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It was an idea that Jayce had for a while now.
The kind that he turned over in his head again and again, fiddling with the hinges and the bolts to see what was gunking up the ever-turning gears in his head. It was the kind of idea that haunted him at night, clinging to the shadows and flickering across the fibers in his mind.
It followed the lines of his muscles and coiled deep through the layers of skin and fat until it settled somewhere between his bones and his marrow and rooted itself deep into his body. Unshakable and unrelenting.
The kind of idea, the kind of thought that he ruminated on whenever Viktor was asleep beside him—pressed to Jayce’s back with his cheek slotted into the space between his shoulder blades like a leech coming to collect the ambient body heat that Jayce produces.
An idea and a question. Jayce practiced the asking part of it in the mirror, sometimes. When Viktor was still asleep or out in the living room training Rio’s predator instincts with a string and a feather. His mouth formed the words a thousand different times between the passes of his toothbrush and around the foamy toothpaste—he felt the way the question would taste, the way it would vibrate up his vocal chords and out into the world.
Again and again and again.
Which, in a way, might have been stupid. Maybe Jayce was overthinking it. Maybe he was letting the question needle under his skin as it coiled around an idea and made the whole world seem, at once, different and risky.
Jayce had an easier time asking Viktor to marry him.
Though, in his defense, he’d asked him twice before. A little tipsy, and at least once absolutely wasted the night they got back from an office holiday party. The first time, Viktor had kissed him and told him to try again later. The second time, hanging off Jayce’s arm as they both hardly managed to get back into their shared apartment, Viktor said yes.
The third time, Jayce had the ring.
His thumb sweeps over the metal band resting low on his ring finger, body-warm and smooth.
It doesn’t need to be hard. Viktor is his fiance—Jayce should be able to suggest something, right? He should be able to slip into Viktor’s space, kiss the side of his head and breathe in the terrible, shitty, 5-in-1 shampoo, bodywash, conditioner and whatever the fuck else Irish Spring insisted on cramming into one terrible bottle, and ask him if maybe.
Maybe.
Perhaps.
Viktor would consider a slight change of pace.
Just a small one.
It’s early on the Sunday of one of those long holiday weekends, with the sticky heat of summer being beat back by only the virtue of the central air that Jayce put on his absolutely fucking necessary list of attribtues for apartment hunting a year and a half ago. Viktor had huffed, done his song-and-dance of fine, but if that is the case, I’m putting cat friendly on the list.
Normally, on mornings like this, Jayce is the early riser still. He is the one who drags himself out into the living room and flicks on the coffee pot and watches the sun slowly start to pour across the wooden floor.
Normally, he’s halfway through making breakfast by the time that Viktor slumps through the bedroom door, bleary-eyed and stumbling for his coffee. Normally.
This morning, the sun is stretching high out over the morning sky by the time that Jayce stretches his legs out long enough to feel his toes slip off the edge of the bed. One arm unfurls out into the vastness of the bed beside him, bumping haphazardly until it finds something warm and long.
“Mm,” he manages, feeling his fingers curl around a hard, pointed, corner. “Hm?”
“Knee,” Viktor says, shifting up and letting Jayce feel the shift of a knee as it bends beneath his hand. “You slept in.”
“Tired,” Jayce says, his voice rasping under the weight of his exhaustion. One eye peels open and finds the blurry, distant, shape of Viktor above him. He has his glasses on, a surefire sign that he hasn’t actually gotten out of bed yet, and a book open in his lap as dark pillows create a suitable backing around him.
The early light streams in from the slats of their bedroom blinds, sending a warm golden light catching on the highlights in his hair and burning out into a cascading halo of warmth around him. It almost matches his eyes.
Almost.
Though Jayce has never found a single whisper of a color that could ever come close to really pinpointing the color of Viktor’s eyes. The deep, rich, golden glow of them transcends brown and green and mixes off somewhere into a plane where people aren’t supposed to go. Heavenly and distant.
