Chapter Text
Viktor didn’t end up meeting his future husband in any of the usual places. Not an online dating app, not a club and not even through any mutual friends (not that he had very many of his own if he was being honest). Instead, Viktor met Jayce in the community garden at the end of his street.
He’d started volunteering there after the latest hospital stay, the one where they’d put those bolts in his spine, when he’d worried that he’d never walk again. Thankfully the fears were unfounded, but relearning the skill was hard and his daily walk (or trudge most of the time), to that oasis had kept him sane – gave him something to look forward to. He didn’t consider himself a superstitious man, but something felt… correct when he showed that first day after being released from hospital - perhaps if he could help this little patch of green flourish in the heavy grey of the city around it, then maybe… he could too.
It had been late one afternoon when they’d met the first time, sometime mid-January when the weather was foul and the cold had sunk deep into every bone. Viktor had been dragging the heavy bag of compost from the shed to where he was working – too fiercely independent to ask for help from any of the other volunteers, too embarrassed to disturb them from their work the other side of the field – and he’d tripped, feet numb and clumsy. Stick flying, bag splitting – spilling rich dark earth over the gravel of the path. His brain hadn’t caught up to notice he’d gone from no hands free, to both hands free – not quickly enough for him to break his fall in any way, and he’s hit the ground face first. Hard.
Lying there, stones pressing against his entire front painfully, vision dark save for the stars dancing in his vision, he’d not known what to do. Get up and finish the job – scrape the earth seeping out of the bag back in and continue to the long march onwards? Cry for help, finally admitting he couldn’t work here without assistance, and have to endure the looks of pity on everyone’s face? Just cry? Let all the pain and anguish he’d spent a life bottling away finally escape over some… spilt dirt.
Before he’d made any headway in his decision, he’d found the strength to raise his head and that was it. Before him, had stood a man. A complete stranger.
He didn’t bother introducing himself, hadn’t asked Viktor any questions. He’d simply retrieved his stick, bending down to help Viktor get back to his feet – a single hand wrapped solidly around his own with the other pressing the implement firmly to his other. He’d turned Viktor’s hands around, almost like an inspection – thumbs dancing over drying, irritated skin. He’d checked that Viktor was stable and had let him go, bending back down – carefully, to avoid putting too much pressure on the leg sheathed in a beautifully designed brace - to salvage as much of the loose compost back into the bag. He’d picked the sack up, cradling it to prevent further spillage – gently too, as if it had weighed nothing - and then carried it to where Viktor had been heading. Viktor had said nothing, hadn’t even thought to ask the man. He’d simply helped.
That was just the first time.
It took a while for them meet again in person but that didn’t matter, Viktor couldn’t get the man out of his head and his presence – his care even – was a new constant. In the beginning it was small things, the next day Viktor had arrived to a brand-new pair of gardening gloves – hardy, yet material buttery soft - placed gently on the unruly, abandoned patch he alone had decided to restore. For the first time since he’d started the project, he’d walked home with hands unmarred by stinging nettle rash and unscathed from scratches.
The were other things too, other tokens of affection that filled his world with the presence of this mystery man. He’d never had to grab another compost bag after that last time, the bag mysteriously full when he arrived each morning – no matter how much he’d used the day prior. Moisturiser – gardener approved! proudly proclaimed the label – appeared not long after the gloves and Viktor’s hands had never felt better, no longer was the skin splitting whenever he used them. A thermos filled to the brim with tea, placed on a nearby stone one day in February – when the evenings started growing longer but the cold remained ever present, and Viktor hadn’t noticed he’d been shivering until he wrapped his hands around the slightly warm container and let the steam bathe his face. It had been perfect – Earl Grey, a dash of milk and three teaspoons of honey, just the way he’d liked it. Viktor had never told the man and yet somehow the man had known.
The man lived the other side of the road, his house facing the garden. Viktor had blushed when he’d worked this out, how many times over the years had he walked past those windows without giving them a second thought? Not enough that he couldn’t make up for lost time though, as he often found himself gazing in their direction – his eyes seemingly drawn to the house magnetically, especially when he was lost in thought. Every morning, he enjoyed seeing the little signs of life in the building – open curtains, open windows, a car that varied its position only slightly every time it returned to rest in that drive. Every evening, Viktor found himself watching, waiting for those living room lights to turn on, to illuminate the world behind those windows and give him just a peak at the man living within.
It was curious, peculiar even, Viktor often thought. The man never asked for anything in return. Never flirted. Just watched, noticed and then helped.
And when the days started growing longer, the darkness held back for longer each evening that passed, Viktor found himself unable to leave those gardens, even when the weather refused to follow suit and the cold seeped through to his bones, aggravating his bolts, and stiffening his joints. Every day, somehow, he’d find some excuse to stay late.
