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The gala began at 8:00 PM.
By 8:45, Jayce had attracted a healthy flock of men and women aged 25 to 65 into his little corner of the ballroom, his charm dialed up as far as it could go. Jayce had shipping lanes to acquire, and at minimum, needed to walk out of here tonight with 20k from one of these preening peacocks.
Jayce wasn’t drinking, but the half-dozen giggling admirers in his little semi-circle were plastered. On his left, Antoine Dupont, the youngest son of a big pharma CEO, who laughed too loud at Jayce’s jokes and blinked coquettishly with big-blue eyes. To Jayce’s right, was Mrs. Helene Hart, the not-so-beloved wife of a city councilman and at least ten years Jayce’s senior. She wore a slinky red dress with a low neckline, her nails, french-tipped, clawed on the inside of Jayce’s bicep, and she was insistent on slotting herself into his dance card.
“Oh, but Mr. Viktor does know how to throw a party,” Helene drawled, brandishing her lipstick-stained champagne glass like a weapon. “ Jayce , you must thank him again for throwing this party — and for sharing you! There is no other dance partner a girl would rather have.”
She wouldn’t let go of his arm and had muscled away anyone else who tried. As she continued to chatter on, the rest of their little group dissipated, conceding defeat to a more skilled, or rather more desperate opponent. All of them left but poor Antoine, saddled still with a teenage babyface, his lip quivering with frustration and drunkenness.
“Ah, but you should be resting, Mrs. Hart,” Antoine said, with barely restrained disdain. “You’ve been dancing since you got here, and not even once with your husband. Those shoes too don’t lend well to dancing. Has no one told you how hard it is to waltz in Louboutins?”
Helene’s grin was all unnaturally white teeth, flipping her brightly dyed blonde hair over her shoulder to expose her neck. She reeked of floral perfume. “No, dear boy, they haven’t. When you have as much experience as I do, you can go all night long on a pair of these.”
Antoine’s blush was proving to be redder than her lipstick, and while Jayce had lost interest in Antoine’s money, Viktor had made it clear earlier this morning that Jayce was not to make any enemies tonight.
“I’ll save a spot for you later, Antoine,” Jayce lied, sparing the boy a hand on the arm. He slinked away with all the defeated grace of a kicked dog. He’d get over it, Jayce hoped, but he couldn’t dwell on it — he had a more tedious task at hand.
Mrs. Hart forced him through three songs, talking the whole way through — but by the third, a waltz indeed, Mrs. Hart was less than subtle about her husband’s admiration for Viktor’s business plans, and whatever it would take to land him in Viktor’s good graces. Whether that be money, or whoring out his wife who seemed all too eager to rub her breasts along Jayce’s forearm.
“Ah, Helene, you’re too kind,” Jayce said trying to put more space between them. She only tightened her grip. “I’ll make sure to pass along your kind words to Viktor.”
“Do that dear. My husband is, of course, happy to help in any way possible. He can get Viktor’s name in the right ears,” she purred, swinging clumsily into a turn.
Her hand crept up from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. Far more intimate than a waltz called for. Jayce resisted the urge to shake her off and focused instead on a fleeting memory — Viktor’s face lit by dawn through the windows, swaying in the circle of Jayce’s arms to a jazzy tune on the radio just a few days earlier. That was before a cold snap swept into the city, bringing a flare-up in Viktor’s leg with it. Originally, they were meant to tackle the gala together — but this morning Viktor had barely been able to get out of bed, and pale-faced with pain, told Jayce in no uncertain terms to return home with funds for the company’s new shipping lanes.
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Jayce had asked, grumpily contemplating his choice of suit jackets hung over the mirror, and looking askance at the fluttering rise and fall of Viktor’s chest beneath the bedsheet. Viktor often caught the flu this time of year too, and Jayce made a note to tell the maids to bring Viktor honeyed tea with his breakfast.
“You’re a big boy,” Viktor said pointedly eyeing the swell of Jayce’s biceps straining against the sleeves of his starched button-up. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
It wasn’t something Viktor made Jayce do often, Viktor was in truth, quite possessive — but obstacles being what they were, Jayce was willing to prostitute his flirtations if his husband, if the boss , asked.
“Well, you do know how concerned my husband is for the state of the city’s harbor,” Jayce said to a sultry-eyed Mrs. Hart. “They’re horribly mismanaged. I do say our docks are in need of a firmer hand.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she replied with swiftness.
