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Jayce kneels on one knee before Viktor, sword sheathed and held point-down on the ground in front of him, as though in both protection and offering. His breath comes slowly, laboured, as though it’s difficult to take in the person before him.
Viktor sits on a throne made of smooth stone and plated gold, formed into a halo of leaves and runes around his head, making him look as holy as he is. Or, at least, as holy as Jayce perceives him to be. Jayce is his sworn knight, after all – of course he would feel the pull of the divine from the man in front of him, to whom he kneels in supplication.
“Your highness,” he says, after what is probably too long, “shall I accompany you to your chambers this eve? It is already quite late.”
He doesn’t look up from the floor, but he knows that Viktor isn’t looking at him – is instead, as he always is, writing notes into his small pocketbook he keeps in his robes at all times. Jayce also knows (definitely not from any snooping), that no matter how fast it appears Viktor is writing, his notes are always neat and precise. Just like everything else about him.
“Mmm, no,” says Viktor, after a beat. “I’m not quite finished yet. You may head off, though, if you wish.”
He trails off into a mumble as he often does when engrossed in his work. He, for as long as Jayce can remember, has been obsessed with harnessing magic and science together for the purpose of helping his body. From what little Jayce knew, he was born with a defect in his spine and lungs that only progressed as he’d aged, and so the prince had been sequestered in the palace his entire life. It made him restless, of course, but also angry, that the smallest defect in his birth could affect every aspect of his life. He’d always been under the impression that he would die far too young, but now, at age 24, he’d outlived every doctor’s expectation, and was determined to prove everyone else wrong, too.
He’s been close to a breakthrough for days, but that also meant less eating, less sleeping – taking far poorer care of his body than Jayce would have liked. He cares for his prince, as his sworn knight of course, but… he also felt something truly deeper for the man beneath. Something that both ashamed and excited him. Something for him to think about in the late hours of the night, hand wrapped around himself, fist shoved in his mouth to stifle moans of the man’s name.
Jayce feels himself turning bright red at the thought, and shakes his head, just barely, as though to remove the thoughts from his head with force. “Your highness, if I may speak freely…”
“You may,” Viktor replies, again not looking up.
“You should know well by now that I cannot leave your side until you are safely in your chambers for sleep. Those are my direct orders, and I cannot disobey them.”
Viktor sighs, sinking into his throne, charcoal falling from his hand and onto the floor, rolling to a stop in front of Jayce’s knee. Without thinking, he grabs it and stands, ready to hand it back, before realizing he’s moved towards his prince without a direct invitation. Much of the royal family is strict about that sort of thing, so he braces himself, but – no yell comes. No smack across the face for blatant disobedience. No whip cracking at him as a warning, but clipping his face, just above his eye and causing a long, thin scar. Just a pale, long-fingered hand, reaching out towards him. “My charcoal, please.”
Jayce blinks back to himself, remembering the item in his hand. He holds his hand out, palm-up, charcoal centered in his palm. Viktor reaches out to grab it, and his cold fingertips just brush the inside of Jayce’s hand. Cold, yes, but the places he touched burn like fire – Jayce realizes he’s hard, under the armour. Thank Janna for the armour.
“I suppose you’re right. I should be heading to bed.” Viktor makes to stretch, but a sudden twinge in his back has him wincing and nearly doubling over. Jayce lurches to him, but Viktor holds out a hand to stop his movement. “I’m fine, just give me a moment.” He breathes deeply for several minutes, before straightening the best he can, and pushing himself to a standing position, and grabbing his cane leaning on the arm of his throne. He starts down the hall, and Jayce trails after him.
Viktor, for the past several months, has been struggling with a ridiculous attraction to his sworn knight, Sir Jayce.
What started as a few glances at his toned form here and there had turned into dreams, imaginations about what he would look like under all that metal and padding, about how far that loyalty really goes. It had gone from dreams and imaginations to full-blown fantasies, imagining Jayce taking off all of his armour in front of Viktor, to please him, taking each of his delicate feet in hand and lavishing them with kisses, one after the other, then crawling up his body and doing everything he can to please his charge until neither can breathe, think, or speak.
It had devolved, now, into a hand around himself every night, moaning wantonly as he does in his fantasies, thoughts of Jayce in his head, leading to an unsatisfying, sticky outcome. Tonight, though. Tonight would be different.
