eyes. ”Kurva.”
“Such a pretty mouth.” Jayce taunts. “I’m sure you’re cursing me out in that sweet language of yours. It only makes my cock harder, baby.”
Viktor’s breath hitches as every thrust of those fingers and that mouth steals another ounce of restraint from him.
“Please,” Viktor keens, desperate.
Jayce stills, cruel. “Please what?” Rough, teasing.
His fingers slip free, leaving Viktor clenching around nothing. Another wet sound, spit dripping down again. The rasp of a zipper, the clink of a belt. Jayce’s hand still pressing Viktor’s cheek against the hood of the car, owning the moment.
“Please stop,” Viktor sobs. But his body once again betrays him when he feels the heavy hardness against the cleft of his ass. His hips gyrate just enough. And it’s sweaty, clammy, and they’re both drenched in the sun’s fervor, but Viktor finds himself not caring. He aches for it.
“Then make me stop,” Jayce growls, twisting Viktor’s face just enough so he takes note of the darkness in those hazel eyes and the want there, marrow deep.
Viktor’s mouth opens, shuts. Nothing comes out. A fish out of water.
Instead, the hand on Jayce’s hip twists on his shirt and pull him closer in silent surrender.
Jayce yanks his own jeans the rest of the way down, pumping his fat cock a few times with his free hand before pressing the blunt crown of it against Viktor’s loosened entrance. Jayce tugs his own shirt behind his neck, revealing mouthwatering muscles and the carve of a sharp V line that leads down to the red, thick length straining forward. The happy trail there truly leading to a grand prize wrapped in gorged veins that seemed to angrily pulse with Jayce’s pleasure.
“Thought so,” is all Jayce says before pressing the crown of his head in all the way.
It makes Viktor grunt all kinds of profanity in Czech and English alike, half-moaning them and half-gasping them. “God—hloupý. Idiot, shameless, lehkomyslný—“
“Keep talking, angel.” Jayce groans, thrusting deeper into the heat of Viktor’s body. “What would your students say if they saw their Professor bent over some guy’s car? Moaning his name like a harlot? Gods, I can’t wait to have you sucking my cock.”
“As—as if!” Viktor responds, breathless, needy. Feeling thoroughly stretched out as Jayce keeps slowly rocking into him.
“Every insult just makes me harder, baby.” Jayce reminds him.
And it, indeed, was true. Jayce felt impossibly hard inside him. To the point that Viktor felt like a pipe was being pushed inside him instead of a warm, throbbing appendage. He feels impossibly thick inside Viktor, stretching him wide, filling him until Viktor’s eyes water and tears trail down his sharp cheeks, unbidden.
Jayce lifts his head, making Viktor’s back arch further. “Look at how pretty my cock looks splitting you open. You’re so beautiful when you cry, angel.”
Gods, how that thing would fit with just spit alone, Viktor wasn’t sure. Jayce has a very sizable member that is making Viktor momentarily panic.
“It’s too big,” he pants, eyes wide. Panic warring with arousal.
“You can take it.”
“Nnn-no—it’s—ahh—“ Viktor breaks off when Jayce thrusts all the way in, bottoming out. His head is pressed down again, sweat dripping onto the hot metal. Viktor is impossibly full, stuffed to the hilt, every nerve screaming. His body trembles, caught between pain and bliss, but his hips roll back anyway.
Viktor wasn’t sure what to do but meet the slow pace, letting Jayce take whatever he wanted. He feels more spit hitting where they’re connected and Jayce starts moving. “No—wait—“
But Jayce just chuckles. “You’re not used to a real man, baby. I’ll make sure to carve a space so deep inside you, that your body will only crave my cock.”
“Oh my god,” Viktor moans. Those words go straight down to his own flaccid cock. And though he thinks he will not finish a second time—that traitorous thing—it sure is trying to come alive, to fill out.
Deranged. This man was utterly deranged. Viktor should be attempting to get away, to put some distance, to fight him off. To do something. Instead, he’s trembling with need, turned on by the sheer strength Jayce wields over him. By how easy he was manhandling Viktor, being used as if he were a rag doll. Shame and desire weave together until all that is left is want.
