Work Text:
It was so late it had looped back around to being early.
Too early.
Jayce ran a hand over his face, sighing into the crisp morning air as he made for their lab.
Part of him hoped Viktor had made it home; he’d lost count of how many times he’d found Viktor curled up on a sofa or sprawled half over his desk, snoring softly. The man needed sleep more than most and had the irritating habit of avoiding the things that were good for him. And being drawn to things that were bad. Like Jayce. The Man of Progress. Viktor was incredible and Jayce knew that he should get more credit for their work. But in the deep dark shadows of his mind, he was glad the world didn’t know of the genius that was Viktor. Because then they’d want some. And Jayce didn’t enjoy sharing the things he wanted.
The other—less practical—part of Jayce hoped that Viktor was still up. Still tinkering away. He could already picture it. Viktor, Talis-red cravat loose around his throat, working on something with those long clever bone-white fingers. The fingers that Jayce couldn’t look away from. The ones he’d imagined touching his cheekbone. In his mouth. Wrapping around his—
Jayce cleared his throat and pushed open the door.
“Vik--?” He said, voice soft. Like he didn’t want to shatter the sanctity of the lab. Of their lab.
He tried not to feel empty when only silence replied.
It was a good thing Viktor wasn’t here.
For one, he couldn’t ask Jayce about the party he’d been held late at. Jayce hated how much he liked them. How much he enjoyed the looks and mutterings. How brightly they all thought he shone. The golden boy. If only they knew the things he wanted to do to his partner. They’d be clutching their pearls… or asking to watch, if Jayce had read Salo’s hungry eyes correctly.
And Jayce hated that Viktor knew how much he loved it. How much the praise of worthless councillors and investors meant. It was everything. Because it meant he could bring the money and grants and approval back here. Back to Viktor. Like a lion dragging home a carcass.
Vanity wasn’t something he was proud of. But pride was by far his greatest sin, nonetheless.
And Jayce couldn’t show Viktor his flaws. He wanted to be the golden boy in Viktor’s golden eyes. Because then he might finally finally be good enough.
“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice was gentle.
Jayce flinched at the sound anyway. Smile plastered to his boyish features and never reaching his eyes before he’d even turned.
“I thought you’d gone home,” Jayce said, too loud, as he spun to meet Viktor’s gaze.
But he never found his eyes.
Instead he felt his whole world narrow to the half inch of skin exposed by Viktor’s rumpled collar.
The cravat was gone.
The splash of Talis-blood missing from where it belonged.
But a kiss-red bruise had bloomed underneath.
Right over the mole on Viktor’s jugular.
“How was the party?” Viktor asked, resting a hip against the door frame. Pseudo-absentmindedly, he adjusted his collar. But whoever had marked him had been thorough. The very edge of purple could still be seen just peeking over the crisp black of his shirt.
Jayce flexed a hand, watching as Viktor’s eyes darted down to follow the motion. It felt stupid. To have to tell Viktor about the palms he’d greased, the deals he’d struck, all while Viktor was doing God knows what with God knows who. “Fine.”
Viktor pouted. Bottom lip jutted like Jayce was an equation that couldn’t quite be solved. Like Viktor had discovered an unknown variable and was plotting the best way to characterise it. “Fine?” His voice sounded hoarse. Or maybe Jayce was imagining it. Imagining Viktor’s throat well used and sore.
“I thought you’d gone home.” Jayce muttered. It wasn’t supposed to be an accusation. But he saw Viktor hear the indictment beneath his tone.
“There is still work to be done.” Viktor countered, readjusting his crouch carefully before crossing the cavernous space of their laboratory. He took a few extra steps to give Jayce a wide berth.
Jayce felt the rejection burn hotter than any forge could. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Viktor hesitated, head tilted, mere feet from his desk. “Why—yes. Of course.” His eyes were alight when he turned to glare at Jayce. Anger and something too close to hurt boiling under a cocked eyebrow. “What happened, Jayce?” It was too sweet with the whisper of gravel still clinging to Viktor’s accented words. Honey over a third-degree burn.
Jayce shook his head. Like a dog with water in its ears.
His gaze landed on Viktor’s desk, unwilling to meet his partners calculating eyes.
And there is was.
The stupid cravat.
The colours of House Talis that Jayce had first fastened around Viktor’s throat months ago.
The tie that Viktor had worn since.
There it lay.
Discarded.
