Chapter Text
“Sorry, you’re into what?”
Jayce’s half-horror-struck expression breaks into a tight, polite smile as a tall, broad man in leather passes by them close enough to warrant the cover.
Viktor shrugs, sinking back into his seat with long, stupidly beautiful, fingers wrapped around a heavy-bottomed glass. The amber-tinted liquid inside catches the amber-tinted lights. “What? There’s nothing wrong with a little degradation, Jayce.”
“You like it when people spit in your mouth?” His voice snaps into a hushed whisper.
This isn’t the conversation, Jayce would argue, for a public setting.
Even if this is exactly the sort of public setting that Jayce knows Viktor used to frequent. The exact sort of public setting that Jayce has seen Viktor sprawled across the bathroom floor of, in fact.
Exactly, actually.
Exactly the place.
Viktor, in his drunken rambles, once called it the blue bar—which Jayce never really understood until, a whopping four months after an argument fueled fuck in their living room, he went to visit with Viktor himself.
Inside, Jayce sort of gets why Viktor’s vodka-addled mind thought to call it the blue one. The exterior of the building didn’t give much of a blue tint, but the bar itself is painted a dark, almost stark navy to the rest of the low-lit and warm-toned interior.
Though if that is why Viktor called it the “blue one” in his state, Jayce has no idea.
Regardless, it’s the blue one. It’s the bar where Viktor had snuck away to the bathrooms with a stranger—it’s the bar where Viktor had sunk to his knees then his back, that he’d swallowed down a stranger’s cock like it was nothing. It’s the bar where Jayce, as much as he hates to admit it, knows the tiles of the bathroom floor better than he knows the inside of his own eyelids.
It’s the bar where they’re sitting now, sharing a corner booth on the furthest-back edge. Far enough from the music and the door that Jayce can hear himself think, but close enough that he doesn’t feel weird about getting up and crossing to grab a drink from the bar.
Also, apparently, far enough that Viktor feels immensely comfortable gesturing with his drink and saying: “There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to spit in your mouth, Jayce. And why relegate it to only your mouth? I find it rather appealing to be, eh, spat on anywhere.”
Jayce is glad he hasn’t had the stomach to drink more than half of his beer—if only because he’s fairly certain he’d choke on it if Viktor said anything while he was taking a drink.
The bottle in his hands is almost warm from his touch by now, the condensation slicking his palms as he picks at the last few clinging remnants of the label. The rest of it is shredded in a neat, if damp, pile.
“And it feels…good?” He asks, watching the tension leave Viktor’s body as he shifts across the booth. He inches closer down the horse-shoe seat.
“It’s…it’s more about the act,” Viktor says, leaving his nearly-finished glass of whiskey on the table.
He rarely goes for dark liquors—preferring the familiar bite of vodkas and gins—unless he knows he doesn’t want to drink a lot. And Jayce pretends like it’s totally normal to know this much about his roommate (boyfriend, he reminds himself with the same sort of giddy-bubbly glee that pops up every time. His boyfriend) and his drinking habits.
Jayce watches as the liquid shifts and sloshes then settles. Viktor extends a hand out, taking the one Jayce immediately offers in turn. He holds it in both of his own, flipping it over and running his fingers down the familiar lines and creases.
“It’s about feeling owned,” Viktor hums, continuing in the wake of Jayce’s silence and with the feeling of Viktor’s fingertips on his own skin, Jayce’s brain keeps skipping over the part where he’s supposed to be mortified that they’re having this conversation in public. “It’s about feeling filthy and messy and giving yourself up to someone completely. There is, eh, there is a power in knowing how readily your submission makes someone weak, a power in permitting someone to consume you so whole that you feel like an extension of theirs—knowing that it was your idea and your decision. And, well, it does not hurt that the act of submission really assists in turning off the mind so to speak.”
Jayce blinks and he tries to process that. He really does. But Viktor’s fingertips are following the veins on the inside of his wrist and frankly, that’s doing incredibly interesting things to his body temperature. He feels himself flush and he’s rather suddenly incredibly thankful for the low amber lights of the bar.
“I, uh,” he manages, because he is an extremely clever and brilliant man. “That uh…I mean that sounds like…is that something you like?”
Viktor’s fingers coil around Jayce’s and he slips a half-inch closer. “Is what something I like?”
