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As with all things, the excuses started out with a meaningless simplicity; predestined, as they often are, to stack atop each other inelegantly until the initial reasons and justifications are twisted and subsumed into each other under the weight of the glaring truth of the matter. That truth one was originally obfuscating with all of the excuses in the hopes of it never coming to light, but, well, these things tend to have a mind of their own. Secrets have no desire to stay secrets, as it were.
So it began when they assumed their new duties and were given the spaces and rooms and assistants needed to further their research. The interest in Hextech from investors pressuring council members makes grants and supplies and requests easier to secure than ever as a student and Viktor is certain this will be a difficult luxury to settle into for a long time to come. Perhaps for more reasons than the above listed, but that is besides the fact.
At any rate, Jayce is delighted at the forge made to his specifications, already brimming with new ideas and avenues when they were assured it was his and his alone.
“Ours.” He corrected the woman showing them around, proving always eager to include Viktor in things he needn’t be included in, basking in the same honeymoon excitement of their new partnership.
“It’ll be all yours, I’m afraid.” Viktor told, patting his shoulder as they followed their guide out. “Smithing is a little out of my range. Never had the hands for it.” He adds with a wry smile when Jayce tenses.
The man laughs gratefully, and Viktor was happy to leave the manual labor and the forge to him. His services and talents are better served elsewhere, and it's easy to forget the thing exists until Jayce disappears to there for hours on end the first time. Viktor shrugs that off, enjoying the rare moment of alone time in the labs and leaving it at that.
It's not his place, after all.
He doesn’t go there for months, honestly, stuck toiling away on other things, but then the first of the excuses come up as Jayce leaves more and more to begin crafting prototypes and Viktor learns that the distance between the lab and the forge is rather cumbersome when questions and holes in equations crop up. It would be easier to wait around for Jayce to come back, or perhaps for tomorrow but clarification is needed and besides:
He hates waiting when a simple walk can solve his problem.
There wasn’t much more thought to it, hobbling down halls and stairs, past students and assistants, to the forge. He has no expectations, no concerns, nothing to worry over what he may find when he arrives and with good reason. They are working, a goal to strive towards, presentations to make, investors and the council to impress as their funding, while vast and seemingly infinite, is always a single wrong move from vanishing.
As he rounds the corner, enters the room, whatever queries he had lined up after the initial call of Jayce’s name asphyxiate in his throat. Unsung expectations shattering as Jayce looks up, surprise at Viktor’s appearance obscured by the cloud of steam pouring out of the water trough. A surprise that, no doubt, has little to do with Viktor’s own.
It’s not as though he is a prude of any sort but one would have to imagine Jayce’s personal choices in smithing attire to be more protective, precautious. Reality, of course, does not match up with this, the vapor cooling and collecting in the open air and settling on Jayce’s bare chest and abdomen in a mockery of anything Viktor may have understood to be about professionalism.
“Hey,” Jayce pulls the strip of metal from the water, the condensation and sweat on his skin running rivulets down that Viktor finds himself struggling not to follow. “Need something?”
It's the heat he blames when he admits he’d forgotten momentarily. Jayce tells him he’ll get used to it with a laugh, and Viktor wonders what exactly he means.
Late at night is when it weighs on him, staring at the ceiling, dawn closer than dusk. There’s a tension to him, buried in his stomach, one hand above his head, the other obvious in its placement on the juncture of his hip and thigh. His fingers taps out a frantic staccato rhythm on the bedding, a twitch beginning under his eye with every thunk of the second hand of the clock on his desk.
There’s always been a certain amount of sexlessness he’s viewed Jayce with, had to, up until this point. He’s an undeniably attractive man, an unfortunate fact for someone with a capacity to get distracted by such things. They have deadlines to meet, progress to make, lives to change, and maybe that’s an excuse as to why he’s placed Jayce into such a category where he can be within his presence and focus on responsibility and discovery without getting lost in alluring eyes and pretty lips and a friendly touch a little too easily given.
It's a difficult illusion to maintain as his palm moves to the front of his sleep pants, thumb shifting over the beginnings of interest already found there. A difficult version of Jayce to uphold in his mind’s eye when he knows what he looks like flushed, shining in sweat, and worn from exertion as his bare chest heaves from physical effort. A difficult level of professionalism to keep when he wraps his hands around himself, wondering over all the ways that fit form would feel under his touch and his mouth in as great of detail as to make looking Jayce in the eye tomorrow an even more difficult task.