Seeing Sir Jayce kneeling there before him had made him so unreasonably hard that he’d tried to send him away, just so that his knight wouldn’t see what the sight of him on the floor did to him – a prince, no less. Alas, Jayce was a loyal and valiant knight, and would by no means break a rule so important as to remain by Viktor’s side, always. Luckily (or not, depending on one’s view), the twinge of pain in his spine was enough to kill his erection so much so that he was able to walk by Jayce, inhaling that musky, iron-and-fire scent without getting too worked up again. He has a plan, after all.
Jayce stops about five feet from his door, as he always does. He does not look at Viktor; rather, he turns and faces the opposite side of the hall, waiting patiently for Viktor’s maid to come bustling through the door after having helped Viktor into bed, after which he would make his way to his own rooms, levels below any of the royal family, and would be back bright and early the next morning, waiting for Viktor to exit his chambers.
This time, though, Viktor pauses – calculated, controlled. He turns to face his sworn knight. “Sir Jayce?”
Jayce, obviously not expecting to be spoken to, jumps before turning to face his prince. “Yes, your highness?”
“Did you not just say to me, minutes ago, that you are sworn to stay by my side until I am safely in my chambers for sleep?”
Jayce hesitates a moment before answering. “Uh, yes, your highness?”
Viktor hums. “Then why, pray tell, are you waiting out here? Why would you not scan my rooms for cutthroats or assassins or spies, just waiting for me to enter alone?”
Viktor is careful to ensure that he doesn’t sound angry – Jayce, he’s learned, wilts like a flower without sun when he perceives animosity towards himself. If Viktor wants this plan to work, then he can’t have Jayce sullen and withdrawn.
Jayce is silent for another moment, visibly thinking. Viktor can see the gears turning in his head, and stifles a laugh. “...is that something you’d like me to do, your highness?”
“I should think so, knight, lest you’d prefer I enter my chambers alone and vulnerable.” He makes sure to pitch his voice low on vulnerable, allowing for a slight purr to accentuate the word.
“Anything, your highness.”
Jayce turns, and follows Viktor into his chambers.
Viktor’s never asked me into his chambers before.
It’s the only thought running through Jayce’s mind as he follows the small prince into his rooms. It’s very plush and comfortable – many surfaces for the prince to sit or lounge on, soft and cozy to alleviate the pressure on his hip and back. The coverings on his bed, even more so – a deep red velvet, dotted with furs and pillows with gold trims. There are pillows everywhere, Jayce notes, as he looks around. He feels the blush deepening on his face as his gaze keeps being drawn back to the large, four-poster bed in the center of the room. The most prominent colour in the room, but especially on the bed is that dark red – almost the exact same colour that signifies his family, House Talis. He can’t stop his mind from conjuring up images of Viktor tangled in those sheets, in Jayce’s colour, flush on his face and chest nearly the same colour, panting–
“Well, Sir Jayce? Do you see anything?”
His prince’s voice snaps him back to reality, and he realizes he’s been staring at the bed, slightly slack-jawed, for the last several seconds. He breathes deep, expelling the sinful thoughts on his exhale, and turns to his prince. “No, your highness.”
Viktor hums again, and Jayce turns to leave. He needs to get out of here before he does something he will truly live to regret.
“Hold, for but a moment,” Viktor says, causing Jayce to freeze.
Jayce turns back around. “Yes, your highness?”
“It seems my maid cannot aid in preparing myself for bed, as she isn’t here. As my sworn knight, surely you would help me?”
Jayce can’t even stop himself from going red this time. He begins to stammer, trying to back away, to create an excuse about how it simply isn’t decent for him to see his prince like that, but already a catlike smile is curling over Viktor’s face.
“Good. Now, help me undo my ties? My fingers cannot perform such fine work at the end of a long day such as this.”