Jayce knew she didn’t give a single fuck about what shipping conglomerate had control over the freighters, nor what was inside the majority of the containers Viktor needed unrestricted access to. She cared about one thing, her mouth perched a hair's breadth from her ear, smelling pungently of roses and liquor.
“I’ll help however I can. Tell me, darling, how can I make your troubles go away?” she whispered.
Jayce thought of Viktor while she brushed her lips over the side of his neck. Viktor’s fine proud head among the crowd, that beguiling smirk fixed on his friends, his enemies. Viktor making a path with his cane out first, its glinting handle fashioned into a vulture head, with tanzanite for its eye, obnoxiously purple, the same stone Jayce had stamped onto the front of their wedding rings.
Jayce stopped dancing, he was approaching his limit and set a tingling hand on Mrs. Hart’s waist. “A donation. This is, a charity ball.”
She leaned into his palm. He was practically holding her up. “Hmm, ten thousand?”
“Thirty.”
“Fifteen.” Her lips skirted the jut of his chin that Viktor liked to hold when they kissed.
“Twenty-five,” he countered.
“Twenty,” she purred, going in for a kiss.
“Done,” he said, and with the final crescendo of the waltz, twirled and swung her into a dip. She yelped, drunk and flat-footed. Jayce was the only thing keeping her from falling into an inelegant sprawl all over the floor. They’d made a bit of scene, as the only two left on the dancefloor. The song petered out and swiftly with an unmistakable air of embarrassment Mr. Hart, who had been stuffing his face with shrimp cocktail at the hoeur-d'oeuvre table, shuffled over to collect his wife.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Talis. So sorry. Thank you very much for indulging her,” he stuttered, wiping the corner of his mouth on his suit sleeve, staining it with cocktail sauce.
Mrs. Hart swatted her husband on the chest, her face set in the most ugly of scowls. He shushed her, and she was smart enough to heed him since the whole ballroom was watching and whispering. How embarrassing, they must be thinking. How dangerous, to trip over your feet while dancing with the husband of a mob boss. Viktor was a fair man, but no one could call him a pushover — they were all wondering what he would think of this. Jayce was wondering if he could top off their newly promised donation with a bonus.
“Yes, well, next time some restraint with the champagne might be called for,” Jayce said, summoning every ounce of awkwardness he could into his voice.
“Please, we meant no insult,” Mr. Hart insisted, firmly. “I’m sure my wife mentioned, we admire you and your husband greatly. We’d love to be great patrons of yours. However I can repay you, please let me know.”
“Thirty-thousand,” Jayce demanded, and winking departed for the restroom.
~
Jayce spent longer than necessary wiping his neck clean with a fresh-scented towelette offered by the bathroom attendant. The towelette was tinted red from Mrs. Hart’s lipstick, but really, she hadn’t lingered long. Regardless, his skin was crawling, he was tired, and there wasn’t one person left in that ballroom who could keep him from going home.
Sighing, he handed the soiled wipe back to the frightened-looking attendant to toss, and after straightening his tie made his way to exit — but the door creaked open, and clink, clink, clink, a cane went on the tiles.
There was Viktor. Vi, too, at his back, arms crossed, chewing a piece of gum, and looking very amused.
Viktor was straight-faced, leaning heavier than usual on his cane, but standing nonetheless. He’d forgone the chocolate-brown jacket and vest he planned to wear for tonight, but was wearing a white button-up and the matching brown pants with a pair of shiny leather shoes. Simple, for a gala, but Viktor wore simple the way others wore grandiose. All he had to do was stand there, looking as he did to draw all the eyes in the room. The attendant was as tense as a soldier at attention.
Vi jerked her head to the side. “Beat it, kid.”
He bolted, even attempted a nervous, and unnecessary bow towards Viktor before skittering out the door. Vi snorted behind her hand, and the bow of Viktor’s lips twitched with a restrained smile.
“Are you feeling better?” Jayce asked, calm as he could. He was tired, irritated, wiping another woman’s lipstick off his neck, which Viktor knew about, and still, Jayce fought off the heat in his stomach, half-hard just at the sight of his husband and his crooked little mouth.
“Much better,” Viktor said, walking over, as easy as you please, to fiddle with Jayce’s tie. He always said Jayce could never lay it straight, and well, the boss’s husband couldn’t be looking bedraggled —unless it was to seduce the touchy wife of a politician.
