Archive of Our Own

If Jayce of former House Giopara were a less prideful man, he would have put his shame aside, grabbed his hammer, and made his way down to Zaun the very first week since the problem had started.  

Turns out, he isn't. 

So a week turned into three, and three weeks turned into five, and five had turned into two months; sixty agonising, nail biting inducing days in which the Machine Herald hadn't been seen, nor heard of. Not in Zaun. Not in Piltover. Not anywhere else in Runeterra. 

If Jayce of former House Giopara were true to himself, he would admit that he was worried. For fucks sake. Worried . Worried about that stupid man-made Machine. Worried about his stupid steel-reinforced ass. Worried about his stupid nemesis’ whereabouts. 

“More like bothered , really.” 

Because why on earth would he feel anxious about Viktor's sudden disappearance? Why would he feel fear about the eerie silence that Viktor's unknown status left behind? It was irritating, mostly, a little itch in the back of his head—at least that's what he told himself. 

Right. So he was bothered. How dare he? How dare he dip and vanish off the face of the earth, unannounced? Why hasn't he seen him these past months? Where is he? Where is he hiding? Did something happen? Is he injured? Is he ignoring him? Has he finally gotten bored of their quarrel? Of him? 

How fucking dare he.

For the past seven years, he and Viktor have been fighting every week on the dot. The days were flexible. Sometimes Viktor raided his laboratory on Wednesdays, when the moon was at its shiniest, only for Jayce to smash open his door the next Monday, and take back what's his. A game of tag. Brawling on a Friday evening. Arguing on a Tuesday morning—Never on Sundays, Sundays were off limits. They rested. 

Two months ago, it had been Viktor's turn to cross the bridge and unleash chaos in his workshop. So Jayce had waited, patiently looking over the new alarm system he had installed in his laboratory; a self made advanced monitored security system that would go off the moment Viktor stepped foot inside, activating an electric field that would short circuit even the least conductive metals. It was flawless. A brilliant design.

He never saw it in action. Viktor didn't come. 

Alright. So the days were flexible. But it was Saturday night and still no trace of Viktor. What the fuck. 

Safe to say, Jayce is still pissed. 

Is this exact situation that now brings him to the middle layers of Zaun. He doesn't dare going to Viktor's house in Emberflit Alley. It's too intimate . Too personal . But nothing stops him from asking around the neighbourhood for clues, snooping around backstreets and dirty alleyways in hope of finding traces of his long lost partner. If he's really honest, he is not really sure what he's supposed to be searching for, but Vi had encouraged him into going to this super reliable address where he is supposed to find someone with eyes around all of Zaun who could give him answers . —Vi's words, not his.

So there he stands, outside the most rickety three story building he has ever seen, its wooden beams sagging under the weight of time and neglect. The house leans ever so slightly to the left. The brickwork is cracked, blackened by soot and grime, with creeping vines of mold snaking their way through the gaps. A rusted sign hangs from a single chain above the door, swaying slightly in the stagnant air, the address Vi gave him barely readable. The windows are either boarded up or so caked in filth that no light escapes from within.  

He grimaces before lifting his gloved hand and knocking.  As expected, there is no answer. ‘Well, so much for being polite’ Jayce thinks, sighing as he pushes the door open. It groans and protests against the movement, the metal hinges rusted and barely holding up to the rotting frame. 

The interior is similar to the crumbling exterior—damp, dimly lit, and barely holding itself together. The wooden floorboards creak under Jayce’s boots. The walls are streaked with grime and rust where exposed pipes leak condensation, dripping into puddles. The air is thick with the scent of oil.

He doesn't dwell on the details, and promptly makes his way to the narrow, winding staircase that stands in the corner, its railing bent and unsteady. He grips it anyway, when one of his feet slips over an oil spill dripping steadily onto it. He curses, thinking to himself about how stupid any of this is. How utterly ridiculous. He could have perfectly gone and smashed Viktor's laboratory to bits—as he always does—or demand a fight in the middle of a Zaunite street—as they always do—and see for himself what was the hold up. Check in and see if Viktor was alright. Or whatever. 

But it was his damn turn to show up. Fuck him.

Pride is a sin. Apparently. At least that's what some of Janna’s followers preach. He doesn't know, he's no Zaunite. So sue him for being filled with it; but if Viktor is not going to respect their scheduled quarrels, he's not going to crawl in all fours for his attention. 

After gaining back his balance, he exhales sharply and presses forward. The third floor looms above, and with every creaking step, the weight of uncertainty settles heavier on his shoulders. He doesn’t know what awaits him there, but he trusts Vi. For all the bold, fist-first type of attitude she has, she's yet to disappoint in her in-depth knowledge of her birth home. 

And so he doesn't hesitate when stepping inside, but he does clench his hammer’s handle around his fist, securing it. 

He enters an, once again, empty room; but this one feels different, feels lived-in. There's massive glass windows that let in the dim neon glow of Zaun. Walls filled with paint and graffiti of nonsensical symbols. A metal desk sits at the far end, cluttered with scattered papers, half-empty cans and tools. Against one wall, a battered couch is covered in a pile of blankets. A crate beside it serves as a makeshift table, littered with playing cards and a radio.

For a few moments, he stands alone, the only sound the distant rumble of machinery far below. Then, a sudden creak behind him.  

“You lost, piltie boy?” Jayce swiftly turns around, redying his hammer until he sees who awaits for him, carelessly hanging from some haphazardly put together horizontal wooden planks on the roof. 

“Ekko.” God. Vi's trusted Undercity informant is a kid? Sure. Whatever. At least he knows the man, even if they're not on the best of terms. He's a smart one. Has grand ideas Jayce would be more than happy to hear if it wasn't for their opposites views and lives.

He's also not alone. Three other figures descend with him as they drop to the ground. They don't look particularly menacing, though a little bit wary. They're probably around the same age as the other teen. 

The one on the far left is dark skinned and has bright, hot pink hair styled in a high top afro, though the mechanical arm prosthesis they have immediately catches his attention more. Next to them, a girl with straight, purple hair in a green hood and red-tinted glasses leans to the side, observing him with squinting eyes; in the middle is Ekko, and on his other side, the last person is another young, tan woman with dark hair tied up in two high pigtails, and a big, enthusiastic grin on her face.

“Hi!” The former girl exclaims upon descending, grabbing him by the hand and shaking it with over excitement. He tries to hide his grimace, uncomfortable by the display, and discreetly wipes his gloved hand with his trousers after she lets go of him. “Name's Kay! And this is Shomi and Anya!” She gestures first to the neon pink person and then to the other woman, who nods in lieu of speaking. “They're the best engineers in the Fissures! Proper geniuses I tell ya'!” 

Jayce puts on his best fake, cheery smile, the one he graces politicians and investors with, flashy white teeth and crinkling eyes he's so used to putting on in the presence of the likes of the Ferros, and nods. “Ah, fellow inventors. I'm sure your work must be impressive,” Jayce continues smoothly, letting his gaze flick over the teens, who smile rather shyly under the attention—he's a famous renowned scientist, after all. “Zaun has always been home to some of the most innovative minds, and I’m sure your designs push the limits of what’s possible. I’d love to—”  

“Cut the speech man,” Ekko interrupts, arms crossed as he leans against the desk. His expression is unimpressed, voice edged with impatience, and his stupid oversized mohawk sways as he speaks. “We’re not here to exchange pleasantries.”  

Jayce’s polished smile falters slightly, but he recovers quickly, straightening his posture. “Right, right.”

Ekko tilts his head. “I know Vi gave you the address for this hideout, something she'd only do if she trusts you, so I ain't gonna be hostile, even if I don't really like you.”

Jayce raises an eyebrow, completely ignoring the jab and glancing around the dimly lit room with its cracked windows, uneven floors, and barely standing furniture. He gestures vaguely to the space around him, lips quirking into something between amusement and disbelief. “This… is a hideout?” He lets the words hang, his tone more surprised than mocking. “This crumbling house?” He exhales, shaking his head. “Alright… whatever.”  

Ekko doesn’t miss a beat, arms still crossed as he gives Jayce a pointed look. “Not everyone can afford your Piltie gilded houses embedded in gold,” he shoots back “That's also the whole point of the hideout, genius. It's crumbling. No one comes here. It's secretive. It suits our needs.”

Jayce chuckles, shifting his weight onto one foot. “Well, I could spare some coin to at least fix the stairs,” he quips, smirking. “Almost broke my neck on the way up.”  

Kay and Shomi exchange looks, snickering under their breaths. “Oh, he's funny, I like him.” Ekko rolls his eyes, but he cannot hide a little smile as he shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. Real generous of you.” He sits on the desk, rolling his shoulders. “Now, unless you came here to invest in real estate, get to the point.”

“Right…” Now that he really thinks about it, this is… so stupid. He doesn't know where to begin. He's going to confide in a bunch of teenagers. God, it's pathetic. 

“Just spit it out dude—what do you want?” Anya says.

He sends a glare to the girl, but doesn't retort with a quip of his own. Exhaling through his nose, he speaks: “Have you heard of or seen the Machine Herald recently? Any… any strange movements? Anything?” 

Silence fills the room for a few moments. Ekko quirks his eyebrow. Anya and Kay look at each other with big amused eyes. Shomi instinctively grabs their arm. 

“...is that all?” 

“Um. Yeah.” 

“We– we have informants in every corner of Zaun, from the Sump to the Promenade; we know information before most people even realize there's something to know, we know the dirty secrets of the Chem-Barons...” Ekko states, slowly making his way to stand face to face with Jayce—well, more like chest to face—and regards him with a confused, incredulous gaze. “And you want to ask us about Viktor? Your nemesis? Isn't that your damn job, Defender of Tomorrow ?” 

Jayce grits his teeth and inhales, but doesn't raise his voice—though his irritation is obvious.

“Yes, well,” he says, forcing his voice to stay even. “He’s ignoring me, so…”  

He regrets his choice of words the moment they leave his mouth. It's even more pathetic to say out loud. 

Ekko raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching as if holding back a grin. “ Ignoring you?” He lets out a low chuckle, glancing toward the rest of the crew. “Oh Janna. Are you having marital problems—again?”  

A few snickers echo from the others in the room.  

Jayce groans, rubbing his temples when he feels an incoming headache. “It’s not— we are not like that.”  

Ekko smirks, tapping his fingers against his arm. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night man.” Fuck, Jayce hates children. Who gave him the right to look so smug. Ugh. 

“Do you know something or not?” He snaps, patience running thin. His lips curl into a scow, and the leather of his glove squeaks as he clenches his fists. 

Ekko rolls his eyes, shrugging as he plops himself back onto the desk. “I don't know man. Just the usual. Nothing weird has happened recently. He's holed up in his lab, or helping with chem spills in the Sumps, or repairing golems like Blitz ; as always. I'm not really in his business.” 

“Then why the fuck is he not fighting me? As always?” 

Ekko raises an eyebrow at Jayce’s outburst but doesn’t seem particularly surprised. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t know, man. Maybe he finally got tired of your speeches. Or maybe—just maybe—he’s got better shit to do than trade blows with you every other week.”  

Jayce exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair and furrowing his brows before speaking. “That’s the problem. He always has time to fight me.” He always has time for me — he doesn't say. His voice is edged with frustration, strained and low, but underneath it, something else lingers— fucking concern . “Every time I push, he pushes back. Every time I make a move, he’s right there, countering it. But now? Nothing. No counter moves, no responses, not even a damn message. Just… silence. If he was tired about our fighting, least he can do is fucking say so to my face. That fucking bastard. He doesn't get to ignore me.”

Ekko studies him for a moment, tapping his fingers against the desk. His expression shifts—just a fraction—but it’s enough for Jayce to notice.  

“You do know something,” Jayce says, narrowing his eyes.  

Ekko sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I told you—nothing particularly weird or out of the ordinary has happened. But…” He hesitates. “Some people—recent patients mostly—have been saying that he has been different. Quieter. Gentler. Friendlier even. Like someone has turned off a switch inside him and now he's more… human.” 

What the fuck does that mean. Viktor. Gentler. Please, don't make him laugh.

“Explain.” 

Shomi, who had been quiet up until now, shifts slightly where they sit, rolling their shoulders as if debating whether to speak or not. Then, with a sigh, they lean forward, resting their metal arm on their knee as if they were displaying it. 

“I know Ekko is not his biggest fan, so we don't normally seek him out.” They begin, absentmindedly flexing the prosthetic fingers. “But I would be lying if I said he's not the best at what he does. Man's a genius. So I went to see him a few weeks ago—needed a repair on my arm. Some of the joints were sticking, servos were lagging. Y’know, usual wear and tear.”  

Jayce crosses his arms, watching them carefully. “And?”  

Shomi shrugs. “And it was different this time. Usually, he works fast, efficiently, and barely says a word. Just fixes it and sends you on your way.” They tilt their head, expression thoughtful. “But this time? He actually talked to me. Asked questions. Wanted to make sure everything felt right, that the adjustments worked for me, not just for function.” They lift their arm, gesturing to the smooth movement of the prosthetic. “Hell, he even made improvements I didn’t ask for. Adjusted the weight balance, tuned the sensors so it wouldn’t overheat as fast. Didn’t even charge me for it.”

