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Viktor has always loathed a gala where there is nowhere to sit. Candidly, he loathes most galas on principle, but this particular indiscretion always tips him over the very thin line between detestation and refusal to attend. At least, it does when he’s aware of the accommodations in advance. As it stands, well. So does he. From his vantage point, leaned somewhat indecorously against the sill of a grand window, he can take in the scene before him with perfect clarity.
The ballroom, and indeed its occupants, are decorated in the most resplendent finery the city has to offer: richly pigmented rouge and Kohl, glinting golden buttons and buckles, miles and miles of brightly-coloured leathers and silks. Viktor himself is draped in a flowing satin shirt, the price of which he is both unable and unwilling to fathom. An unnecessarily fashionable corset vest hugs his waifish frame, the bones of the stays and his own rib cage trying to meet in an imitation of the very grimace Viktor is actively suppressing.
His presence is, of course, obligatory, despite how unfashionable it is. Jayce had seen to that seasons ago. All the mammas in the city begrudgingly extend their welcomes to Viktor as a hefty tithe for the presence of their beloved golden boy. Certainly, they are well aware that Viktor himself is not suited for (nor interested in) courting their spectacularly average debutante daughters. To be frank, Jayce is not precisely an ideal suitor either, but more affectionate mothers, ones willing to bend backwards to please their precious angels, have the sense to invite him anyhow. Besides, good businessmen are growing more influential by the day.
Many of said businessmen had made their rounds early, penning their family names on the dance cards they most desired. This tired rigmarole has long since exhausted poor Viktor, who had been considered an incurable (and perhaps contagious) bachelor from the very moment he had first entered the court circuit at Jayce’s side. Not that he’d had any inclination to enter it in the first place, but to that point, he’d challenge anyone to deny Jayce anything he’d already set his mind to. Viktor’s constitution, despite the gossip around the subject, is rather strong – no doubt a product of his hermetic lifestyle – except when it comes to his partner’s doe eyes.
In any case, Viktor has neither Jayce’s societal charms or looks, nor a house, and thus has no reason to put on a charming facade for young women or their mothers to fawn over. Contrarily, his counterpart meanders about the ballroom with grand strides and polite smiles. His name is undoubtedly on a number of cards by now, despite the way he will, as always, gossip ungenerously about each dance partner with Viktor as soon as he parts from them.
Not that Viktor minds. It is rather scandalous for someone so detached from society to know so much about it, and Viktor considers himself well-versed in scandal. Between the morsels he gleans from his perches on the edges of every well-established venue in town and the ones he is so graciously gifted by their respective maidservants, Viktor could feed the undercity for a decade with a buffet of whispers. Which is to say nothing of all the rumours he hears directly from Jayce himself.
Jayce’s misgivings about each young lady satisfy, too, some possessive beast which roils behind the brass buttons of Viktor’s waistcoat. By now, he is assuredly making far too many protestations about a great many of them. Jayce’s generosity with his affections is matched only by his generosity with his reassurances, though Viktor does not require them. He knows precisely where Jayce’s heart lies; would still, even if he did not tell him so frequently as he does.
He suspects the gentry may have an inkling, too. A pair of bachelors – flatmates and business partners notwithstanding – can only spend so much time together before people begin to wonder if the gentlemen in question are quite… earnest. Such a suspicion would only be further supported by the besotted way Jayce is looking at him now, as if they aren’t at Caitlyn Kiramman’s cotillion before their sponsors and colleagues alike. Really, though it belongs wholly to Viktor, Jayce’s heart is still tucked neatly behind his cufflinks, on display for anyone to see.
He is currently swanning about with a young lady Viktor cannot place by face alone, and any who know him intimately would see the placid, easy smile on his face is stiffer than it should be; the darling creases at the corners of his eyes are too shallow. His steps are, as always, precise in the way only a scientist’s can be, as if he is drawing diagrams on the shining floor with his toes. Each time their revolutions bring Viktor into Jayce’s sightline, he burns adoring, if petulant holes into the hollows below his cheekbones, as Viktor is steadfastly ignoring his affections in favour of engaging in mindless banter with a girl from a younger noble family.
She must be a debutante with the way she flutters her lashes up at him, lays a dainty hand on his elbow. Her flirtation lacks all manners of tact, such that Viktor wonders idly if her corset is laced too tightly, and she is on the verge of swooning. What a spectacle that would be, though he would loathe the attention.
As the players in the corner draw their movement to a close, Jayce crosses the ballroom as stealthily as he can, which is to say not very, gently rebuffing the beautiful young woman desperate to stay in his arms: she is between him and his quarry. It is, admittedly, quite heady to be the centre of Jayce Talis’s world; the object of his undivided focus. It would be untoward of Viktor to preen in public, so he neatly sticks a pin in the feeling to revisit later. The warmth he does allow himself to experience emanates from a massive hand enclosing chastely on his shoulder, swallowing it without effort.