Viktor clutches at him like a drowning man, fingers dragging along the coarse, dark hair on Jayce’s stomach. Jayce seizes that hand, gripping it tight around his dainty wrist, using it for leverage as he drives in harder. Curses and ragged protests spill from Viktor’s lips, broken up by gasps and moans. Viktor’s hips are rolling, grinding, with every thrust, taking him in until the ache blurs into aching pleasure. The car rocks beneath them, squeaking faintly with every thrust.
“Oh… oh—Goddamn it,” Viktor chokes out, sounding broken and desperate. “We shouldn’t—“
“Too late for shouldn’t.” Jayce snarls, snapping faster, harsher. “You’re milking my cock like you’ve been waiting for this all day.”
Jayce bends over, teeth scraping against his jaw possessively, breath hot and heavy on Viktor’s ear. As if Jayce has been the one wanting it all day. When Jayce’s fist tightens in his hair, Viktor moans helplessly. It stings, his scalp burns, but the pain sends lightning straight through him, nerves flayed and shot in the most exquisite way.
This is how Viktor likes it, isn’t it?
Barely a handful of past lovers. Always gentle. Careful. Too vanilla. Afraid of hurting him because of his leg, his brace, his condition. Afraid to break him. But Jayce? It’s like Jayce knew that his body craved—needed—to be pushed, stretched, broken further. And it was driving Viktor insane.
“Want you to come again,” Jayce mutters, hot and heavy against his neck. Sweat slicks between them, every thrust making the obscene slide of their bodies easier.
“No—no, I cannot. Not agai—“
“The fuck you can’t.” Jayce snarls, hips snapping forward. “You’re gonna come again and this time, you’re gonna do it with me inside. Bet you’ve never cum stuffed full of a fat dick, hmm?”
Every time Jayce speaks, filthy and sure and demanding, it makes Viktor unravel, his spine buzzing, wired and molten. The way he was positioned over Viktor made him drive deeper into him. It rubbed against that spot inside him that had him seeing white-hot. There were shiny spots flying in his eyes and he was sure he’d pass out if he did come again—which he never had before.
But his cock stirs, hard and ready. Already leaking again, smearing slick against his stomach with every snap of Jayce’s hips. That coil in his belly grows hotter, more urgent.
“You’re delusional,” Viktor tries to laugh but it comes out broken, turning into a moan before it even began.
“Then why are you moaning like that?” He asks, taunting, brutally snapping his hips, rocking the car beneath them. “Look baby, there’s a car coming.”
Viktor gasps, betrayed by the rawness of it, panic and arousal tangling in his gut. His whole body once again arches, caught between pleasure and shame.
“What do you think they’ll say? Seeing an up and coming scientist split on my cock? Moaning like a pretty little slut?”
“Jayce,” Viktor moans. Unsure if in warning or fucked out bliss.
Viktor wants to hide, to push him off, and run away. His free hand reaches forward, trying to brace himself on the hood, but the angle they’re in has him at Jayce’s mercy. He is breathless, trembling, and Jayce—the shameless man that he is—only rocks into him faster. The slap, slap, slap of wet skin on wet skin sounds lewd in the eerie silence of the road, save for the wheels approaching.
Viktor goes to hide his face, but Jayce straightens behind him and forces his flushed face into view by yanking at his hair. Making sure that whoever passes by sees him.
The car slows down momentarily, the driver obviously noticing them, then speeds away. Viktor freezes, panic flashing across his face, but Jayce only grins like a maniac, thrusting harder as though the attention fuels him. As though he gets off on the exhibitionism.
Panicked, Viktor hisses, horrified. “Someone… someone saw us, Jayce. Get—get off of me!”
But Jayce is wicked, voice a rumble as he lowly says, “Too late. They got a show. But don’t lie, angel. You loved that. Your pretty hole is gripping me tighter.”
Viktor curses, shame spiraling hot in his veins. Where in the hell did this deranged man come from? Who did he think he was? Why was he forcing himself on Viktor as if he knew what he desired? Why did it feel so good?
When will he see him again?
Jayce finally frees his pinned hand, only to slide his own below Viktor’s stomach, curling around his weeping cock. Viktor can only take and do so much. He’s a blabbering mess now. Hands braced against the hood of the car as if it might save him.
Their pace becomes emulous; Viktor clenches tight, milking Jayce’s hardness, trying to drive him over the edge, and Jayce keeps his pace brutal in return, rutting against him as if he wants to split him in two. The car continuously shakes with their movements. The large hand between his legs growing frantic.