“I love you,” Jayce says, his cheek pillowed on the back of his own hand. “You’re…nice to look at.”
One dark brow raises over those perfect eyes, a curious glint lighting down in the molten pitches. “Nice? Well. I appreciate the, eh, tempered compliment.”
“Didn’t know if you wanted me to call you pretty,” Jayce hums, slinking down further. He’s always been the sort of sleeper that shifted more and more onto his stomach as the night went on. Hours pulling him into a place where he can bury his face off the pillows and into the mattress beneath him—like getting flatter was always going to be his goal.
Viktor hums. “Are you thinking I look pretty this morning?”
“Kinda.”
“Then you should say it,” Viktor replies, just as easily. Jayce’s eyes slip shut as he hums, feeling the bed bend and shiver under the shifting weight in the moment before warm lips fall to the top of his head. “I also find you very pretty this morning.”
“Only this morning?” Jayce asks the sheets beneath his mouth.
Jayce can’t see if Viktor shrugs, but he’d bet all the cash he has that he does. “Eh. Most mornings. At least a decent 45%.”
“That’s not a majority,” Jayce points out. “Can you really say it’s most if it’s not a majority?”
“Ah. But the other 55% is not evenly in one category. I’d say…with the 45% I think you look pretty in the mornings, there is mmm another twenty in which I think you look ravishing.”
“Only twenty?” Jayce peels an eye up at Viktor. “Should I be offended?”
This time Jayce does see him shrug. “Five in which I think you look cute.”
“Five?”
“And thirty in which I’m completely ambivalent.”
This time Jayce pushes himself up on his hands, raising his brow at Viktor. Jayce watches as he sets his book aside, marked carefully with a piece of scrap paper from one of the endless pieces of junk mail they’ve accumulated.
“Thirty?” Jayce asks, as Viktor sets his glasses aside next. “Really?”
“Tragically. As I said the majority of the time I think you’re pretty when you wake up.”
“And chance I can up that number?” Jayce asks, bending the elbow closest to Viktor to press his cheek into his thigh. The worn pajamas are soft under his skin, a comforting and comfortable touch that smells, almost obscenely, of their shared laundry soap and Viktor’s skin. “Put in the work?”
“Oh, almost certainly,” Viktor hums, hand dropping to thread through his hair. The long-fingered touch is familiar enough that it sends shivers racing down from the electric-point brush of each individual pad. Jayce bends to him almost immediately, nuzzling into the side of his leg.
He breathes him in, taking in the scent of sleep and the faint underpinning of sweat that comes if he presses his cheek just hard enough to bury his nose into the crook of Viktor’s knee. “Any tips?”
“Oh, so I am to guide you through your own evaluation? Tch,” Viktor’s tongue clicks. “And here I thought you were, eh, a self- starter.”
Jayce buries the snort of laughter into the fabric as he sinks his arm up over Viktor’s leg, slipping his shoulder down into the space between his calves. Slowly, he inches his way up over one. “I can be. I’m also good at following directions.”
“Ah. And, I presume, thinking you’re going to predict my request?” Viktor asks, as Jayce’s nose follows the rise of Viktor’s bony knee, delicate and tenderly, until he’s dropping a kiss to the fabric right on the inside. A soft space there—something comforting and warm.
“...were you not going to suggest that I eat you until you’re dripping?” Jayce asks, eyes flickering up to Viktor’s bemused expression. He slinks down into the mountain of pillows behind him again, and for a moment Jayce wonders how they don’t just consume him whole—swallowing and taking hold of Viktor without repentance.
Another delicate shrug. “Eh. It was on my mind.”
“It was on mine too,” Jayce hums, lips lifting another half-inch to kiss the space above Viktor’s knee. “If you’d like, I mean. I uh…I’ll do whatever I can to up that rating.”
“Anything?”
“Mmmm.”
“What about telling me what it is you want to do?”