“Jayce,” Viktor intones with a touch of admonishment. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He looks a sight tonight in a beautifully-tailored crimson waistcoat over a tight, dark shirt and a cream-coloured cravat, loosened slightly to accommodate for the heat of the room. His boots – formal ones he purchased recently – shine dully under the warm light, and Viktor smiles about the fuss he had made of them. For someone so disinterested in participating in it, Jayce plays a lovely member of the aristocracy when it suits him. He bends down to speak quietly in Viktor’s ear, and his conversation partner takes her cue to depart with a clumsy and unnecessary curtsy.
“Lady Kiramman keeps sending younger and younger women in my direction. I have begun to worry she may send Cait after me next, and you mustn’t let that happen. She will spend the rest of the evening cajoling me and deliberately stepping on my toes.”
The whole line of him is crushed tightly to Viktor’s side, mouth brushing delicately against the shell of his ear. Viktor can feel its mirthful tilt when Jayce speaks. He inclines his own face back to respond, just barely keeping his cheek from pressing lightly against Jayce’s chest. “The harassment, you deserve. But to ruin the lovely polishing job you did this afternoon?” Their eyes meet then, Jayce enamoured by the teasing glint Viktor knows reflects in his. “I suppose you ought to take your leave before then. But surely you would grace Miss Kiramman with one dance at her own ball, no?”
Jayce scoffs impolitely at that. “She will understand my absence. She has no inclination to dance with me anyhow.” He surreptitiously tilts his chin toward the young lady in question. His volume lowers even further, “She has her eyes on someone already.”
Indeed, even as she dances with some young lord, Miss Kiramman’s expertly-trained gaze wanders inconspicuously between his inoffensive face and a woman on her family’s staff with a slight frame. She converses with the lord in her arms without fault or a hint of displeasure – evidence of her pedigree. She is the picture of propriety to an unaware observer.
Though his leg has long since begun railing against its continuous burden, Viktor hadn’t thought it proper to depart so comparatively early until this moment. At Jayce’s suggestion, no less. Typically, his tolerance for these affairs is much higher than Viktor’s own. For him to suggest such a premature departure is most uncharacteristic, and for a moment Viktor finds himself stirring with worry. But Jayce’s breath against Viktor’s cheek is inexplicably laboured, the hand on his shoulder a mite restless. Ah. “She does look rather occupied, at present,” Viktor concedes. He gazes up at his companion through his lashes. “And my leg is beginning to protest all this standing. I may require an… escort home, Mister Talis.” For good measure, he blinks coquettishly, leans into Jayce’s side to better sell his exhaustion. He hopes it looks better on him than it did on his would-be suitor.
Jayce’s pupils widen nigh-imperceptibly, and a slight flush trawls up his handsome face. His eyebrows pull together distrustfully, likely bewildered that Viktor is giving in so easily. “W-well,” he stammers, “that can be arranged.”
Viktor hums thoughtfully. He abruptly removes his lithe frame from Jayce. “If you would prefer to remain here, of course, I’m sure young Miss Kiramman would appreciate a more familiar dance partner?” Jayce fights to keep his expression from growing frantic. He is so very malleable, his Jayce. “I would hate to take you away so soon. I could always ask Lord Salo to keep me company on the walk. He has such a considerate disposition, does he not?”
He, in fact, does not. Leastways not with Jayce, who abhors his Lordship with an enviable vigour. Contrarily, his demeanour with Viktor is unfailingly false in its saccharine fervour. An overall repulsive man, Viktor only brings Salo up for the reaction the name garners from his darling partner.
Predictably, the hand on Viktor’s shoulder tightens in tandem with its owner’s face. “No!” He composes himself admirably. “No, I would hate to trouble his Lordship with a task I am more than happy to provide.” The pleading look in his eye is quite fetching, and Viktor is, as has been established, a weak man against that fine countenance. Jayce foolishly offers his arm, and Viktor gives him a stern rap to the ankle with his cane.
“An escort, I said. Not a nursemaid.” Though Viktor pays no heed to what the court says about the pair of them, Jayce’s heart can be fragile. That, and, his open invitation to the depths of the aristocracy’s homes keeps them fed and clothed in the fine fabrics Jayce prefers. To cause a scandal would undo all that hard-won progress. It very well may destroy Jayce, too, which is, frankly, a much bigger problem. No, better to keep their… affections private.