Viktor is already removing his robe, letting it fall to the floor. He specifically requested that all his doublets be made without sleeves, to allow for a larger range of movement. As he is never in the public eye, his request had been granted with little issue. His doublets also had to be made with additional boning, to aid in keeping his spine and ribs supported. He wore no jerkin, which was odd, but again, he spent no time within the purview of the public, so there was, again, no issue. He did not wear hose, fitted or paned, like the rest of the men – he needed a larger, looser garment to cover the brace he wore on his weak leg, from mid-thigh to mid-calf, with a gap over the knee to allow him to bend it. Much of his clothing is the reason he has a maid to help him – it is simply not right for a prince to dress as casually, as poorly as he does. However, the family knows that he certainly physically cannot live without these… accommodations to his wardrobe, so they allow him this one small mercy, for which, Jayce knows, Viktor is eternally grateful for.
“Well, are you going to assist, or just stand there with a fly-catching gape?”
Jayce, for what feels like the millionth time tonight, starts back to himself, surging forward likely a bit faster than he should. Viktor just stands there, open, fully trusting. This close, Jayce can see how small Viktor’s waist is, how easy it would be to wrap his hands around it – fuck, his fingers would probably even touch–
He reaches forward, hands shaking only slightly, and begins to slowly undo the laces of Viktor’s doublet. His heart pounds in his ears, his breath comes fast, too fast, but he stays gentle, not wanting to accidentally hurt Viktor.
As though reading his thoughts, Viktor looks up to Jayce, to his furrowed brow, and murmurs, “You know, I’m not made of glass.”
Jayce lets out a breath, not meeting Viktor’s gaze (never meeting Viktor’s gaze), and lets himself relax, just a bit. Eventually, he reaches the bottom of the lacing, and helps Viktor to shrug it off. Then, he’s in front of Viktor, who’s only wearing his linen shirt, the small ruffs decorating his wrists and neckline being the sight Jayce tries to pry his eyes to, rather than the fact that he can see Viktor’s peaked nipples through his shirt. All the blood rushes from Jayce’s head straight to his cock, and he fights to stay on his feet. Viktor slowly steps away from him until the backs of his legs hit his bed, then he allows himself to sit. He reaches down and pulls his shirt up and over his head, before Jayce can react and turn around, and he’s left staring at Viktor’s bare torso.
He has lines from the way the linen sat, wrinkled and pressed so tightly into his skin from the doublet – which on its own has left red marks down his body with how aggressive and tight the boning is. His skin, though, is pale, like it’s never seen sunlight in its life, a stark contrast to the deep tan of Jayce’s. It bears no scars, just the lines from his day clothes which will fade overnight, leaving a perfectly smooth expanse of skin. He’s dotted with moles, all the way from his neck down to his v-line, and Jayce, not for the first time, wonders if there are any more moles he can’t see. Jayce feels an ache in his teeth; a yearning to bite, to mark, to claim.
Viktor looks up at him with round, innocent eyes, seemingly unaware of Jayce's plight. “The trousers now too, please. I can’t bend far enough to remove them without my doublet.”
Jayce gulps, then nods. He doesn’t trust his voice. He kneels down once again in front of his prince, a wildly different context than earlier this eve, less than an hour ago. Jayce undoes the ties on the front of Viktor’s pants, fingers achingly close to where he wants them most, but remains careful not to touch his prince’s body. He then hooks his fingers in the waistband, ensuring it’s just the trousers and not the undergarments in his grip, and pulls them down. Viktor lifts his hips, just slightly, in order to get them down over the bone. Jayce was right in his thoughts just minutes ago – there are even more moles dotting his legs. Jayce wants to kiss each one, the dots forming some kind of constellation, heavenly and gifted onto this divine body. Jayce can feel himself practically salivating.
“And now my socks too, please.”
Viktor’s voice is low and quiet, and Jayce shivers. “Yes, your highness.” His voice comes out breathier than he wanted it to. He’s on both knees, now, practically in prayer as he lightly tugs on the wool socks, revealing Viktor’s soft, mole-dotted feet. They look like they’ve never seen a day of hardship and labour (of course, they hadn’t), and it takes Jayce’s breath away. His mouth all but waters to touch, kiss, lick–
As though reading his mind, Viktor raises the foot of his good leg closer to Jayce’s mouth. His breath hitches, and he looks up to his prince, whose eyes are dark, amber having been nearly swallowed by the deep black of his pupil. He’s never had the privilege to see his prince’s eyes trained on him like this, especially not when they look this… hungry. He twitches his foot up again, just slightly closer to Jayce’s mouth, which is almost drooling. Jayce’s hand still cups Viktor’s heel, and he pulls the prince’s foot closer still to his mouth, still looking at Viktor. The prince gives the slightest of nods, and without breaking eye contact, Jayce just barely leans down to brush a kiss against the top of his foot – hardly even a kiss, really, just a light touch of his lips against the soft skin of the prince’s delicate feet.
