Chapter Text
The Progress Day banquet is a dazzling affair, a spectacle of gilded luxury and forced smiles set against the backdrop of the academy’s most prestigious hall. Crystal chandeliers wash them with a delicate light, glittering along the champagne flutes raised in celebration by all Piltover’s elite. Without a hint of intimidation, Jayce strides through the room with magnetic ease, a beacon of charm weaving between clusters of potential sponsors. His goal is clear: win their favour, secure their support for their latest invention, and accept their empty platitudes with grace.
Viktor lags a step behind, visibly uncomfortable in formal attire. His tailored jacket feels restrictive, his cane an unwelcome reminder of how out of place he is in this sea of perfection. And Viktor’s goal is much simpler: endure.
He doesn’t begrudge Jayce’s gravitational pull—it’s a force he understands all too well because he’s captured by it too. Watching Jayce command the room, breathtaking in tailored finery, his broad smile as radiant as the opulence that surrounds him—Jayce was born to be the man of progress in every reality.
And yet, the magnetism that draws so many gazes also stirs something far more primal in Viktor. It’s the way Jayce holds himself, all effortless confidence, golden skin catching the chandeliers and his laughter cutting through the monotony of polite applause, in which he becomes the only sincere note in the room. The faint scent of his cologne—wood and spice, laced with the warm tang of the champagne he sips—lingers in his orbit. And the cadence of his voice—enthusiastic and smooth, assured and rich—bewitches every sponsor he entertains.
Viktor watches, forcing himself to remember that these admirers, no matter how enraptured, are good for their funding. It’s nothing more than practicality. And yet, when he catches Jayce leaning a little too close to an elegant woman, her manicured fingers brushing his arm as she laughs at something he’s said, a sharp pang of something unidentifiable stabs through Viktor. It’s not jealousy, not exactly, or that’s what Viktor’s concluded—more like swallowing something the wrong way, sudden and unpleasant, impossible to ignore.
Viktor taps at his cane absentmindedly, pursed into a familiar sour expression whenever he must stand too long. Or perhaps it’s because the investor that’s now talking to Jayce is Councillor Mel Medarda, a woman who looks likes she’s stepped straight out of a portrait: refined and untouchable. Every detail of her appearance speaks of intention. Beautiful runes decorate her body, etched in golden ink that lines her eyes and dusts her cheeks, like she’s made of light and it’s beginning to bloom from her skin. Her eyes glow with the otherworldly emerald fitting of Noxus royalty, slanted and alluring—calculating every move. And her golden dress clings to her silhouette, accentuated by the royal sheen of her armour that speaks of years strategising and commanding the battlefield. She radiates such intelligence and power with every subtle glance, every raise of her glass, so of course she has found her way to Jayce—the two of them look like they belong to the same rarefied world, drawing the eyes of all patrons. Viktor forces himself to look away, swallowing the uncomfortable lump in his throat. Her laughter, low and smooth, so unlike his awkward lilt, blends with Jayce’s like a harmony finally in tune.
And he can hardly blame her or Jayce because she is…unrivalled. If Jayce is the jewel of Piltover then she is the master who can set him in any crown she chooses, elevating him to a status that no could possibly refute.
And Viktor—leaning on his case, dressed in stiff formalwear that never quite fits right—feels suddenly very small in their shared presence. That he could not possibly be apart of such affluence. She is everything that fits into Jayce’s world—all his worlds—the one who seduces him in most. She is everything Viktor knows he is not.
He exhales sharply, fingers tightening around the handle of his cane as he limps towards the distant balcony doors. The air inside feels heavier by the moment. It's with relief when the night breeze greets him cooly as he steps outside, an immediate reprieve from the banquet hall. He leans on the railing, staring out at the blinking lights of Piltover below. They stretch endlessly, a tapestry of progress and grandeur—and only in the distance does he catch the usual darkness of Zaun, swallowed by the night sky. All he wants is to spread a sliver of the opportunity he’s found here, to finally bridge the chasm between their worlds by equalising the power dynamic. The number of banquets or indulgent glances Jayce’s way could never compare to the conviction of that goal, so it is with resignation that he accepts what is.
The sound of hurried footsteps interrupts him. Jayce stumbles onto the balcony, cheeks flushed—not just from champagne, but from the palpable excitement he reserves for him. “Viktor!” he exclaims, his voice a little loud in the quiet night air.
Viktor doesn’t turn immediately, gripping the railing tighter. “What is it, Jayce?” he asks evenly.
“I just had the most incredible conversation,” Jayce replies, rushing to put a hand on his shoulder. “Mel’s in—she’s going to back the project!”
“Mel?” Viktor repeats childishly, glancing at Jayce from the corner of his eye.