“Being…” Jayce wets his lips and glances around them, suddenly feeling like every single eye is on him. “Y’know.”
“Are you asking if I enjoy being submissive? Because I do. Not as a contractual submissive, of course, but I enjoy it on occasion. It is by no means a necessity for my enjoyment, Jayce. It is just something to consider.”
Jayce’s mouth works, useless, for a moment and he’s starting to regret the beer at all—just with how sour it settles in his stomach. “Is that why you, uh…” his eyes flicker towards the sign swinging gently above the darkened hallway that leads to the four doors—two on either side.
Viktor’s eyes follow, like he doesn’t know. Like this isn’t part of why they picked this place to go to—why they drove half an hour out of their way in order to slip into the back of the bar here.
Like Viktor didn’t ask if Jayce wanted to see it. Like Viktor didn’t ask if Jayce wanted to replicate the photos lost to time.
They didn’t really talk about the pictures themselves. They didn’t talk much about the fight, about the argument they had in the living room. They sorted themselves out. They talked. They cried—some more than others—and then they fucked again, and again, and talked and then fucked.
Bringing up the pictures always felt like picking at those scarred-over wounds, digging nails into the sensitive scar tissue. He knows Viktor is embarrassed, he knows he is embarrassed.
It isn’t a secret.
It never has been.
Viktor shrugs. “My exhibitionism is a different, though related, kink.”
And this time Jayce chokes on nothing at all. “Your what?”
“What?”
“Your—you—”
“Well,” Viktor hums, his hands drawing up the length of Jayce’s arms because really that’s what always keeps turning off the nervous part of Jayce’s mind. Skin over skin, the dry and rough pass of Viktor’s hands again and again—tracing out the memory of touch over his skin. “It is not the reality of being seen. Not exhibitionism in a classic sense, but more the risk.”
“The risk of what?”
“Being caught?” Viktor asks, like just the idea of it isn’t risking a full-scale panic attack.
But Viktor doesn’t seem shaken. His brows pinch gently in concern. “Again, Jayce, none of this is a requirement.”
Jayce doesn’t say but it’s what you like. He doesn’t say but I wanted to know what you were into, I want to know what makes you tick. He doesn’t say but sometimes I get really tired of being the one who keeps getting stuck on it. I don’t like being the one who thinks that sex in the kitchen is kinda gross and maybe we shouldn’t do it and people sit on the sofa, Viktor—what if they know, what if they know we fucked there? What if they can see my shame imprinted into the cushions and can read the shape of my mortification between the fibers? What if—
And the thoughts end there, because Viktor draws Jayce’s hand to his lips and presses a soft, chaste, kiss to the scar-pocked rise of his knuckles.
“You want to…be caught?”
Viktor’s huffing laugh washes over the peaks and valleys of Jayce’s hand. “Decidedly not. I want to risk being caught.”
“Why?” Because Jayce is, if anything, curious.
Viktor shrugs. Another one of those familiar and almost mind-numbingly frustrating simply gestures that Jayce knows says so fucking much. “Because. I like the risk. I know that no one notices me very often, Jayce. It is a skill that I am well-practiced in. And the idea that people would look over me, would look past me even as I’m being pleasured beneath a table? That no one would know? That if I had two fingers buried in my cunt while they walked past us—that if I was dripping onto this wooden seat, that if I was on the verge of an orgasm, shuddering and shaking, they would have no idea?” Viktor sighs, melting his cheek down onto Jayce’s shoulder. “To know I know the things they don’t?”
And Jayce’s mouth is dry.
It’s fucking barren as he tries to peel his tongue off the tacky roof of it. All he can taste is the ghost of the beer and Viktor’s lips from an hour or so ago, and the haunting sense-memory of Viktor from that morning. The feeling of his mouth shoved against him and hips working down onto his face.
He licks his lips and watches as Viktor draws his hand up to kiss down the length of two fingers. Middle and ring.
“That’s…uh…” he shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Though this time it isn’t the idea of them being caught that haunts him, the idea of a bartender coming down the way to tap him on the shoulder and have the bouncer kick them out, the idea of their faces plastered on a list somewhere. This time it’s the fact that his cock is already starting to take interest in the idea of touching Viktor.