Jayce feels like a dog, at his master’s feet, begging for scraps. Whimpering as such, pathetic as he is, nearly undone just by being allowed to touch his prince’s foot. Mouth watering at even the smallest notion that he would be rewarded. All he’s ever wanted is to be good, to be useful, to be essentially collared and leashed, given a clear path and a job, and rewarded once that job is complete. Of course, in knighthood, that is his every day, but here, at the foot of his prince, his master… Jayce is in heaven.
He presses another kiss to the arch of his prince’s–Viktor’s–foot, this time more deliberate. He only just pulls his mouth away before planting another kiss, then another, losing himself in the near-blinding pleasure of serving his prince. He’s hard and straining against his trousers, armor almost punishingly tight against his crotch, as though reminding him of his station, reminding him that this is wrong. But he pays no heed as he lays kiss after kiss onto Viktor’s feet, tongue darting out of his mouth ever so slightly to leave small, shiny wet spots on the otherwise clean skin, cooling quickly in the air.
He moves down, becoming more bold (or more lost to the pleasure) and laving his tongue across the delicate toes, before lifting the foot more to place more kisses on the sole. Jayce loses track of time, unconsciously rocking his hips and rubbing himself against the unforgiving steel of his armor. He can just barely hear Viktor whining above him, and he hears himself gasp as a lithe hand grips his hair at the root, tugging him up the prince’s leg. It takes him no time to adjust, leaving wet kisses in a trail upwards, paying special attention to his moles, nipping and sucking bruises into the otherwise pale, unmarred skin.
One hand is wrapped around the leg he’s lavishing, while the other rests delicately on Viktor’s bad leg. Even in this state, whatever it is, he is conscious of his prince and his bodily limitations. Jayce notices, just for a moment, that his thumb and forefinger can just barely brush each other where his hand is wrapped above Viktor’s knee, and he growls, a low and predatory sound, which makes Viktor nearly squeak.
He makes it all the way up Viktor’s leg, which is truly a wonder, considering just how many times he’d stopped to leave love bites, or to remind himself to stop rocking his hips, lest he ruin his trousers. He noses at the hem of Viktor’s undergarments, daring to just barely nip at the fabric, threatening to pull it down. He hears a chuckle above him, and Jayce remembers himself. His eyes and mind clear, and he straightens, embarrassed and shocked at himself.
“My prince, I…” Jayce trails off, at a total loss for words. He none-too–carefully drops Viktor’s good leg, shuffling backwards but remaining on his knees. His mouth and the skin around it feels wet; he wipes across his face with the back of his hand, faintly disgusted at the sheer amount of saliva on his hand. “I apologize. I got carried away. This is entirely unacceptable of me, and I will accept any punishment you deem fit for such a transgression.”
Viktor sits in shocked silence for a moment, before reaching his hand out and running his fingers through the soft hair atop Jayce’s head. Jayce closes his eyes, ever so slightly leaning into the touch. “Jayce, you will receive a far more severe punishment if you don’t come and finish what you started immediately.”
Jayce’s eyes snap open, daring to look at the prince. A deep blush had started on his face, trailing all the way down to his heaving chest. His eyes were wild, brandy-coloured irises nearly eclipsed by the deep black of his pupil, and… oh. Jayce’s eyes travel down, gaze snagging on how Viktor is straining through his underclothes, a wet spot forming at the tip. Jayce’s mouth fills with saliva at the overwhelming need to get his mouth wrapped around Viktor’s cock as soon as physically possible. He starts to scramble forward, but Viktor puts out a hand, stopping him.
“Take off all that… cumbersome armour, first,” Viktor murmurs, leaning back on his elbows. Jayce complies, standing, reaching for and fumbling with the straps to his breastplate, vambraces, greaves – all of it falling to a pile on the floor, leaving Jayce feeling exposed, physically and emotionally. He looks back up to Viktor and nearly collapses at the sight: his prince, leaned back on one elbow, undergarments pushed down just enough to allow his cock freedom, the other hand stroking lightly, just enough to keep him hard. Jayce staggers forward, but Viktor stops him again.