Jayce gave Vi a loaded look. She threw up her hands.
“Heimerdinger took a look at him. He’s fine. Gave him a steroid to speed the healing along.”
Viktor was close enough to kiss, seemingly focused on a piece of lint on Jayce’s jacket, but the hand not on his cane traced a sure path up Jayce’s flank, plainly hungry.
Jayce grabbed it. “You should be in bed. Resting.”
Viktor raised a single lovely brow. “I believe you heard what Violet said.”
“ Violet wants to keep her job,” Jayce countered. Viktor’s hand was cold, he never got enough circulation. Unthinkingly, Jayce rubbed his thumb over his bony knuckles.
Vi snapped the gum in her mouth. Loudly. “Hey now, I’ve got prospects banging down my door! I could go wherever I want!”
“Working for your girlfriend doesn’t count. Caitlyn would post you looking all pretty in the corner and call it a day,” Jayce said, dryly.
“Please, you work for yours,” Vi mumbled.
Viktor liked to pretend he had all the patience Jayce lacked, whether it came to the business, the household, or plain horniness — but when he wanted something, he took it, without shame or regard for decorum. He shook his hand from Jayce's grip and busied himself with undoing the tie. Then, with a whoosh of air, he undid Jayce’s belt, and Jayce, a true horny husband, just let him.
“We are married. That makes us business partners,” Viktor commented, idly removing Jayce’s jacket. It fell to the bathroom floor, sure to be wrinkled and ruined once picked up.
“Greedy thing,” Jayce whispered, awed, crazed, and stole a kiss. Viktor opened up, all easy, letting Jayce pinion a hand at his jaw to keep him steady.
Vi made a disgusted noise. “God, stop. Please wait until I leave to start fucking.”
“We’re not fucking in the bathroom,” Jayce said into another kiss. Then Viktor slid his thigh against Jayce’s crotch and started grinding. Jayce pulled away, eyes wide.
“Really?” he asked. This was a fucking bathroom.
Viktor just smiled.
Vi threw her hands up and turned to leave. “I said what I said, now leave me out of it. I’ll be outside.”
As soon as she was gone, Viktor propped his cane up against the corner of the wall, then casually hiked himself up onto the marble counter.
“I'm mad at you, actually,” Jayce said, baffled.
“Why?”
“You just pimped me out to a woman twice my age, and now you want to fuck on the bathroom counter that’s why.”
“You did not sleep with her. Did you?” Viktor asked.
They both knew if Jayce had they wouldn’t be in this bathroom right now, with Vi standing guard at the door, preparing to shield her ears. This place wasn’t soundproof. No, if Jayce had, and he wouldn’t, not for twenty-thousand, thirty-thousand, not for a million dollars, he’d already be dead. His body gutted like a pig and tossed into the very harbor whose shipping rights Viktor had just recently acquired. Viktor was fair, and that response would be fair.
“No, baby,” Jayce said, softly. “Doesn't mean I liked the flirting bit.”
Viktor smiled, a bit of bashfulness at the pet name. Jayce got to unbuttoning Viktor’s shirt, and in doing so revealed the dark bloom of a bruise just above his nipple, on the slight swell of his pec. Jayce left it there a few days ago.
“Yes, well, we do what is necessary. Now, tell me how generous Mrs. Hart was,” Viktor said, tartly.
How generous was she? Please, as if some little spy didn’t dart out of that ballroom as soon as Jayce was finished dancing to tell Viktor all about the money.
Jayce grabbed Viktor's thigh and bullied himself into the vee of Viktor’s legs. Just as quickly, Viktor had a hand in his hair, jerking his neck back, his lips pursed into a pissy line. Jayce felt collared, there was no escape, and he was outrageously hard in his slacks.
“You did tell me to flirt with her,” Jayce croaked. “We needed this deal for the exports.”
Viktor knotted his fingers, and Jayce moaned, he couldn’t help it.
“I did tell you. You performed admirably, and now I am rewarding you,” Viktor purred. “You have five minutes. Make me come.”
Jayce slammed their lips together. They gnashed teeth, and a spurt of metal bloomed from Jayce’s bottom lip. Viktor had drawn blood, but it didn’t matter, none of it fucking mattered when Viktor was whining so sweetly into his mouth, then pushing Jayce’s pants down to a pool at his ankles.