Besides all that, the waves of anticipation and desire which roll off Jayce as they bid their adieus are delectable in their own right. His restraint is admirable, and to the average onlooker, it may appear as if nothing troubles him at all. But Viktor sees through his collected veneer. The blunt ends of his fingernails digging into the meat of his palms, the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his responses to less-influential nobles and fellows come out clipped, the aborted half-motions to take bony, callused hands into his own. Viktor, as he always has, sees Jayce down to his very bones.
Their only obstacle upon exit is, of course, Lady Cassandra Kiramman. Viktor could not have orchestrated her interference more perfectly if he had tried. She habitually pays Viktor himself no heed, but as his partner passes her by, she tuts reproachfully. Properly chastised, Jayce slows to a stop before her and bows to press a chaste kiss to her gloved hand. She glowers down at him. “Mister Talis.”
Jayce peers up with his most charming smile. “Lady Kiramman,” he replies, offering her his attention. The restless twitching of his fingers resumes once his hands are clasped behind his back. He glances minutely back to lock gazes with Viktor, who intends to continue his pilgrimage to their flat, albeit at a much slower pace. As he crosses behind Jayce, he trails a single finger along the span of his shoulders.
“Leaving so soon?” Viktor cannot see her face, but he can picture that inquisitive brow and pursed mouth so clearly by now, it nearly makes him shudder all the same.
Jayce does not hesitate to catch Viktor’s elbow in an unyielding grip as he passes. “Yes, your Ladyship. I fear poor Viktor is once again weary for lack of seating in the manor. You understand, he is my responsibility–” Viktor will repay this indiscretion shortly, “–and besides, the hour grows rather late for us to be out in any case.” He moves to depart without being dismissed – how bold he has become in his impatience – and Lady Kiramman nods her assent in spite of her suspiciously-narrowed eyes.
Now the subject of her ire, Viktor bows to placate her. “Thank you, my Lady.”
She very nearly sneers. “Do try not to make early departure a habit, gentlemen. Who knows what the gentry might say about your stamina.”
Despite himself, Viktor feels his eyes glimmer. An act of rebellion from him is not unheard of, though he would hate to be tawdry. He allows the expression to speak for itself tonight, for Jayce’s sake. Jayce, who looks between them so impatiently until Lady Kiramman nods and politely bids them both, “Good night, then.” They depart together, perhaps with an undue quickness, and under the cover of night, Viktor dares to link his arm in his partner’s. Allows him to take some of Viktor’s weight. He was not being entirely untruthful about his leg’s protestations. Until the latch of their door is firmly closed behind them, Jayce is a perfect gentleman.
The moment the lock is thrown, he presses himself against the line of Viktor’s body, holding him fast against the wood and mouthing sloppily at the cut of his jaw. His hands scramble for purchase against Viktor’s frame, one halting around the slender curve of his waist, the other poised over his heart. He’s practically shaking with the effort of staying upright, of waiting for permission. “Please,” he whispers into Viktor’s skin, “Vik.”
Despite his immediate manhandling, which he knows by now is frowned upon, Jayce has been very well-behaved tonight. Better behaved than Viktor even knew, it appears, if he is this pliable so soon. Knobby fingers wind into dark hair, first to soothe. “Shhh, darling, I know. I know.” Viktor presses gentle kisses to Jayce’s temple, his hairline, his brow. Uses the hand in his hair to pull him from where he has hidden his face behind Viktor’s ear, and gently knocks their foreheads together.
Jayce gets like this, sometimes. His emotions are acutely felt, perhaps none so much as his love and his longing. They coalesce into a portrait of submission unlike any other. Jayce’s heart belongs wholly to Viktor, but for him to know reciprocity, his body must also, on occasion, be owned. It is a privilege Viktor handles with reverence.
“Vik, please,” Jayce whispers. “N-need you. To make you feel good, please. You know I can.” He nudges their noses together as he begs so sweetly. His hands clench reflexively in Viktor’s obscene finery.
“I do, darling. I know,” Viktor repeats, pets his hair. “Can I kiss you first?”
The sob Jayce releases into Viktor’s mouth and the distraught sound he makes when Viktor parts his lips for him are musical and feverish with his relief. His tongue caresses Viktor’s own, gentle and probing. He’s asking for permission even now, never taking more than he’s offered.
When Viktor deigns to release his lover from between his teeth, Jayce promptly falls to his knees, there in the foyer. Looking upon his altar from there, eyes wet and adoring, he is startlingly beautiful. The change in altitude has brought Viktor’s palm to the side of his face, where Jayce is leaning into the scant contact against his cheekbone. His own fingers meet at the small of Viktor’s back, toying with the whale bones he feels there.