Haphazardly strewn next to notes and scrawled runes.
“You should go home,” Viktor tried, lower lips pouted and twitching. Like he was chewing over each letter and measuring his tone carefully. It made the dismissiveness all the more scarring. “Get some rest.”
It was a dangerous mix. The Man of Progress faltering. Eyes still fixed to the damned strip of fabric. Part of him wanted to take it back. But the thought of Viktor no longer bearing his mark made bile rise in his throat.
If Viktor was without it—without him— how would anyone know that he was Jayce’s.
Maybe people would think Jayce left the mark. It would a lie but not an unwelcome one.
Jayce finally glanced at Viktor. “Do you want to be alone?” Jayce heard himself ask. Unable to say what he wanted to. Do you want me gone?
Viktor’s eye twitched. Another parameter clicking into place as he ran through the calculation that was ‘Jayce’. “What happened at the party, Jayce?”
You fucked someone else, Jayce wanted to scream. But Viktor had never actually been Jayce’s, had he? Jayce had tied a colour round his throat and never explained what it meant. He doubted Zaun had Houses in the same way. He’d tricked him into signing away his individuality so Jayce could lie to himself about what it meant.
“I don’t—” Jayce swallowed, throat clacking shut.
Viktor’s head tilted for a moment. Cold clinical calculations snapping into genuine concern. He took a careful step forward. “Jayce, do… do I need to be worried about something?”
“What? No… no.” Jayce shook his head, still stood in the centre of the lab.
He probably looked deranged, he realised.
Just standing there.
Standing and seething.
“Viktor, I—I’m sorry.” He smiled, more genuine if a little sad at the edges. “I…”
“Is it about… your apartment?” Viktor asked, carefully.
Jayce tilted his head, not unlike a puppy hearing the word ‘walkies’. “My apartment?”
“You know…” Viktor titled his forehead; Jayce just looked at him, bemused, before it clicked.
“No! Shit, Viktor. No, this isn’t… that.” Jayce rushed to soothe his partner, hands out in front of himself as he crossed the distance between them. “I didn’t think you thought about that,” it came out a touch too quiet. Like a confession instead of assertion.
Viktor’s lip curled, displeased and disappointed. “I think about it. How could I not?” The words crawled out of Viktor’s throat roughly.
Jayce had just enough time to feel the blow of them before Viktor reached up to rub his throat and Jayce’s eyes landed back on the cursed mark.
The air changed. The edge of frost clinging to Jayce’s ribs as a new—terrible—thought occurred to him. “You’re hurt.”
Viktor’s hand stilled as his wide eyes flittered about. Caught. “No…” he lied, dragging the words out and rolling it around his accent with a skilled tongue.
Boots clunked forwards and Jayce found himself closer, his worry moving him without his brain catching up. “Who?”
Viktor shook his head slightly, frown back on his pretty lips. Confusion melting into something softer as Jayce lifted a hand to carefully tug Viktor’s collar loose.
Pale soft skin was splashed with deep angry purple.
Deeper and darker than it had been when Viktor had been in the door frame.
Developing almost in front of Jayce’s eyes.
His finger bushed against the fire-hot pulse, coated in burgundy.
Viktor flinched, hissing through his teeth and averting his eyes.
Jayce Talis was a lot of things.
He was attractive.
Ambitious.
Polite.
At that moment, he was just angry.
“Who, Viktor?” Jayce repeated, ash and iron clogging his tone.
His fingers trembled against Viktor’s throat. He needed to know who did this. He didn’t care if Viktor had wanted it. The soon-to-be murder victim had been careless with something so precious. How could someone want to mark Viktor like this?
But Jayce had.
In his own way.
He’d wanted to coat Viktor in the blood of House Talis. To show Viktor the violent sort of love that burned in his veins for his partner.
He ran his thumb up the length of Viktor’s neck, following the long tempting tendon to the hinge of his jaw.
Jayce didn’t want to hurt Viktor. The thought turned his stomach. But he wanted to paint Viktor in blood all the same. He wanted to drop his own bleeding heart into his long tantalising divine fingers and let the iron it wept stain Viktor with the very essence of Jayce.
“I do not follow,” Viktor muttered, eyes hopeful but cautious. “Who… what?”
Jayce snarled, pushing Viktor back far too gently for the effort of it. Muscles twitching with rage and love and something much darker. “Who did this?”