“I like you on your knees. Crawl to me.”
Jayce wastes no time in complying, ignoring the sharp sting of humiliation he feels at being told to crawl, to act like a dog. Ignoring, too, how it makes his own cock throb, hot arousal flowing through his veins like liquid fire.
He comes to a stop in front of Viktor, at the end of the bed. Viktor didn’t tell him to crawl onto the bed, so he doesn’t. Instead he remains kneeling, resisting the urge to rut into the side of the bed like an untrained mutt, shyly staring into Viktor’s face; too nervous to look him directly in the eye, but too taken with the sight before him to look away.
“Oh, waiting for more instructions, are we? Such a good, well-trained dog,” Viktor drawls, arousal dripping from every word.
Jayce whines at the (very well-fitting) title before he can stop himself, hips jerking, seeking desperately-needed contact to his flushed cock, which he didn’t receive. He feels himself flush an even deeper red, if such a thing were even possible.
“Now crawl up to me, slowly.”
Jayce does everything in his power not to rush up to meet Viktor, to plant his mouth against his prince’s, to rut into him until they’re both spent and gasping, to lick the sweat off of the smaller man’s body – no, he slinks upwards, eyes trained on the prince’s face, his eyes growing darker with every inch Jayce moves. He stops Jayce when his face reaches his hips, underclothes having been pulled down even farther to reveal all of him, flushed and straining. Jayce’s mouth waters uncontrollably, desperate to get as much of Viktor in his mouth as soon as possible, the clean scent of Viktor’s soap mingling with his natural musk, creating a heady aroma that has Jayce near dizzy.
Viktor is gripping himself at the base, obviously trying to keep himself under control, but also offering himself up to Jayce. He needs no instruction before closing his mouth around the tip, clumsily trying to swallow all of Viktor down all at once. The man below him swears, jolting, before using his free hand to grip the roots of Jayce’s hair and pull him up and off. He sputters, coughing, eyes rolled nearly to the back of his head at the sharp pleasure-pain in his scalp.
“Have you, ah,” Viktor pants, trying to catch his breath, “ever done this before?”
He releases Jayce, who almost lets his head drop into Viktor’s lap. He catches himself, shaking his head dazedly. “Nuh-uh. Dreamed about it. All the time.” If he were more aware, he would have been humiliated by the confession. But, in this state, it just fills him with a buzzing need.
Viktor, for his part, has to squeeze himself tighter as the words hit his ears. He’s dreamed about sucking me off. He exhales slowly. What else has he dreamed about, I wonder?
“Shit. Okay. You have to go slower, lásko. You will choke.”
“Wanna,” Jayce mumbles, licking his lips. “Wanna choke on you, Vik. Wanna make you feel good.”
Viktor barks a laugh at Jayce’s virginal enthusiasm. “Yes, miláčku, I know. But you have to go slower. Do you want me to guide you?”
Jayce nods, overeager, and Viktor laughs again as he gently threads his fingers into the deceptively soft hair on Jayce’s head. Jayce’s mouth hangs open, ready to take, to be used as Viktor sees fit. Not very different from their usual dynamic.
Viktor slowly guides Jayce down until just the tip rests in Jayce’s mouth. Realizing he’s not receiving any more, Jayce closes his lips and begins to suck. Viktor hisses, and pulls on his knight’s hair. “Not so hard, lásko. Gentle. Swirl your tongue.”
Jayce whines in pleasure at the tug, and obeys as he lessens the pressure in his mouth, slowly dragging his tongue around the mushroom tip of the cock in his mouth. He shudders in pleasure at the salty-sweet taste that is so purely Viktor mixing with the saliva in his mouth. He ever so slightly ruts his hips into the mattress, surely ruining the covers, desperate for any sort of release of the pressure building in his gut.
“Good,” Viktor praises, making Jayce whine even louder. “Breathe through your nose.”
Jayce would be surprised to hear that Viktor had noticed his lack of breathing before he himself did, but he’s too drunk on pleasure, on the taste, the smell, the feel of Viktor in his mouth to care. He exhales hard, and drags his eyes up to his prince’s.