Jayce frowns. This didn’t add up. He knows Viktor isn't explicitly cruel, less so with his own people—he is precise, pragmatic. He helped because it was necessary, because he believed in progress, in efficiency, in fixing things that were broken. But friendly? Talkative? Nice? 

In their Academy days, smiles were rare and usually reserved to him alone. It was a fact he rejoiced in. 

“Are you sure we’re talking about Viktor?” he asks, half-skeptical, half-joking.  

Shomi shrugs a smile, resting their arm back over their lap. “Whatever happened, he's being nicer. Didn't happen to me alone. Another one of ours—Alexis—went a week after me; busted his leg. He said the same thing when he came back: that the Machine Herald had helped him and patched him up. Checked in, made sure he wasn’t in pain. Even gave him advice on how to take care of the prosthetic.”  

Anya nods along to what Shomi says. “It’s weird, man. He’s still him, still got that sharp mind and weird aura, still focused on his work. But it’s like… something’s softened. Like he’s seeing people instead of just problems to solve. Didn’t even try to lure them into his… Glorious Evolution freaky stuff.”  

Jayce exhales, his fingers twitching at his sides. He doesn’t like this. Gods, he doesn't fucking like this. Not because Viktor was being kind—no, that wasn’t the issue. It’s that this wasn’t like him. Something had shifted. And something in his guts tells him that someone had to do with it. 

Because Viktor doesn’t just change like that. Not on his own. Not without reason. And the thought that someone else might have gotten close enough to influence him like this? It sits wrong in his chest, coils tight in his ribs like a vice.  

He doesn’t know if he wants to dig deeper or walk away before he finds an answer he won’t like.

“Yeah dude.” Kay says, cheerfully. “And there's also the matter of this mystery man who went to his house. Rumours are spreading.” 

Gods, of all the times in which his instincts are actually right—fuck this. Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.

Jayce’s stomach twists. His jaw tightens. “Who?” 

Kay grins, completely unbothered by his growing discomfort. “I didn’t personally see, but one of ours told me that one day, while flying around with the hoverboard near the neighbourhood he lives in, she heard some commotion and went to watch. When she arrived at the scene, she saw Viktor and some other man talking; didn't hear of what. Anyway, they got up and then they were walking together through the alleyways, back to the Emberflit district. She couldn’t get much closer. Viktor’s place has like– super extra security. But she did see how this stranger just... Well, they looked close, that's all she said, walking side by side and chatting.” Kay takes a breath and leans down as if she's telling a secret, hand against the corner of her mouth. “I don't know if this is common knowledge, but the lab-slash-clinic where Viktor tends to his patients is not actually his house. It's in the same alley, yes, but everyone knows his actual, private home is the one on the far end of the street.” Yes, Jayce is aware. They don't fight there precisely for that reason. “Well, Viktor led him inside; like– personally . To his house. Not the workshop. Not the clinic. His house .”

Jayce’s fingers curl into fists at his sides. His mind races, trying to make sense of it, trying to shove down the sharp, irrational burn in his chest. Viktor barely lets anyone into his personal space. That was their battleground, their unspoken territory—neutral ground in the chaos of everything else. And now, some fucking stranger was there? In his private laboratory that Jayce knows he keeps in the basement? In his kitchen? In his bedroom?

“Wha– what did he look like?” His voice comes out clipped, strained, trembling with anger.  

“Didn’t get a clear look.” Kay shrugs. “From what she could tell, he was dirty, limped a lot, had this dark brown hair and a beard, tanned skin and was pretty strong looking, handsome too. Didn't tower over Viktor but he was clearly tall. He wore some torn white coat, but she said that it looked too fancy, even filled with mud as it was. Said that it had some kind of shoulder pauldron with gold in it. And a crest of some kind. Piltie House stuff.” 

Jayce forces out a breath through his nose. His heartbeat pounds in his ears.

If the rumours are true, Viktor has been personally assisting someone from Piltover. Someone with a house, nonetheless. The questions here are: Who? And why? And how does any of this possibly affect—  

Him.  

Because it must affect him. Otherwise, how else does he explain these past two months? How else does he explain this– this–... avoidance .  

And Jayce doesn't want to admit he's jealous. Not in the way that would make sense, anyway. But why? Viktor clearly has time in his hands, as he still helps the injured and works and invents, which—painfully—means he chose to have no time for Jayce. 

“Okay, stop filling the man with nonsense.” Ekko—Janna bless him—interrupts his slowly panicking head. “That’s clearly just another patient. The end.”  

Jayce exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, but it does little to settle the tightness in his chest. “Right. Yeah. Just a patient.” The words feel hollow even as he says them.  

“Duh.” Anya, now sprawled lazily across the worn-out couch, waves a dismissive hand. “But how do you explain the private room tour through his house? He never does that.” Her voice is teasing, but there’s a knowing edge to it, like she enjoys watching him squirm. 

Jayce scowls. “That’s—” He pauses, because she has a point. He scoffs and looks to the side, brows tightly clenched together. 

“Just drop it,” Ekko cuts in, rolling his eyes. He leans back with a sigh. “Poor man is going to pop a vein if he keeps thinking about another man spending time with his boyfriend.”  

Jayce jerks upright, eyes wide. “It’s not– I’m not fucking jealous.”  

Anya snorts. “You’re so jealous.”

Ekko silently shakes his head, mumbling to himself. “Look, man. If it’s bothering you this much, just go talk to him.”  

Jayce scoffs. “Oh, yeah, that’ll go over great. ‘Hey, Viktor, I know I haven’t seen you in two months, but I heard you’ve been spending time with some dude, and it’s making me feel—’”  

Like I don’t matter to you anymore.

The thought creeps in before he can stop it, curling around his ribs, winding tight. It makes his throat dry, makes his fists clench.  

Ekko watches him carefully. “Like what?”  

Jayce shakes his head, shoulders dropping. “Forget it. It’s stupid.” 

An awkward silence settles over them, heavy and unspoken. Jayce keeps his gaze fixed on the floor, jaw tight, arms crossed over his chest like a barrier against whatever emotion threatens to break through.

Finally, Shomi clears their throat. “Well… you can always try and ask that ginger kid that always hangs around him?”

“Naph?” Jayce voices out loud, considering his options. Naph is… well, he's Viktor's kid. Rude, sharp-tongued and clearly not friendly to him. God forbid his not-father ever puts in a good word for him. Not that he blames them. Kid’s probably seen Viktor bloodied and injured by his hand more than enough times not to trust him.

It's still worth a shot.

“You know where to find him?” 

“Well, if he's not with Viktor he's probably hanging around the dumpster rivers around the orphanage east from here.” Kay informs.

Jayce winces. Right. Poor kid sounds as sad and miserable as his caretaker. Hanging around the disposal waters near the orphanage where they bullied him. Gods. It makes Jayce’s stomach twist, but he pushes the feeling aside. He doesn’t have the right to pity Viktor’s kid—especially not when he’s probably part of the reason Naph learned not to trust people in the first place.

“Thank you.” He ends up saying, nodding to Ekko and his friends in gratitude. It’s not much, but it’s all he can offer. He’s not great at this—at leaning on others, at admitting when he needs help—but they don’t call him out on it. Ekko just gives him a two-fingered salute, Kay smirks and Shomi and Anya offer a small nod in return.

So Jayce takes a breath, grips his hammer, steels himself, and heads out into the neon-lit maze of Zaun.

The journey is not long, but a pain nonetheless; winding through narrow alleys, dimly lit tunnels that hum with flickering lights, and the ever-present murmur of the city below thrums beneath his feet. At least he didn't encounter anyone willing to have a fight.

When he finally reaches the orphanage’s outskirts, he slows his steps. The buildings here are patched together with scavenged parts, their walls filled with dirt. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of machinery echoes, blending with the occasional shout or laughter from unseen figures; children's voices and squeaks. He follows the sound of water until, up ahead, the space opens up.  

A rare break in the tangle of buildings lets in silvers of dim light from above—muted by the smog and grime clinging to Piltover’s underside, but still enough to cast a dull glow over the clearing. The river—only by name, as its shallowness does not surpass the ankles and its width is more like that of a stream—runs through it, sluggish and murky, choked with discarded junk. Metal scraps jut out at odd angles, half-submerged in the water, tangled with old cables and things too broken to salvage.  

And at the edge of it all, crouched near the shoreline, is a lone figure. A boy, ginger-haired, pale and small, with awkward lanky legs and arms, still growing with his puberty, hunched over something in the water.

Jayce stops a few steps away, watching as the kid shifts through the debris, expression unreadable. He’s careful with his hands, plucking through the mess like he knows exactly what he’s looking for.

For a moment, he considers turning back. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he clears his throat.  

Jayce doesn’t even get a single word out before something comes hurtling straight at his face.  

Instinct kicks in—his hand snaps up, catching the object with ease. It’s a jagged piece of scrap metal, cold and rusted against his palm. Not exactly deadly, but definitely not something you toss at someone by accident. 

When he looks up, Naph is already staring at him, eyes sharp and inquisitive, most likely trying to figure out why the hell was Jayce here before deciding whether he cares enough to do something about it.  

Well. At least he didn’t run away. Jayce counts that as a win.  

Slowly, he exhales, lowering the scrap metal and dropping it carelessly to the ground. “Good aim.”

Naph scoffs, “Nice reflexes,” he mutters sarcastically, still crouched near the water’s edge.

Jayce huffs a quiet laugh, “Was that a test?”  

“A warning.” It's endearing, really, how this pre-teen thinks he's any challenge for him. Nevertheless, he'll indulge him. 

He crosses the last few steps that separate them until he's standing next to the boy. Naph doesn't bother to stand up, but does look up at him with furrowed lips and big, black weary eyes. 

Gods, even with a different colour scheme in his features, it's almost unbelievable how much he accidentally resembles Viktor. 

“What do you want.” 

“What? Can't I come over just because you looked lonely and I wanted to make you company?”  

Naph snorts. “Right. Fuck off.” Wow. Talk about a warm welcome. He rolls his eyes and turns back to whatever he’s been fiddling with—a small, makeshift toy fashioned out of scrap metal and old gears. It’s crude, rough around the edges, but it’s clever. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.” Naph adds, fingers carefully adjusting a stubborn piece that refuses to fit, huffing when his fingers slips and nips.

Jayce watches, tilting his head. “Did you make that?”  

Naph doesn’t look up. “Obviously.”  

“What is it?” 

“Just a dumb toy” Naph mutters, turning the tiny wind-up legs between his fingers. “For a cat.”  

Jayce blinks. “You guys got a cat?”

Naph shrugs. “No, but there’s one that comes by sometimes. Near the house.” His fingers keep working. “Started feeding it. It stuck around.”

“Viktor’s letting you keep it?”

“Begrudgingly.” A hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Keeps saying it’s a ‘filthy creature’ and a waste of time.” He pauses, then adds, “Still leaves food out when he thinks I’m not looking.”  

Jayce huffs a quiet laugh. Yeah. That sounds about right.

After a tiny moment of silence, Jayce squirms, a hint of nervousness creeping up at him. He clears his throat again. “So…” Naph barely glances at him, but he knows he has his attention. “Been with Viktor lately, I take it?”

“Sure…” Naph answers, almost skeptical. “I'll go later this afternoon to see him.” 

“And… have you noticed any difference? In Viktor?”

Naph narrows his eyes further. It's clear he doesn't trust him. Smart kid—but a nuisance nonetheless. “Why would I tell you?” 

“Pretty please?”

Naph gives him a flat, unimpressed look. “I'm not gonna give up information about Viktor.” 

“So you have noticed something’s off?” 

Naph scowls— hah, got him —and recoils slightly, shoulders curling inward. His fingers keep fidgeting with the toy, but he’s not fixing it anymore, just turning it over in his hands. “I shouldn't be talking to you.”

“Hm?”

“‘Cause you hurt Viktor.”

Jayce pretends the words don't sting, and sighs. “He hurts me too.”

“Yeah, but I don't care about you.”

Ugh.This kid.

“Stupid brat.”

“Fuck you too.”

“Is ‘fuck’ the only curse word you've learned? Need me to teach you some more?”

“You're such an asshole.”

“Well, there's a new one!”

Naph groans almost comically, frustration and slowly boiling anger painting his face red in an indignant flush. He stands up abruptly and attempts to flee, but Jayce quickly stops him with a hand on his skinny biceps.

“Okay, okay! I'm sorry! I'll behave.” Naph glares at him and yanks himself free from his hold, rubbing at his arm like Jayce had actually hurt him— dramatic little shit —but, notably, doesn’t try to run. “Please,” Jayce tries again, softer this time. “I just… want to know.”