He knows the feeling of his slick, dripping folds. It’s almost unfair to bring them up, knowing that Jayce knows the contours and shape of them by the brush of his fingertips and the touch of his tongue. That he knows how they feel flushed and warm against him.
A whine bubbles up from low in his throat. “Is that what you want?” He asks, because…because he has to.
Because it’s always if this is what Viktor wants, because it’s like a door opening. An offering.
An option.
It’s like a game they play, a push and pull as Viktor leans back against the seat. “Do you know how?”
Jayce almost chokes on his own tongue. “Do I know how to—” his voice pitches almost achingly soft— “finger you?”
“Do you know how to be subtle?” Viktor asks, shifting slightly as he gives Jayce’s hand the softest tug. Jayce goes willingly, letting Viktor lay his palm across the top of one narrow thigh. He nuzzles a sharp cheekbone into the rise of Jayce’s shoulder. “Mmm, like that. Slow, to start. Rub there.”
And Jayce does. He steady’s his hand on Viktor’s right thigh, letting his palm sweep—warm and heavy—over the top. He can feel the lines of his leg brace beneath his pants, the familiar stiffness of metal and the give of the leather bands. Jayce follows them down, the way he does when they’re sitting on the sofa and Viktor’s legs are tossed up in his lap.
An endless walk to refamiliarize himself with this part of Viktor’s body, with the things he made himself, the parts of him that live in external form. It’s like the shape of Viktor’s intellect, bent and wrapped around his own muscle and bone.
Jayce feels his own eyes start to dip slightly as he turns to bury his nose in Viktor’s hair. His palm makes its way down to the point of his knee, fingers digging just faintly into the muscle on either side of it.
Beside him, Viktor shivers and sighs. “There you go,” he says, that twist of encouragement lingering—citrus bright—on the back of Jayce’s tongue. “Just like that, my love. And keep talking to me. About whatever it is you want to discuss.”
And Jayce knows, logically, that there are only a few topics that are probably worth it to discuss when he’s brushing his fingers down to the inseam of Viktor’s jeans. “I uh…did you see the new containment cart we got in the lab?”
Viktor hums. “We were in desperate need of a new magnetized redistribution matrix,” he says. “I figured next week you and I could go in early and see if we can figure out how to use it to redirect the flow of the, eh, that thing that Heimerdinger keeps asking us not to do.”
“The isotope he brought in? He told us it wasn’t for undergrads,” Jayce points out, his fingers sweeping up the line towards the joint of his thigh. Viktor's warmer there, the closer Jayce gets to his core.
But he doesn’t travel too far—he doesn’t move too much upwards. Just in case.
It’s about the build-up, right? It’s about the play and the way that he can feel the muscles in Viktor’s thigh jump.
“We’re not just any undergrads,” Viktor points out. “I think we could crack it if we wanted to.”
And Jayce…he doesn’t disagree. In fact— “I would be lying if I said I didn’t have ideas.”
“I know you do,” Viktor sighs, his legs sliding further apart. A quiet invitation. “That’s what I love about you.”
“Yeah?” Jayce’s fingers slip higher and—and he forgets to be nervous. Something about the steady rise and fall of Viktor’s chest beside him and the push-pull of breath and the lilt and coil of conversation, it sits with him. It lingers there warm and familiar and turns the rest of the world to ash around them.
It could end, as his fingers find the clothed heat between Viktor’s legs, and he wouldn’t even notice. They could be nothing but themselves, tangled and twisted together while the bar burned around them and as long as Jayce was seeking out the soft heat there with a feather-light touch, it wouldn’t matter.
“Of course,” Viktor breathes, shifting towards him. “You’re so curious, Jayce. You always have been. It is certainly part of what drew me to you to begin with. The fact that you are… you always have ideas. You always have thoughts. The smartest man in the room any day of the week.”
“That’s—that’s not true,” Jayce says, half-breathless, as he nudges his fingers down the center of Viktor’s groin. He strokes him there, knowing the pressure through his jeans would be enough to start drawing out the first shudders from his spine. “Not when you’re there. We—we’re matched.”
And it’s true.
Sometimes Jayce inches out, that’s just the long and short of it. Sometimes Jayce gets him by a half-point or a technicality. Jayce has, technically, hovered just above Viktor in the rankings the entire time they’ve been there. Neck and neck, hand in hand.