The picture he makes is nearly enough to make Viktor throw his senses and sensibilities out with a baby and bathwater. With the modicum of wits he can still access, he pulls Jayce’s head back again, earning another lost whine for his trouble. “My love,” he coos, “the bed, please. And then you can have a taste.”
The thin golden band still visible in his partner’s eyes shrinks even further as he moves his hands to engulf Viktor’s thighs. Viktor nods in acquiescence, setting his cane in its stand in the foyer, and braces for the nauseating weightlessness that will follow. He brings his arms tightly around his lover’s neck, fingers knotted at the neat, clipped hair at the nape, and shuts his eyes against the dizziness of their motion. He feels the soft dip of a mattress under his weight, hears the thud of a body hitting the floor. When he opens them again, Jayce is kneeling there between his spread thighs, his open, yearning gaze locked on Viktor’s face.
His left hand toys with the decorous brace beneath it, slowly undoing the latches and screws to remove it from Viktor’s knee without looking down at his work. A mite more caution is afforded to the fastenings of Viktor’s boots and trousers, glinting gold flashing in the dim room when Jayce plies the fabric reverently off Viktor’s body. Mindlessly, he kisses the indented flesh of Viktor’s bad leg, mumbling to himself as he goes. He runs his palms down Viktor’s calves, thumbing at the garters there before removing those, too.
At an artful quirk of Viktor’s brow; a calculated sweep of his gaze, Jayce clumsily strips his own formal wear with none of the care or devotion used for his partner. Each discarded garment reveals expanses of warm olive skin, the sight of which still causes a troublesome flutter in Viktor’s chest. In his studies, Viktor has mapped nearly every dip, curve, and scar on that wondrous body, but having the privilege to behold his golden boy this way leaves him breathless every time.
When he is bare, Viktor runs his hands down taut musculature as Jayce’s trembling ones slot themselves back around his waist. “My sweet boy,” Viktor croons, revelling in the sigh it pulls from his lover, “you have done so well for me. So patient. So attentive.”
Jayce digs his nose into the crease between thigh and groin with a whimper. “Love you,” he slurs wetly into the fabric there. “Need to taste you, Vik, please.” His breath is warm and damp, adding to the slickness already clinging to Viktor’s drawers. The last three hours seem to have riled him up like a particularly intense kind of foreplay, reducing Piltover’s golden boy into a puddle of need and subservience.
Viktor feels his anguish like a phantom limb. His fingers return to their place at the base of Jayce’s skull. “Take what you need, darling.”
Like his strings have been cut, Jayce at once begins laving open-mouthed kisses to Viktor’s clothed cunt, already too far gone to remove the obstruction in pursuit of his goal, let alone draw out the tension between them. That suits Viktor fine, for now. Each muted pass of his tongue over Viktor’s entrance entices a satisfied hum at the feeling. He finds himself laughing softly at Jayce’s unbridled enthusiasm for finally getting a fragment of his coveted treasure.
As the fabric separating them grows saturated, Jayce rumbles his thanks directly into the straining contour of Viktor’s clit, sending lancing pleasure through his seated frame down to his curling toes. Jayce’s hands worry at the waistband of his underclothes, even as he refuses to separate his face from Viktor’s sex, including to breathe. Each time he must, Jayce takes a deep, shuddering inhale through his nose, the displacement of the air pleasantly cooling the saliva-and-slick cocktail suffocating Viktor’s hot core.
“That’s it,” Viktor gasps, and lolls his head back. “Yes, Jayce, so good to me.” Together, they guide the barrier between them down, both whining at the momentary separation. “Go on, my love. Show me how badly you need it.”
Unrestricted, Jayce redoubles his efforts, pulling Viktor’s red, swollen cock into his mouth and suckling at the sensitive nerve endings there. His needy mewling reverberates through Viktor’s bones; the salacious sounds of their coupling echo in Viktor’s ears. He responds in kind, an unbidden cant of his hips and a sharp cry betraying his mask of calm.
Jayce does not resist when shaking thighs settle around his ears, rather slides his meaty paws beneath them, beckoning to that tight heat with his tongue and, indeed, drawing it bodily closer. With the new angle, he relents his assault of Viktor’s clit, instead slotting it on the ridge of his nose to lap at the source of the sweetness that he’d begged so prettily for. Jayce’s tongue flits over the glistening folds, dipping into Viktor’s hole only when the hand in his hair tightens its hold. He probes into his slit, pushing against his spasming walls, and Viktor is more than ready to welcome the intrusion. Jayce’s shallow, shuddering moans grow even louder and more unabashed against Viktor’s cunt as tears well in his eyes, searching Viktor’s with a wordless plea.
