Chapter Text
"You cannot promise anyone safety," says Viktor.
"Hm?" Jayce is nodding off, lips pressed to Viktor's bare shoulder. He blinks awake when Viktor rolls over. They've just finished making love. It's not precisely a common occurrence, but Viktor has initiated sexual contact with Jayce three times in the past two and a half months, blossoming beautifully under the sun that is his own courage and Jayce's praise and their growing comfort with each other. Viktor brushes the backs of his fingers against Jayce's cheek to make sure he's paying attention.
"You tell me often that no one will ever hurt me again. You can't know that, Jayce."
"I can," says Jayce, sitting up to cup Viktor's face in one palm. "I'll kill anyone who tries to lay a finger on you."
"You'll follow me on all of my errands?" asks Viktor, voice playful. "Bar my windows? Check the boots of all of our visitors for concealed daggers?"
"Anything and everything it takes to ensure your safety."
"Jayce, let's not be ridiculous."
"What's ridiculous about wanting to protect you?"
"I'm not saying you won't try, and that's what will break you, if something were to happen to me. You'd blame yourself. I just want to absolve you of that responsibility."
"Viktor—"
"I won't let you destroy yourself over circumstances out of your control," Viktor says, voice taking on a firm edge that makes Jayce flinch. Viktor's eyes go immediately soft again, and he pulls Jayce back down beside him, cradling his head to his chest. "What if you hurt yourself at the forge?" he asks, fingers gentle on Jayce's scalp.
"I'm careful."
"But there is always a chance. You could burn yourself or strain a muscle, and it wouldn't be my fault or your fault. It would just—be something that happened."
"Please, V, don't sound so resigned. We can take preventative measures to—"
Viktor interrupts him with a sigh: "We're talking in circles. You're not hearing me properly, Jayce."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean that I've been physically assaulted too many times to count," says Viktor. It creates a silence so deep and painful that Jayce's throat closes up. He rests his head on Viktor's sternum. Viktor speaks softly, breaking Jayce's heart piece by piece: "The only people I hold accountable were those who perpetrated or encouraged my abuse. That distinction keeps me sane. Should I blame the boys who ran faster? My parents, for not keeping me home sick?"
"That's different," says Jayce, barely able to speak. "You're everything to me. What would I be worth to you if I can't even keep you safe?"
"My god, Jayce. Should I feel the same way? 'I'm worthless if you get hurt, despite my love for you. Because of my love for you.' Does our relationship make us so weak? Do we rely entirely upon something as unpredictable as fate?"
"Fate is getting caught in a rainstorm, V, not idly standing by and watching someone attack you!"
"But you wouldn't do that," says Viktor.
"Damn right, I wouldn't!"
"I wouldn't do that to you, either."
"Of course not. You'd protect me with your life."
"And if you were hurt anyway, despite my best efforts to prevent it?"
Jayce lets out a shaky breath. He's so fucking frustrated. His arms feel like cables stretched to breaking when he wraps them protectively around Viktor's slim waist. "I get it, okay? I get it. That doesn't mean I'm not going to hate myself if anything were to happen to you."
"I feel that way about you."
"No. Don't. It's not the same."
"Why?" asks Viktor, he moves carefully to straddle Jayce, laying kisses along his throat and face. "Because you are physically stronger than me? Because you think you love me more than I love you? Because you feel the need to protect my maidenly virtue?"
"Viktor," Jayce protests, but Viktor just smiles and tiptoes his fingers up along Jayce's ribcage until he reaches a nipple. He ducks his head and suckles it gently. Jayce groans, teasing a hand through Viktor's hair. Viktor raises his hips a little in invitation. His leg won't allow this position for very long, but Jayce strokes the small of his back, dips his fingers between Viktor's buttocks, that delicate seam of him tenderly cleaned after their lovemaking. Jayce traces his entrance, asking permission. Viktor presses back against him in reply.
Jayce slips a finger inside Viktor. It's too soon to get him off again, but it's nice being close like this, thrusting gently into his lover's warmth. Viktor shudders, sensitive. He closes his arms around Jayce's middle and slowly rocks his hips.
"I love you, Jayce," he says. "Please be kind to yourself. Promise me that if one of us is ever hurt, it won't be enough to ruin us."
"It won't, I promise," says Jayce. "God, Viktor, I love you."