Viktor hums, slinking into Jayce’s side. “I suppose,” he breathes. “But when I’m not? You have them by leagues.”
Jayce feels his lips curl into a soft smile. “I uh… I thought about using the new metrics that his grad assistants managed to get to try to reverse-engineer where its break-point is in terms of energy consumption and production. But I only have the hypotheticals written out. It’s…it’s nowhere near ready for actual practical work but I think it could be one day.”
His fingers twitch higher, following the seam of his fly up and up and up until they’re resting at the button. Like a question, circling the metal disk.
“We could make it ready,” Viktor offers, his breath almost light and airy as his hips cant towards Jayce’s hand. A flush is already building on the top of his cheekbones. It’s almost indistinguishable from the whiskey-warm flush he would have if he was simply drunk. “We could make it work, I bet. We could make anything work, Jayce, that’s what makes us so incredible.”
And…and he isn’t wrong. He isn’t wrong at all.
Fuck, Viktor is right as Jayce pops the button on his jeans. He’s right as Jayce nudges the denim apart and finds the cotton-blend fabric beneath it. A soft, low, sigh, as he strokes across it once, then twice. It’s a gentle nudge up to the elastic band, a gentle nudge to curl over the top of it.
“We could make anything work,” Jayce whispers, nose turning into Viktor’s hair. “You and I? We’d be unstoppable together. We’d have the world in our hand. The things we can do?”
He sighs, a warm and humid breath tangling into Viktor’s hair, and scratches his fingers gently down into the soft curls hidden just beneath the shape of his boxer briefs. He’s always loved petting and toying where Viktor’s softest. Always loved the slow tease downwards over his pubic hair and into the dark depths of his underwear.
Jayce really wishes he could see this. He wishes, more than anything, that he could delve deeper and deeper into the darkness of Viktor’s body and slip beneath the table and push his legs apart.
He loves the way his pussy looks in the low light, loves the way he spreads apart and shows himself.
It’s almost cruel, as his fingers nudge down and his knuckles push against the fabric, that he can’t see how soaked Viktor is.
But he can feel it.
Beside him, there’s a soft gasp—a catch of air in lungs—as Jayce’s fingertips skate the slick seam of his cunt.
“You like that, don’t you?” Jayce breathes, before he remembers where they are. “When, uh, when we talk about science.”
He winces, but Viktor doesn’t seem too terribly bothered by it. He just nods, lip caught between his teeth as Jayce’s fingers just stroke down the length of him.
There’s nothing he knows quite like the bends and yields of Viktor’s body. Nothing he can follow like the shape of his perfect cunt.
“We could go in early in the morning,” Jayce tells him. “When no one is around. Just you and I and—and I know where the notes are kept. And none of the grad students ever lock the doors there.”
Viktor shudders out a sigh as he presses closer, seaming himself up to Jayce’s side as his legs fall further apart. It’s a silent plea as Jayce’s eyes skate over the dark tabletop. If he tries, if he really tries, maybe he can imagine how his fingers look nudging apart Viktor’s lips. How they look as he slinks just the tip of his middle finger down between them.
He’s just as molten-hot as he always is there, just as burning as Jayce drags his finger down to brush over his leaking slit. “You want to do that, huh?” Jayce asks, dropping a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head. “You want to sneak into the lab together. You want to root around in Heimerdinger’s assistant's drawers? You want to see all the stuff we haven’t been allowed to, slip in when no one knows we’re there?”
Viktor nods and Jayce feels the way he twitches at the idea. And…and Jayce honestly, for a second, thinks it’s the idea that sends him too.
“What if we did this there too?” Jayce asks, the thought springing up unbidden into his mind. “What if we just…what if we just did it? No one would be there, no one would know. We’d be completely alone.”
He pushes, just the tip of his finger, into Viktor’s heat and, like ever, it’s fucking suffocating. And fuck, Jayce wants to do this forever. He wants to feel the gentle twitch and clench of Viktor's ever-reactive body at the slightest provocation.
Jayce knows better than to just shove himself into Viktor, though. He draws back, all the way from the folds of his cunt, and sets about dragging slick fingers along the full length of him again. “You know that table? The one we met at all those years ago? You could just sit up on it, while I kneeled down and ate you. Or, or uh, or bend over it.”