It was an idea. The request balanced on the tip of Jayce’s tongue, poised like an artful sea-creature caught in the crashing of waves. The line of Jayce’s shoulders relaxed, one arm coiling around Viktor’s calf like he could hold them together like this forever.
“You could, uh…” he swallows, summoning the thought back down into his throat with his cheek pressing tighter to Viktor’s knee. “You could let me do whatever it is you want me to do.”
Confusion knits Viktor’s brows as he parses through the request. The round-about language not doing Jayce any favors.
“Ah. So you don’t want to tell me what it is you want, then?” Viktor asks, one brow raising high over his warm eyes.
“I want to do what you want me to do,” Jayce counters, the arm twisted around Viktor’s leg loosening just enough to slide the warm weight of Jayce’s palm up the top of his thigh. “C’mon, V—I love making you come until you’re breathless.”
“Mmm,” comes the warm response. “I don’t know. Tell me what you want, Jayce. I know it’s something. You never get this cagey unless it’s something.”
“I’m not being cagey,” Jayce argues, without any bite. “I’m…it’s…”
His mouth works, the shape of the idea pushing up between his soft and hard paletes—strange-fitting and awkward despite all the times he practiced.
Viktor says silent, molten-amber eyes overflowing with question enough for the two of them.
Jayce’s lips press back together as he swallows.
“I uh. I was just thinking…you’ve never…y’know.”
There’s a box under their bed. Jayce can feel the weight of it under him like a princess and a pea—the corners of it biting through a few inches of empty space and then leagues of wooden slats and a box-spring and a mattress complete with one of those thick memory-foam toppers that was the ultimate splurge when they moved in together and the source of one of their worst arguments as a couple.
And inside the box under their bed are a handful of toys.
Most of them Viktors, brought into Jayce’s life the same time Viktor dared to bring his heart with him.
Some of them are Jayce's.
Some of them unused since they’d started dating.
“Never what, Jayce?” Viktor guides, voice gentle as he drags his fingers through Jayce’s hair again, pushing it back and sliding his blunted nails down the length of Jayce’s scalp. It’s affectionate and familiar and Jayce shivers.
He shivers, and then he ducks his face back into the sliding fabric covering Viktor’s inner thigh—like he can hide himself there forever. “You’ve never fucked me.”
Inside the collection of toys in the box beneath their bed is a strap. Plain black with a ring at the front. Adjustable on the sides with a small but dizzying collection of things to work with it. Viktor had shown it to him once, when Jayce’s curiosity had gotten the better of him. He’d let Jayce hook his chin over his shoulder and watch him break down the composite parts—what tightens what, what goes where, how the straps counterbalance the weight of the cock, how that fabric keeps silicone from rubbing into the users skin and this pouch is for holding a small vibrator—but he has dual-ended ones that have places to insert small bullet vibes and he’s never really needed to use that part anyway and—
—and it had been a lot.
A lot for someone who had never…never.
Just never.
Viktor’s brows jump. “That…well, considering the amount of times that I have, eh, one might say fucked your face,” he says, fingers stalling. “I wouldn’t necessarily call that assessment accurate.”
Jayce doesn’t whine. He doesn’t. But it’s a near thing.
He doesn’t have a good reason why he’s never been on that side of things. Maybe it was that the situation was never right, maybe it was because there wasn’t anyone before Viktor that made him feel like he wanted it, no one that threaded their fingers through his hair while he nuzzled into their legs and made him feel like this.
And even then, even once Viktor stumbled into his life and started to press himself into all the corners of Jayce’s chest, there was always still something in his way. Some tenuous tie to an idea of what he should be versus what he wants and what he should want.
“You know what I meant,” Jayce tries, feeling that burn of mortification start to crawl up under his skin. “I thought…I mean you still have it and you still have the stuff and—”
“Jayce, you know you don’t have to convince me, right?” Viktor says, his fingers moving to push a few loose strands of hair off Jayce’s forehead. “If…is this what you’ve been trying to ask me?”