But that’s the first excuse: maintaining a sense of professionalism. Not letting anyone figure him out. He has questions, need to fill in gaps in Jayce’s notes and iron out a vagueness in the details, and if his partner is in the forge when these crop up, then it would be suspicious to not seek him out.
“Got something else?” Jayce asks warmly, resuming his hammering, defined chest shivering from his actions.
That second time, Viktor is quick with the questions, so as to not linger or, at least, to not tempt it, there and gone again, only the barest of pink heating his ears when he leaves once more. The picture of propriety. And if the next time he visits, gaze darting often to the cut of Jayce’s hips as he leans on his cane and one minute turns into two then three then fifteen, well…
There was a lot to ask on that third occasion.
A chair, one rickety and old, but a chair nonetheless appears after the fourth time when a quick supposition turned into a 30 minute discussion. It’s placement is kind, not far from the door, but within view and speaking distance of the forge. Neither mention it when Viktor takes a seat on the fifth visitation.
Nor when he doesn’t leave it for another hour.
Of course, it isn’t always frustration or questions that brings him, but often times inspiration. It’s just easier to be in the forge then if Jayce has chosen to be there, both working on the same yet disparate things, bouncing ideas and conclusions and hypotheses off one another. It's for efficiency, really; two birds one stone and all of that.
The fact of Jayce's poor attire choices are a moot point when things are needing to be done.
It isn’t as though Viktor is doing anything but looking, now is he? A bit of titillation when Jayce wipes the sweat from his neck, a bit of appraisal when he turns his back to Viktor, a bit of quiet enjoyment at the state of him backlit in fiery orange that wavers and glints in his eyes harms no one. It’s not like that is why Viktor is down here anyways, arguing animatedly, his personal pleasures a background footnote if anything else.
And Jayce has yet to say a thing about his presence, a fact not unseen every time Viktor drops by. He is always greeted, whether verbally or merely with a nod. Welcomed with his excuses and his conversations, wit matching with wit, his visual appreciation unknown and uncared for, as far as he can tell.
So what's the harm in his lingering, anyways?
There are moments still when he’s down there and no questions or conversing needs to be done, having brought notes to scratch and ponder over as not a word is passed between the two of them. But that has it’s excuses as well, ones he would supply should Jayce ever request them. He never does, but they are always available on the off chance.
It’s a quiet space with just the two of them, no assistants or students or anyone chattering or bothering, and no nosy superiors observing from the doorway. The steady rhythm of the hammer shaping heated metal is meditative as Viktor thinks, and even in silence, there is companionship to be found. A shared non-conversation as they mutter and murmur to themselves, understanding that these expressed thoughts are just that, needing no answer from the other party, left to fade into the noise of work.
And if Viktor looks up from his notes, from his papers, from his diagrams to the long line of his companion’s bare back, shoulders rippling as he strikes the metal once more, sweating trailing down irregular lines along his spine to his trim waist, well…
Not much else to look at in the room, is there? The motion of his smithing draws attention, as it were and who is Viktor other than someone capable of being drawn in?
Then there are the moments, truth be told, where there is no work to be done, a stagnation in their tests, Viktor waiting for Jayce to finish the next prototype to begin again. Still he finds himself in the forge, a book in hand, maybe even nothing, sitting in that rickety chair.
One must remember though, when the temperatures begin to drop and Viktor finds himself in the forge for little to no discernible reason as he pretends to read, that the place is warm. Dry. A balm to the aching muscles in his leg after a long day. He can stretch it out, relax even if the choice in seating is something to be desired. But hips being sore from a barebone wooden chair stolen from some classroom is a small price to pay for the heat.
And even smaller still for the show he gets, covertly and eagerly watching Jayce shapes parts and pieces, his craftsmanship a simple joy to observe. The fact that there is well-formed musculature moving and shifting under tantalizing skin, inviting just one brave touch to satisfy a curiosity, attached to those masterful actions is just par for the course. And after, once alone in his room, if his nighttime imaginings grow more intimate, more indulgent, working himself to tasteless depictions of Jayce beneath him begging and wanting, well…
Masturbatory habits never hurt anyone so long as they stay right where they are, in private from whom it may concern. Jayce needn't know what he's thinking or what he's getting off to, just as Viktor has no intention of understanding the reverse outside of fantasy and the solitude of his own room.