Next to Viktor’s patch was a bench, dedicated to someone who’d passed so long ago that even the bench had forgotten their name – the plaque rusted, and the engravings too weathered to make out. It was one of the reasons Viktor had chosen to work in this area, this long-forgotten patch of wildness, whilst the other volunteers focussed their efforts on maintaining the more established, more successful plots the other side of the field. Gardening was tough work, especially for a body like Viktor’s, and so access to a seat with a good back rest was essential.
At the start of October, Viktor and the man – who even now, almost three months later, he didn’t actually know the name of, started sitting on the bench together.
The moment wasn’t planned – that first one at least. Viktor had simply been sat resting, stretching out his spine and feeling every joint pop in relief. When he’d finished, leaning back to face to bask in this still weak spring sunlight, the man had appeared. In one hand he’d carried another thermos – a large one, one designed to be shared – and in the other he’d carried two mugs, one red and the other blue – both old and well-loved. He’d sat next to Viktor; room for a whole other person left respectfully between them and placed the mugs down before filling them both. He’d picked up the blue one, blown gently on the steaming liquid before taking a gentle sip, and without comment, had passed the red to Viktor.
The first hour had passed in a gentle silence, just the pair sat next to each other in each other’s company, warmed by sweet tea and content. They’d watched over the patch of land in front, Viktor observing the differences - and progress - he’d made the previous months, the man staring intensely, as if he could will the garden to grow through wishful thought alone. Eventually though, Viktor’s fluttering heart settled, and he found the confidence – the comfort in their companionship perhaps, to start speaking. Small talk at first, safe exchanges whilst they danced around each other, each working to move closer to the other man’s orbit.
Soon enough, Viktor found himself opening up, the man’s stoic… solidness, grounding him and allowing to divulge secrets he’d never been able to speak aloud to anyone else before. He spoke of his childhood, disadvantaged yet determined, wanting desperately to prove himself to a father lost in the memory of a child who’d died before he’d been born. He spoke of his health, how it had always been a challenge and yet despite the many setbacks, he’d done it – he’d worked his way to university and made something of himself. Only for a flare-up the previous year to rear its ugly head and leave him feeling more broken and alone than he’d ever felt before. How he’d sat in that hospital bed, miserable and in more pain than it felt possible to survive and had watched the hospital garden flourish. How despite all the sickness, the death and decay, that little quad of green had persevered, and the people who’d left walked out had been lighter than when they’d walked in. Not cured, no, but they’d gained something precious: some hope, some peace.
He'd decided, the first time he’d witnessed such a miracle, that he was going to do the same. He’d leave this bed, escape this hospital and he’d not stop until he’d regained everything he’d lost. He’d applied to volunteer whilst still in the in-patient ward, and the thought of the work ahead gave him hope, that there was something to recover for.
Working in the garden was like gaining a new lease of life. He’d spent his entire existence learning how to be useful, how to be hard enough to survive a world that felt pitted against him. For the first time in his life, whilst reviving and nurturing the twisted earth he’d chosen, he’d learnt how to be soft.
The man had listened, without comment. He’d nodded at the right places, but he hadn’t tried to soothe – no coddling or drowning Viktor with pity, and he hadn’t tried to help. No well-meaning but patronising bits of advice from someone who’d never lived a single day of his life. Viktor found himself welling up in his gratitude, thankful for someone who was willing to simply listen to him.
Later, after he’d flushed with embarrassment upon realising he’d told his entire life’s story to a not-quite-stranger, to a man who hadn’t even told him his name, he’d summoned to courage to ask.
“Jayce,” he’d said simply, “And you?”
“Viktor, it’s Viktor,” and the conversation had continued without further comment.
Jayce had shared his own tale: how he’d been married, been a father and then been divorced. He’d remained a doting dad and was still good friends with their mother, but they had grown up now and - as all children should – they’d moved on to bigger and better things. His life, which had once been so full, so loud, had grown quiet and - in all honesty - he was thankful for it. Especially, when given the opportunity to enjoy that peace with another.
What had at first been a happenstance, a brief moment between two lonely men over a simple cup of tea, soon became a ritual – the highlight of Viktor’s day - every day. Never long enough to become awkward, just a quick ten or fifteen minutes every day, where they’d both stop and enjoy the peace of each other’s company. No pressure, no expectations, just two people, two mugs and a silence that comforted instead of pressing.
The first time Viktor had ended up in Jayce’s house, it was March which had certainly come in like a lion. He’d stayed too late, the rain and the cold setting in as he’d worked and he’d found himself without the strength to walk home. He hadn’t even meant to come here, feet charting the course of their own accord once he’d finally found the strength to get up.