“You’re wet. You’re always so wet for me,” Viktor said, taking his cock in hand for an expert, husbandly, stroke.
Viktor’s head was tilted back, his eyes closed, but there was no falter in his rhythm. He didn’t need to look at his hand to know how to drive Jayce wild. Jayce abandoned the new mark he was making behind Viktor’s ear, to look at the long mirror above the sinks. There he could see the pink flush on Viktor’s nape, peeking, pretty as a sunset. His mussed feather-soft hair, the delicate moles decorating his cheeks, angled just right when he tipped his head to the side for a breath. He was shaking, they both were and when Jayce caught a rein on his eagerness he found Viktor wet too, damp at the tip of his cock just as desperate.
“For you, baby. Always for you. Whatever you want,” Jayce whispered and sucked at a mouthful of tender skin at Viktor’s neck.
“Go look in the attendant’s basket,” Viktor gasped.
Jayce was so hard he was lightheaded. “What?”
Viktor tucked his leg in, then gave Jayce a hard shove to push him away from the counter . Jayce almost tripped with the force of it, and had half a mind to yell at his husband to be fucking careful with such a recent flare-up in his leg — but the scowl on Viktor’s face was testy, fierce like lightning, and Jayce knew any coddling would not be well received.
“The attendant’s basket. Don’t you remember?” Viktor said, with squinted honey-gold eyes and the slightest hint of venom. “That lovely boy who stood just over there, watching you scrub that whore’s tacky drug-store lipstick off the side of your neck. There’s more in the basket than towelettes.”
How difficult could this possibly be? Jayce’s pants were down, his cock out, his heart was throbbing in his throat, and he wanted to fuck his husband.
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Jayce snapped.
“ Lube, Jayce.”
Jayce went to the basket, and low and behold there was a bottle of his and Viktor’s favored brand of lube hidden between a box of tissues and a jar of round white mints. Just one bottle. That was it.
Meanwhile, on the counter, Viktor had shucked the rest of his clothing off and was fisting himself in hand with a soft sigh.
“You planned this,” Jayce said slowly, unsure if he was mortified or impressed with Viktor’s forethought.
“I plan many things, that is my job.” His accent was thicker, low, and stretched in the way it got when he was well and truly turned on.
“V, you plan stabbings. You plan shipping manifests.”
“And I planned for you to fuck me tonight in this hideously ornate bathroom with that woman’s scent on your neck. I am rather good at multitasking. You, however, are not. Your five minutes are almost up.”
“You crazy bastard,” Jayce hissed, deliciously in love, baffled beyond reason, finding himself squeezing a dollop of lube onto his fingers and taking Viktor in his arms once again. He gave Viktor’s cock hard wet strokes, relishing in his choked moans before pulling him closer to the edge of the counter where Jayce could reach for his ass, sliding two lubed fingers into his hole.
Jayce crooked his fingers just the way Viktor liked it and kept the pressure firm, unrelenting. “You stocked lube in the fucking bathroom, you made the attendant stand there, knowing what we were going to do.”
“ More ,” Viktor demanded, head tipped back on the glass. His eyes were squeezed shut but Jayce wanted them open. He wanted both those golden eyes and those pretty eyelashes.
“Whatever you want, V. You get whatever you want.”
Ignoring his cock was torture, but it was also delayed gratification, and Viktor squirming on his fingers, moaning loud enough for Vi, Mrs. Hart, and the whole fucking banquet hall to hear was a special reward. Viktor’s cock left a sticky trail along Jayce’s abs, staining the hem of the shirt he hadn’t bothered removing. Viktor’s hands were splayed flat on the countertop, slim fingers tensing, as Jayce pressed harder, murmuring lovely filth in Viktor’s ear all the while.
“So fucking tight, baby”, and, “Gonna feel so good on my cock,” and, “I love you all wet for me,” and “That’s right come on my fingers, make yourself feel good.”
Viktor grabbed him by the neck and brought their foreheads together. It was all he needed, steady pressure, and the tease of Jayce’s abs to have him spurting, thick all over Jayce’s shirt. It would not be the first time they sent something spoiled to the dry cleaners.
“Was that five minutes? Hm?” Jayce teased mouth at Viktor’s temple. Jayce still had his fingers knuckle deep, and crooked them again, just to hear Viktor gasp, so sweet and oversensitive.