Jayce pauses, his enthusiasm faltering slightly. “What? She insisted. Can’t start a more personal relationship before formalities are out of the way,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. His tone is casual, a bit defensive, but there’s no malice in it—just the earnestness that is so uniquely Jayce.
Viktor’s gaze drifts back to the city, fixed into a neutral expression. “Of course she did,” he says quickly, the words rolling off his tongue clumsily. “After all, a personal relationship only strengthens her position. It would be wise to get closer.”
Jayce frowns, stepping closer. “Vik, are you—“ he stops mid-sentence, as if realising something for the first time. “Hey,” he says more softly, turning Viktor’s face to meet his. “I didn’t come out here to talk about Mel.”
Viktor raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t move away. “No?”
“No,” Jayce replies, stroking his cheek. “I came out here because I wanted to be with you.”
The breeze brushes against them, carrying Jayce’s words with it. Viktor falters, the corners of his lips pressing into a thin line. “You do not have to say such things,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. He feels painfully immature. “I am not looking for…comfort.”
Jayce pulls Viktor in closer, so that he’s hugging his shoulders from behind, covering the view of his body with his back. “It’s not comfort,” he says. “It’s the truth.” His hand lingers, rubbing soft circles into his blazer. “I don’t care about all their promises and flattery. They’re important, sure, and I care how they’ll support us, but they haven’t come from you, Viktor. Tonight is our celebration.”
Viktor huffs a quiet, self-deprecating laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Jayce, you are the golden boy of Piltover. You belong to their world. I am just…” he gestures vaguely at himself, his cane clinking lightly against the railing. “A discordant note in your symphony.”
Jayce’s grip on Viktor’s shoulder tightens just enough to command his full attention. “Don’t say that,” he says, a little angrily. “You’re not a discordant note—you’re the entire orchestra of what we’re building.” His lips quirk into a small, almost shy smile. “And if I’m the golden boy, then you’re the brilliance behind every single thing they admire about me.”
Viktor blinks, clearly caught off guard. “These words come so easily to you,”
“Because I mean them,” Jayce replies without hesitation. “You think I came out here to bask in the glow of their praise? No, Viktor.” Jayce brings his arm down to hold his hand. “I came out here to share it with you. Because I saw you leave, and I couldn’t imagine spending another second in there without you.”
Viktor’s swallows, looking away. “I…did not mean to sulk and ruin your night. ”
Jayce laughs. “You always sulk and it never ruins my night.” He brings their fingers up, kissing their intertwined knuckles.
Viktor huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh, lips quirking up despite himself. “You always know how to say the right thing, and it is usually the simplest one.”
Jayce leans closer, brushing a kiss to his cheek with the pretence of a whisper. “Here’s another: You’re the only reason I can even stand in a room like that with my head high.”
“You could not possibly mean that," Viktor says gently. "You are effortless, Jayce. You could bend the will of anyone in that room with nothing but your smile. You do not need me in there.”
Jayce tilts his head, his thumb brushing over Viktor’s lips. “I do mean it. I don’t give a shit about what any of them might think about you or Zaun. You are brilliant—I’m tired of watching you dim your own light just because someone else is shining nearby. You’ve always been the better half of this partnership anyways, Viktor.”
His lungs hitch, eyes escaping to the cityscape once more, unable to face Jayce’s honesty directly. “You make it sound so simple. Me? A cripple from the Undercity—no one ever believed in me except myself. And now here you come along…”
“And I’ve always believed in you.”
Viktor laughs softly. “Exactly. I am still not used to it, it seems…but I definitely would like to. I am…grateful,” he continues, “that someone as bright as you still recognised me behind the shadows often cast on me. I have rarely been able to convince Piltover of my talents. But with you Jayce, I do not have to try. You see me how I have always wanted to be seen.”
Jayce’s face softens. “Of course I see you,” he says quietly, tilting Viktor’s head up so they can make eye level. “How could I not? You’ve been my anchor in every timeline—it’s you who reminds me what I’m working towards. A future we can both be proud of. You..you inspire me every damn day.”
“I am simply a man trying to prove himself, stumbling through every step,” Viktor murmurs wistfully. “Lucky enough for the sun to stumble by me too.” He reaches up to trace Jayce’s jaw, pulling closer when he says—“Please, work the room one last time so we can get out of here.”
Jayce’s smile tilts mischievously at Viktor’s words, bringing his hand over his. He holds Viktor’s touch for a moment longer before letting go. “Work the room? For you?” He begins walking backwards. “I’ll get them eating out of the palm of my hand.”
Viktor huffs a quiet laugh. “Your charm knows no bounds.” He follows Jayce back inside. “Where to afterwards?”
“The lab, of course.”