The kid regards him with squinted eyes, lips twisting and eyes darting from the ground, to the side, to him, as if deep in thought. Then,  he runs his fingers through his orange hair and sighs. “And what would I gain from telling you?”

Jayce exhales, already feeling an incoming headache. “What do you want?”  

He doesn’t get an immediate answer. Instead, he catches the way Naph’s gaze flickers to his side. He follows his line of sight and realizes with mortified realization that the kid's eyes—gleaming with something close to fascination—are glued to the Mercury Hammer strapped safely to his side. 

“ Absolutely not.”  

“C’mon!!” Naph practically bounces on his feet, suddenly full of energy, weariness long forgotten. “Please! Just to hold it! I won’t even do anything! Just one second! I’ll tell you whatever you want! Pleeeease !”  

Jayce crosses his arms. “Not happening.”  

Naph groans dramatically, hands twitching like he’s physically holding himself back from lunging for it. “Why not?!”  

“Because it’s not a damn toy?”  

“I know that!” Naph scowls, but his gaze stays locked on the hammer, practically vibrating with the desire to touch it. “I just wanna see it up close! And maybe—” He gestures vaguely. “You know. Flick the switch. Just once!”

Jayce pinches the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But the kid looks so desperate, and frankly, Jayce doesn’t have time to drag this conversation out any longer. “You’re gonna fry yourself.”  

“I won’t! I know how tech works, I promise!” Naph gives him the most serious look he’s ever mustered, like this is the most important negotiation of his life. “Viktor lets me shoot his Death Ray sometimes!” 

“ He lets you shoot his –?...No, I dont wanna know.”

Jayce exhales slowly, weighing his options. He really, really doesn’t want to do this.  

But…damn it.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But only for a second. And if you break anything, I’m dunking you into this shit smelling river.”  

Naph lights up like his biggest wish just came true, hands reaching out eagerly. “Yes!! Okay, okay, gimme—”  

Jayce sighs, unhooking the hammer from his side and holding it out. “Be careful.” He barely has time to extend it to him before Naph grabs at it, struggling immediately under the weight. “ Holy shit. ” He breathes as he tries to adjust his grip, eyes shining with pure, unfiltered glee as he runs his hands over the handle. “Shit, this is heavy as hell.”

“Yes, well, I'm not a weakling.” Jayce says, trying to feign nonchalance but being unable to deny the slight ego stroke his words provoked—it is a heavy hammer, after all. Not everyone could pull it off like he did. 

He watches with a mix of amusement and concern as Naph struggles to keep the hammer steady. The kid’s enthusiasm is undeniable, though—his fingers run over every detail of the handle, tracing the engravings, the reinforced plating, the intricate seams where the weapon shifts between forms. His poor arms tremble under the weight, but he refuses to let go, his grin wide. 

Jayce sighs and steps closer, placing his hands beneath Naph’s grip to help stabilize it. “Alright, alright. You’re gonna break your wrists if you keep holding it like that. Here.” He shifts Naph’s hands slightly, adjusting his stance. “You need to distribute the weight. It’s not just heavy—it’s balanced for a reason. Let it rest here.” He nudges the handle into a better position against the kid’s forearm.  

Naph huffs but listens, letting the older man crouch behind him, his excitement not dimming in the slightest. His fingers twitch near the activation switch. “So, uh… how does it—?”  

Jayce smirks. “Go on. Grab the handle, pull it with force; twist it to the side.”  

Naph doesn’t hesitate. The moment his gripping fingers push the handle, the hammer hums to life. 

A deep thrum vibrates through the air as the mechanisms unlock, energy pulsing from the core with a bright blue light. The head of the hammer compresses, plates folding inward as the inner components shift and extend—until suddenly, with a sharp mechanical click, the weapon transforms into its cannon form. 

The force of the transformation nearly yanks it from Naph’s hands, but Jayce is already there, steadying him. “Easy,” he warns, gripping the back of the handle to keep the kid from tipping over.  

Naph, wide-eyed and breathless, barely hears him. He stares at the weapon with an awe-stricken face, giggling to himself with childlike wonder. Jayce watches him for a moment, then chuckles. “Cool, huh?”  

Naph swallows, nodding quickly. “Okay, fine, this is officially the best thing ever.”  

Jayce huffs a laugh. Damn right it was. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, before you get any ideas—I am not explaining to the authorities why a kid accidentally blasted a hole through the Entresol. So let’s switch it back before we both regret this.”  

Naph groans but relents, hesitantly flicking the switch again with a pout. The cannon hums before compressing back into its hammer form with another series of clicks, settling back into place.  

Jayce takes it from him before he can protest, effortlessly slinging it back to his side. “There. Now. You got what you wanted.” He raises an expectant eyebrow. “My turn.”  

Naph exhales, rubbing his strained arms. “Okay, what do you wanna know?”

“Viktor. People are saying he's behaving… nicer?”

Naph gives him a flat look. “He's always nice.”

“I hardly believe giving children hard drugs that play with the brain's natural chemicals is ‘nice behaviour’”. Jayce snorts.

“I chose that.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharpness to it, something defensive.

“Alright Naph.” He really feels bad for the kid, but he doesn't have the time for a ‘the concept of consent and the implications of body modifications’ speech right now, so he sighs and nods instead. “Then, let me rephrase this. Have you heard or seen about a man coming to his house? Limping, dirty, bearded…white coat on…?” 

Naph frowns, brows furrowing deep in thought. His fingers fidget around the cat toy, now back in his hands. Then, his eyes widen just a fraction, something clicking into place. “Oh. Actually, that would…explain some things ”

Jayce's heart skips a beat “What? Why? What happened?” 

Naph shrugs, suddenly avoiding his gaze. His excitement from moments ago is replaced with an awkward sort of discomfort, freckled cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “He’s been… weird lately. Sighing all the time like he's in love.”

Jayce blinks. “Come again?”

“I said, he’s been acting all— ugh—moony . You know. Staring off into space. Acting all… distracted. Muttering to himself.” Naph grimaces, like it physically pains him to think about it. “And, well, when he’s not fully armored, he’s taken a liking to wear this… torn black shirt that’s visibly two sizes larger than him.”

Jayce stiffens, hating that everything is making sense now. A puzzle falling into place.

“He, um—it's pretty pathetic—He nuzzles it,” Naph continues, voice dripping with judgment. “Like, actually buries his face in the fabric when he thinks no one’s looking. It’s gross.” 

A dreadful sensation coils tight in Jayce’s chest, something sharp and ugly pressing against his ribs. The thought— the possibility —lodges itself in his mind like a splinter.

Viktor 's in love.

(And it isn’t with him.)

Jayce doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe for a second, because it doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t be possible. They’ve fought, sure. They’ve been distant, fine. But Viktor—Viktor never —he wouldn’t just forget about him, would he? Would he really just… move on? Forgo their almost decade old battle? Just—completely, absolutely… erase him from his life, without as much as a warning?

The thought hits him harder than it should. He swallows, throat tight, and forces out a breath through his nose. “And you didn’t try to question that?”

Naph throws his hands up, indignant. “I did ! Tried to joke about how lovestruck he was acting, and he got mad at me!” He huffs. “Like, actually angry. Wouldn’t even address me for an entire day.”

Jayce barely hears him. His heart is still hammering too loudly in his ears, his mind spiraling. Viktor got mad. Over a joke. About some other man.

Because it wasn’t a joke.

Because it is true.

His stomach twists, something hollow settling in his chest, cold and suffocating. He forces himself to move, knees—suddenly weak—bending until he sits down heavily on the trash filled ground, elbows resting on his thighs. His hands run over his face, fingers pressing hard into his temples like he can physically push the thought away.

But it’s there. It’s there. And it hurts.

The idea of Viktor—his Viktor—smiling at someone else the way he used to smile at him. Laughing with someone else, working side by side, sharing thoughts and secrets, leaning in close the way he used to . Wearing someone else’s shirt, breathing in their scent—

Jayce squeezes his eyes shut. Gods.

The ground beneath him feels unsteady, like the entire world has tilted slightly off its axis. Like something fundamental has shifted, and he wasn’t prepared for it. Because he never let himself consider it before. The idea that Viktor might actually leave him behind . That he might stop needing him. 

Needing his hands (fists, bloodied, breaking his arm); Needing his touch (A broken spine between his fingers, uselessly clinging to flesh and machine); Needing his presence (the weight of him, pressed too close, knees digging onto his ribs); Needing his voice (rasping his name, breathless and hoarse from rage); Needing his silence (glaring, jaw clenched, waiting for the next blow).

Needing him. Him. Not someone else.

‘He needs me ,’ Jayce tells himself, desperate. ‘He always has. He can't leave me. He can't.’

But what if that’s not true anymore? What if someone else has taken his place? Someone who doesn’t break him, someone who doesn’t make him bleed just to prove he is human underneath.

His stomach churns. His breath feels too tight in his lungs.

Because the worst part isn’t that Viktor might have found someone else.

It’s that maybe he should.

A small hand grips his shoulder, making his spiraling thoughts somewhat reduce. He glances through his fingers at Naph, who regards him with such pity that makes him nauseous in shame. 

He doesn't say a thing as he sits next to him, leaving his hand on his shoulder and resting his head on his own knees. After a beat of silence, he murmurs.

“If you like him so much, why do you keep fighting?”

And oh, how greatly that hurts to hear.

Why, indeed?

Because it’s what they do.

Because it’s the only way they know how to be. 

Because every touch, every glance, every moment of closeness in the midst of battle is reward enough. 

Because they don’t know how to want without hurting.  

Because it’s easier to throw punches than admit the truth.  

Because Jayce has never been able to let go.

Jayce exhales slowly, shoulders sinking. He looks down at his hands, and pictures vividly the scars etched into his knuckles below his gloves.

“I don’t know, kid…” His voice is quiet, raw and unguarded. “I don’t know.”  

Silence reigns in their little clearing, the only sound that of the water crashing against rubbish, and the distant rumbling of the streets of Zaun. Naph doesn't say anything, and Jayce isn't in the mood either. 

He stares at the ground, at the broken glass glinting in the dim light, at the rusted scraps and discarded things left to rot. It feels fitting. His thoughts are just as much of a wreck.  

His chest feels hollow, like something inside him has come loose and rattles with every breath.  

He scrubs a hand over his face, forcing himself to move with a sigh. “Sorry, I—” his voice catches. “I’ll get going now. Thanks for… the info.”  

Naph shrugs, kicking a rock into the water. “Yeah, sure…” His voice lacks its usual bite. Maybe he can tell how much this actually affected him.  

Jayce hesitates, watching him for a moment before forcing his lips into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Take care, Naph.”  

The kid shifts, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “…You too.”  

Jayce nods once, then turns on his heel and starts walking. His hammer feels heavier than usual, weighing down his steps. 

His heart feels heavier still. 

That same night, Jayce decides to go to his workshop. He wants to forget about everything that happened during the day, hammer away the destructive thoughts that plague his mind, and hopefully strain his arms with enough hard labour that they'll hurt more than his heartbreak. 

He has enough commissions from Albus Ferros to keep him occupied for months, commissions he has not been doing these past weeks due to Viktor occupying his thoughts day and night. He's already had to endure one of his reprimands about deadlines being met and how he is his ‘prized asset’ and doesn't want him to disappoint him—again. Besides, the distraction will do him good.

But when Jayce arrives at the doorstep of his laboratory, he immediately detects that something's wrong. 

It's more of a feeling, really. Nothing is visibly out of place. But he knows.

So when he opens his door, he is not surprised in the slightest to see the looming figure of the Machine Herald, back facing him.

No, he's (happy) angry. 

‘Of course. Of course the bastard would appear now. After months of silence and agony, the moment I go out of my way to search for him, that's when he decides to grace me with his presence. Asshole. Fuck you, fuck you, Viktor.’

(And on the inside: relief, so much relief. ‘You're here, you've come’ .)

“How did you–?” He looks for the alarm system, and finds his answer there. The control panel is scorched thoroughly, fried cables poking out of the panels in a tangled mess. He doesn't have the strength to be mad, so he sighs instead.

“Oh, don't pout.” He hears Viktor's voice, cold and distorted, and glances at him. “Be proud. It was truly impressive work. Spent a couple of minutes decoding it…Instead of one.”

If Viktor is trying to rile him up, Jayce doesn’t bite. He rubs a hand over his face, exhaustion pressing down on him. “I'm not in the mood.” He mutters, voice rough. 

Viktor tilts his head, and regards him with apparent apathy. “...Yes. Naph has made me aware of your weeping.” 

‘That kid.’ Jayce grunts to himself.

“Had I known you liked my presence so much, I would have been robbing you twice a day all these years.” 

(Yes. Please. Come see me more.)

“Please, as if I cared.” He glares at his inhuman face, at the glowing orange slits that mock him. “Just wanted to know if you had finally kicked the bucket.”

“Ahh... I see. Eager to mark the day in the calendar for future holidays?” 

“Sure.” (You know that's not true.)