“Ah— Oh, my love, you look so— so beautiful down there, hm? I know what you need, Jayce,” Viktor pants, hips bucking helplessly despite his efforts at restraint. “Do you need to please me, love?”
Jayce whines into his entrance at the prospect, pistoning his tongue harder, faster into Viktor’s cunt. He futilely tries to pull Viktor’s body even closer, gripping sharp hips hard enough to bruise with his fervour. He manages to nod weakly, only disrupting his rhythm slightly with the movement. The rasp of his five o’clock shadow chafes deliciously.
“Do you need my— fuck— my spend in your mouth?” This line of questioning is obviously unfair, considering Jayce was practically begging for the privilege of quenching his thirst with Viktor’s slick before they had even left the Kiramman estate. All the same, a tortured sound escapes from between his thighs. Jayce nudges his nose up into the cock gently grinding against it when he nods again, as if in encouragement.
“No, Jayce. What you need,” Viktor croons lowly, “I mean really need, is to be used, no?” Using the cross of his calves behind Jayce’s neck and the loose fist in his tousled hair, Viktor drags his partner impossibly further into his sex, angling back and chasing his own cresting pleasure almost lazily against Jayce’s face. At once, unshed tears begin to slide down his flushed cheeks, the tracks of them joining the mess of slick and drool spread across his mouth and chin, and a broken sob ekes out from where it’s muffled in Viktor’s folds, the vibrations sending sparks up his crooked spine.
“Such a good boy, sitting so prettily for me. Yes, Jayce, just like that. Take it so well, darling. Almost there.” A rising tide of ecstasy simmers behind his navel, wave after wave of bliss radiating out from his core. “Ah— oh, oh, just a bit—”
Jayce, ceaseless in his need to please, cranes his neck back to recapture Viktor’s throbbing cock between his lips, slurping greedily in his effort to pull his lover over the edge. In what seems to be a placating gesture, he releases Viktor’s good hip to easily slide two clever fingers into him, pressing precisely where he needs the pressure, earning a series of high keens for his trouble. Jayce lets out a pleased little hum around his mouthful, and all at once, Viktor’s thighs are trembling, his needy hole clenching around thick knuckles as Jayce sucks him through the throes of his orgasm.
Viktor whines and thrashes when Jayce releases his clit to collect his hard-won prize, wicked tongue darting around steady digits to lap at the rivulets of fluid that gush from his fluttering, oversensitive cunt. He looks inordinately pleased with himself, drying eyes closed in relaxation despite the itching need he must still be feeling. Each pass he makes over Viktor’s slit sends a delectable twitch up his leaking cock from where it strains, untouched, between his muscular thighs.
“Ah– enough. Come here, darling,” Viktor pants, pushing Jayce back from his feast, pulling his legs off broad shoulders and sliding the good one to the floor before bending to lick the taste of himself from behind his lover’s teeth. Jayce, as always, responds perfectly, surging upward into Viktor, shuffling forward on his bruising knees to plaster himself against the calf he’s been so lovingly provided. Obediently, he keeps himself still beyond the initial contact, awaiting permission to take any more than what he is offered.
At the first hint of friction against his neglected cock, Jayce pours a needy whimper into Viktor’s waiting mouth, fingers scrabbling against the corset stays in search of supple flesh. His naked desire never fails to endear, and Viktor feels an abrupt need to tell him as much. “Ohh, you did so perfectly, my Jayce. So good to me, hm?”
Jayce pulls back and nudges their foreheads together, glassy hazel eyes opening to meet fond, heavy-lidded gold. “I was?”
A playful admonishment is on the tip of Viktor’s tongue, a witty quip about his partner’s insatiable ego, but something about this deference feels lost, even with the glaze of that floaty headspace all over Jayce’s face. Instead, he leans into the warmth in his chest, pivoting in his plans. Cupping his face, Viktor hauls his lover up onto the mattress with him, manoeuvring them to lay side-by-side, legs tangled together.
He presses a gentle kiss to Jayce’s furrowed brow, runs a thumb through the damp trail on his cheekbone. “Oh, my love, always. You are always perfect. My Jayce.” He pulls a wide palm to the fastenings of his waistcoat, just over his own heart. “And I am yours, no?”
Jayce moans softly, a new flow of tears cascading down the slope of his nose to the mattress. “Mine,” he agrees with reverence. He lurches to mouth at a collarbone as if he cannot help himself, leaving the faintest mark behind. “Yes, need you to be mine.” His hips twitch minutely, still the picture of obedience even in his deprivation.
Viktor tuts softly, positioning his bad leg over the jut of Jayce’s hipbone in silent invitation. But he knows his partner needs reassurance like this, so: “I am always yours, sweet boy. You have me.” Jayce hesitates, panting wetly into the mark he’s left. “What is it, darling?”