“I—how—I mean—”
“You are very obvious about it. You get this look in your eye when you’re dying to ask some sort of question.” Viktor’s thumb sweeps along his hairline, urging Jayce to meet his eye. “I just presumed you wanted to get a dog.”
“It’s a great idea,” Jayce points out. “And Cait’s parents dogs just had a litter of puppies—”
“Jayce.”
“They’re really well behaved, and both parents are super healthy, super well taken care of—and Cait offered this one that’s like, really small and—”
“Jayce.”
“No room for a dog, no yard, and we both work long days?”
“I—yes, Jayce. But what I was going to say was: if you want something, you can just ask. You know that, right? If you want me to fuck you, all you have to do is say—” Viktor pauses, sitting up fully as Jayce bends his head up to watch him, neck straining to look higher and higher as Viktor all but looms, blotting out the soft morning sun around him. His hand slides, clever fingers slipping down to the point of his chin. “Viktor, would you please fuck my ass?”
Jayce’s mouth goes dry—sapped of all moisture as Viktor’s low croon coils around him and spreads over his skin like a sticky summer breeze. “I—”
“Go on,” Viktor urges, pulling his legs back from Jayce’s grip.
“Please, Viktor?” It’s as far as he gets before warm, dry, lips find his own in a soft, familiar, kiss.
There are few things in this world Jayce loves quite like Viktor’s mouth. The way he molds to the shape of Jayce’s lips, slotting them together in a perfect matched set. They fit together like the final pieces of a puzzle, like the last few clicks of a well-oiled machine—a final set matched to solve every glitch and gunk and error in the coding to work effortlessly together.
Viktor presses, lips gently guiding Jayce’s open and Jayce responds with the slip of his own tongue against the marked, chapped, line of Viktor’s lips. He tastes like the cooling coffee on the nightstands and the familiar taste of the early morning. And Jayce knows he probably tastes the same—but there’s something almost familiar in it, like a dance that stays unforgotten in the muscles woven under skin.
One hand slides up to cup Jayce’s jaw, tilting him as Jayce’s tongue dips down to chase the taste of Viktor across the inside of his mouth. It’s slick and warm, slow and steady as they bend into place around one another. Viktor leans back and Jayce follows, falling into place between Viktor’s legs as he climbs up the length of his sleep-warm body.
The two sharp points come to find either side of Jayce’s hips, as Viktor’s knees hold him steady and fast.
That low burn of arousal that was starting to kindle from soft-glowing morning embers begins to burn in Jayce’s belly as he seams them up tighter. Viktor’s soft, affectionate, noises filter up and coil around the line of his back.
One of Viktor’s legs pulls up, wrapping around Jayce’s hips in a familiar plea pressed and slid between his lips on the tidal pull of another soft, slow, kiss.
And Jayce knows this one, too. Jayce knows the way that Viktor nudges him, the way he gives subtle pushes and pulls to show Jayce where he should be, where is best, which way to turn, which way to go. A knee sliding up, calf pressing to the rise of Jayce’s ass is a hopeful request to roll them over.
Which Jayce happily does.
Hands slip up to find the fabric of Viktor’s shirt, threadbare and sleep-warm, and hold him fast before he twists them over onto Jayce’s rapidly-cooling side of the bed. They hardly separate for a moment, lips crashing against one anothers as they twist and find that perfect place alongside one another.
Jayce hovers above Viktor, feeling more like a pinned butterfly caught up on display than anything else. His hands slide free of Viktor’s shirt, dropping down to cradle the jagged edge of each hip in the center of a calloused, sleep-warm palm.
“Jayce,” Viktor sighs, the word heavy and sweet as it melts into the rapidly-building heat of the room around him. Viktor says his name like the loosened, soft edges of something more sacred than prayer. Prayer is too different, too distant, too little to be what they are in the slow, shared breaths that slide slick and warm between them.
It is always like something caught, like something trapped and explored and known. Viktor says his name like his tongue knows the contours and curves of his body.