“We are becoming a safety hazard at this point; a compromising variable,” Viktor notes dryly.
“Lab’s quiet, private,” Jayce counters with a grin, leaning in to murmur—“the closest place to pin you against the wall without causing a scandal,” before stepping back into the crowd.
Viktor blushes deeply, grabbing a flute of champagne from the perfectly-timed waiter making her rounds, more to occupy his mouth than out of any real desire for the drink. But he finds himself indulging in it anyways, letting the fizz soothe his racing throat. The alcohol loosens his movements, allowing him to glide through the crowd more easily, even make a few clipped conversations, before slinking back into the edges. He watches Jayce steal the audience one last time, shaking hands and toasting drinks, offering blinding smiles. But between the cheers and enamoured patrons, Jayce finds him, gifting a sly, almost possessive look reserved just for him. Jayce winks, and then he’s swiftly returned to his endeavours once more. Needless to say, Viktor has to grab another flute to compose himself.
They barely make it to the lab. The door shuts behind them with a quiet click and it’s forgotten almost instantly as Jayce pulls Viktor with urgency. Their lips collide, Viktor’s cane clatters to the floor as Jayce presses him back against the nearest wall. The chill of the metal bites through Viktor’s shirt, but it’s meaningless compared to the heat of Jayce’s body, pinning him in place—a living furnace of his own.
“I couldn’t wait to get out of there,” Jayce gasps against his lips. Viktor silences him with another kiss, deeper this time, using Jayce’s tie to pull him in closer.
“Then stop wasting time,” Viktor mutters between breaths, already going to unbutton Jayce’s collar. They fumble over it as Jayce keeps kissing him, clashing and biting until Jayce finally leans his head against the wall with a laugh, letting Viktor unbutton it. Jayce’s hair hangs lopsided as he watches Viktor fondly, his chest heaving with unsteady breaths.
Viktor tilts up to look at him. “What? Enjoying the view?”
“Yeah, actually,” Jayce admits breathlessly, cupping the back of Viktor’s neck. “And imagining other ways I could enjoy it.”
When Jayce is released from his shirt, he brackets Viktor’s face against the wall, using his other hand to lift his hip. He looks at Viktor intentionally, lingering just a few centimetres away, letting their breaths echo against each other in mutual desire. And when Jayce kisses him, he presses Viktor against the wall, lifting him up higher, until he has to wrap his arms around his neck, legs around his waist, for balance. Viktor’s fingers slide along Jayce’s jaw before pressing lightly against the juncture of his throat, feeling his pulse thrum beneath the surface. He preserves it between two fingers.
Jayce swallows thickly, whimpering a little into his mouth.
“Hm, interesting,” Viktor mutters. He trails his fingers deliberately over the column of Jayce’s neck, eliciting a shiver from his body. “I take it this is something you…enjoy?” He presses just a bit more firmly—and Jayce lets out another soft, helpless sound that Viktor swears he feels reverberate in his own chest.
“Yes,” Jayce chokes out. His grip tightens on Viktor’s hip, and when Viktor splays his palm so he can wrap his fingers thoroughly around his throat, Jayce makes a guttural sound. “Gods, yes.”
A glimmer of triumph lights Viktor’s features. “Fascinating,” he whispers, and Jayce melts at the praise. Viktor brushes his thumb over Jayce’s clean-shaven jaw, a gentle contrast to the pressure he applies, watching Jayce’s eyes flutter indulgently. “The great Jayce Talis,” he murmurs with teasing amusement, “so commanding, so assertive…yet you melt so easily under someone else’s hands. I wonder what your patronswould think,” he smirks. “How very contradictory.” Viktor kisses him slowly, whispering against his lips with perfect enunciation. “Extraordinary”
Jayce wheezes against Viktor’s firm hold, digging his thigh between them. “Maybe I just know whose hands I belong under,” he counters hoarsely, clad in sincerity.
Viktor blushes, sighing against the pressure now between his legs. He flexes his fingers experimentally, drawing another stuttered gasp from Jayce’s throat. “Intelligent answer,” he says, tilting his head as his lips graze the shell of Jayce’s ear. “But I would not expect anything less from you, Jayce.”
The praise is given casually but it slices straight through Jayce’s patience. He lifts Viktor off the wall, keeping him steady with one strong arm around his waist, the other supporting the back of his neck. He threads his fingers through Viktor’s hair, kissing him sweetly, deliberately slowing the pace. When they break for air, Jayce let’s their noses brush. “So…was all that jealousy in the banquet hall just to get me like this?”
Viktor’s blush deepens and he narrows his eyes, though the effect is ruined by the way his fingers tighten against Jayce’s neck. “I was not jealous,” he protests.