He’d stood shivering on the doorstep, too cold to raise his hand to knock but the door had opened anyway – golden light offering warmth and safety - and he’d been ushered gently.
No questions and no judgment, simply a concerned, “Come in Vik, let’s get you warm and dry.”
The house smelt wonderful, every surface seemingly permeated by Jayce’s scent that he’d only been able to catch glimpses of when the wind was right. Wood-smoke from roaring fireplace across the room, the smell of old books from the towering shelves that covered all available wall space, even something a little… citrussy – though Viktor couldn’t locate any obvious source of that particular note.
The dark brown sofa, the leather looking soft with age and use, beckoned – a soft-looking hand-made quilt laid prepared and waiting for him to snuggle up. He could hear the roar of the kettle from the next room – the kitchen – and two mugs, Jayce’s blue and his red were ready and waiting on the coffee table.
“Shoes off,” Jayce spoke, quiet but firm.
Viktor obeyed and handed over his water-logged coat to the outstretched arm in front.
“Sit. Your tea’s nearly ready,” came the next order, and Viktor found himself unable to refuse.
The tray Jayce brought over to him was almost overfull: holding his mug, a bowl of some kind of soup, a plate with an oozing cheese toastie, and - crammed between all the crockery – a spoon and a napkin. Jayce’s placed it gently on his lap, before moving to sit nearby on a faded armchair. Close enough that Viktor felt safe, far enough that he didn’t feel watched, feel scrutinised.
Viktor ate slowly, savouring the food that he thought would taste just as wonderful if he wasn’t cold and starving. Jayce read a book, silently engrossed in the pages.
When Viktor finished his meal, he sat back – allowing himself to be swallowed in the soft embrace of the cushions. His eyelids became heavy, and they drooped, rapidly losing a battle with gravity. Warmth replacing the chill that had seeped into his bones, stomach satiated, and a deep sense of safety radiating throughout his body, Viktor allowed his eyes to shut, and he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the lights had been dimmed and there was a gentle silence filling the room. He blinked his eyes open and then looked down at the slightly rustle he heard below. Jayce was knelt on the floor looking up, hands holding a hairbrush he looked ready to wield.
“May I?” he asked, voice soft as he raised the brush in emphasis. Too tired to talk, Viktor simply nodded, and the man crawled up onto the sofa, sitting softly besides him. The man twisted his body towards him, and he wrapped his hands around Viktor’s waist to help him do the same. He kept one hand on the small of his back, gently supportive, and the other moved to grab the hairbrush from temporary resting point.
Jayce’s brushing was slow but deliberate – he was clearly well-acquainted with the task and how to do it well. He started with the ends, the ones that brushed just past his shoulders, that were too long for his liking but not long enough for him to bother booking a haircut appointment. The tangled curls were teased apart before the brush made any progress upwards. The pressure was soothing – anchoring even – firm enough to send tingles down his spine but never enough to pull, to snag, to hurt.
“This takes me back,” he heard Jayce mutter behind him – perhaps to himself, “Used to do this a lot, long time ago though.”
Viktor didn’t respond, not wanting to draw attention to the statement, aware it might not have been intended for his ears. He didn’t ask who Jayce was talking about, whose hair he used to brush so gently. He just closed his eyes and let it continue.
Once Jayce had finished, his curls somehow silky despite the rain, Jayce had gathered the hair and pulled it back to the base of his skull. The braid was loose, but it kept the hair from falling back over his face and it didn’t pull down, putting any pressure on his scalp.
The hand returned to his back – higher now, behind his heart – and the other snaking to the side, under his knees and his body was twisted into a cradle. Jayce stood up, bringing Viktor with him – nestled against the man’s broad chest – and he was too comfortable, too content to make any token complaint about being carried. Instead, he chose to close his eyes, leaning his face forward to nuzzle the man’s soft green shirt, inhaling that delicious scent.
The quilt he’d been sat on fell to the floor, heavier now after soaking up all the rainwater, as Jayce made his way out of the living, into the hallway. The door he’d entered had been left open in preparation, and Viktor found himself being placed carefully on a bed, straight onto a soft white sheet as the duvet seemed have been folded back already – clearly in some sort of guest room, judging by the décor. Jayce smiled before dashing, returning shortly – brandishing Viktor’s stick which he left resting against the bedside table, which held his red mug, he noticed, next to a bedside lamp glowing warmly.
Viktor found himself being laid down in the bed, the duvet being puled over his body and tucked in against his shoulders. A pressure to his side, the slight depressing of the mattress, indicated Jayce had sat down and large, warm hand pressed gently to his face, thumb swiping slowly across his cheek, and Viktor closed his eyes – trying to fall asleep despite his heart now racing.