And yeah—yeah, that Jayce can imagine all, all too fucking well. Viktor’s slight, perfect, ass up in the air while his thighs tremble and gleam in the bright fluorescent lighting of the lab. “I’d eat you until you’re shaking,” he breathes. “Between experiments. Watch the centrifuge work while I make you come again and again and again. I wouldn’t fill you up until you’re begging for it. Until we have results.”
It’s a cheap threat, really. They both know it.
But the game is what they want, right? It’s what Viktor wants.
And judging by the way that Viktors’ breath catches, the way that he very nearly whines at the idea—maybe, just maybe, it’s exactly what he wants.
Jayce slides two fingers onto either side of his quivering cunt, pressing to spread him just enough that his slick middle finger can find the hardened, need-flushed, cock nestled there.
“There you go,” he breathes, feeling it jump under the sudden attention.
Viktor turns his face into Jayce’s shoulder, his breath shivering and shuttering as Jayce starts to circle his cock. “K-keep going,” Viktor breathes, “keep talking.”
Jayce nods. “Imagine what we’d learn,” he says, finger slow as he feels Viktor tremble against him. “Imagine the things we’d know. The ways we could put that sample to work? Fuck, V, do you have any idea the kind of energy output it gives? I learned at Heimer’s notes and it’s—“ Jayce sighs, his body melting back against Viktor’s as his fingers push between his dripping folds to stroke over his slit.
Fuck, he can feel how wet he keeps getting. Every time Jayce thinks Viktor’s at his peak in terms of how messy he can make himself - he’s proven wrong. His fingers slide awkwardly at first before he catches on the needy edge of Viktor’s cunt.
Already, he feels the muscles push and clench in a desperate ploy to draw him in. “If we could harness it, we could power entire city grids like that—“ he punctuates the sentiment by burying two fingers knuckle-deep into Viktor at once. He feels him spasm, feels the clench and twist of his walls at the sudden intrusion. “Just like that,” he echoes. “Just like that, baby.”
Viktor huffs a half-amused sound against him. “Baby?” He asks as his hips twitch down against the fingers inside him. The movement grinds his cock against Jayce’s palm. “Really?”
“Do you not like it?” Jayce asks, pushing back up into the movement. He feels Viktor’s breath catch in the line of his body—the cut and twist of his shoulders. “I can call you something else.”
“No, no,” Viktor pants, that flush darkening. “I, eh, you can—”
“Baby,” Jayce breathes when Viktor’s breath catches on a soft whine. He feels Viktor clench and shiver around him, his fever-hot body pulling him deeper, deeper, and deeper. He curls and grinds the tops of his fingers up into that spot inside him—the one he’s been trying to memorize, the one he spends his hours trying to find through the nights they spend tangled on the sofa. More than half of their nights together are spent with Jayce learning the contours and bends of Viktor’s body—of him trying to map out everything inside him and around him. The places that make him moan, the ones that make him clench, the ones that make him shiver and shudder.
Viktor jolts when Jayce’s fingers dig into it, the sort of rough shove deeper into him that he knows, he knows, that Viktor likes. “Jayce,” he pants. “Jayce, Jayce, I—”
“I know, baby,” He says, grinding his heel down harder against him. He lets himself push his slick folds apart on the edge of his hand, and he lets Viktor’s hips work down against him. “Go on, go on. I’ll sneak us into the lab in the early morning if you do—I’ll do anything. I’ll break anything for you, for us, baby.”
And Jayce feels the waves of Viktor’s orgasm starting.
He can tell, by now, what it’s like when Viktor’s about to come. He can feel it, a sense memory on his fingers, his tongue, his cock—every part of him familiar and pressing against him.
Viktor always comes in waves, an arc that shivers and shutters as Viktor’s cunt grips him in a desperate attempt to pull him deeper and cling to him.
“There you go,” Jayce breathes, pushing his nose into Viktor’s hair as the world whirls on around him. His shoulders pull closer, blocking Viktor from the burning and shattering reality around them.
And, for a second, as he feels Viktor’s face push into his shoulder to muffle the sound of Jayce’s name, and as he feels the hot, molten, gush of Viktor’s orgasm, he understands it. He knows that Viktor is coming apart, he knows that the feeling of him soaking Jayce’s hand, he knows that he’s going to drip into his underwear and render them filthy. He knows what they’re doing, he knows that Viktor is coming apart and he knows that Viktor is coming apart and he knows and he knows and he knows—and no one else does.