Viktor moans, loud and unashamed, and pushes Jayce’s head down just an inch or two further. Jayce gags, nearly chokes, and Viktor pulls him back up again. “Flatten your tongue.” Jayce once again obeys, and takes Viktor with ease.
“Good, so good, miláčku. Now you suck.”
Jayce hollows his cheeks, moving up and down the few inches of Viktor he’s been allowed, a fervor in his movements that Viktor recognizes from his knighthood. So devoted to any and every task put before him.
Viktor drags him down another two inches, deciding that it’s as far as he’ll let Jayce go. Tonight, anyway. Jayce’s pace barely ever falters, eyes all the way in the back of his skull, mouth obviously wanting to go slack in the state of pleasure he’s in, but refusing to while it’s still being used.
Viktor feels a familiar tightening in his gut, tensing all too quickly, and has to pull Jayce off of him and squeeze, hard, to keep himself under control. The last couple inches of him have small trails of wetness leading tantalizingly down into the well-maintained thatch of hair at his base, while the rest of him absolutely shines with spit in the low light. He looks up into Jayce’s face, mouth open, chest heaving, still drooling, lips slightly swollen with how hard he’d been sucking on Viktor.
“Good boy, so good, Jayce,” Viktor coos, releasing his hold on the bigger man’s hair and beckoning him up higher. Jayce scrambles upward, and his prince takes him by the jaw, in one delicate hand, and pulls him forward to kiss him.
Jayce is nearly as clumsy here as he was putting his mouth on Viktor’s cock for the first time. Viktor is patient with him, though, and silently guides him through the correct movements, mouths sliding together, Jayce’s tasting still like Viktor. Jayce lowers himself down, flesh touching flesh, and keens into his prince’s mouth as their cocks brush. Viktor separates from Jayce (a near-impossible feat) to bring his hand up under Jayce’s mouth. “Spit,” he commands. Jayce does.
Viktor brings his hand down to where the two of them are hard, leaking, spit and precome mixing on Viktor’s fair skin. Jayce nearly shouts as Viktor wraps his slick hand around both of their cocks, bringing them together, and stroking them up and down, up and down. “My hands are not big enough for this, Jayce,” Viktor stutters out, and Jayce immediately brings a hand down to meet him. He wants to, no, he needs to conform to his prince’s every want, every need. He has to be the best knight, the best dog he can be. His hand wraps around them both, around Viktor’s hand, from the other side, and the pleasure becomes all the more blinding. He starts to shake uncontrollably, a pressure in his low gut tightening with every pass. He hears Viktor moaning, too, calling him good, so handsome, so good for me, and Jayce realizes he’s not going to last much longer.
“Vik– Viktor, I’m– I’m gonna-”
“Me too, Jayce. Together, miláčku.”
A strained shout is pulled from Jayce’s mouth as their hands move once, twice, and three times as he begins to tremble, spilling all over their joined fists, onto Viktor’s stomach. Viktor follows soon after, their combined pleasure spilling off his heaving abdomen onto the sheets below.
Jayce wants to collapse, but knowing the limitations of Viktor’s body, flops to the side and pulls Viktor towards him. He should be ashamed by the informality, the disrespect of the move, but… he has their shared release cooling on his skin. He brings his hand up to his mouth and licks, the taste of them together addictively good. Viktor nuzzles into Jayce’s side without complaint, his clean hand coming to rest against the side of his knight’s face, stroking his cheek lightly.
“...so good, you did so good, lásko.” Jayce finally tunes in, recognizing that Viktor’s been speaking to him in this tone for the past several minutes. Their bodies melt into the mattress below. Yes, they should clean up – but all Jayce can think about right now is covering them both with a blanket, hiding from the cold, and maybe even falling asleep. He throws one of the many heavy blankets decorating the bed over them with one arm, heavy with exhaustion. Viktor presses kiss after kiss to his knight’s tanned skin.
They will need to talk about this. Confessions need to be made, parameters drawn – nothing about this seems like a random, spur-of-the-moment, you were there and I needed my cock sucked moment. Obviously premeditated, as is Viktor’s way. But sleep tugs at Jayce’s mind, at both of their minds, and the only words Jayce can form are “thank you” before tumbles into the soundest sleep of his life.