In the end, it is the comfort he settles into that betrays him.
Months into this partnership, winter in full outside, the stress of finishing a small scale version of their latest invention for an upcoming presentation, Viktor is once more in that chair notebooks and pencil forgotten in his lap. Before him, Jayce complains at length over another event Mel had roped him into attending in a few weeks time, his back to Viktor. His trousers are old, worn, sitting too low on his hips to be decent yet hugging the swell of his ass all the same, a feature Viktor has no capacity to remove his eyes from.
There is a faint hiss as molted metal is poured into a mold, and Viktor swallows, a little too hot today even with the fire of the forge nearby. One hand is clutching the notebook against his thigh as barest responses to Jayce's continued protests of social gatherings and schmoozing eager rich parties fall from his mouth. The other...
“Did you want to come with?” Jayce turns his way swiftly, hopeful expression in place as it always is when he asks this question. “Might be a bit more enjoyable with you around.”
A wrinkle form in Jayce's strong brow, and with a jolt Viktor realizes just how high up his own thigh his free hand had been. It is shameful how Viktor pulls his hand away, guilt filling him and cooling the flush that had nothing to do with the heat of the forge. He crosses his legs, placing the notebook over an arousal he'd been too distracted to notice with all the subtlety of the Hextech crystals malfunctioning.
"I'll defer to your more engaging social skills." Viktor tells him, smile hopefully pleasant and natural as his insides curdle and rot.
Jayce stares for a moment more, frozen in place as if sculpted from the very ground save for his eyes that dart up and down over Viktor sitting before him. It does not last, his forehead relaxing as his mouth purses in a faux irritation, running the gambit of a script they've gone over time and time again. He waves Viktor off, turning away once.
"One of these days, I'm sending you instead of me." He picks up his tongs, shifting his shoulders as he resumes his work and Viktor closes his eyes, breathing out once more. "And I'll stay behind in the labs while you explain to every fat cat in Piltover why what we're doing is worth all this money."
"I believe that would be for the worst." Viktor supplies weakly, letting his head fall back against the wall with a soft thunk, willing the blood still pounding away between his legs to leave so he can make a quick escape.
For a few days, it would seem Jayce has come to some other meaningless incorrect conclusion as not a word nor angry condemnation is spewed Viktor's way. For a precious, scant amount of time, he can believe his secret is safe, this interest and this habit having gone far beyond what he'd originally intended yet still wholly kept hidden. He wasn't as obvious as he thought and, with some more care on his part, he can continue these visitations as Jayce remains ignorant to his leering.
Or at least, that's what he tells himself the next time he finds himself in the forge.
Jayce has been tense since he took his usual seat, but it's a tension that's been abound in the lab all day as Heimerdinger had been stalking about the halls to see what they've been up to. Viktor has a reason to be here today, an actual good excuse as he'd gone over the equations and found something not quite right. A potentiality for disaster that needed solving, thus he found himself heading to seek out his absent partner.
“Though I question the efficacy of this particular model," Viktor mutters uninterrupted, Jayce saying nothing, barely even moving as the delicate pieces he'd shaping cooled against the anvil. "Given the results from the last tests-”
“Viktor.” Abrupt is his name spoken, though it takes a moment to register.
“But I- yes?” Viktor asks, glancing up from his notes, balking as he sees Jayce's brow furrowed once more. He catches Viktor's eye and the annoyance at being interrupted fades with the red of the metal near Jayce's hand.
“Why…are you here?” It's asked so distantly, meekly, as though he loathe to do so, and that should have been enough to set off an alarm, to put Viktor on edge but...
Maybe its the stress of the day. Maybe it's his own thoughts whirring unceasingly, but he cannot fathom why Jayce would ask this. Viktor rolls his eyes, lifts the generously stuffed notebook, frowning as unease settles deep within him.
“Thought that was obvious, considering I was in the middle of explaining-” Jayce puts a hand up to pause him, facing him fully.