“Oh,” Viktor’s cheeks pinked. A splash of red across his high sharp cheekbones.
Jayce wanted to lick them clean. To worship the soft blush and kiss each mole as more red bloomed. “Viktor, please.”
Please let me kill them.
Please let me be the only one living who knows you like this.
Please.
“It… there… I—” Viktor swallowed, throat bobbing against Jayce palm. “You will laugh.”
Jayce growled, hand not currently holding Viktor’s throat like a prize moved to rest on his waist. Just his forefinger and thumb brushing against the crisp cotton shirt and feeling the heat of Viktor beneath.
“Or maybe not,” Viktor corrected, clever eyes narrowed. Working through the problem that is Jayce. “Maybe I ask a question first and then I answer yours?”
“I don’t want to play a game, Viktor.” Jayce muttered, eyes dropping to watch Viktor’s lips curl into a soft smile.
“Humour me. Jayce.” Viktor rolled his name around his mouth like a red carpet of wonders. “Are you displeased by the fact that I have been injured?” Long thin fragile fingers rested on Jayce’s chest, over the hammer-strong thumping of his heart, before dragging painfully slowly down over the swell of nipple and bump of abs. They rested faux-innocently at the waistband of Jayce’s too tight trousers. “Or perhaps it is the fact that it was not you who left these marks that angers you?”
Jayce could barely breathe.
Could barely think.
So, he did the only thing he felt capable of doing.
He pressed forwards and claimed Viktor’s mouth.
Coffee and the edge of salted liquorice coloured his tongue until he found the hint of iron hiding beneath.
A hand slid into his hair and the other pulled him impossibly closer with a single finger crooked behind his belt buckle.
One of them whined, soft and feather light.
The noise was quickly swallowed as Jayce felt any iota of control he’d been pretending to have slither through his fingers.
Their teeth clacked once, twice, before Viktor yanked Jayce’s head back by his hair.
Their breath swirled together, the inch between them too much for Jayce to bear as he whimpered softly.
“Do not laugh,” Viktor muttered, lips kiss swollen and cherry red.
Jayce licked his lips and fire oozed into his gut when Viktor unabashedly dropped his eyes to follow the motion greedily. “Never.”
An eyebrow snapped into his hair line as Viktor met his gaze. “I hit myself with a spanner. Accidentally, of course.”
Jayce’s mouth dropped open. “You—? What?”
“The hexcore. It did not like my tinkering and, with the energy…” Viktor waved a hand in the air before sliding it up the back of Jayce’s shirt, following the contours of his muscles with chilled fingers. “It hurt quite badly. I had to go to the rest room, I thought I had drawn blood.” Viktor shrugged. “Then, when I returned, you were in the middle of the room looking like someone had hit a puppy.”
“Kicked,” Jayce corrected, absentmindedly. His brain crunching, molasses slow, through the realisation that Viktor hadn’t snuck off for a midnight rendezvous. That Viktor hadn’t let someone else suck Jayce’s House colours into his throat.
“Sorry?”
“Kicked a puppy,” Jayce blinked, lip curling into a smile. “The saying is—”
“Why would you kick a puppy?” Viktor asked, mouth twisted in confusion and irritation. But then he shook his head and the clouds seemed to clear. The warm golden sunlight of Viktor’s eyes returned and Jayce knew he looked kiss-drunk in the glow of them. “Regardless, I just… I did not want to do this if you thought someone else had...” Viktor frowned, searching for the right words. “’Gotten there first’.”
“I’d want you even if everyone on in Runeterra had touched you first.” Jayce whispered, hand sliding up over Viktor’s throat to gently cup his face. His thumb found the mole under Viktor’s eye, softly.
“Charming,” Viktor deadpanned. But then he pushed into Jayce’s hand and the heat of his words were lost to the fire in Jayce’s chest.
“I wouldn’t care,” Jayce insisted, eyes mapping out Viktor’s face. Counting his eyelashes and sweeping over the uneven lips of his lips. “As long as I could be the last.”
Viktor’s smile was brighter than he normally allowed himself. Surprised and pleased. “Jayce, I—”
Jayce didn’t know what Viktor was going to say next.
His lips moved entirely of their own volition as he pressed forwards and pulled Viktor’s waist against himself. Trying to fuse them together. To bully himself into Viktor’s rib cage and curl around his heart.