Jayce doesn't say anything else, and Viktor copies his silence. It's awkward. By now they should be exchanging blows and punches; instead, they remain rooted in one spot. Jayce's gaze is lost on a random part of his workshop, and Viktor's is fixed on him.

Then, with a resigned sigh, Jayce drags his legs to where Viktor stands, letting himself plop on the massive desk of his laboratory,—filled with little parts and machines, discarded blue prints and thrown tools—with his arms crossed.

He doesn't spare Viktor a glance as he speaks with a low voice. “Just grab whatever you meant to rob and leave. I don't wanna fight today.”

There's no need to look up to know Viktor’s gaze is on him. It’s piercing, sharp and clinical, like he’s dissecting him with just his eyes; like he’s picking Jayce apart, piece by piece, trying to figure out what broke this time. 

“I didn’t come to fight,” Viktor finally says. He shifts slightly, and the faint whir of machinery that usually accompanies his movement isn't there. Jayce looks from the corner of his eyes, and sees that his third arm isn't with him, as isnt the shoulder pauldron where it attaches. Actually, now that he pays more attention, not even half of his usual armour is there, mostly only the ones that cover his legs and arms; the rest are those thin, black, compression clothes he wears underneath. “I came to talk.”  

Jayce lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Talk?” He finally looks at him, at his unmoving face.

“Yes.” Viktor’s fingers twitch, a rare, almost human faltering in his voice. “I…think you deserve some explanation for my recent… distant behavior.”  

That makes Jayce pause. So he's acknowledging it. It was on purpose. That makes it even worse. 

“I've been thinking a lot these past months.” Viktros gloved hand touches the surface of the desk as he speaks, hidden fingertips tracing the small dents in the metal, product of hammers and wrenches falling into it when a particular bothersome project got onto his nerves. Jayce follows the movement like a man starved. “A particular thought has been clouding my mind and my judgment. I cannot seem to stop pondering. It is why I have not been able to meet with you.”

It's weird— to be like this. Speaking. Talking without venom. Janna knows how long has it been since he and Viktor had stopped to chat without physically assaulting each other. It puts Jayce on edge.

“About…?”

Viktor’s fingers come to a stop. “About us.”

Jayce stiffens. He tries to swallow the tightness in his throat, anxiety brewing a storm in his heart. 

“Someone has… made me realize things about our relationship. Made me reconsider.”

Who ? Jayce wants to ask. Who is breaking down your walls? Who is making you feel soft and dreamy? Is it the bastard of the torn black shirt? Is it him? What has he said—about us? Who does he think he is, to judge our partnership? 

He doesn't. He clenches his jaw instead, neatly groomed eyebrows frowning. “Reconsider what?” His voice is clipped. 

He can hear Viktor inhaling, internal vents whirring with it. He seems to be nervous, impossible as it is. Watching him hesitate is somehow more off-putting than the usual, robotic sharp certainty, the relentless confidence that Viktor carries like a second skin.

His fingers twitch at his sides, curling, uncurling, then flexing stiffly.

“My…purpose. My fight.”  

The fight that had torn them apart, the war Viktor had waged against flesh, against weakness, against emotions, against free will, against everything they had once stood for together. 

“I must tell you, I won't stop evolving those who are willing, Defender.” He pretends the title doesn't sting. “But…what I'm trying to say is… maybe you were… ugh– right , about some things.” Jayce doesn’t dare to interrupt him, even if what he's hearing feels much like a joke. “I still think that the flesh is inevitably weak; but to keep it is a choice for the person to make. Their own emotions rule their lives. It is not my job to strip them away from them. I want to help Zaun, not subjugate it to my principles.”

Jayce knows he should feel happy. 

He should say something, should grasp at this fragile, impossible thing between them before it slips away again.

He should feel like he won.

Instead, all he feels is this deep hollow pit in his chest; ugly envy curling itself inside of it. He feels jealous. He feels worthless.

He had fought for so long, screamed himself hoarse, broken his bones, bloodied his clothes, begged for Viktor to see reason. And yet, it was someone else who had broken through where he never could.  

He feels enraged.

A sardonic smile crosses his face, features twisted in disbelief; he chuckles. “So what? Some dickhead got his cock wet with you, and now suddenly you're all about peace and love and humanity? Did he rearrange your wires that good?” 

“Wh–what…?” 

It's clear Viktor didn't expect that answer, judging by how taken aback he sounds.

“I've been trying to make you see reason for the past seven fucking years , and all it took for you to forget your ‘Glorious Evolution’ bullshit was getting screwed good?” His voice is laced with venom, bitterness enveloping each letter. “Had I known you were such a slut, I would have done the job myself.”

The punch that follows was to be expected.

His face snaps to the side as pain blooms across his cheek. The taste of iron fills his mouth, and he detachedly registers his split lip. He exhales sharply, a humorless huff of breath, and lifts his gaze to meet Viktor’s, dragging the back of his hand across his face to stop the flowing of blood down his chin. He licks his fingers clean afterwards. 

Viktor is dead silent, but his whole body visibly trembles—be it from contained anger and rage, or from disappointment, Jayce doesn’t know. His fists remain clenched at his sides, twitching as if restraining the urge to strike again. His vents stutter, struggling to keep up with the surge of emotion tearing through him.

Then, he speaks, voice rough despite the modulator.

“I promised someone that I would, so I'm trying, Defender. I'm really, really trying to give you an opportunity to redeem yourself to me, to have a vote of confidence and trust that you've changed. But you make it so fucking difficult.” 

‘Someone. Someone. Someone.’

Shut the fuck up.

“Redeem? Me? What the fuck are you even talking about?” He spits out, voice barely holding up from breaking despite the anger he feels. “I dont want to be a part of whatever fucking promise you made your fuck buddy. ‘Giving me a chance' ?” He clicks his tongue. “You fucking hypocrite. Acting as if you weren't the first one to try and murder me.”

“That didn't happen like that and you know it.” He snaps, tone with an air of finality. Then, as if in the need to explain himself, he grits out. “Also, I dont know what you keep implying, but I'm not having sex with anyone.” 

(He ignores how at ease that makes him feel.)

His anger deflates narrowly, shoulders sagging as he sighs. “Just leave it, V. I don't wanna waste my time arguing with a machine with no sense of feeling.” 

A puff of steam hisses as it shoots out of his neck. 

Jayce averts his eyes, shaking his head as he makes a displeased sound with his mouth. The pain from his split lip is more noticeable now, and when he runs his tongue across it, the saliva mixing with fresh blood stings and burns. He busies himself by pushing his thumb and applying pressure to the wound. Maybe if he acts disinterested enough, Viktor will leave (No. Please stay.)

More puffs of steam follow, but then he hears a click, and then the distinguished sound of a mechanism letting the pressure off itself.

Jayce’s brow furrows. Slowly, he turns. 

What he sees punches the breath out from his lungs.   

Viktor stands there, mask in his hands. Not attached to his face, not a seamless part of his form like it had been for years. Like Jayce had believed it was always meant to be.

Jayce can only stare. He watches, frozen, as Viktor places the mask down on the desk next to them, and pushes it so it slides farther from him—out of his reach.

“Is this any better, Defender?” And Gods, his voice. Rough around the edges, rasp and tired, but so undeniably frail and mortal. “Does a human face feel more comfortable to speak with?” 

Jayce’s mouth goes dry. His throat feels tight.  

‘ He has aged ’—Is his first inference; and for some reason, that thought makes his chest burst and burn in hope and glee. Because that means he is capable of it. Of growing old. Just like him, just like a human being. Underneath the metal, he is still there.

The small crows feet don't do anything to overshadow the beauty of his eyes, black and fluorescent as they are. The metal plates around his cheeks frame his face just right. His lips are dry and have a bluish undertone from poor circulation. Small veins are visible around the thinnest parts of his pale skin.

He has never looked more beautiful. 

Jayce is suddenly grateful for the mask. Had he been fighting all these years with Viktor's face bare, he doesn't think he could have landed a single blow. 

He doesn't even realize when he moved from his spot and discarded the space between them, until his hand is on the hem of his cape in a strong grip, pulling him forward with force and grinding teeth. A mix of emotions coil in his gut, a mess of tangled feelings between anger—thick and suffocating—and so much exhilarating relief that it translates to adrenaline. 

“You– you asshole!” He rasps out, eyes darting all over Viktor's face, all the small scars, the beauty spots, the imperfections that were hidden by cold metal. “All this time… All this you– you were– I thought you were gone forever!” 

Viktor, underneath his hold, regards him with a glare and frowning lips, but doesn't try to pry his fingers away. “Is a face really that important? Is it not the soul and mind that makes us human?” 

“You– don't start being all philosophical now, bastard.” He can't help but sneer, teeth so hardly clenched together his mouth hurts. “It was never about the face. It was about why– Why you felt the need to do so.” 

Viktor doesn't immediately answer, but now, Jayce is privileged enough to see every miniscule twitch on his face, every micro expression that reveals his own turmoil. 

“I wanted to hide my emotions. Putting on a mask was easier than doing brain surgery.”

‘Oh, Viktor… where did we go so wrong? ’

His grip around the cloth relaxes, but he doesn't step back from the small distance between them. He can see how Viktor's eyes trace the movement, and how they land on his bloodied lip, and stay there for a moment. 

“Will you talk with me, now that you can see my face?” 

Jayce seems hesitant, but ends up nodding with a shrug. 

“So you still feel?” He asks.

“I've never been able to erase it completely.” 

It's not the answer he had expected. All this time , all this time and Viktor couldn't even achieve his imperative purpose, and yet… 

“So what did this… man… do, to make you change your mind?” His voice ends up sounding more bitter than he intends, but he doesn't mind. Let Viktor know. Let Viktor see his pettiness. 

“Talk, mostly. Made me feel better about myself.” Jayce scoffs, rolling his eyes. “He was really insisting on giving you a chance.”

‘What the fuck does he have to say about me?’

He’s not useless. He doesn't need pity nor charity from anonymous sources. That dickhead. 

“Who is he, anyway?” His words drip from irritation, nose scrunched up with evident disgust.

Viktor looks away, and a faint, almost imperceptible blush crosses his pale cheeks.

Jayce would be happy to see his reactions so vividly, if this particular one hadn't made the ugly feeling in his chest turn and twist, anger boiling and eager to spill. 

“I'm afraid that information will have to wait.” 

“What? Why?” He whines, “I'm in my right to know who's out there speaking of me like they know me.” 

“Maybe later, Jayce.” 

Perhaps it's the use of his name on his cold lips. Or the soft tone he applied to address him. Or the direct eye contact with which he said so. 

Be it as it may, Jayce shuts up immediately. His lips curl in a pout and he furrows his brows, but doesn't try to pry more. 

They fall in an uncomfortable silence. Neither of them look like they know how to breach the subject, which looms like a threat between them. Jayce busies himself with categorising every new detail on Viktor's face, making a small, cozy space in his brain to remember them, if Viktor decides not to let him see them again. 

It's how he notices Viktor's features change in one of annoyance, eyes narrowing and lips furrowing. He looks expectant, one of his messy brows lifting in question. “So?” 

Jayce mirrors the expression, crossing his arms. “ So , what? Are you waiting for me to apologise or something?”

“Well, that would be appreciated, yes.”

“Unbelievable…” He mutters under his breath with a glare. “I said sorry once, and all I got was an attempted murder.” 

Viktor scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. Distantly, Jayce wonders how many times had he missed that same reaction while fighting, hidden under the mask.

“Oh please, as if you were being honest.” He hisses back. 

‘Gods, condescending motherfucker .’ Jayce thinks. 

“How would you even know!?” His voice rises, hand thrown in exasperation and frustration spilling over. “You didn't even try to listen to me before sending those– those machines to kill me! ”

Viktor’s expression flickers for a second too long. A brief, almost imperceptible shift, before he schools his features back into something neutral with practised ease. But Jayce sees it, and it just makes him angrier.

"That wasn’t personal," Viktor says, but there’s something off about the way he says it, like he’s repeating something he wants to believe. 

“You're so full of shit.”

Viktor exhales sharply through his nose, gaze narrowing. "And you are still as dramatic as ever.” 

Jayce clenches his jaw. “Dramatic!? You didn't even hesitate!” 

“Well, you did break into my laboratory with a hextech induced weapon pointing at me!”

“Yeah! After you gave me a concussion with my own fucking crystal! And robbed me!”

Viktor steps forward, his expression tight, golden eyes gleaming with defiance and fury. His teeth are tightly pressed together, and he can see how the fake, metal reinforced tendons in his neck strain. “I was desperate to save those affected by the chemspill, forgive me if I couldn't wait for your hero speech.” He spats with such a sarcastic tone Jayce can't help but let out a bitter laugh. 

“Save them? Gods Viktor, they were cadavers!” He says, hand gestures all over the place making his resentment evident. 

“They were still alive!” Viktor's voice rises too, his internal cooling system shaking with the rage he feels.

“No! You were trying to save the brain, not the soul!” Jayce glares at him, breath heavy, chest heaving. “You think any of them wanted to become clones of steel!?”