Jayce bows his mouth to the slender line of Viktor’s pale throat, kiss-bitten lips pushing to find the steady thrum of his heart buried under layers of skin and muscle. “Viktor,” he echoes, a soft and solemn thing.
Viktor’s good knee slides up, nudging gently into Jayce’s side as a narrow-boned hand flashes down between them to start wriggling his worn, sleep-soft trousers off him. “Be a good boy and get these off of me, hm?”
Good boy.
Heat pools in Jayce’s face at once, burning in the sweat-sweet space between them.
Good boy.
He pulls his face up, his eagerness knotting itself round the smoldering ball of arousal that burns low in his belly. His thumbs find the ridge of Viktor’s hip bones, sliding over the sharp jut of his body before stroking delicately over the sloping skin that stretched down to his belly-button. Jayce could touch Viktor here for hours, he could map the exact distance between his iliac spine and the soft, sparse fur that leads down to the weathered waistband.
A feather-light finger touch strokes over Viktor’s happily-grown in happy trail. Jayce remembers the days when it started to thicken, when Viktor spread the remnants of his testosterone gel to thicken the hair that grew in its wake. He would lie there, his nose pressed to Viktor’s belly until the time had passed so long that Viktor’s unchecked libido couldn’t handle it anymore.
The fine hairs prickle under the touch, rising up with a wash of gooseflesh that prickles along Viktor’s skin.
Stripping Viktor is easy.
It’s natural.
Jayce cannot take long, he cannot tease or play coy or fool around when he knows that Viktor is warm and waiting and ready for him. By the time his thumbs slide down and hook into the elastic, he’s already salivating.
Viktor strips his own shirt off around the time that Jayce peels the trousers down pale, skinny legs and—
—and Jayce needs to stop being surprised when Viktor doesn’t wear underwear to bed.
His cunt is already glistening in the low, soft morning light. The warm golden glow that seeps in from the slats of the blinds catches in the slickened-down curls, making them gleam where already-soaked skin is put on display. Jayce offers a pillow to rest Viktor’s knee on as he spreads his legs to bare the full breadth of his cunt to him.
A string of come stretches from the jut of Viktor’s proud, eager little cock catching on a loose curl and dripping—properly fucking dripping—down the length of his cunt.
Jayce could swear.
He could pass out.
He could push Viktor’s hips into the bed and seal his mouth to his cunt and eat him out until Jayce has fucking drowned in his fucking pussy.
He doesn’t do any of those things.
Instead, he tucks his hands in front of himself, hanging in front of the swollen, needy bulge in his own sweatpants, and whines.
Viktor’s laugh comes soft and bubbling. “Go on,” he says, his voice scratching with a rough arousal. “Did you not say you wanted to, eh, eat me until I was dripping?”
That is all that Jayce needs to hear. His hands smooth over the length of soft, skinny legs as he bows himself down into the feast laid before him.
If Jayce had it his way, he would break his fast on the taste of Viktor’s cunt every single morning. He would starve himself for want of the altar of Viktor's body, bent into him and dragging the flat of his tongue over the entire length of his dripping cunt. He would taste him like a fresh-broken fruit, pressing his tongue between the soft, molten lips and tasting the fresh slick of him welling at his eager, pulsing slit. Jayce feasts from him, burying his nose in Viktor’s soaked pubic hair and splitting his twitching, perfect cunt open on the full length of his tongue.
Above him, Viktor gasps.
Below him, Jayce groans, his mouth sealed to the ichor of the heavens offered out in open palm and spread fucking legs.
He fucks his tongue into Viktor slowly, feeling the press of his walls twitch and flex around him before he shoves deep to the giving flesh again and again and again—each shove of his tongue into Viktor, each groan and sigh and breath that Jayce urges out from the jut of his tongue, only leaves Jayce more of a mess.
But that isn’t what Viktor asked of him. A thin-fingered hand twists in his hair, urging Jayce’s tongue out of Viktor’s cunt to lap, sticky and slick, over the underside of his cock instead.