For the first time in his life, Viktor didn’t seem to mind being cut off. He just carefully drifted backward, pulling Jayce with him, until he could hop up onto his desk and settle Jayce between his thighs.
A soft gasp tumbled from Viktor when Jayce gently dragged sharp canines over the sensitive bruise-warmed skin of his neck. Peppering feather light kisses cover the pain in sweet love.
“Jayce, I—please,” Viktor purred, eyes heavy-lidded with need, as he dragged Jayce’s dress shirt up and over his head.
But Jayce didn’t really give a shit about taking his own clothes off. Not when he fisted his huge hands in Viktor’s own shirt and tore it open. Button’s flew in every direction, pinging off delicate instrumentation and disappearing behind filing cabinets.
Viktor’s mouth dropped open to chuckle or, more likely, to chastise. But the words turned to sweet cut off moans as Jayce sucked Viktor’s nipple into his mouth, pushing him backwards until his back was flat against the various schematics and notes covering his desk. Viktor just arched into the heat of his mouth, hands back in Jayce’s hair.
“Yes, Jayce. You are—you are so—” Viktor cut himself off by sinking his teeth into his abused lower lip.
But Jayce needed to hear it.
He craved it.
He mouthed at Viktor’s sternum, trying to chase his desperate words away. He couldn’t ruin this with his cursed pride. Not now. A small whimper dragged its way out of his throat, wounded and raw.
“Jayce?” Viktor whispered, cupping his jaw and drawing him closer.
Jayce tried to kiss him. To bury his pathetic need in the sweet heat of Viktor’s clever mouth.
But the hand in his hair tightened, holding him back.
Pain sparked across his scalp and Jayce felt his eyes unfocus as his dick twitched, drooling precum in his dress pants. He’d never get the stain out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Let the mark of his love for Viktor embellish him for everyone to see.
“Tell me.” Viktor commanded, words quiet but forceful.
“You were—I just—I thought you were going to say—” Jayce tried, desperate to give Viktor what he wanted while protecting his fragile ego from burning rejection.
“Oh, Jayce.” Viktor whispered, lips brushing against Jayce’s. “Did you want to hear how good you are? How perfect?”
Jayce’s hips twitched against air as his fingers flexed, crumpling paper under his greedy hands.
“Tell me, Jayce,” Viktor purred, using his free hand to cup the hot hard length of Jayce as his other hand kept his deliciously painful grip of Jayce’s hair. “Aren’t you sick of hearing about how brilliant the Man of Progress is?”
It was cruel.
And so perfectly Viktor that Jayce felt his cock jump in Viktor’s hand even as he jerked his head to the side. His eye’s unfocused, tears welling in humiliation.
“Ah,” Viktor cooed, moving to undo Jayce’s fly and slid his hand into his pants. “No, you are not The Man of Progress here. You are not Jayce of House Talis.”
Jayce whimpered, hands gripping Viktor tightly.
“Shush, Jayce,” Viktor whispered, gently, as he stroked Jayce—too slowly to do much except drive him to distraction. “No, you are just Jayce here. Just sweet, clever, pretty Jayce.”
His cheeks burned as he whined; the praise almost too heavy to bare. But Viktor just chuckled darkly as precum spluttered over his fist.
“So good for me,” Viktor continued, completely aware of what he was doing to Jayce. “So perfect. You… you are everything, Jayce. My Jayce.”
Jayce reared back, stumbling around the trousers pooled haphazardly around his knees. He hunched over, grabbing the base of his dick roughly as tried to fight off the crest of pleasure building deep in his soul.
“Shit, Jayce, I—” Viktor shot to sitting, panic and worry heavy in his accent. “I—” he grunted, pained, as he tried to stand—tried to go to Jayce.
“Don’t,” Jayce manage to growl, voice ruined.
Viktor froze, lower lip clamped between his teeth.
It took a few long silent minutes before Jayce felt his orgasm retreat enough to level out his breathing. “Fuck.”
“Jayce?” Viktor asked, softly. Almost nervously.
Jayce’s head snapped up. “I was gonna… you know. Sorry, I just…” Jayce moved back between Viktor’s legs easily.
Now that he knew he was allowed, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.
“You- I hadn’t even—I just—” Jayce tried to voice what he meant.
He hadn’t touched Viktor yet.
Hadn’t made him feel good.
Hadn’t tasted the salt of him on his tongue.
He—
“You were not good enough yet,” Viktor muttered, finishing Jayce’s thought and flaying it alive in front of him.