“No, not that. I’m aware of…" He crosses an arm over his chest, pulling at his shoulder absently, staring somewhere near Viktor's shoes. "You’re always spending a lot of time here while I’m working, even when we don't need to discuss anything.” He rubs the back of his neck, fixing Viktor with what should have been a kind grin but it burns through what remains of his ignorance. “Seems kind of far to walk just to get some alone time.”
The excuses leave him as Jayce waits and waits for an answer. He had so many, multitudinous and vast and specific. Any number would be enough, he’s certain, but they flee him under scrutiny.
But how can he lie when he's been caught red-handed? What excuse could he say when they both know the truth?
“My apologies.” Viktor starts to stand, gathering the notes close to his chest and readying the cane. “I over-stayed my welcome here, clearly.”
A touch to his shoulder stalls him, though it quickly recoils, Jayce having crossed the room unnoticed in his hurry. His hand drops to his side, taking a step back to give a frozen Viktor more room that initially allotted.
“No, no, it’s fine." Jayce assures, but the pleasant facade has fallen, expression open in worry. "I didn't-"
“I really should be going." Viktor inches around him, the heat of the forge thick and incapable of being taken into starving lungs. "Lost track of time."
He takes as long of strides as he can to the door, and Jayce does not stop him, left near the chair and hands balled into fists at his side.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He calls after Viktor, who gives a meaningless gesture of affirmation, refusing to look back.
He stays away. That was too close. Too much. The invasiveness of his habit now glaringly obvious from where he’d been ignoring it, excusing it, those obfuscations now dust under that chair.
Viktor let it get too far; Jayce no doubt unappreciative of his appreciative eye. He’s never given much indication for an interest in anything other than the fairer sex, his perusal of social gatherings usually ending with a woman on his arm if the twittering of the students and assistants can be believed. The idea of his professional partner leering at him tactlessly as he worked must leave a sour taste in his mouth.
Their interactions can stay in the labs and in the research halls, at the chalkboards and the workbenches. Viktor’s questions and concerns and clarifications are now noted and brought up the following morning, any pressing matters allowed to wait till sun once more arises. When Jayce returns to the lab with bags under his eyes and clothes in disarray.
“Why did you wait to ask?” There is humor to his tone, but it rings hollow, a wrinkle in his forehead and an angle to his lips speaking in frustration his words don’t allow. Viktor shrugs, erasing symbols from the blackboard with his dusty thumb, careful to keep his eyes on his work.
“Slipped my mind.” He lies, a week passed with his visitations to the forge absent.
Another excuse, another pile begun though this time Jayce would be complicit in allowing its construction as he lets that go too, questioning it no further. He instead addresses Viktor's query, stepping next to Viktor and the chalk does it’s best to greet the floor at their feet when a hand finds itself lightly on Viktor’s spine, it’s owner settling all too close by as their discussion continues.
Paradoxical is the rift that has brewed in that week and the one that follows. Jayce is on edge, quieter than usual, distracted, and Viktor fears that it is indeed his lecherous gaze bringing this around. Could not blame him if it was as he could not imagine having to play so nice for the sake of progress with an unwanted person who stares in clear lust.
Yet at the same time, Jayce finds reasons to touch him. A tap to his lower back, an arm around his shoulders, arms brushing as he stands just a bit closer than he had before.
At first, Viktor chalked it up to imagination, more excuses for erratic behavior. Trouble with his mother. A broken heart from a secret relationship. A need for companionship given his already hands on approach to their friendship.
A mockery of Viktor’s own clear interest. He’d deserve that, would take it in stride with his usual snark. But, after two weeks absent in his visitations, when Jayce sits on his desk as they discuss matters and takes Viktor’s hand between his without much prompt or warning, well…
“Might need to get some lotion for you.” He comments with a laugh, the dry air of the colder months and the chalk leaving his knuckles cracked and the space between fingers rough. His thumb is gentle as it smooths over the angry red, eyelashes annoyingly evocative as he observes the fingers in his.
There’s not much excuse for it.
“I have plenty, thank you.” Viktor assures, drawing his hand back a little too swiftly, dangerously close to foolishness when a little gathering of hair falls in his partner’s face.
The playful expression sours and Viktor changes the subject to something more prescient than his dry hands. Jayce doesn’t say much else, responses curt and short before leaving for his room not long after, the next social gathering needing prepared for. It hurts, shockingly, when Viktor notices the usual last ditch plea to get him to attend was absent in his escape.