Viktor's hands tighten into fists, “How would you fucking know!?” He sneers, shoving him back with a flat push to his chest that makes him grunt. “You have never had to live a day in Zaun. You don't know what it's like to cling to life however you can! With whatever means you can get! You've never been desperate to live!”

The words strike deeper than he expected, making him flinch with shame. They both stop to breathe and regain their posture, glares locked into each other. 

“And you couldn't stop and explain things?” Jayce finally answers, pointed finger pressing into the metal chestplate of the other man. “Put yourself in my place: my best friend, my partner, my–...” (my lover, my everything, my reason) he winces as if pained, and continues without finishing the sentence “In the middle of a rotting laboratory, corpses with their skulls open surrounding him. Would you not have freaked out!?” His voice cracks.

Viktor says nothing at first, golden eyes gleaming with something indecipherable, analyzing him and his words. The silence stretches between them, suffocating, until Jayce exhales sharply, exasperated.

“Cut me some slack, V.” 

“...You wouldn't have understood.” Again, Jayce feels that Viktors isn't talking to him, and more to himself. 

“You didn't even try!” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge and shaking his head. “Shit Viktor, why is it so difficult for you to trust?”  

It's as if all the rage Viktor was restraining flares out in one big burst. It's almost fascinating to see how his pupils mechanically constrict with the swell of emotions; the anger, the sorrow.

“Why would I!?” He yells, voice bitter, sharp, wounded . “The only time I had ever asked for your pity, for your understanding, for your compassion, you cast me out! Exiled me from Piltover! Stripped me from my honors! Couldn't even look at me in the eyes as the enforcers threw me to the ground in the middle of the bridge, snapped my cane in half, and laughed!” 

Jayce staggers back as if struck, eyes widening as his throat constricts and a sharp pang shoots through his chest. He had tricked himself to forget, made himself bury the memory beneath years of conflict, justifying it as a mistake, a miscalculation. But the wound had never healed.

Jayce’s lips part, but words fail him. His mind replays the image in vivid detail—Viktor on the ground, broken, betrayed by his hand; blood on his elbows from where he landed, clothes torn; tears watering his eyes, but never falling. 

“I was– I was scared… you– I never meant for them to take such extreme measures I– I thought they would just prohibit you from continuing with your research, I didn't…” 

Guilt twists inside of him. He doesn’t know what else to say.

It is the truth. Jayce never meant for that to happen, he wasn't ready to lose Viktor either. His mind replays the memory like a broken record; finding out the chem-powered implant, Viktor explaining his motives, their heated argument, and the instant panic that made him run to the Academy principals, and ask them to put a stop to it. 

The rest was out of his hands. 

But what excuse is there? What words could possibly undo the past? 

Viktor takes his silence for an answer. “And yet you expected me to greet you again with a smile, act reasonable and understanding?” he says through gritted teeth. “I had to fight my way to survive. I had nothing— no one! You were the closest person in my life, Jayce, and still abandoned me!” 

“Do you know how depressed I felt? How hard was it to be under Renata’s claws? How many times have I thought about ending it all? Opening up my guts, not for augments, but to die!?” 

God, it's sickening to hear. Even more so to imagine. 

He isn't aware of what face he's making, but judging from the scoff Viktor lets out, and his hurt stricken face, it must be pathetic. 

“Of course you don't.” 

Jayce swallows, but his throat feels dry. His hands clench so tightly they shake, and his voice trembles as he speaks, a pitiful attempt to fix what has been broken for years.

“I… Viktor, I'm sorry. I didn't– I didn't know that would happen. I fucking hated myself over it. I still do.” He insists, taking a step forward with his hand above his heart. “I tried to go and look for you. I swear.”

Viktor lets out a quivering little breath, shaking his head and closing his eyes in pain for a faint moment. Jayce notes, remotely, how his long, unkempt bangs swing in front of his face. He itches to reach out and grab a strand, and put it behind his ear.

When Viktor regains his voice, he says: “No. No, Jayce, you don't get to play the penitent, righteous saviour now.” His voice is raw and his features are pinched in exhaustion, eyebags heavy and face gaunt. Jayce hates it. “We weren't friends anymore by that time. Our paths had already diverged the day you decided not to defend me from Stanwick— from them .” His voice drops with almost a growl.

Then, slowly, he sees how his anger deflates, how his features morph and turn. The sharp lines of his scowl soften, the tension in his brows easing into something far more fragile, tilting with sadness. His shoulders drop, and there's a black wetness in his eyes that threatens to spill over. 

His chest tightens as he watches Viktor struggle to hold himself together, the man who had stood so unyielding for years now looking like a fragile thread about to snap.

“You–...” His voice cracks. “You broke my heart right there and then.” 

Jayce thinks that a knife to the chest hurts less than this, a blossoming pain that tastes like guilt and remorse. He looks away for a moment, trying to school his expression into one less broken, and runs a hand over his face before forcing himself to meet Viktor’s gaze again.

“I regret that choice every day of my life.”

And Gods, he did. He does. 

Viktor scoffs, unimpressed, and turns his head away, jaw tightening. “Right. Academy's smartest student didn't want anyone outshining him.” He says with a mocking tone.

Heat rushes to his face, flushing his cheeks red in righteous fury. 

‘Outshining him’? That’s what Viktor thought this was about? Academy validation and pettiness?

It's insulting. After everything, after all the time they spent working side by side, after all the nights spent pouring over blueprints and theories and equations—this is what Viktor believes? That he was nothing more than some rival Jayce wanted to keep beneath him?

His fists clench, nails digging into his palms. His pulse pounds in his ears, breath coming in sharp, heated bursts as indignation surges up his throat. “Oh, don't pull that bullshit on me, Viktor! You were always my equal!” The closeness makes it easy for him to snatch Viktor's arm, holding it in a tight grip to force his eyes on him. “From the very first day since that mandatory Progress Day party, I considered you to be my friend, my partner, my other half.” He grits out. “Never have I thought you were inferior. Never. So don't fucking pretend otherwise.”

It's almost satisfactory to see the stunned silence in which Viktor regards him.

The lab falls into heavy stillness, air thick with lingering tension. Their chests rise and fall, breaths still coming fast from the heat of their argument. Well, mostly his chest. Viktor's functions mainly with his ventilation system, which is as frantic as his breathing. They stand there, eyes locked onto one another, neither knowing what to say next.

Jayce gulps as he exhales his last laboured breath, lungs steadying. His fingers loosen their grip, but he doesn't pull away. Viktor doesn’t, either.

His heartbeat is still wild in his chest, but the sharp anger is starting to dull. Judging by the way Viktor’s shoulders have lowered, the stiffness in his posture fading, he feels it too.

Jayce searches Viktor’s face, eyes tracing each one of his features, the flickers of emotion in his golden gaze. And Viktor looks back, staring at Jayce like he's trying to figure him out.

Then, Jayce smiles. A small, little twitch of his lips that blooms into a huff of laughter, low and incredulous. Viktor tilts his head, frowning in a silent question.

“Sorry, sorry… It's just–... you got mad… and sad.” 

Viktor pouts, scrunching his nose. “Is that funny to you?” He says with clipped words.

“No, no!” He shakes his head in vigour, dumb smile still painting his lips. “I meant that… you got mad , and sad .” The smile turns into a giddy grin, and the fingers around Viktors biceps give them a little squeeze. “That's the most emotions I have seen you express in more than a decade.”

Viktor looks at him—really looks at him—and scoffs, pink dusting his cheeks “...You are so ridiculous.”

The kiss that follows is, undeniably, not expected.

Viktor's lips are freezing, but the lingering heat of the argument makes it seem like they're burning, moving with urgency on top of his own. Jayce, for all the self doubt he felt before, melts in them embarrassingly fast. He hears himself making a sound in the back of his throat, a mix between a whine and a groan as his tongue pokes Viktor's mouth. The hand on his arm tightens and his free one grabs him by the nape, and the skin-on-skin contact he encounters there makes him moan. 

‘Gods’ Jayce thinks as he feels Viktor's own hands travel around his neck and groping his back. ‘How could I've ever been so long without this?’ 

The still raw wound on his lip reopens with the brute force of the kiss, but instead of backing off and apologising, Vitkor starts licking and sucking onto his lower lip, gulping down the spit-and-blood mixture, some of it running down his own chin. Jayce keens at the image. The wound stings. His pants feel tight.

His own breathing becomes a problem, and so begrudgingly he breaks the kiss. Viktor lets him, but not without a little disappointed grunt. They're still millimetres apart from each other, hot breaths blending together, eyes locked into one another. 

Viktor speaks first, red tinted lips tentatively moving. Jayce can't seem to avert his gaze from them.

“I have been without my emotional inhibitors working for these past months. That's why I…well, needed to ignore you.” He mutters, barely above a whisper, almost as if embarrassed. “I was getting used to feeling so much—again.” 

The fight has long left his system. Jayce only huffs, amused but so incredibly fond. “You are the ridiculous one.”

He leans first this time, capturing his pretty lips in eager rush, desperate and open; Viktor meets him halfway there, earnestly moving his own mouth, parted lips latching into his own as wet sounds reverberate through the laboratory. Jayce feels drunk, positively high on the feeling of Vitkors body in his hands. 

It's been too long, too long since he could let himself touch and grab and explore; his hands travel from his nape to his neck and to his upper back, tracing the fine lines of his armour, the heated metal that thrums below his fingertips; he redirects it to the back of his head, threading his fingers through oily smooth hair, before grabbing a fistfull of it to shift the direction of the kiss, changing the angle and letting his tongue enter his mouth. Viktor sighs onto his lips, a small pleased sound that doesn't help the growing heat between his legs. 

“ Viktor… fuck, baby, you feel amazing.” He whispers between their mouths, softly nipping at the corners of his lip. He breaks the kiss again, but only to latch his lips back to his chin, his cheeks, his nose. He kisses the moles in his face, bites the skin of his jaw. 

With nowhere to kiss himself, he feels Viktor feeling him up, caressing his face and his arms and his chest, memorising the feeling of his muscles, the heat of his human skin. He hears him mutter his name, a soft breathy Jayce that goes straight to his dick. 

“Yes, baby?” He answers, voice rough and unguarded, letting all his want drip from his words. 

Viktor looks at him, slightly dazed, and tilts his head “Huh?” He furrows his brows. Then, as if realizing what he was referring to, he presses his lips, ears blushing. “Oh…no, nothing, I just… Wanted to say your name.”

God, it's probably unhealthy how fast his blood is flowing downwards; he already feels dizzy.

“Yeah, sweetheart? Wanted to remind yourself who's making you squirm?” 

Vitkor makes a small face from his dirty talking, but does not refute the statement. His hands run up from his chest to his face, and Jayce feels the contrasting heat of his steel prosthesis and his gloved one, warm under the cloth, as Viktor cups his cheeks. His gloved thumb brushes along his skin, and he realizes that he's cleaning the residual blood still clinging to it. 

They stare at each other, soft, simple smiles gracing their faces. Jayce is eager to close the distance again, but the way Viktor's looking at him makes his desires feel like second priority. His gaze is so utterly fond. Jayce is not usually one to feel shyness, confident as he is, but Viktor's eyes hold so much intensity that it makes his knees feel weak.

“Ha…do I have something in my face?” He awkwardly says, heartbeat still thumping like a rabbit.

Viktor hums, the thumb on his lip now fondling his jaw. “I've always liked your eyes. They're such a pretty shade of blue.” 

Jayce sputters, his embarrassment so out of his normal facade. “C'mon now, don't say stuff like that, it's not like you to be so corny.”

“Perhaps…but tonight has been full of changes, has it not?” Viktor chuckles.

Jayce exhales a breathy laugh, his hand coming to rest over Viktor’s, anchoring it against his face. “Yeah…” He searches Viktor’s expression, voice dropping just a little. “I'm… glad we could get it all out of our systems.”

Viktor nods, his gaze softening. “Yes. I’m sure it won’t be easy but… I meant it, Jayce. I want to try.”

Jayce lets out a slow breath, something tight in his chest finally loosening. “Me too.” His grip on Viktor’s hand tightens. “I've never stopped, y’know? I've never stopped waiting for you.”

Something shifts on Viktors eyes, a flash of sadness in the sea of amber. His other hand, made of hard steel, grabs him softly by the lapel of his fur leather jacket. 

“Can we really sweep it all under the rug?” His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “All the pain, all the suffering, all the hate…”  

Jayce’s hands come up to Viktor’s wrists, hard and solid, grounding. He squeezes gently, offering reassurance where words fail. “If you are willing, I’m willing, V.” 

Viktor exhales, exhaustion and relief in his breath. He smiles, and the wrinkles on his forehead ease. 

Jayce returns the smile, but there's this thorn in his chest, this nagging, persistent ache at the back of his mind. A part of him that can’t let it go, that keeps circling back to the man who somehow managed to do what he never could. 