“I can feel you, angel. Come for me, please. I’ll fill this tight little hole up and clean it up after.”
Gods. Where had this man come from?
He tries to squirm away just as the feeling broadens at the filthy command. It shatters him all the way down his spine, belly, up his shaft. Jayce holds him in place by where he roughly grips his hair and oh gods—
He comes again, hot ropes painting over his stomach and down Jayce’s hand. His whole body shaking with the release. Nerves lit up on fire. Spots in his vision.
“Not inside—don’t—don’t you dare!” Viktor groans, groggy, lost, but it’s too late. His own hips buck back all the same.
“Your body’s begging for it, baby. You take my cock so well just like I knew you would. It’s like you were made for me.” That velvety sinful voice makes whatever spend Viktor had left dribble out.
Viktor moans, every muscle tightening, as Jayce grips his small waist and buries himself deep. Heat floods him, thick and unrelenting, filling him to the brim. Viktor is sure he’s about to pass out. Can feel his legs go slack. Ragged breathing is all he can register for a few moments then Jayce is pulling out.
The drag of his cock leaving Viktor’s ass makes him involuntarily clench, drawing a stuttered breath. He groans with every squeeze.
Just when Viktor thinks Jayce is finished, he feels his cheeks being spread open, Jayce’s warmth momentarily gone, and then, Jesus—
“Ty zasrané zvíře,” Viktor repeats, barely a whisper in the hot summer air around them. Hands scratching at the hood, leg lifting at the sudden action, which is Jayce sinking lower, tongue hot on his stretched rim. His beard scraping sensitive skin, sending shivers up his spine, and that’s when it happens—humiliation and pleasure lace together, Viktor passes out.
When he comes to, he’s fully dressed again, cradled in a set of strong arms. The world smells of bergamot and the sweat that clings to them like a blanket in the chilled cabin air. The taller man has them in the backseat of what Viktor assumes is Jayce’s car, AC blasting at full throttle. A bottle of water is pushed gently against Viktor’s lips.
“You passed out, baby. I got you,” he hears Jayce whisper in his ear, voice softer now, pressing a fleeting kiss to Viktor’s temple. Softly massaging his arms, legs, with his other hand. The intimacy makes Viktor’s body want to melt into it, feeling safe and sound pressed up against this man that had just fucked him raw on the side of the road.
But safety quickly switches to indignation and Viktor seethes, hoarsely saying, “I am not your ‘baby’ nor your ‘sweetheart’ or ‘angel.’ You are the most humiliating man alive.”
Jayce grins, unrepentant. “Whoa, whoa. Perhaps so, but I am also the only man to make you scream on the side of the road. Twice, if memory serves right.”
The blush on Viktor’s now cool skin betrays the warmth that spreads in his chest at the memory. His hole felt thoroughly fucked and used. That’s when he remembers what made him pass out and he groans, hiding his face behind his hands in shame. They reek of sex and sweat and something sweet.
Then his mind catches on words said earlier. Words that Jayce had said which make his stomach knot tighter.
“Who are you?” He asks, lowering his hands to narrow his gaze at Jayce, suspicious.
“The man of your dreams, baby.” Jayce has that smirk again, the one that teasingly pulls at his lips.
Viktor rolls his eyes. “You called me Professor earlier.”
“So?”
Viktor grips the front of Jayce’s shirt, keeping his gaze sharp in spite of the exhaustion in his bones. “So how do you know that? How do you know I’m a scientist? That I teach a class?”
A lazy grin spreads on Jayce’s lips as he begins to drag slow kisses along Viktor’s jaw. Viktor wants to pull away—but doesn’t.
“How can I not know who Heimerdinger’s protégé is?” Jayce muses. “Every investor call we have, he mentions you one way or another. Singing praises of his ‘brooding’ scientist who is soon to be lab director.”
Viktor’s face blanks. He’s not sure whether he should feel horrified or flattered. Or proud that Heimerdinger even mention—
“Wait a minute,” it clicks for Viktor, his eyes further narrowing. “You’re the Jayce Talis? Of Hammerhead & Company?”