The scratching of his pen stops, staring at the mess of his notes and equations and diagrams that have found themselves in a language he can no longer read, their lines and letters and runes roaming along the page, evading his scrutiny. They'll have to talk eventually, this chasm between them capable of growing wider and wider, ruining the good will and friendship if left to fester and what good would that do for anyone? He can only run for so long, the need for apology and groveling and a prayer for a better, more professional future fast approaching if ties are to avoid being severed but unfortunately-
It isn't exactly his strong suit to admit he's gone too far.
Viktor closes the notebook with a distracted noise, guttural in his throat, giving up for the evening and intent on spending it in his room with a book and strongly worded conversation with himself. Might prove more productive than this.
Hours eek by in his solitude and the knock on the door to his room is heavy and irregular, cutting through the silence of the night. The man behind it smells of spirits and his middlingly expensive cologne, fine blue shirt untucked and the top few buttons unfortunately parted. In many ways, he is a mess, and in many more, Viktor should wave him off, make him stumble the few feet to his room, and allow Viktor to resume his quiet lonely evening.
“Thanks.” Jayce mutters breathily as he brushes past into the bedroom, Viktor closing the door behind him.
He flops down into the armchair in the corner with a groan, half laying in it and rubbing his temples as he does. It’s hard not to miss the flush to his cheeks, the bit of lipstick on the corner of his lips as Viktor grabs the book off the arm of the chair near Jayce’s elbow. His hair is in a playful disarray, someone’s hands having been in it and it is visceral how much Viktor would like to cover their tracks with his own.
“No luck tonight?” He muses, expression no doubt placid even as his thumb insinuates itself deeply into the space between dry pages, palm sweaty against the spine.
Viktor takes a seat on the edge of his bed as Jayce grunts, arm over his eyes. He’s slept there before, late night conversations and a shared incapacity to let an idea go, making them familiar with each other’s spaces, but that friendly intrusiveness seems so far away tonight. Jayce has never been here drunk after a passing acknowledgement of his partner’s wandering eye, as it were and it adds to a tension that threatens to shatter Viktor’s cool facade.
“Been a bit distracted.” Jayce says it as though he’s been exhausted by it, the words sighed out as he adjusts the edge of his shirt with his free hand, covering the scant amount of his bare hip that had been on display.
Not that Viktor had been eyeing it as he turns an unread page. He's made that promise to himself. Motion attracts attention; simplest of explanations.
“Between the next progress report, Heimerdiner around every corner, and the Council breathing down our necks, I can’t imagine what would be so distracting.” He glances up from his lap, placation and amusement covering the fear brimming under the surface. “Must be cumbersome if it’s keeping you from pleasant company tonight.”
Jayce’s arm drops, fixing Viktor with a stare that goes straight to his core, brow knitted, almost angry. It’s difficult to find a place he’s supposed to look, between the intensity of his glare, a growing pout to his lips, and the inseam of his tragically tight pants, tracing a line making an avenue for greed to follow between his spread legs. Viktor settles for the garbled string of letters on the pages in his lap, fingers worrying the corner of the paper.
There’s a certain mystique to mysteries, to secrets. The prodding, the poking, the unraveling, the road to understanding is more than intoxicating that the answer could ever be, but with every strand of his musculature drawn taut enough to snap as Jayce stares and stares and stares-
“Why are you here, Jayce?”
This is a mystery he’d rather like the answer to.
As if pulled by a string, Jayce stands without a word, crossing the room in two short steps and the book in Viktor’s lap snaps shut. Beside him, the bed dips as Jayce settles there, the indecision, the frustration now gone. In its place is an easy smile, something too forward to be friendly as he leans on one hand placed surreptitiously by Viktor’s hip.
“You don’t visit me anymore.” There's fingers playing in his lapel, and as Viktor’s neck creaks for how fast he turns his head, he is greeted with the startling realization of how close Jayce has placed himself.
“Funny, thought I see you every day.” Viktor supplies dryly, slowly, to mask the way the book shakes as he puts it to the side. Jayce huffs, staring at Viktor’s neck.
“You know what I mean.” He says in a sigh, as if that in of itself is a secret, mouth left wet as his tongue curls over his bottom lip and that is a detail noticed Viktor cannot excuse like the rest. “Don’t play stupid, Viktor. It doesn’t look good on you.”