His jaw tightens slightly, but he masks it with a lopsided smile, trying for something lighthearted. “But I would genuinely want to know who this mysterious dude is,” he says, aiming for teasing, but the jealousy bleeds through anyway.

Viktor tilts his head, lips twitching into something close to a soft, knowing smirk. “I don't think I have the strength to explain it all right now.”  

Jayce scrunches his nose, half pouting, half scowling, a frown settling between his brows. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily Viktor still manages to get under his skin. He knows he’s being childish, knows he shouldn’t let it bother him, but the thought keeps gnawing at him. 

Viktor softly hums. “Don't be jealous, Jayce,” he kisses the tip of his nose, which stops its frowning. “I promise it's not whatever you're thinking.”

Jayce exhales, bitter, bloody taste in his mouth slowly replacing itself. Then, he leans in just enough that their foreheads touch. His voice drops, rougher, teasing. “Got enough strength for me, sugar?

Viktor's eyelids drop and his lips part, his voice barely more than a breath.  “Yeah…yeah, enough for you.” 

Viktor yanks him by the jacket and he goes without protest. Their lips crash again, and Jayce feels like he would die a happy man if his breath was stolen by Viktor’s mouth. 

It's ten times more rushed than the others, all tongue and parted lips and spit and whines, hands roaming every inch of their body. Jayce pushes Viktor to the nearest surface, which happens to be the long lab desk. Without missing a beat, he hoists him up and makes him sit on top of it, prying his legs open and slotting himself between them. Viktor’s small gasp of surprise it's almost enough to boost his ego through the roof.

Sly legs trap him there, Viktors ankles crossing behind his back. “Well aren't you a strong one…” He mutters, nipping the skin below his chin. 

Jayce smirks against Viktor’s skin, pressing a lingering kiss to the spot where his metal plating meets his skin. His hands, broad and eager, settle on Viktor’s waist, fingers digging in just enough to feel the skin beneath fabric. “My hammer is almost as heavy as you, sweetheart.” he murmurs, voice husky with amusement.

Viktor huffs, a breathy little laugh that turns into a sigh when Jayce rolls his hips forward, pressing them flush together. Between feverish kisses, Jayces hands begin to fondle his clothed waist, running up and down his fingers, pinky getting caught between the metal ridges of his reinforced ribs. His hands are curious, eager to know the body beneath him, eager to re-discover every nook and cranny, map out the expanse of his prosthesis, kiss every bolt. His mouth trails a wet path to his neck, and the sensation is unlike anything he's ever felt. It's shockingly warm, pliant in some places, smooth and cool in others—a patchwork of metal and synthetic skin, painstakingly crafted but unmistakably unnatural. The tendons beneath aren’t flesh, but delicate mechanisms that flex with each breath Viktor takes, whirring faintly beneath his lips, a soft glow pulsing beneath the seams.

He's pretty sure that it is incapable of feeling, but Viktor shudders nonetheless, his breath hitching in a way that makes Jayce grin against his throat.  

It’s weird; it’s fascinating; it’s his. 

Jayce drags his teeth over the ridge of a metal tendon, just to see what it does to him, and Viktor gasps, fingers tightening in his hair and jacket.  

“Now…” Jayce murmurs, voice thick with hunger. His hands roam, fingers tracing over panels, searching for clasps, searching for  detachable joints. “How much of the armour is shedable?”

“Why don't you find out?” 

Jayce grins.

The first thing to come off is the glove that covers his right hand, which turns out to be made completely of flesh. Jayce had had an inkling; brief flashes of a human wrist showing between battles, that always left him feeling like a perverted virgin being granted the view of the smallest patches of skin. Now, he can finally grab the long, bony fingers, and kiss every knuckle. 

Jayce takes his time. He always does when it comes to Viktor. Reverence and curiosity intertwine in his touch as he slowly peels away each piece. His lips linger on each newly exposed inch of skin.

He kisses along the inside of Viktor’s wrist first, where the veins run shallow, then up to his forearm, searching for hidden seams, for the locks that hold his plating in place. He finds one near the elbow, and with a quiet click, he pries the armor loose, revealing the stark contrast of white, mole-dotted flesh. Viktor’s upper arm is still his own—, pale skin marred by faint surgical scars, but it's also stronger, fuller. 

He had almost forgotten what it was like to touch Viktor and feel warmth.

He works slowly, methodically, peeling away layers of armor as if unwrapping something sacred. The chest plate follows, revealing more of the intricate mesh of synthetic skin, metal reinforcements lining the spaces where bones once were. Jayce trails his lips along each new surface, feeling the smooth, unnatural texture beneath his mouth, memorizing him. 

Piece by piece, the armour falls. By the time he’s done, Viktor is left with his right arm bare and human, while the left remains fully encased in his prosthetic. He plants a wet kiss to the central core of his chest, and looks up.

Viktors expression is unreadable, a mix of overwhelming panic and excitement. His hand trembles, his vents whir. 

“Too much?” Jayce murmurs.

Viktor’s throat doesn't bob as he swallows, but the tendons flex anyhow. His fingers twitch before they settle against Jayce’s biceps, as if to ground himself. 

“I was under the impression that you would not appreciate…my body, as it is now.” He admits. 

Jayce’s brows knit together, something aching in his chest at the mere thought. He cups Viktor’s face, tilting it just enough so their eyes meet—so there’s no room for doubt.

“Are you kidding me? What else have you been ruminating about in that thick skull of yours?” He teases, though there is genuine pity in his gaze. He sighs, grabbing him by his metal hand and intertwining their fingers. “V, I don't care about whatever body modifications you do to yourself. I was distraught by what you were doing with your pretty mind, but the metal extremities? Well—” His fingers hook onto one of the mechanical joints, pressing just enough to feel the give of the mechanisms beneath “I can get used to them.”

Viktor is staring now, expression unreadable but eyes wide, lips slightly parted. His vents release a slow hiss, his weight subtly shifting toward Jayce as if drawn in.

Jayce grins, sharp and wolfish. “Besides, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find the craftsmanship… weirdly attractive.” He cocks his head, running a slow hand down the length of Viktor’s arm, feeling the cool metal under his fingertips. “I may have a thing for machines after all.”

A beat of silence, and then:

“Jayce.”

“Hm?”

“I want to have sex. Right now.” 

Jayce bursts out laughing, the hand formerly on his cheek now tightening over his waist. “Glad we're on the same page.” 

He almost feels guilty as he rips the skin tight shirt open. Key word being almost.

His abdomen is made of soft, malleable flesh, a stack contrast to the silver metal that reinforces his lungs and torso, and still hugs his legs. Jayce drags his fingers down the plane of Viktor’s stomach, feeling the way his skin trembles under his touch. He presses his palm just below his navel, where the faint brown haired happy trail stops, and hears Viktor sharply inhale. He, unintentionally, wonders how far his cock can go inside of him, and if it would reach his bellybutton. 

Jayce has to stop for a moment and compose himself, least he cums from the sight alone.

“Jayce…” Viktor’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes him look up all the same.

Jayce smirks, but his breath catches when Viktor tugs at his hair, guiding him down with slow, deliberate intent.  

“Get on your knees.”  

Gods. He wants to resist, to be difficult, to make some smug remark just for the sake of defiance—but all that bravado has long since melted away. His body betrays him before his mind can catch up, dropping without hesitation.  

“So pliant… wish you were like that all the time.” Viktor hums, running his fingers through Jayce’s hair, grip tightening just enough to make him shiver. “Say… will you be down to test some… new prototype?” 

The sultry tone Viktor uses is enough to convince him. His eyes darken, a slow smile creeping up to his lips as large warm hands drag themselves over thick metallic thighs, fingers exploring the smooth plates. “You know I'm always eager to do so.” 

Viktor nods. “Good.” 

Then, with practiced ease, he sheds the remnants of armour that cover his legs, leaving one thigh bare—Jayce immediately goes to fondle it—and the other machine. 

Except he doesn't discard it all. There, around his groin, there is more metal plating instead of the cunt he expected. He furrows his brows, poking around the smooth texture until long metallic fingers encircle his wrist to help him. With Viktor's assistance, he discovers a concealed buton embedded in the plates. He glances up briefly, and after receiving an encouraging nod, he pushes it.

It's…

Yeah, alright, that's a dick. 

The plates shift and pull back to expose the edges of his cunt, but where his clitoris should be, a whole erect cock has grown instead, made of steel and shuddering smooth little metal scales that feel like the twitches of a real one. It's not a strap-on per se, as it doesn't have harnesses that go around his hips, but it attaches to him somehow, the bundle of nerves from his original anatomy connecting to the metal shaft. 

“Fuck, V…” Jayce breathes, not wasting any time pondering about the how’s and immediately getting one hand around it's base. It feels cool to the touch. He wants to warm it up with his tongue. “Getting taller wasn't enough, you had to make yourself a bigger cock than me, huh?” 

Viktor tilts his head, a condescending smile on his face. “Think you can't take it, Defender?”

That stupid title. He hates it coming out of Viktor's mouth. Invigorated by the sudden wave of pettiness, he adjusts his hold on either side of his thighs and surges forward; his lips meet the cool metal head of his cock, engulfing it with ease as his tongue licks the detailed slit on it. 

Viktor's reaction is instant—and unexpected. 

He jumps and lets out a gasp—a tiny, breathy whimper slipping past his lips, too high-pitched, too unguarded. Jayce didn't even know Viktor’s voice could reach such a squeaky tone. 

His fingers twitch against Jayce’s scalp, and for the first time in the entire night, he looks genuinely flustered—utterly embarrassed.  

“Wa–wait!” His voice is thin, almost panicked, his vents whirring louder as his body tenses.  

Jayce frowns, cock falling out of his mouth with a lewd 'pop’. “What—?”  

“I—I need to dampen the sensitivity,” Viktor stammers, his pupils blown wide. “It's too high up.” He swallows hard, shifting awkwardly as if trying to will the reaction away. “I didn’t get the chance to test it before— Ah, just give me a second!”  

Jayce blinks, processes the information, and smirks. “Hey now, let's not make any rash decisions.” he mumbles, squeezing Viktor’s thighs, keeping them firmly in place. His thumb brushes over the seams of the prosthetic one, teasing, until it lands just on the base of his dick, caressing the underside, “I think it's perfect as it is.” 

Viktor glares, cheeks dusted with all the blood his faint circulatory system still possesses. “Don't you dare.” He hisses, trying to shove Jayce and his eager lips away from his private parts.

It is futile. Jayce is as strong as he is relentless; with a firm hold on his legs and parted lips, he manages to lick around his head, spit clinging to the metal. It is enough for Viktor's resistance to crumble again; his hips twitch and his hand falters, a sweet keen coming out of his mouth. Jayce takes advantage of his loss of struggle and pushes his head in between his thighs, taking the cock back to his throat. 

He hums contently when the fingers holding his hair clench, pulling just enough for it to hurt. He makes circling motions with his tongue as he slowly starts to thrust further against the shaft, taking in as much as Viktor's cock as he can.

It's not the first time he's sucked someone off, not the first big cock he's had in his mouth. But this is different; this is Viktor's. With his warm and heavy steel that presses into every inch of his mouth—his palate, his tongue, the inside of his cheeks—and the sharp, bitter taste of him, like a familiar tang of blood. His slit doesn't leak, doesn't let out precum, but with how much Jayce is salivating all over it, it's enough to make it slick and easy to slide into.

Viktor moans above him, his thighs trapping him where he kneels, twitching and seizing up around his head with overstimulation, every drag of his tongue being felt ten times more. When Jayce manages to take almost all of his dick without choking, he looks up, lips stretching obscenely and spit dripping from the corners of his mouth. Viktor’s looking at him, vents whirring and breath heavy alike; Jayce is surprised he has not overheated. 

He expects a snarky remark, a scoff as he mocks him, ‘you look good like this, silent with a cock stuffed in your mouth.’ But Viktor just bites his lip and tries to suppress a whine as Jayce lapps the underside of him, abdomen clenching and hips rising with it, legs tense. He doesn't thrust, doesn't make him deep throat him and fuck his mouth, but he does trash around, twitching and humping against him.

“Keep going.” He manages to whisper, throat raw. 

So Jayce does. He bobs his head up and down, slowly dragging his lips along the shaft, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. His tongue never stops moving, licking and coating every inch of him. Viktor moans so sweetly, such soft whines, and when he whispers his name, Jayce groans and bobs his head harder, faster, gulping down whatever spit that does not fall, throat contracting, making Viktor gasp and clench his eyes shut, black watery tears piling up in his eyes. 

It's probably torture. Viktor, with his sensitivity sensors cranked too high, caught between unbearable overstimulation and pleasure. Every touch, every teasing press of Jayce’s tongue sends sharp, electric shudders up his spine. He's sure it hurts. 

It is exhilarating.  

To see the usually composed and cold Machine Herald unravel so easily—to watch his carefully maintained control crack apart; to make his mind shut off for once, make his words nonsense. 