His other hand comes up to mirror the first, splaying out over the stiff fabric bracketing Viktor’s ribs. His blunt nails worry at the buttons. “Can I–”
“Whatever you need, darling. You’ve earned it.” Another kiss to his sweat-slicked hairline.
Viktor feels Jayce’s sticky mouth pull into a focused little frown against the line of his shoulder. “Will you hurt? If I do?”
Viktor considers that for a moment. Horizontally as they are, the bodice of his brace feels less supportive and more viselike, the heat of Jayce’s palm grounding him in the ebbing waves of pleasure still relaxing his frame. Much longer like this, and the unforgiving stays will begin to leave their own claiming mark on him, and the idea is nearly visceral in its repugnance. He rolls onto his crooked back; coaxes Jayce to move with him, the weight of his lover hovering just above his hips.
“Take it off me, Jayce.”
Gentle fingers pry brass through silk, ghosting over protruding ribs through satin. Once the waistcoat splays open, Jayce starts his work on the shirt beneath, laving reverent, messy kisses to each revealed patch of pallid flesh, bruises blooming in his wake. He lingers on Viktor’s sternum, sucking a purpling mark there, the water from his eyes pooling in the hollow of an emaciated chest. He thumbs lovingly over the soft, slight peaks there, lips pressed against Viktor’s ratcheting pulse. “Mine.”
Viktor purrs contentedly and arches into the heated touch, creating the necessary space for the layers of fabric to slide off his narrow shoulders. Jayce delicately lifts his torso off the mattress by his ribs, pushing the discarded garments to the ground. With the momentary change in vantage point, Viktor catches sight of Jayce’s stiff, flushed cock, and groans with the headiness of his partner’s continued submission.
He reaches down to guide Jayce between his wet folds, thumbing a bead of moisture at his head, and mixes their fluids at the sensitive opening of his still-weeping cunt. “Yours,” he agrees, rubbing himself along Jayce’s length for emphasis. “Show me.”
The first breach of Viktor’s hole has Jayce shuddering through a choked-off sob. Hot breaths ghost over a newly-bared throat as his lover crumples over his body at the sensation. Viktor barely registers the sigh he emits in response, too enamoured with the familiar stretch of Jayce sinking into him, inch by torturous inch.
When their hips are flush, Jayce takes a moment to collect himself, and Viktor feels a hot rush of pride and arousal, knowing his boy is still trying to behave. Jayce emits a low whine through gritted teeth as Viktor flutters around him teasingly. “You can let go now.” He makes one jerky thrust, slow and measured, but his thighs are quaking with the effort, his lower lip drawn between his teeth in concentration. His whole body tenses on the next draw backwards, and Viktor chooses that vulnerable moment to strike.
“Be a good boy, Jayce, and fuck me.”
Jayce’s cock twitches inside him at the command, and his thread of control snaps with his hips, plunging fully into Viktor with a grateful moan. Free from its constraints, Viktor’s spine arches reflexively at the onslaught of sensation. Jayce’s hands tighten on his waist, nearly circling it completely without effort. He digs his fingers in without meaning to, staking his claim in the indents and bruises he leaves across the canvas of Viktor’s skin. The sharp feeling of Jayce’s possession on his taut stomach and in his tremulous core pulls a cry unbidden from Viktor’s chest.
Jayce seems to follow the sound to its source, latching his teeth to the hollow of his throat, chasing the exquisite flavour of the vibrations he finds there as he establishes a slow, precise rhythm. Viktor’s fingers thread their way back into the sweat-damp strands atop his head, clutching that wicked mouth to the tender flesh of his neck, baring it in a facsimile of submission. What Jayce wants, tonight, he can have. His transgressions can be punished another time.
Quaking knees wind their way around strong hips, and pull weakly against their steady pace, begging silently for more. His left thigh is immediately engulfed in a supportive grasp, and the care behind the movement is more arousing than it has any right to be. “Jayce,” he says, not pleading but close. “Jayce.”
He hums smugly into the mark he’s made, too high to be hidden under everyday clothes. “Love you, V. More than anything. More than anyone. Want you to feel it.” And Viktor does; he knows that Jayce is making love to him, unwilling to compromise the depth of his feelings for fleeting pleasure. Viktor fruitlessly tugs at his sacrum with his heels again, and Jayce’s tempo does not falter, but he pours more strength behind each thrust.
With his mouth freed, and Viktor’s nearly useless, Jayce begins to talk. “Mine,” he purrs. “No one else’s. God, you look so beautiful like this, letting me take care of you.”