No one else knows that Viktor is shattering in his arms, a shaking moment of destruction and oblivion.
It sings in Jayce’s blood, clinging to his bones and weaving through his muscles. There’s a pulse of knowledge and information beating with every single thrumming throb of his heart. It floods his veins as he feels the fading waves and twitches of Viktor’s cunt around his fingers—he doesn’t stop, not quite yet, but he does slow. Just until Viktor is left shivering and shaking against him.
Jayce sucks in a breath through his teeth, then, as the world starts to flow into the oblivion around them. It pieces together like the words most inconsequential puzzle as Viktor catches his breath around him.
His fingers slide out, much to Viktor’s whining chagrin, and Jayce slips his hand out of the front of his pants altogether. He makes it almost the entire way up over the table before Viktor’s fingers circle his wrist.
“Can—” he breathes, those warm, arousal-hazed, eyes flickering up to Jayce’s. “Please?”
Jayce doesn’t know what Viktor is asking, but he nods anyway.
And if Jayce had any idea what he thought Viktor was going to do, it isn’t pulling Jayce’s hand up until the two fingers are level with his mouth. It isn’t wrapping his lips around them, it isn’t sucking Jayce’s fingers deep into the slick-wet warmth of his mouth.
It isn’t as blistering as the heat of his cunt, but it’s still mind-shattering. Viktor’s eyelids drop until his gaze is just the soft glow of amberlight between his lashes.
He pulls off after a moment, lips shining and glistening.
Jayce’s mouth opens, then shuts.
And Viktor leans in and collects the long-abandoned whiskey glass in one long, trembling, hand. “We should,” he says, a shiver visible through the layers of his dark button-down. “We should get cleaned up.”
Jayce blinks twice. He can feel himself fucking aching, he can feel the head of his cock slick and leaking against his own boxers.
It’s not that he doesn’t think he could walk somewhere. It’s that maybe, just maybe, it isn’t that great of an idea. There’s no hiding the situation here, not like the way Viktor’s can be at least.
“Uh,” he starts, blinking down at himself and then over at Viktor.
Viktor hums. “I’ll go first? The first bathroom in the hall. The one on the left?”
Oh. Oh.
Jayce swallows and then nods in realization. “How, uh, how long?”
“Just a few moments. Long enough for you to finish this.”
And Jayce doesn’t have time to ask what Viktor means before he tilts the whiskey back and fills his mouth. Just a moment, a lingering moment where Jayce is confused before Viktor tips himself towards Jayce and pushes their mouths together.
Jayce does his best to not splutter as Viktor lets the burning liquid spill from his mouth into Jayce’s—warmed by the touch of his own mouth and the time spent lingering on the table—and he’s still catching his breath to swallow.
Viktor slips from the booth, his cane trembling so faintly in his hand that Jayce can hardly tell.
Beneath the burn of the whiskey, Jayce thinks he can taste Viktor. The ghost of him that Viktor had sucked from Jayce’s fingers, lingering under the sear and the heat of the liquid.
Jayce has no idea how long it takes him to suck a deep, desperate breath. It doesn’t take him more than a moment, he doesn’t think as well. It might have been longer. It could have been a thousand hours, it could have been no time at all. But eventually the jittering need that clambers and claws and vibrates under his skin starts to shudder him apart from the inside.
Eventually he cannot wait.
He follows, like the desperate love-sick puppy he knows he can be. It’s nothing he’s ashamed of, at least not right now. At least not in this moment.
Maybe some other time he would be, maybe some other time he would be nervously clambering at the inside of his own chest.
But not now.
Not with Viktor waiting for him in the same bathrooms that started this.
If people are between Jayce and the bathrooms, he doesn’t notice.
He barely even knows he’s in a bar.
Jayce’s feet carry him, somewhere disconnected from his body as the siren call of Viktor, Viktor, Viktor summons him forward. Past the tables of people tangled together and whispering over drinks like they’re too caught in their own narratives and their own stories to even know there’s anyone else around them. Too caught in their own lives, their own worlds.
Just like Jayce is as he leans a hand down on the handle of the bathroom door.
And, with a deep breath, he pushes it open.