“Fuck– Jayce– Jayce… ” He won't plead. Won't beg. But the way his voice breaks around his name is enough to tell him what he's asking for.

The hand on his metallic thigh slides lower until it reaches his cunt, just below the base of his manmade cock. His lips are drenched, pubes damp with arousal. When his fingers graze his folds, they flutter and his hole clenches around nothing. He spreads them and circles the rim with one finger before inserting it. When he's not met with more resistance than a moan, he quickly makes it two, opens up his pussy, and pumps them at the same time he bobs his head. 

His walls are slick and wrap around his digits eagerly, sucking them as they quiver. He's so wet every time he pistons up it makes an obscene sloshing sound, clear natural lube splashing his forearm.

The combination of getting his cock sucked and his hole fucked makes his whimpers and deep, breathy moans louder and desperate, pelvis shaking for more. Soon enough, Jayce feels the telltale sign of his upcoming climax, how his abdomen clenches and spams, how the fingers around his hair tense his scalp. 

“ Jayce– just like that –!” Jayce moans as his hair is pulled. Detachedly, he notices how hard he is himself, cock straining against his trousers, heavy and aching, wet spot staining his briefs; but he is so adamant on making Viktor come he doesn't even think to try and hump his own hand. It hurts quite a lot.

The vibration his moan produces around Viktor's dick seems enough for him to finish. Jayce feels the sudden pressure of his walls around the two fingers still fucking him open,  and then the gush of clear cum that follows. He comes with his name on his lips and a long moan that reverberates in the laboratory. 

Nothing emerges from the steel made cock, it just twitches inside his throat for a couple of seconds. Maybe it's because it's an unfinished prototype; maybe because Viktor doesn't want to bother making fake sperm. Jayce doesn't mind anyway. He kisses the tip after he removes it from inside his mouth.

“See? Knew you could take it, sugar.” He says, voice raw and hoarse from the exertion. 

Jayce looks up from where he kneels, breathless and flushed, his lips stretched in a teasing grin as he takes in the sight above him. Viktor, usually so composed, so guarded, is anything but now. His head is tilted back slightly, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, pupils blown wide, a trail of faint dark tears staining his skin; it almost looks like run down mascara. ‘ Like a properly fucked whore’ , Jayce thinks to himself, but doesnt say. 

His lips are parted, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, vents releasing shuddering bursts of steam. A thin sheen of sweat clings to his pale skin where metal meets flesh, catching the dim light of the moonlight and making him look almost otherworldly.  

Jayce swallows, pulse hammering at the sheer image of him—disheveled, vulnerable, utterly wrecked.  

Viktor’s gaze finally drops, locking onto him with an intensity that makes Jayce’s stomach flip. His expression is dazed, like he’s struggling to process the sensations running through him, caught somewhere between overwhelmed and utterly addicted.  

Maybe the sensitivity really was that high. Damn.

He begins stroking up Viktor’s thighs again, and draws his face near. He trails up a path of kisses that goes from his navel to his hip bones, and then his human thigh, where he entertains himself with the scattered moles that paint his flesh; one in particular—in his inner thigh—becomes his favourite, so he begins leaving wet kisses around it and gently sucking onto it.

Then, a soft scoff echoes above him. “Really? What's up with that spot…?” Viktors purrs, tilting his head to one side and regarding him with an amused smile. 

“What d'you mean…?” He slurs slightly, lips sticking to his skin. 

Then, realization hits him.

Jayce’s grip tightens, his brows furrow, and his jaw clenches. “Who else touches you there?” The words come out harsher than he intends, but he doesn’t take them back. His heart pounds, and jealousy creeps in. Despite the years of bitterness and war between them, some part of him still aches to be Viktor’s only. 

That someone else, or even multiple someone else's, must have had him like this…That even the mysterious white coated guy could…The thought makes his stomach churn.  

Viktor exhales a breathy laugh, fingers curling lazily in Jayce’s hair. “Only you, Jayce… No one else.” His smile is slow, teasing. 

Jayce tilts his head up, eyes dark and burning. He doesn’t believe it. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a claim. “Only I can have you.”  

Viktor raises a brow, smirking despite the flush on his face. It feels bizarre to know he was a whimpering mess a minute ago. “How hypocritical of you… And what about you, hm?” His voice drops, fingers tracing lightly along Jayce’s jaw. “Am I to believe no one else has touched you?”

Jayce’s fingers tighten around Viktor’s thighs, his nails scraping lightly against the cool metal. His brows furrow, lips pressing into a thin line before he finally speaks. “I’ve not fucked anyone in months.” His voice is rough, defensive.

Viktor chuckles and rolls his eyes, “Well, aren't you the definition of chastity…” He says, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Jayce clicks his tongue, scoffing. “Yeah? And what about you?” His hands slide up to Viktor’s pubic mound, thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh. “Gonna tell me you did all those augments but left the reproductive system intact for a reason other than carnal pleasure?”

Viktor sharply inhales due to the pressure in his groin, but doesn't make more sound than a hum, his lips curling at the edges. He tilts his head, fingers twitching where they rest against the surface behind him. 

“They have been… proven useful, from time to time.”

Jayce grunts, his jaw tightening at the implications. A heat surges through him, possessive and irrational. He doesn’t want to think about Viktor with anyone else, about anyone else learning his body the way Jayce is now. 

Instead, he leans down and sinks his teeth into Viktor’s inner thigh, above that mole—just enough to make him gasp, just enough to leave a mark.

Viktor jolts, his body tensing, fingers flying to Jayce’s hair to tug sharply. “Agh—! Hah… fuck, you brute—”

Jayce only groans against his skin, kissing the reddening spot before pulling back to look up at him. “Mine,” he mutters, voice thick with heat. “All of you.”

Viktor scoffs, but his breath stutters, his grip in Jayce’s hair tightening for a moment before relaxing. He exhales, eyes hooded, lips slightly parted. “Then prove it.”

Jayce gulps down the saliva that has been pooling below his tongue, and stares at his red, flushed cunt. He wants to eat him out again, put his tongue inside his wet hole and make him cum on his face, but gods above, his dick hurts. If he's not inside Viktor in less than a minute, he's scared he's gonna burst.

So instead he pushes himself up from the floor in one fluid motion, hands gripping Viktor’s hips as he slots their mouths together in a heated kiss. It’s messy, all tongue and need, their breath mingling as Viktor immediately responds, fingers grabbing Jayce’s neck to pull him even closer.

Jayce groans into his mouth, hands wandering over the exposed parts of his body, tracing the dips of muscle and the smoothness of his augments. “You want me to prove it?” He mutters against his lips, breathless, teeth grazing Viktor’s lower lip before he tugs it between his teeth. “Let me fuck you. I’ll make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.”

Viktor’s laugh is breathy, laced with anticipation. “Such a narcissist,” he murmurs, arms draping over Jayce’s shoulders, nails dragging lightly along his skin. “Don't disappoint me, then.”

Jayce wants to bite back, retort with a mocking tone how hard his thighs were shaking above his shoulders, but Viktor is already shifting in his hold, trying to turn over and press his hands against the desk to push himself onto his stomach. 

Before he can fully twist away, strong hands clamp down on his waist, holding him in place. “No way, baby. I've been without your pretty face for so long…”Jayce mutters, voice thick with pettiness, “I want to see all your expressions when I make you come.” He says, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

Now, don't get him wrong; the visual of Viktor in all fours with his perky ass up is more than appealing, and he can't deny how good the black augments around his thighs and hips frame his ass cheeks, but his face… Gods, his face.

Viktor huffs, tilting his head just enough to meet Jayce’s gaze from above his shoulder, “You are lucky I'm feeling generous today.” He moves again as he maneuvers himself back into his previous position, spine arching slightly, hands bracing against the table, legs adjusting around Jayce’s waist. 

With a pleased smile, he presses Viktor’s lower belly forward, guiding him until his back meets the cool surface of the lab desk. He leans down, pressing a lingering kiss just above Viktor’s navel, grinning at the way his muscles tense beneath him.

“You are still too dressed.” Viktor vocalizes his demands, tugging at the fur lining of Jayce’s coat, as if resisting the urge to pull it off himself.

Jayce chuckles, lifting his head just enough to meet Viktor’s gaze. “My bad.” With one smooth motion, he shrugs off the heavy leather coat, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud. Then, he reaches for the buttons of the thin shirt underneath, undoing them quickly. “Better?”

His fingers trail down Jayce’s exposed chest, nails grazing the firm muscle and cropped hair on his lower abdomen, before tugging teasingly at his belt. “And the pants.”  

Jayce exhales a short laugh, “Someone's eager.” 

“Oh, please,” Viktor scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I've already gotten off. I'm doing this for your own good.” His prosthetic fingers tap against Jayce’s waistband, then trail lower, and press onto his clothed cock, kneading just enough to make him twitch. “I'm not the one with an aching boner.”  

Jayce grits his teeth, hips jerking involuntarily into the touch, a hoarse moan escaping his lips. He grabs Viktor’s wrist—not to push him away, but to still him, to keep himself from losing control too soon. His voice is rough when he murmurs, “S’okay, I want this to last.”

Viktor furrows his brows, confused. “We can go numerous rounds, you know.” He mutters, twitching fingers grabbing his bulge and rubbing it. 

Jayce groans, dropping his head against Viktor’s shoulder, hips jerking in pleasure. “Viktor—sweetheart—I don’t think I’m able to cum multiple times anymore. I'm not twenty.”

“The weakness of the fle–”

“Shut the hell up.”

He cuts him off with an exigent, sloppy kiss, lips heavy against the others. Viktor, for once, looks happy to forget about his values. 

Jayce’s hands are impatient, roaming down Viktor’s waist, thumbs pressing into the jut of his hips before he relocates them to his own clothes. He tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion before his hands drop to his own belt. Viktor watches him through lidded eyes, chest rising and falling heavily, anticipation thick in the air.

Jayce fumbles with the buckle, huffing in frustration when it catches for a second too long. Viktor smirks, reaching out to help, but Jayce swats his hand away. “I got it,” he mutters, determined. 

When he finally releases his dick from the confines of his clothes, he groans and clenches his eyes shut, savouring the immediate relief, cock heavy in his hand. 

“Gods, I need you so bad,” Jayce sighs, his gaze raking over Viktor’s sprawled form, drinking in every detail. 

Viktor, in lieu of an answer, parts his legs further, finger trailing a slow, deliberate path up his folds, and tilts his hips in invitation. “Then take me.”

Gulping down the impulse of ramming into him in one big shove, he inhales and, as he holds his breath, guides the red, aching head of his dick to Viktor's flushed hole, helping with his thumb to stretch it open nicely for him. Before the last piece of sanity abandons him, he asks: 

“Condom?”

“No need.”

Just the prospect of fucking him raw makes him moan. 

And so—with a hand pushing down his left thigh and the other leg comfortably placed on his shoulder—he finally breaches the wet heat of his cunt. It feels so fucking good . The pressure of his walls as he pushes into him, the way they part to accommodate the girth of his cock, so soft and wet and pliant, like he was made for him; a machine crafted with the exact measurements for his size, just to please him. Fuck, he wants that; wants to be the only one inside of him, his cock the only one he takes, until enough time has passed for his pussy to be branded by him. 

“Shit, baby, I've fingered you and you're still so tight…” He murmurs, voice husky with want. “But you take me so well…” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

Jayce huffs and casts him a quick disdainful glance, sinking deeper into him. “Not when you feel this good,” he rasps, and slides the hand on his thigh to the metal cock between their flushed pelvises. He gives it a good pump, and revels in the way it makes Viktor squirm and gasp, distracting him as he finally bottoms out. 

He forfeits his gentlemannes and doesn’t let more than a couple seconds of adjusting pass as he starts grinding his hips to Viktor's ass, thrusting in and out in a deep but gentle rhythm that has both men sighing in pleasure. The slow drag around his cock has him in a state of ecstasy, small grunts and moans that spill from his lips with each pull, so frictionless and good. Viktor grabs him by the biceps and squeezes, nails from one side and metal claws from the other; he moans beneath him, slow, breathy whines that blurt out from his pretty mouth with each shove of his hips. He rocks his own, too, unconsciously searching for the dick inside of him. 

“Faster…” Viktor breathes, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Jayce obeys without hesitation, fingers tightening around Viktor’s thigh before sliding up to grip his waist. His touch is firm, possessive, grounding himself as he moves with renewed vigour, fingers digging in just a little deeper. The hand around his metal shaft also starts to jerk faster, his wrist at an awkward angle making it a little difficult, but the way Viktor's back arches and his moans come deeper tells him it's enough. 

“Would you look at that…” Jayce murmurs, voice dripping with praise. His grip on Viktor’s waist tightens as he leans in, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth—close enough to tease, but not quite a kiss. Viktor whines. “Didn’t know you could be this good for me, baby.” he adds, breath warm against Viktor’s jaw.

Viktor doesn't retort with a snide remark, but does manage to glare between soft moans. 