Jayce chuckles, nuzzling his cheek on Viktor’s neck. As if the revelation were no big deal. The casual intimacy makes Viktor feel even more unmoored. Because what the actual hell? This man knew him, knew his name, and had chanced upon Viktor on the side of the road? It didn’t feel fair, somehow. It felt orchestrated, almost.
“The very one,” Jayce confirms.
“You’re the guest of honor at the conference,” Viktor says, still with a lack of credence. “You didn’t have a beard on the photo.”
“That’s old, sweetheart. I’m older now.”
Viktor humphs, unimpressed. “Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re wearing leather and your car’s exhaust fumes alone are enough to make a dent in the stratosphere.”
Jayce huffs out a laugh. “Just how I like them—strong willed. But this is vegan leather, and this car is fully electric.”
Glancing around, Viktor notices that, yes, it indeed is. The faint electric hum of the motor is almost indiscernible, but still there. His lips purse.
He shifts, as if to slide reluctantly off Jayce’s lap, but the awkward press of Jayce’s leg brace digs into his now sensitive backside. Jayce tightens his hold instead, dragging him closer, voice low and lewd in his ear. Beard smelling of cum and sweat—of their cum and their sweat. “You ready for round two?”
“In your dreams,” he scoffs.
“I’ll take you on a date first.” Jayce says smoothly.
Viktor eyes him, gaze still narrowed. “You have a thing for defective, sweaty, and helpless men on the side of the road, Jayce?”
Jayce laughs again, a hearty chuckle, full bellied and warm, irritatingly infectious. “I saw it was you and knew I had to stop.” Jayce admits. “Truth is, I actually had to look up how to change a tire. It’s why I took so long.”
“What?!” He exclaims. The admission has Viktor balking. Incredulously staring at Jayce now with wide eyes. “You looked as though you knew what you were doing.”
“Or you were too distracted ogling me down to notice the panic on my face,” Jayce teases.
Viktor presses the bridge of his nose, groaning into his hand. “Was I that obvious?”
“I thought you’d lick the sweat off me for a moment there. Which, hey, I wouldn’t have minded,” that damn grin again. Suggestive, predatory almost.
“I feel oddly stalked,” Viktor mumbles, voice wavering.
“You would’ve ended in my bed regardless.”
“Like many probably do,” Viktor points out, attempting to sound aloof.
“Never anything substantial,” Jayce responds, the weight in his tone surprising. His arms squeezing Viktor closer, heat pressing closer still, holding him in place as if he had no intentions of letting him go.
It confounded Viktor, left him deeply unsettled. This man he barely knew—who had shamelessly fucked Viktor into oblivion like a wild animal—is now tender, unguarded. Already, his body was craving this man’s continuous presence. Which is why it was best to sever it and remember it as what it was—a one time thing that will never happen again. Else he risks the dangerous feeling in his chest growing.
“Ah. Well.” Viktor raises an unimpressed brow. The comment stinging, assuming how many people have fallen the same way. “I guess this will be my first one night stand. It’s, eh, best I go now.”
Jayce frowns at that, holding him tighter instead, refusing the space Viktor tries to create. “Don’t call it that. I’ve been coveting after you since you built the air detoxification device. The only reason I agreed to this damn conference was so I could finally meet you.”
Viktor feels his cheeks warming up, heart lurching in his ribs. The earnest way in which Jayce spoke, the certainty in his voice, leaves him flattered and horrified. “Yet you pry me open on the side of the road.”
“We’ll use a safe word next time.” Jayce grins, unrepentant.
Viktor sputters, scandalized. “Wha—next time? You must be out of your damn mind.”
“Want to switch our rooms to a single king sized one?”
The suggestion is heavy, hanging in the air between them. Viktor cocks an eyebrow, contemplating it. Considering the misfortunes of his life. The way he’s always chosen duty over desire. How he’s always chosen restraint over abandon… the very few times he’s allowed himself to live—truly live. He swallows past the lump in his throat, uncertain but also hopeful.
Seeing the way those coral green eyes gleam with boyish hope, thoroughly misplaced considering the rugged man they belong to, Viktor finds himself dithering under the weight of them.
Viktor tuts, fond. “You’re the perfect picture of pervicacity.”
“It is working, no?” Jayce murmurs, smile tugging wider.
Viktor exhales, soft, a breathy laugh. Letting a one time thing turn into a weekend thing might not be such a bad idea after all.
Except it ends up turning into a lifetime thing.