Jayce swallowed. It sounded stupid out loud. Or weird. Definitely weird. Viktor probably thought it was weird. Oh fuck, he was ruining this. He was getting his weird all over everything again and it was—
“What did I do to deserve such...?” Viktor muttered, awed, as he cupped Jayce’s jaw and held him so sweetly.
“Hassle?” Jayce finished, failure still acrid in his stomach.
“Perfection,” Viktor corrected before pulling Jayce down and sealing his words into his mouth.
Jayce whined, high and tight, as he pulled away. “Please, Viktor, let me? Let me touch you?”
Viktor smiled, one of his wide toothy cloyingly genuine grins. “Who could say no to this face?”
Jayce sighed, softly, dropping his forehead to rest on Viktor’s sternum for a moment. Just to feel the rise and fall of it. To feel the soft careful fingers in his hair. To let the love threatening to drown him settle back into the cage of his ribs.
His hands didn’t shake when he unzipped Viktor’s trousers but it was a near thing. He could feel that part of his brain urging him to not fuck up.
Viktor deserved the best.
Perfection.
He deserved—
“Jayce,” Viktor sighed, when Jayce finally wrapped a fist around his cock.
It was thicker than Jayce had imagined. Heavy and flushed a sweet blossom pink in Jayce’s tanned fist. He wanted to feel it inside of him. To feel the burn as Jayce took him. And he’d take him well.
A finger brushed a loose curl off Jayce’s forehead. “You are so sweet, Jayce. So sweet for me, yes?”
Jayce didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Viktor knew the answer anyway. Knew Jayce.
Instead, he kissed the mole barely visible through the thick brown curls at the base of Viktor’s cock before licking a hot line up the underside and swallowing him down in one motion.
His head bumped the back of Jayce’s throat and he had to force himself not to choke. He could feel his throat flutter as Viktor cursed in a language Jayce had never learned. The hands were back in his hair, holding him tightly but not holding him down.
“Jayce, I—” Viktor sighed, voice ruined for the second time that night.
At his name, Jayce looked up. Would always look up if Viktor was the one saying it.
“You are so pretty like this,” Viktor muttered, almost to himself. “So…” A thumb traced the hollow of Jayce’s cheek tenderly and Jayce felt his own cock, heavy and hot, twitch between his legs. “—perfect.”
Jayce moaned, precum splashing onto the floor when Viktor’s cock jumped on his tongue.
“Jayce,” Viktor gasped, back arching as Jayce finally moved.
It wasn’t that Jayce had sucked a lot of dick in his life.
He’d tried it a couple times in his student days but the guys had always been too rough. Using him and leaving him untouched.
He’d eaten women out more; sometimes not even for his own pleasure. He’d leave them blissed and sex-drunk and satisfied.
Nothing could compare to this.
To the feel of Viktor filling his throat.
To the taste of Viktor on his tongue.
To Viktor.
He was still talking. Still moaning and purring and gasping sweet honeyed praise. But Jayce couldn’t hear it any more. Could only sweep a huge hand over Viktor’s chest and up to his throat. To touch the wine rich colour high on his throat. To whimper when Viktor took his hand and kissed each of his knuckles, sealing sweet worship into each scarred bone.
His other hand held Viktor’s thigh, just above his knee, to bear the weight of the limb. To soothe any tension or discomfort.
Viktor knew. Of course he did. But he just looked so grateful. So proud of Jayce.
Because Jayce was doing a good job.
Jayce was perfect for Viktor.
“Jayce, please—” Viktor gasped, hand turned painful in his hair as Jayce felt himself dragged up the length of Viktor’s body. “Kiss me, I—I am so—close.”
Jayce was just about to follow his order when his eyes caught on something. And he hesitated.
“Jayce, I—” Viktor whispered, eyes blurred with need and body trembling with pleasure.
He acted without even thinking, pushing the humiliation to the side.
He needed this.
It was—
It was so important.
Jayce snagged the cravat off the table and met Viktor’s eyes. “Please, Vik—”
“Fuck,” Viktor moaned, stomach clenching at the sight. Like he understood. Like he’d always fucking understood. Like he’d known what it meant when Jayce tied that stupid scrap of Talis-red around his throat and he’d just been waiting for Jayce to acknowledge it. “Please, Jayce.”