Jayce chuckles, low and smug “What? No sharp comeback?” he teases, tilting his head as he keeps the fast pace, half lidded eyes and fat pupils admiring Viktor's face. He gives him a quick peck, and slides down.

He starts pressing small deliberate kisses to Viktor’s throat, the cool metal warming under his lips. He lingers there, trailing down, mouthing along the ridges and seams. When he reaches Viktor’s chest, he pauses, pressing a lingering kiss just above where a nipple should be, and he pouts against the cool surface.

“Huh,” he muses, pressing more experimental kisses to the spot. “No sensitivity here? That’s a shame.” He flicks his tongue over it anyway, then scrapes his teeth lightly against the plating. “I liked your nipples. They were cute.”

Nevertheless, he keeps his trail of kisses until he can't comfortably bend anymore, and straightens up. He squeezes his waist, flashing a shaky grin to an unimpressed Viktor. 

“You are insufferable even while having sex.”

Jayce laughs, smug and flushed “Yeah? And yet, here you are, legs wide open for me,” he murmurs, punctuating his words with a hard, deliberate roll of his hips.  

Viktor shudders, a loud, raw moan slipping past his lips before he can stop it. His head tilts back against the desk, exposing the sleek lines of his throat, the faint glow of his augmentations pulsing in time with his erratic breaths. “Shut up and keep fucking me, because you are doing a poor job at it.” 

Really, what a hypocrite. With the way his legs are spasming and his cunt throbbing around his cock and the room filled with his keens, Jayce is absolutely certain he is not doing a poor job, but alas, he'll provide. 

His fingers press into the dip of his hip bones, thumbs squeezing over the warm flesh just beneath the metal plating. He inhales, and starts to pound into him. 

He grits his teeth at the hard and fast snap of his hips, cock almost slipping out of his hole with how deep he is aiming his thrusts. Viktor gasps and moans and squeezes him in his arms, clenching his eyes shut as more watery black tears stain his flushed cheeks; his cunt hugs his dick so good and his walls flutter around his size. The lab desk rattles under both of their weights, but Jayce only has ears for the way Viktor gasps his name like a prayer.

So he fucks him and keeps on fucking him until the slap of his thighs on Viktor’s ass starts to make his skin red, and revells on the way his face— gods, his pretty face— contorns with each thrust and his lips part to gasp and his unfocused eyes watch him through dropped eyelids. 

And in that moment Jayce knows he doesn't want to ever go back to before. He doesn’t want to be the Defender of Tomorrow if he can't have Viktor by his side, here, in his arms, in his embrace. He wants to claim him, to leave a part of himself buried so deep inside that Viktor will never be able to wash him away. He wants to mark him, bruise him, make sure no one else will ever dare lay a hand on him without knowing that he belongs to Jayce. That he’s his. Put his symbol in his augments. Brand the metal with his hammer. 

“You're mine V… you're mine. Always.” 

And maybe it's that sentence that brings Viktor to the edge, his moans coming in high and fast and unstoppable. He thinks he hears him agree, and the idea makes him put his whole strength in his thrusts, determined to make Viktor cum. The wait doesn't last long, and soon he feels Viktor's cunt trapping his dick and sucking him deep, like he doesn't want to let go; he throws his head back as a hoarse moan spills from his lips, and his muscles spasm and contract as he reaches his orgasm. 

Jayce, just as he starts to see white by the corner of his eyes, snaps one of his hands back to the base of his dick, and squeezes hard, putting a stop to his own release. It hurts and it makes him groan in frustration, but he doesn't want to cum. Not yet.

Viktor trembles beneath him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, the last remnants of his release shuddering through his frame. His fingers twitch where they grip at Jayce’s biceps, hold loosening as the tension drains from his body.

Jayce watches him, taking in the sight—flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted just enough to let out soft, breathy sighs. His own pulse is still hammering, desire still simmering just beneath the surface, but for a moment, he just touches. His hands move in slow, steady strokes, tracing absent patterns against Viktor’s ribs, skimming over his stomach where the muscles still jump at the ghost of his touch, finger pads teasing the scars there. He cups his cheek, thumb sweeping over the dampness at his temple, pushing stray strands of hair back into place. Viktor’s eyes flutter open at that, hazy and dazed, and Jayce smiles.

“Still with me?” he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

Viktor hums, a small, satisfied sound, before turning his head just enough to nuzzle into Jayce’s palm. “Mm… barely,” he breathes. Then, his gaze rakes lower and lower, and he can see the moment Viktors eyes lock with his still flushed cock, by the way they comically expand, brows tight. " You are still hard?" He asks, incredulous. 

Jayce chuckles, absentmindedly tracing circles on his chest. “Yeah…” he drawls, shifting just enough for Viktor to feel the heat of him, heavy and aching between them. “Told you I want this to last.”  

Viktor swallows, his breath hitching slightly. His body is still buzzing, oversensitive and languid from his high, but his eyes are still hungry for more, a fresh wave of anticipation curling in his gut.  

Jayce leans in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his throat before murmuring against his skin, “Can you give me one more, sugar? Just one more, and I’ll cum for you, yeah?”  

His voice is sweet, a gentle plea wrapped in thick desire. Viktor exhales shakily, his hands already moving to grip at Jayce’s shoulders.

“Sit on the chair.” 

Jayce immediately complies. His legs feel heavy, muscles still tense from holding himself back, but he lets himself drop onto on of the chairs in his laboratory without breaking eye contact.   

Viktor, still sprawled across the desk, looks at him through half-lidded eyes, gaze sharp. His fingers twitch against the cool surface before he moves, pushing himself up with deliberate slowness. Jayce watches, entranced, as he slides off the desk, moving toward him with a lazy sort of confidence.  

Jayce watches him, eyes big. His hands rest on his thighs, gripping slightly, anticipation thrumming through him as Viktor stops in front of him. He plants a hand on Jayce’s chest, pushing lightly, just enough to make him sink further into the chair, and slides both his legs above his own, straddling his lap. 

Jayces hands fly to his waist. 

“I've always wanted to do this.” Viktor confesses. 

His heart stutters, a raw and possessive feeling curling in his chest. “Yeah?” His voice is low, rough with mind numbing arousal. He tilts his head up to meet Viktor’s gaze, “You wanna ride my cock?” 

Viktor hums, a slow, pleased sound, his hands trailing up Jayce’s chest, fingers teasing the sparse hair he hasn't waxed yet. 

Then, with a soft exhale, he shifts—lifting himself just slightly, his thighs tensing as he rises onto his knees. Jayce watches, mesmerized, his hands instinctively helping him carry the weight. A human hand grabs him by the tip of his dick, and guides it to his flushed, oversensitive hole. His head catches in its rim, which makes him take a sharp breath, and then, suddenly, Viktor sinks in one hard shove, and takes him whole. 

They both moan, Viktor's hands gripping his shoulders as his own dig into his waist. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel amazing.” He knows he's repeating himself, but gods above , his cunt surrounds him so, so right he can't help but voice it out. 

“I hate your stupid pet names.” 

“That's too damn bad, sweetie.” 

Viktor grunts, but rewards him with a hard shove of his hips that makes him moan. He starts moving with an abrupt punishing peace, clearly wanting to make him cum fast; Jayce knows he won't last, but he doesn't mind, not with how hot Viktor looks grinding ruthlessly onto his cock, snappy little ups and downs that have him leaning his head back and unfocusing his eyes. 

They could have not done this before, in their Academy years. Viktor's legs were too sore and tired and would seize if he ever tried to last more than a minute on top. But now… God, he wants to be buried like this, Viktor impaled on his cock and trashing his hips mindlessly, his own steel-made dick trapped between them, rubbing itself on his abdomen. 

He plants his feet firmly and thrusts up, eager to help them both. Moans and whines have filled yet again the room, and the lab smells so much like sex he will need to ventilate. 

“Just like that V, you are so fucking good— God, I wish you could see yourself, so pretty,  so pretty for me.” His hands grip his thighs so hard he's certain the metal will bend with the imprint of his fingers.

He wishes it would.

“My wires,” Viktor breathes out, voice barely above a whisper, yet dripping with delirious pleasure. His pupils are blown wide, golden irises barely visible as his head tilts back slightly, swaying with every rock of his hips. 

Jayce blinks, “Huh?”  

Viktor whimpers, more insistent this time. “Touch my wires.” His fingers tremble as they grasp Jayce’s wrist, guiding his hand up to the back of his neck, where a thick, external rod connects his skull to his spine. “Here,” he gasps, pressing Jayce’s palm against the sensitive cables. “Touch it… pull it…” His voice breaks into a desperate moan, his body twitching at even the lightest pressure.

Jayce doesn't know how that's even pleasurable, but Vitkor is moaning so loud and riding him so good he doesn't even try to question it. 

His fingers tighten around the thick wire, and harshly tugs. Viktor gasps, his whole body jolting like a current has just surged through him, his hips stuttering before pressing down even harder. Jayce swallows, eyes dark with fascination, and does it again—this time threading his fingers through the delicate cables, stroking along their length, feeling the smooth synthetic coating shift beneath his touch.  

Viktor whimpers, eyes squeezing shut as he shudders. “F-Fuck…” He barely manages, voice so breathy it’s almost lost in the heat between them. His grip on Jayce’s shoulders tightens, nails digging in. “Again—”  

Jayce obeys, twisting the wire just slightly between his fingers before giving another experimental pull, watching Viktor keen against him. His other hand presses against the small of his back, holding him steady and helping him grind. 

“Holy shit Viktor… you are a freak.” And what would that make him , when he's getting off of this so bad his cock has gone rock solid inside of him, twitching and spasming with every thrust, heat pooling quickly in his guts and threatening to burst. Viktor doesn't even respond. 

Jayce groans, gripping Viktor’s waist as he bucks up, chasing the friction that’s driving him to the edge. The heat in his gut coils tighter. Every pull of the wires makes Viktor jolt, his body shuddering in perfect time with each movement of Jayce’s hips.  

Viktor is a mess above him—his breath hitching, hands scrambling for purchase on Jayce’s shoulders, his thighs trembling where they cage Jayce in. His half-lidded eyes are hazy with pleasure, lips swollen from all the biting, all the moaning. His back arches beautifully, pressing their bodies even closer, and Jayce can feel everything—every quiver, every tiny spasm, every desperate roll of Viktor’s hips as he grinds down hard.  

“Fuck—Jayce—” Viktor gasps, voice breaking as his body tenses, fingers twitching against his skin. The way he clenches and trembles sends Jayce spiraling after him, his grip tightening, his breath stuttering.  

“Shit—Viktor, I'm gonna—” 

“Yes– inside, I want it inside—”

The rest of the words dissolve into a guttural groan, his vision going white at the edges as pleasure crashes over him, hard and all-consuming. He feels his dick bursting with release, filling Viktor up with his seed, and gods, it's so much. 

Viktor slumps forward, his forehead pressing against Jayce’s shoulder as he exhales shakily. His body is still trembling slightly, overstimulated and exhausted, but he makes no effort to move away. Jayce’s hands, which had been gripping tight, loosen their hold, smoothing over Viktor’s waist in slow, absentminded strokes. He presses a lazy kiss to the side of his head, feeling the way Viktor’s chest rises and falls against his own. 

He makes a slightly uncomfortable noise, shifting awkwardly when his softening cock is released from him. It sends out a flow of translucent white, hole spasming to get it all out. 

“Janna, Jayce, how much did you cum?” Viktor slurs, looking down at the mess. 

Jayce chuckles softly, and maybe even a little bit embarrassed. He traces his cunt with his fingers, coaxing more of his cum out. “Sorry... was too pent up.”

“Mmhm, yeah, I can feel that…” The three orgasms look like they have taken a toll out of him, voice tired.

Jayce huffs a quiet laugh. His arms remain locked around Viktor’s waist, holding him close, unwilling to let even an inch of space form between them. Viktor doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he melts further into the embrace, his fingers drifting up to trace the sharp line of Jayce’s jaw, then his cheek, his touch featherlight. Jayce sighs into it, tilting his head just enough to press a slow kiss to Viktor’s palm. His lips linger there, warm and reverent, savouring the moment. 

There’s a stillness between them, but it isn’t empty. It’s full of heat, of quiet intimacy, of something unspoken but deeply understood. Jayce leans into Viktor’s touch, his own hand sliding up to rest over Viktor’s, holding it there against his face. 

Maybe they do have hope.

Viktor breaks the silence, thumb poking his chin. “Say, ever thought of letting the beard grow?” 

Jayce's eyes go blank, and his hold around his waist tightens slightly. “If you are comparing me to another man— again , I swear I'm not letting you rest for what's left of the night.” He grumbles. 

Viktor merely chuckles, tilting his head with an amused smile. “No, not any other man…” His fingers continue their slow exploration, trailing along Jayce’s jaw as his eyes flicker with something almost contemplative.

“Then?” 

Viktor’s gaze sharpens, a playful yet curious glint in his eyes as he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“Tell me, Jayce… What's your hypothesis on the distortion of reality and interdimensional travel?”