Viktor's thighs begin shaking with exertion, so Jayce rolls them over, kissing him hungrily. He brushes against his prostate. Viktor inhales sharply, breaking their mouths apart.
Jayce withdraws his hand. "Too much?"
"Mm. Sorry." Viktor squeezes Jayce's biceps, admiring him, and Jayce returns the reverence: Viktor is becoming open in his refusals, vocalizing his own limits and desires. Nothing in the world could be more attractive.
They kiss languorously until Viktor falls asleep, but Jayce is up late, trying not to think too hard about 'the boys who ran faster,' the people who 'encouraged' Viktor's abuse. He feels ill. It's true that he can't promise Viktor will never be assaulted again, short of keeping him within arm's reach at all times or locking him in a safe room for the rest of his life. He won't become so unhinged as to hold Viktor hostage, but the alternative frightens him, too: his fiancé left vulnerable to advances and dangers and injury, after all the world has already done to hurt him.
His sleep is fitful. He dreams that Viktor is walking five steps ahead of him in a hallway full of eyes, but Jayce can't catch up, his body slowing more and more until Viktor is nearly out of sight. He gasps awake to mid-morning sun pouring through his window, the smell of something sweet baking in the kitchen.
Viktor's sitting at the table with a half dozen open textbooks, chair angled so he can see the oven when he turns his head. He hums a little in greeting when Jayce joins him after a quick shave, then notices his bloodshot eyes and shuts his journal.
"Did you sleep poorly?" he asks, bumping Jayce's ankle with his own.
"Mind kept spinning," says Jayce. "Nightmares."
Viktor frowns. "I hope I didn't contribute to them with all the serious talk last night."
"It's not your fault. You were right to be direct with me. I just—don't like feeling helpless."
"No one does, but you are especially—er—"
Jayce sighs. "Tyrannical?"
"Supervisory," Viktor decides on, after a careful moment. He and Jayce manage straight faces for a few seconds, but they break at the same time, laughing. "You sort of like to be in control the way I sort of lose my patience in the kitchen."
Yeah, Viktor does not have the best track record when it comes to baking. He produces flat muffins, tasteless breads, fork-breaking casseroles that he swears at colorfully before dashing them apart in rage against the floor. The hardwood is still dented from the duck-and-white-bean dish he attempted a few weeks ago. Jayce grins. "I'm surprised you managed to get something in the oven this time. What is it?"
"A secret," says Viktor.
"It smells good."
"It may yet prove to be my pièce de résistance by being sweet, edible, and penetrable."
"I know something else that's sweet, edible, and penetrable," Jayce says, suggestively lowering his voice.
Viktor studies him with obvious interest, slowly pushing his book aside.
"Really? That line worked?" asks Jayce eagerly.
"To be determined," says Viktor.
But he's on his back within six minutes of the terrible come-on, moaning and grasping at the edge of the table as Jayce spreads him open with his tongue and fingers. Fuck, he tastes good. Jayce parts him wide, keeping one shoulder steady so that Viktor can rest his thigh on it, and though their last attempt toward this activity left Viktor tense and embarrassed and vulnerable, he seems to have tapped into a delicious lack of self-consciousness that has him gasping and tugging Jayce closer by the hair.
"Oh, yes, Jayce," he sighs. "Please, darling—you are so good to me—"
Jayce loves when Viktor employs him like this, praising him and maneuvering him for his own pleasure. He grips Viktor's hips and reels him in, devouring him greedily. Viktor knocks over a full stack of research material as he flings one arm back to brace himself against Jayce's tugging. Jayce presses one finger deeper, searching—
"Aah! J-Jayce!" The soft, throaty cry cracks gorgeously.
—there. Jayce licks, probes, teases Viktor apart.
Viktor's pleasure is his priority now. When they're in bed. When they're in the shower. As they work, Jayce remains mindful of Viktor's need to stand and stretch between sessions, making sure he gets the good chalk and fresh coffee and the cushioned stool he favors. And against all odds, Viktor remains unspoiled: he asks for nothing, expects nothing, becomes baffled when Jayce makes moves toward his comfort. But he himself returns the favors every day by fetching Jayce lunch, kissing his knuckles the way he likes, lavishing compliments upon his engineering. Viktor limits his self-deprecation because he knows it bothers Jayce.
Small, uncertain sentiments still slip through, of course, most often during sex. How could you love someone like me, Jayce? Why do you enjoy this weak body? Even now, washed in delight and attention, he whispers, "Sorry, sorry" as Jayce laps at him.