He crashed their mouths together, teeth clacking and gasping into each other, as he wrapped his fist around both of their cocks; fabric caught between them.
“Jayce, I am—” Viktor panted, forehead resting against Jayce’s as he writhed under his hands.
“Come for me, Viktor. If—” Jayce ground his teeth together, molars squeaking.
A hand cupped his jaw as lips brushed against his. “Say it, Jayce. I will always listen if you just say it.”
“If I’ve been good enough—” Jayce rasped, throat dry as his toes curled. “—then please. Please, Viktor. Come with me.”
Viktor’s back arched and Jayce found the bruise on his jugular easily, dragging his tongue over the abused skin and leaving cool soothing strips in his wake.
“So good, Jayce. You have been more than good enough,” Viktor managed to gasp before painting the wine-red cravat with strips of thick divine white.
He didn’t know what it was.
The praise.
Or the sight of the cravat soiled with their love.
Or maybe it was just Viktor.
Whichever, Jayce had one moment of crystal-clear clarity.
One moment to finally see the depth and entirety of his love for Viktor.
And then he was swallowed by pure burning white-hot pleasure.
He didn’t know how long he floated.
Drifting in the endless infinity.
But slowly, he began to feel his skin settle back around his soul.
Hands gently stroked his hair, soft and careful.
Viktor’s accented voice soothing against the pulse his ears. Sweet words he couldn’t understand.
“Vik—Viktor?” Jayce whispered, voice hoarse and fragile.
His breathing hitched and only then did he realise that he’d started crying.
“There you are.” Viktor purred, smugly. “I thought perhaps I had lost you.”
Jayce hiccupped and tried to wipe his eyes discreetly.
A hand snapped out to grab his wrist, mere inches from his face. “I… I would not do that if I were you.”
Jayce sniffed, wincing when it sounded thick and snotty. No hiding his tears now.
“You do not need to be embarrassed,” Viktor hummed as the hand in his hair moved to tilt his chin up with a single gentle finger. “I am quite proud that I made the great Man of Progress cry with my sexual prowess.” Viktor gave him a wide toothy grin and Jayce winced. “Ah, apologies. The Man of Progress is not here. But you…” Viktor leant down to kiss Jayce’s nose. “I like you much more than any Man of Progress.”
Jayce blushed, ducking his head.
“Jayce.” Viktor snapped, urgent but not unkind. It was enough to make Jayce freeze. “I was serious. Do not wipe your eyes with your hand. I think it would hurt to get… uh… that in your eye, no?”
Jayce glanced at his hand, mouth-watering when he saw both of their cum still coating his palm.
He didn’t have time to second guess his decision before he pulled his hand—Viktor’s fingers still wrapped around his wrist— to his mouth and licked the salt off in long slow motions.
Viktor’s softening cock gave one last valiant twitch and Jayce met his eyes again with a snuffled half-sob and a smug grin.
“You are so good.” Viktor muttered, gently running a finger over Jayce’s sweat-beaded brow.
Jayce dropped his eyes, wincing slightly. “You—uh—you don’t have to—”
“Do not tell me what to do,” Viktor snapped, silencing Jayce even as he fought back a bashful smile. “You are good and sweet and mine and it is not for you to decide when I can remind you of that.”
“Yours?” Jayce whispered, eyes wide.
It was almost sweet when Viktor froze. “Was that not… did I misinterpret--?”
“No! No.” Jayce barked, rising up to hover over Viktor. He chewed his lip for a moment before finally speaking. “I want to be.” Jayce said, the edge of possessiveness creeping along his words. “Yours and… and no one else’s.”
“Good,” Viktor nodded, like that settled it.
And Jayce supposed it did.
“Oh, and Jayce?” Viktor said, pulling Jayce back against his chest and stroking his hair sweetly.
“Yeah, Viktor?”
“I will be needing a new cravat.” Viktor said, poking the ruined fabric with a long pale finger before pushing the digit back into Jayce’s mouth for him to suckle clean.
“Or... you could—”
“I’m not wearing it now!” Viktor chastised, a disgusted look hiding a far too fond smirk underneath.
“I could wash it.” Jayce pouted, snuggling closer to Viktor’s slender body and holding him tight.
“Wash it?! It needs burning.” Viktor muttered, tone tired but satiated.
“Viktor?”
“Yes, Jayce.”
“I love you. Just in case it wasn’t—”
“I love you too, Jayce. But I’m still not wearing it.”