Viktor’s mouth snaps shut at that, turning his head away, the immediate desire to ask what exactly looks good on him drying up. Fingers smooth out his collar, minute muscles flinching when they whisper against his neck. It puts him on edge, hands folded tightly over each other in his lap, frozen in place.
He should move. Stand up. Tell Jayce to leave, this closeness, this friendliness dangerous as it is intoxicating as the man currently beside him. They can talk in the morning. It'd be better that way, even.
“Didn’t mean to scare you off.” Jayce mumbles, cheek resting on Victor’s shoulder. His hand drops from Viktor’s collar to just above his knee where it brands his skin under the rough fabric of his pants. “Like having you around when I work.”
Is this the point? Finally broach the rift in every interaction since his last encroachment on the forge? Did he find himself rejected yet brave enough from his drink to come here to weasel the truth from Viktor?
“I- I assumed I was making you uncomfortable.” There’s a squeeze to his leg, unfortunately pleasant as thoughts race between wanting Jayce away and actually where he is now. “Sitting there. Watching.”
Admitting it, voicing it aloud, is monumental yet the silence that follows is just as weighted. When Jayce picks his head up, there is the full expectation he will leave the room, whatever confession he wanted laid bare between them and perhaps all Viktor can hope for is salvation in his continued avoidance of the forge.
The hand on his thigh comes back up, this time fingers delicately on his chin but this is nothing when compared to the mouth burning at his ear.
“I don’t mind if you watch.” It rings in his ears as breath catches in his throat, excuses and expectations wiped from his head and leaving nothing but static as Jayce leans back.
All he can do is move with the barest of pressure at his chin, maneuvered with the greatest of ease. Jayce kisses him like one approaches a feral scared animal, too sudden a movement or too bold a touch would frighten him away. It’s a sentiment he can appreciate for all of a millisecond before the reality of the situation slams into him and the soft brush of lips against his own could never be enough.
Jayce’s hair is pleasant under his fingers as they find their way into it, mouth moving against his in acquiescence and it is as though a switch has been flipped by the reaction. A muffled sound rings out from his throat, that tentative exploration gone in the wake of a grip to the back of Viktor’s neck, pulling him closer hard enough for him to crash into Jayce. The book at his side clatters to the floor, though Viktor could not find it in him to care less.
It’s desperate, his kiss, his touch, Jayce barely letting Viktor get a breath in as the hand not holding him close palms his side, his chest, his hip. They should stop, Viktor should clarify what is happening, but clarity is difficult to ask for when there’s a tongue in his mouth. Even when they break, even when Jayce pushes him back to his bed, it's a fight to muster up anything that could make him stop.
“W-wait!” Viktor gasps despite himself, arms sluggish to push himself up as Jayce clambers atop him. He's going at his fine shirt with a single-minded determination, one Viktor has seen in their working hours time and time again and one that is no less capable of sending fire through him here. “We- you’ve been d-”
“Not that drunk.” Is Jayce's adamant response, the last of the buttons undone. He grabs Viktor’s hand from the bed, placing it on his bare chest, eyelids fluttering and teeth biting into his lower lip when fingers curl around the definition found there automatically. “God, please touch me.”
How can he say no to that, hands roving on command, pushing down the questions, the need for answers in favor of matching the curves and lines he’d committed to memory in all those hours in the forge. Jayce leans back, chest rising and falling under Viktor’s touch as whispered encouragements fall from swollen lips. It’s easy to get distracted from there, the unfamiliarity of intimacy and the plush ass he’d eagerly surveyed time and time again pressed into his groin lending credence to why he follows the path of his hands with his mouth.
Some part of him, minimal and irrelevant, wants to slow down, take his time. If this is one night, then this lasting longer would be more desirable but the man atop him is setting the pace, Jayce scrambling to undress him and pulling him close again once his top is elsewhere.
When he kisses Viktor again, it is no less urgent, pressing him back into the bed to curl over him. Jayce moves against him like its all he can do, cock hard against his abdomen. A shivery moan comes from him when Viktor breaks from his hot mouth to nip at the hard line of his jaw, his long fingers counting down the notches in Jayce’s spine to settle over the swell of his ass. Jayce jolts at that, hips flexing against Viktor’s as they pressed down.