“There you are,” Viktor sighs. “Seems you need your mouth filled, hm?”
Jayce nods, his eyes half-lidded as he watches the flush spread over Viktor’s cheeks. Viktor tugs his hair again, pulling in all the quiet directional language that they have developed time and time again.
Suck, is what he says. So Jayce sucks.
He wraps his lips around the pulsing, eager cock. The growth from testosterone had given Viktor enough length that Jayce could not so much bob as rock his mouth down against him, pressing his tongue to the tip pushed past his lips as he moves and sucks up against him. Beneath his hands, Viktor’s thighs shake.
“A—ah, Jayce,” comes the first soft warning of an incoming orgasm. “Just like that. Mm such a good boy for me, Jayce. Such a good boy sucking my cock like this. Do—a-ah! —do you want me to come on your face? Is that it?” Caught in the impossible prison of Viktor’s narrow thighs, Jayce nods as best he can, rolling his tongue over the tip of Viktor’s cock to feel him jolt and shudder as come slicks the line of Jayce’s jaw. It’s going to soak into his early morning scruff, he knows this. He knows that he’s going to smell it no matter how much he washes his face today—the scent of Viktor’s cunt carried with him, the taste woven into the memory of his tongue. The thought makes him groan, a long and slow thing that only serves to further rend Viktor apart.
There is no warning when Viktor’s legs tighten, when his hips lift and his voice catches and Jayce never wants more than the feeling of Viktor’s come rushing down over his chin and his jaw and leaving him a slick mess of him and him and him.
Jayce strokes the line of Viktor’s trembling thighs, climbing up the length of his body to crush their mouths together in a slick, desperate stinging kiss. Jayce’s lips part to let Viktor taste however he wishes, to let him draw the taste of himself—to let Jayce be nothing more than the vessel through which Viktor knows how beautiful he is, knows how fantastic he is, knows how much he is and how delicious he is and how-how-how—
Viktor’s fingers twist into Jayce’s hair.
“Ah, ah,” he says, into the humid space between their mouths. “Get it.”
Jayce’s kiss-stung mouth is so lost that he says: “What?”
“My cock,” Viktor says. “Get it.”
Jayce scrambles, half-tripping over Viktor’s leg as he bends himself down over the edge of the bed to reach past Rio’s first, second, and third carrier and beyond a pile of stolen socks and hidden toys. He finds the toy box with little difficulty, leaving the hoard scattering across the bedroom floor without a second thought as he fishes out the strap and—well. And the least intimidating dildo.
It’s a shimmery blue with a thick, heavy head and enough of a comfortable girth and length that Jayce doesn’t think it’ll be too hard.
It’s not much smaller than himself, really.
Jayce offers them to Viktor, on hands that barely even shake.
Viktor hums, a low noise of curiosity. “Feeling adventurous for our first time, hm?”
Jayce flushes, looking down at the offerings as Viktor plucks them up from his hands and starts to slip into the strap with enough ease and effort that Jayce’s come-slick mouth dries immediately.
“Is that—” he clears his throat. “It looked uh—”
“Smaller than you?” Viktor says, as he settles the thick black straps over the rise of his narrow, pale hips. The distinction is jarring and beautiful and all Jayce wants to do is kiss it. “Eh. It is, but you are a very large man, Jayce Talis.”
Jayce tries to swallow, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth instead. “Y-yeah?”
Viktor chuckles and Jayce doesn’t know why but he knows it isn’t directed at him, but is about him. It doesn’t make his skin crawl with discomfort. He bends his cheek down to Viktor’s pointed shoulder.
“I know,” Viktor says, kissing his temple. “Lie back for me. I’m going to open you up on my fingers and then I am going to fuck you until you’re going to be begging to borrow one of my canes.”
Jayce’s half-lidded eyes fly open. “I—V.”
“I know, I know,” Viktor says, waving a hand as a gentle touch guides Jayce back down into the soft, cool embrace of the bed beneath him.
Jayce isn’t nervous. He isn’t.