Jayce grins wider, kissing along his jaw. “Oh, you weren’t?” he teases, finding the sensitive spot beneath Viktor’s ear. “Because the way you stormed out said otherwise.”
Viktor clicks his teeth as he looks away, tipping his head back against Jayce’s hand as he tries to salvage his composure. “You should have seen yourself in there. Anyone would be intimidated with your surplus of…admirers.” Viktor wears his familiar impassive pout, though his cheeks burn fiercely. “Anyone would need air.”
Jayce hums. “All this,” he rubs Viktor’s hip, “over some pairs of eyes,” he kisses his jaw, “some offered smiles.”
“Suggestive touches,” Viktor adds, earning him a sheepish laugh.
“I didn’t know you were so…” Jayce leaves a lingering kiss on his lips, “possessive.”
Viktor narrows his eyes.
“I gotta admit it’s really doing it for me,” Jayce continues.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He sets Viktor down on the couch, hovering above him to undo his pants. “You’re hot when you’re jealous.”
“I cannot stand you sometimes.”
Jayce throws his head back to laugh. “I think you like me like this.” He straddles Viktor’s hips. “All yours.”
Viktor’s response is a low hum, eyes half-lidded as he tilts his head back against the couch. “All mine,” he echoes softly. He draws his hand over Jayce’s abdomen, thumbing his ribs. Jayce shivers. “You don’t need to be jealous, Vik,” he says, pressing a kiss to Viktor’s clothed thigh. “I only want you,” he sighs. “It’s always you.”
Viktor’s eyes widen slightly. He leans up on one elbow to curl his fingers into Jayce’s nape. “Okay, Jayce.” And Viktor believes him.
Jayce lowers his body, bringing a large hand over Viktor’s side. The warmth travels all through his skin and Viktor dissolves into the touch. Jayce lets his lips brush against his throat, nipping the delicate skin there, tracing faint kisses along the edge of his jaw, until he’s hoisting Viktor up from beneath his injured knee—
“Ahem.”
The sound cuts through the charged air like a hammer on glass. Jayce freezes, his lips hovering over Viktor’s neck, their breaths still mingling in a hot envelope of desire. Viktor’s eyes snap towards the noise, darting past Jayce’s shoulders to the small, unmistakable figure standing in the doorway.
Professor Heimerdinger, his tufted ears twitching and moustache bristling, adjusts his tiny spectacles, bathing the room in a sliver of light. He looks at them with a mix of curiosity and mild bewilderment, though it’s clear he’s trying to maintain his composure. “I do hope I’m not…interrupting,” he says.
Jayce turns his head slowly, his face a vivid shade of crimson. His knee is still between Viktor’s legs and they’re shirtless, hair exceedingly tangled from wandering fingers. There’s no reasonable explanation except for the obvious, but still—“Uh…Professor! We were just—uh—reviewing the, um…” Jayce flounders, gesturing vaguely at Viktor’s unstrapped brace. “…mechanical stability of Viktor’s prosthetic.”
“Indeed.” Heimerdinger’s keen gaze doesn’t even falter. “And does this particular examination require quite so much proximity? Or,” he adds, adjusting his spectacles again, “the removal of so many…garments?”
Viktor clears his throat, sitting up straighter. He covers his chest, if only to hide the blooming marks on his pale skin. His cheeks, too, flush a deep pink. “We were—discussing adjustments,” he supplies, his accent thickening slightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “The tension in the brace requires fine tuning.” Jayce puts a marginal amount of distance between them, so that they’re no longer straddling each other. He sits politely on the couch, like a child scorned.
“Ah, tension, yes.” Heimerdinger nods thoughtfully. “I came to inform you that a patron was interested in having a word. Your work has attracted considerable attention, and it would be a shame if you weren’t present to, shall we say, capitalise on the momentum.”
“Of course, Professor,” Viktor replies quickly. He sits up, working on his pants. “We will be ready shortly.”
“Excellent.” Heimerdinger claps his hands together. “I’ll leave you to…finalise your adjustments. But do try to keep things professional—there are children about.” With a final glance, he turns and shuffles out of the room, muttering something about the lab’s misuse.
The door closes softly behind him and the room goes dark again, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.
Jayce exhales, burying his face in Viktor’s chest. “I’m going to die,” he groans, his voice muffled. “Right here. Just let the universe take me.”
Viktor, despite himself, lets out a soft laugh. He strokes Jayce’s hair gently. “I imagine there are worse ways to be caught.” His tone is dry as usual but his lips reveal the opposite, twitching into a slight smirk.
Jayce peeks at him from where he’s sought refuge, a sheepish smile on his face. “Still. Next time, maybe…we really should use our apartment.”
Viktor gives him a faint, fleeting smile. His tone remains cool when he says—“I believe that would be wise.”