“You been eyeing that a while?” It's playful, proud, said in a pant and cut off in a yelp as Viktor's fingers curl cruelly in Jayce's hair.
“I thought we were more than aware of that fact.” Is his hissed response into Jayce's ear, bringing out a breathy laugh that assuages the anxiety inherent in the question. "Unless there was another reason you were here?"
"Maybe a few." He mutters, sitting back up, hands already on his ungodly tight pants, eyes slamming shut when Viktor's fingers slide in there the moment the front is undone.
Jayce lets him fondle, purposefully wrap a hand around his still clothed cock as he ruts into Viktor's palm for a moment, making a decadent picture as he leans back, mouth open and swollen as he concentrates on the Viktor's shifting touch. He doesn't let it last, batting Viktor away and the rest of his clothes find the floor before he resumes his position astride Viktor's hips. His reasons become clear as he holds up a little vial of oil, smirk devilish and Viktor's tongue goes dry.
"Not the only one watching."
It's difficult to think of all the reasons they should slow down when Jayce's mouth is on his again, needy little sounds coming from him as he fingers himself. It's arduous to come up with reasons to talk this through when when Jayce pulls out his cock from the confines of his slacks, slicking it messily as Viktor is stunned between passivity beneath him and rolling them over so he can hurry them along. It's laborious to think of much else when Jayce has sunk down onto him, a high pitched curse punched out of him as he grinds back on the length buried in him.
And it is impossible to worry about what the morning may bring when Jayce murmuring all the ways Viktor isn't the only one pawing at himself in the dead of night as he fucks himself on Viktor's cock.
The final time he visits the forge is short, perfunctory, though as he walks, cane clicking on the hallway floor, he doesn’t realize it will be his last. Jayce is there, as he suspected, having awoken alone to a cold space beside him, but instead of standing at the forge, Jayce is sitting in that lone rickety chair, hands clasped between his knees and head bowed as if in prayer. His head whips up at the final clack of Viktor stopping before him, wide-eyed and frightened.
“Getting quite a bit of work done, I see.” Viktor states, more observant to his posture this time and the lightness to his limbs from the previous night turning lead as pieces begin to fall into place.
“Viktor.” Jayce greets weakly as his partner stops in front of him, staring at Viktor’s shoes. “How are you?”
“Bit sore. Woke up alone. Not exactly ideal.” Jayce nods absently, the click in his throat audible when he swallows. There's an imprint of teeth Viktor put there he hasn't bothered to hide, though considering where he should have been last night, it's simple to explain.
As Viktor observes him, as Jayce opens and closes his mouth around words unable to form, it's easy to see the cockiness of before is gone, nonexistent, a distance memory still fresh. Still tangible in his kiss and his touch and Viktor would be lying if he said he didn't want it again. Would do a lot to have it again.
“We should, uh, should probably-”
“Talk?” Viktor finishes for him, fingers squeezing the top of his cane when Jayce winces. “Might be for the best.”
“Look,” Jayce starts, hands motioning as his head moves from side to side, uncertainty and regret clear in every twitch and whatever hope Viktor may have clung to fades more and more with every aborted phrase. “What happened was… We- I’m not…”
“You were drunk.” Jayce looks up from his wringing hands, eyes wide and searching Viktor’s 1000 yard stare.
It's a mercy. A grace. He offers it with a monotone suggestion and knuckles whitening around his cane, unable to look his friend in the eye.
Jayce can take it, walk away. Things reset. Friendship, partnership resumes. A night of passion lays forgotten and things stay as they were.
But if he doesn’t take it, if he denies it, if last night could happen again-
“Yeah,” Jayce drops his head back down, nodding again and Viktor closes his eyes, held breath painful as it softly exits an aching chest. “Yeah. I was.”
Viktor nods as he opens his eyes again. Takes a step, puts a hand on Jayce’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze and a pat before walking away. An action he is allowed in Jayce's damning silence one last time.
They all have their excuses. Its for the sake of their work, as it were, for progress, for their partnership, for the sake of the city. Makes it easier when Jayce returns to the labs the next day, greeting brightly even as he doesn't quite meet Viktor's gaze.
Simpler as neither question the excuses they build together with every passing heated gaze, every aborted lingering touch, every time Viktor declines to enter the forge.