“Be quiet, and get inside me,” Viktor hissed, and Jayce was not one to question him.
Jayce was a married man. He was in love. He had spent the past seven years having frequent wild, often tender, always good sex with his best friend. There was nothing better in the world than doing so, not even when they were both bone tired, wrung dry from all the scheming, the coordinating, the smuggling of inventory, and the stupid flirtations with rich men’s wives. Jayce was good at fucking, and Viktor would settle for nothing less, but there were some days still when it was so good, so hot and tight, Jayce had to put all of his concentration into not coming as soon as he slid in.
He trembled in the crook of Viktor’s neck, and Viktor allowed him that moment of focus, keeping still where but a moment ago he’d been every ounce the demanding crime boss that he was.
A kiss to his brow. “You have it, Jayce. Come on now. Move.”
Jayce went faster than he should’ve, but he was pent up and Viktor was wet and warm and laying biting kisses along Jayce’s pulse point. Jayce kept his hands tight on Viktor’s hips, pulling him into each thrust. He wanted to stretch this moment out forever, but he wasn’t far from coming.
He slammed in hard, barely thrusting anymore, just grinding selfishly against the tight swell of Viktor’s ass, listening to him whimper from oversensitivity. Viktor was tight, even after he came, and perhaps unthinkingly Viktor lurched forward like he was looking for friction, despite his soft cock.
Jayce’s orgasm hit, heavy in his gut, and he fell forward, barely managing to brace himself on the counter while he jerked his hips in once, twice before stopping. Viktor was petting through his hair, making shushing noises.
Bleary-eyed Jayce squinted at himself in the mirror. He looked ridiculous, red-faced, clothes rumpled, a bit of drool on the corner of his mouth — meanwhile, the lean line of Viktor’s back, and its many beloved smatterings of birthmarks, was illuminated by the overhead lights. Jayce was being poetic, but anyone would be, to have Viktor like this, his slim legs around their waist, a figure pale and beautiful, and the most powerful man in the city.
Jayce slipped out, patting Viktor on the thigh, then went for the basket again.
“You didn’t answer my question. Was that five minutes?” Jayce asked. He sucked his teeth, the damn attendant had taken the towelettes with him. They’d have to settle for paper towels for cleanup.
Viktor plucked a bottle of hair gel from the basket, then swept the messy fall of his hair back over his head, trying, and failing in Jayce’s opinion, to look anything but freshly fucked. “I was not exactly counting, Jayce.”
Jayce grinned, belting his pants up, then stole a kiss. “Good. I did my job then.”
Viktor held him by the chin one kiss wasn’t enough, but Jayce was never one to deny him.
Nibbling Jayce’s already bloodied lip to a bruise, Viktor said, “Mr. Talis, you did all of that and more.”
~
Jayce and Viktor almost always took a tray of coffee and pastries in bed every morning, before moving to the office or the workshop. The next morning, Viktor scowled through the cup of honeyed tea Jayce so horribly forced upon him.
Jayce was reading the paper, and working his way through a chocolate-churro donut from one of those trendy new places Caitlyn recommended, when Vi strolled into the bedroom without so much as a hello.
Viktor was unimpressed and kept on sipping sour-faced. Jayce pulled the sheets up higher and stuffed the last bite of the donut in his mouth.
“Knock much?” he snarked.
Vi’s stink eye was unmatched by any other bodyguard they employed. “I’ve seen worse.”
She threw a handful of envelopes onto the bedspread. “You’ve got mail.”
“And why, pray tell, are you delivering it this morning, not the maid?”
Viktor plucked a gold embroidered envelope from the pile with a hum. “Because, Jayce, you have correspondence from Mr. and Mrs. Hart.”
“Oh God.”
Viktor was already opening it.
“Oh, very nice. A generous donation on their behalf. Thirty thousand. Mr. Hart would also be happy to introduce us to the current harbor management, to facilitate a smooth transition of power so to speak,” Viktor said, like he was commenting on the weather, not what could prove to be millions of dollars worth of a mob dealing.
Jayce moaned and fell back into the bed.
“I’ll be dancing with that dumb fucking woman at every gala for the rest of my life.”
Viktor ran a soothing hand over his hair. “Only if I say so. It will not be every time.”
Vi’s snort was loud, exaggerated, and entirely unnecessary. “Thank God.”