"Why are you apologizing?" Jayce asks hoarsely, pulling back without removing his fingers.
"I don't want to be a bother," Viktor chokes out, absurdly and adorably, and Jayce—instead of pointing out that he would gratefully eat Viktor out anywhere, anyplace, any time of day—returns his mouth to its proper place between Viktor's legs to finish the job.
"Oh!" Viktor gasps. "Oh, Jayce, Jayce, I'm—"
Jayce presses another finger inside of him, joins them with his tongue, and uses his free hand to jerk Viktor to completion.
Viktor knocks a second and third stack of journals to the ground as he writhes and climaxes, silent but for a long, shuddering sigh. He nearly clocks Jayce in the head with one knee. It takes him a long time to come back down, his gorgeous body radiating heat. Jayce grins and kisses his softening member. Viktor will have to change his shirt now; he's a mess. Jayce licks at his damp stomach lightly, dipping his tongue into his belly button, and hears his lover huff quietly with laughter, ticklish.
Tears are glimmering in the corners of Viktor's eyes when he finally sits up on his elbows, smiling broadly. "Jayce, you're incredible," he says, stroking his face with his left hand, where he wears his ring. Jayce preens, turning to kiss his palm.
"You're so beautiful, V. Can I help you down?"
"Yes, please. Ah, hold me tightly, Jayce—my legs won't cooperate."
He's right. He wobbles dangerously as Jayce eases him to the floor and hitches his trousers back up. As Jayce moves to wash his hands, he smells the familiar scents of Viktor, of their oatmeal and honeysuckle soap, of—
—something burning?
"Shit!" Viktor shouts, shoving past Jayce and lurching for the oven, which is just beginning to leak around the edges. Smoke billows out when he opens it, and he begins reaching in without mitts; Jayce has to yank him aside to stop him. Coughing, he picks up a heavy towel and carefully retrieves the pan from the top rack, setting it on a trivet on the counter. He and Viktor stare down at it, Jayce's gaze curious, Viktor's mournful.
It appears to have once been the beginning of a cake, although it more closely resembles a black, crispy brick now. Clearly it was made with intense effort; Viktor rarely manages anything more than very simple, bland vegetable soups. Jayce places a solemn hand on his shoulder.
"Maybe we could still eat it if—if we frost it, or drink a lot of coffee with it and—"
"Bless you for your effort, Jayce, but it's a lost cause." Viktor sighs, waving at it with the towel. "I was going to trim the upper corners off to make a triangle at the top. To approximate the shape of a house."
"A house?" says Jayce.
"Your house," says Viktor.
"My house," Jayce repeats, feeling distinctly like he's missing something.
Viktor waits for a moment, but when he still doesn't get it, he gently amends, "Our house, perhaps?"
It takes him an embarrassingly long time to put it together. Then hope and excitement begin to bloom in his chest, opening up like flowerheads in the hot herbal tea Viktor drinks before bed. He places his hands on Viktor's waist. "You mean it? You want to move in with me?"
"If it's not an imposition," says Viktor shyly. "I find myself reluctant to part with you in the evenings now, and it would be an ideal arrangement for commuting and—oof—!"
Jayce cuts him off by hauling him in for a rough, frantic embrace. He can't get Viktor as close as he wants him; he wishes they could coalesce into a single person so they'd never have to be apart. He supposes consolidating living spaces is a great compromise. He strokes Viktor's sides and back and nuzzles into his hair, holding him as tightly as he can without hurting him. Viktor clings back just as hard. His lips brush Jayce's smooth jawline, tongue sneaking out for tiny, kitten-like kisses. Jayce isn't erect anymore—the burning cake kind of killed his arousal—but Viktor strokes him there anyway, the touch firm and comforting.
"You are my home, Jayce," says Viktor quietly, leaning against his shoulder. "You are where I feel the safest, and where I belong. You are my place. My person."
"You're my life," Jayce replies. He inhales deeply. Sweat and soap and heat.
Viktor is right that Jayce can't guarantee that they will never experience hardship, that they are untouchable just because they are together. That would be too simple. But Jayce knows that there's nothing strong enough to destroy the beautiful things that blossom between them every day—the love and humor and hard work and discovery—because he has pledged himself to Viktor wholeheartedly, and Viktor to him. No matter what happens, they'll get through it. And when they resurface on the other side, they'll be even stronger.