The way he’s pulling Viktor back into him one-handed is entrancing, and Viktor’s tongue comes loose with ecstasy. “Only you,” he babbles, inundated with feeling. “No one– ngh– takes care of me like you, my love.”
It’s clearly the right thing to say. Jayce keens, abandoning Viktor’s neck to pant into his mouth, trying his best to kiss him despite their continuous motion. He pries his nails out of Viktor’s pale stomach, reaches his calloused fingers down to where their bodies are joined to collect the evidence of Viktor’s arousal and spreads it over his flushed clit, rubbing sloppy circles in time with the languid push-and-pull of his heavy cock.
His second orgasm builds much more slowly than the first, Jayce’s deliberate, precise ministrations tugging him along in a low-speed chase to the finish line, and the final push is the shaky “Please can I feel you,” Jayce whines into his ear, dripping with need. And who is Viktor to deny his love this?
“Oh, my Jayce, I– Oh! Yes, Jayce right–” And he shudders apart, mouth agape in a silent scream, a small gush of slick coating his lover where he is speared open.
Jayce pulls him along through the first aftershocks, and begs, near-frantic, “Viktor, I’m– where– oh, God, please can I–”
Hazily, Viktor kisses his hovering mouth, soothes his thumb across his pinched brow before tugging him back to lock their eyes. “You’ve been so good for me, my heart.” Jayce lunges back toward him, whining when he is restricted. “Want to watch your face when you finish,” Viktor offers by way of explanation. “Come on, love. Inside. I know you want to.”
Jayce’s pupils are gorgeously blown out when his focus falters, pitifully carving himself a home in Viktor’s spasming cunt with artless, sloppy thrusts, mumbling doting platitudes all the while. His pubic bone grinds against Viktor’s cock, extending his exquisite torment through the crest of Jayce’s pleasure. His hole continues squeezing of its own volition even as Jayce spends inside, his body pulling spurt after spurt out of his wailing lover, an ouroboros of glorious stimulation.
Viktor refuses to miss a moment of his lover’s rapture, heavy gaze flitting restlessly between the clenching of his defined muscles, the relaxed ‘O’ of his pretty mouth, the white-knuckled clench of his hands on Viktor’s frame. He resists the temptation to throw his head back into their cascade of pillows, lest he miss the personification of perfection falling apart in his bed, between his legs. He tries, in his stupor, to commit every picturesque detail of Jayce’s bliss to memory, content with the knowledge that he is exactly as ravishing at the moment of his climax as Viktor always remembers him being.
The heat of Jayce on him, inside him, soothes like a balm, and blessedly remains even when he pulls his softening cock out with a deluge of their combined releases. Viktor cannot find it within himself to be embarrassed, especially not when Jayce continues to look at him like a starving man, eyes locked on the spreading mess between his thighs. Viktor idly wonders if this will be one of the nights his lover deigns to clean him up with his tongue. He often takes great joy in pushing Viktor into incoherence, and it seems to, albeit temporarily, slake his hunger for praise to feast on Viktor’s wild, oversensitive moans.
Instead, Viktor watches him dazedly bring a hand back to the soaked folds, dragging his forefinger through the trail of fluid grazing Viktor’s perineum and drawing it up and into his debauched entrance, forcing his seed back into the tight clutch of Viktor’s body. As if entranced, Jayce repeats the motion again, forcing his finger deeper this time, and Viktor lets out a breathy sigh when he leaves it buried there for a moment, unmoving.
He gradually shakes the fog from his head and colours, tucking his chin to his chest wordlessly. Viktor offers a gentle smile. “Clean us both up, you brute,” he teases, voice soft in their bubble of serenity. “It is the least you can do for immobilising a man who already uses a cane.”
Jayce leans over him to peck a sweet kiss to his cheek before crawling off their bed in search of a rag. Viktor shamelessly ogles him as he goes.
Unable to quiet his mind without his partner’s stalwart presence, Viktor savours the sensation of ownership that leaks down his still-twitching thighs and the pleasant ache in his groin. He thinks of his proud Jayce, who loves so passionately. And he begins to wonder.
Lost in thought, Viktor fails to notice when Jayce returns with a damp cloth, and is snapped back to reality by warm, strong legs bracketing his own. Jayce cleans him up with disproportionate care. Once he is satisfied with his work, he takes Viktor’s pliant body in his powerful arms and pulls him into a safe, loving embrace. Viktor feels him kiss the top of his head before tucking it under his chin for safekeeping. Together, they bask in the afterglow.