He isn’t nervous watching Viktor shift to the bedside table. He isn’t nervous watching him roll the bottle of lube between his fingers. He isn’t nervous watching Viktor lean forward, kissing the jut of Jayce’s clothed knee.
“Jayce?” Viktor says, pressing his nose to the rise of a knee.
“Hm?” He asks in return, his eyes heavy and lidded as he watches how the spreading morning light catches in the fly-aways of Viktor’s hair.
“You need to take your sweatpants off.”
Jayce blinks twice. “Oh! Oh—sorry you just uh—”
“Pretty?” Viktor asks, as Jayce strips and tosses his clothes aside.
The tense line of Jayce’s stomach unwinds. “Y-yeah. You are.”
The already affectionate line of Viktor’s face only softens further. “Jayce,” he says, the warm coil of affection burning bright in the fading dawn.
Sometimes that is all they need. A whisper-plea of a name pressed between them as Viktor shifts to cover Jayce’s now-bare body with his own narrow slash of one.
Viktor, he says, pressed between them as a warm, slick finger slips against Jayce’s entrance. It’s a sigh, as welcoming as the arch of his body pressing chest to chest, heart to heart, the moment that Viktor is within him.
It’s Jayce returned like the steady beat of a pulse calling and responding to the tumbleweed of arteries and veins that comprise each of their bodies. Adrift on the wind until they tangle together.
It’s please panted soft and sweet as a second finger, slick and warm, circles Jayce’s taught, twitching rim until he splits him open anew.
It’s good boy sighed into an open mouth as beautiful, clever fingers curl to show Jayce what pleasure alight looks like when it’s rent from his body in a flash-bang breath.
It’s yes? between them, when Viktor’s hand circles Jayce’s cock to take the edge off the leaking weight of himself.
It’s yes when Jayce cannot fucking think of anything other than getting Viktor inside him.
It’s please when Jayce cannot fucking think of anything other than getting Viktor inside him.
It’s please when Jayce cannot fucking think of anything other than getting Viktor inside him.
It’s pleased when the head of Viktor’s cock rests at the slick, ready entrance, nudging against Jayce strong and solid enough to make him gasp. It’s please when Viktor starts rolling his hips forward and splitting Jayce open and splitting Jayce open and splitting Jayce open. It’s please when it’s please when it’s please and it’s you’re such a good boy aren’t you, Jayce? Taking my cock like you were meant to. I’m fucking you open on it, I’m fucking you so full of me, until you’re shaped like me. Until your body is shaped like my cock and Viktor’s mouth on his slack, panting one and Viktor’s hand is gripping Jayce’s fucking cock and Viktor is fucking him and fucking him and fucking him.
Jayce has never felt—he’s never felt so fucking full. He can feel the shove of Viktor’s cock splitting him open deeper and deeper and deeper—the splitting burn, the push deeper and deeper until he thinks that Viktor’s cock is buried up between his goddamn fucking lungs. His nails bite into the curve of Viktor’s sweat-lined shoulders, his hips work down against the slow, even pace that Viktor buries into him and again and again.
He could come undone here, with his chest pressed to Viktor’s and their breaths mingling in a panting, beautiful cacophony of whispered praise mixed with groans.
He could be undone here.
He could be unmade.
Viktor strokes him, jerky and awkward motions caught between their bodies and how tight Jayce has pulled them together.
And he is.
Unmade.
Undone.
(It’s Viktor, pressed against work-slack lips.
It’s Jayce, brushed back against his.
More than prayer will ever be.)
When Jayce comes back to himself, bits and pieces locking together to remake the structure of his bones, it’s with his head pressed to Viktor’s collar and his arms looped around his waist.
“We’re not getting out of bed today,” Jayce says, hand sweeping lazily down the length of Viktor’s spine.
“Eh. Seems unlikely,” Viktor says, his nose pressed to Jayce’s hair. “Rio will fend for himself on your shoes.”
Jayce pauses. “We’re getting out of bed once.”