In the quiet harmony of their breathing, bodies irrevocably intertwined, Viktor reluctantly pries his face out of Jayce’s ample chest to sate his curiosity. “Were you waiting to stake your claim on me all night, Jayce?” He feels a pang of guilt that his lover’s needs may have gone unheeded too long on a night like this. They often toe the line of patience and desperation together, and enjoy doing so, but on an evening where Jayce’s basest urges are quieted by his romantic nature, Viktor cannot find it in his heart to deny him the reassurance he so clearly desires.
He feels more than sees the bright flush that spreads down Jayce’s neck and chest, and takes it as a sign to prop his chin against the swell of his pectoral to see the red sheen take over his cheeks, too. Jayce meets his gaze, but it has an air of shame to it. “Not… not all night.” He thinks for a moment. “At least not like… that. I mean, God, V, I always want you.” His flush deepens. “Especially in front of them. You must know that.”
Viktor does. Jayce’s desire to claim and be claimed is a dangerous one, and he seldom has the freedom to indulge it. They do what they can to sate the ravenous maw in Jayce’s chest, especially after events like tonight, where he feels he belongs to anyone but himself. When he feels he cannot ever truly belong to Viktor. What he is feeling now is more complex, and Viktor can feel it instinctively. He raises a prompting eyebrow.
Jayce sighs, and the flush somehow spreads even further afield. “I— Do you—“ He looks to the ceiling in abject frustration. “Just because we are… partners, I do not want you to feel beholden to me if you wish to explore other… endeavours.”
That, Viktor could never have anticipated. He recoils up onto his elbows from the very sentiment. “What on Earth could have put such a thought into your brilliant mind?!”
He has the sense to look sheepish when he replies, “Well, there was that girl.”
Viktor only just keeps himself from laughing. “Jayce, be reasonable,” he chides.
“No, I know. But then you mentioned Lord Salo—“
“Pah!”
“—and if you truly wanted—“
Viktor braces on one arm and reaches forward to grasp his partner by the chin in spindly fingers. “If I truly wanted, I would have. You know this to be true.” He waits patiently for those lovely hazel eyes to cease their flickering. When he has their full weight, he softens his tone. “And I do. What I want is you. Always.”
“Viktor, I cannot give you—“
Viktor clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “My heart.” He releases his square chin in favour of cupping a wet, stubbled cheek. “I do not give a tuppence what you can give me. I care that I love you, Jayce Talis. And that you, in turn, love me. As long as this is the case, the matter is quite settled.”
Jayce gives him a watery smile. “All night, I wished most ardently that it had been you I was dancing with. I know you care not about those young ladies, but I— I cannot bear to be separated from you for so long and for such frivolity. I fear you will stray.”
Viktor pets his sharp cheekbone with the meat of his thumb. A faint amusement turns the corner of his mouth. ”Your relationship with the gentry is not some insuperable barrier. I rather think, with you, there is no such thing.” Jayce beams, and Viktor flicks him between his brows. “Do not look so smug. It’s unbecoming.”
It’s not, is the trouble. His self-satisfied, gap-toothed little smirk and wide, doting gaze pair so prettily with his complexion, face more relaxed than Viktor has seen it in some time. Jayce’s large hand cradles the back of his skull, and he pulls him down into an easy kiss. Jayce pours every ounce of his tenacious affection into the infinitesimal space between them, and Viktor is helpless to do anything but respond in kind until his contentious lungs finally make their protests unignorable.
As they trade gasping breaths, Viktor huffs a laugh into Jayce’s insatiable mouth. “Between your manhandling and that godforsaken corset, my doctors will be most displeased with my behaviour tonight.”
Jayce joins in, a full, clear peal of joy echoing behind Viktor’s teeth. He has an inexplicable desire to bite him. “Please, darling, tell me more about your medical frailty,” Jayce squeezes out amidst giggles. “It really contributes to the amorous atmosphere.”
“Oh,” Viktor taunts, “You desire fragility from me, Mister Talis?” With a sleepy sort of glee, he digs a bony elbow into the cleft of firm abdominal muscles, cackling along the way, “I will show you fragile!”
Jayce does not even flinch before deftly catching both of Viktor’s slim wrists in one of his massive, calloused hands. He uses his new leverage to pull the paper-white body flush atop his own and press a sweet kiss to a sharp cheek. “I desire everything you will give me,” he hums into Viktor’s ear. “For as long as I may have it, if you feel amenable to that.”
He pulls a blanket up over their tangled forms, cradling Viktor’s shoulder in an imitation of their position from the beginning of the evening. He is excessively warm everywhere Viktor is cold; soft everywhere Viktor is sharp. Viktor cannot help sinking into the pliant body beneath him, nose tucked under his jaw. With a last, sleepy kiss to the bottom of a stubbled chin, he whispers the words Jayce always wishes to hear. “I do.”