They both waited there in silence, unmoving, until Viktor could bear it no longer. It wasn’t pressure, no obligation he felt, but something different. Something wanting... yearning even.
He opened his eyes to see Jayce looking down at him, expression warm and eyes kind.
“Can’t sleep, can you? I can hear that engine still ticking away,” he asked softly, eyes crinkling as he smiled.
Viktor couldn’t find the words to explain the curious sensation overcoming his body, so he simply nodded.
At first Jayce didn’t move, save for the thumb still petting his skin. He started at Viktor with such care that it made him want to cry – the kindness so foreign, so unfamiliar that he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
“What do you want?” and what a question that was. What did he want, Viktor wondered, stomach churning, heart racing and his tongue burning from the heat of his desire.
“I…I want you… I want you Jayce,” he whispered, releasing the truth he’d kept buried for all those months both terrifying and exhilarating.
The man continued to watch him, neither hunger nor expectation clouding his expression, he merely sat and waited patiently, waiting for Viktor to say exactly how he wanted Jayce. Calm and assured, as if he’d already known what the answer would be.
Viktor felt his body shift, his insides seeming to tense and tighten, as the hand on his face prevented him from turning away. He trembled as they waited, knowing that Jayce was waiting for him to say the truth they both knew, that Viktor found himself unable to put into words. Because whilst he didn’t know what he wanted, he knew that whatever he wanted, he wanted it from Jayce.
Jayce relented, seemed to take pity on him, and his eyes softened.
“Do you want me to touch you, sweetheart? Want me to help you relax, help you soften?” Jayce paused, eyes searching his face curiously, “Is that what you want – no, need?”
Viktor wanted to cry. Instead, he nodded - not trusting his voice to betray him, to expose how much he longed for what Jayce was offering.
“I…I don’t know how to ask,” he whispered, when he realised the man was still waiting.
“Just say it for me - out loud - where do you want me to touch you darling?”
Viktor swallowed, working up the strength to answer before he said, “Between my legs. Please.”
Jayce remained still, quietly observing him and Viktor began to worry. Had he misread the situation completely, was he taking advantage of this kind older man, had he ruined their friendship – the relationship that meant most to him in the world?
Then Jayce smiled, “Of course, sweet, well done. Just know that this doesn’t have to change anything, not if you don’t want it too at least. You don’t owe me anything – not now, not ever. You can come over tomorrow, I’ll make you tea for the bench. I just want to take care of you darling.”
The man lent forwards to tuck a loose strand of hair, escaped from the braid, and tucked it behind Viktor’s ear and he let go. A breath he didn’t know he was holding rushed out and he could feel his body finally relax. His thighs parted, knees slightly bent, inviting the man despite the thick duvet above. Jayce pressed a soft kiss to his forward before sitting back up, and he whispered, “That’s my good boy,” before slipping to join Viktor under the blanket.
Jayce’s hand caressed its way down Viktor’s body, pausing briefly to press against his stomach – calming the storm that had been brewing all night, before moving lower to slide between his thighs. Viktor blushed when he felt Jayce make contact, when he felt how wet and how open he was for the man.
The way the man touched him, made Viktor want to cry. He touched him like he was precious. Not flawless. Not perfect. Like he was… beautiful. He felt fingers touch his lips and he keened, a small broken sound.
“Been waiting a long time for this, haven’t you?”
Viktor nodded, hips canting upwards on instinct, pleading with Jayce who obliged instantly. The man’s hand lowered, teasing yet deliberate as they made their way further into the slick heat raging below. Jayce’s touch was artful, experienced, working him gently at first – touch light as he mapped out Viktor’s folds. As the fingers danced their way through the swollen, dripping skin, it was like Jayce was learning an instrument he already knew how to play.
Viktor cried when the fingers lifted for a moment, instantly mollified when they moved to his cock. Jayce petted the throbbing nub firmly, occasionally stopping to circle his thumb around the rapidly growing mass. The touch was a sweet kind of torture, enough to rile him up – to send shivers throughout his body but stopping short at allowing him the release he was craving. All he could do was whimper, legs trembling beneath the duvet.
Viktor couldn’t bite back the moan when the fingers plunged deep inside of him, pleasure heightened further by Jayce’s happiness at the sound. They were warm and thick and encountered no resistance as they dug deeper, slick from their playing and his cunt relaxed from their attention. As they withdrew, they curled against his walls, and he felt electricity arc from the spot – leaving him raw and wanting. His walls contracted, cunt desperately trying to cling to the fingers – prevent them from leaving him empty – and he was too far gone to feel any shame for its greed.
Jayce indulged him and his cunt and thrust the fingers back – filling him deeply and letting him savour the moment.
“My God, Viktor,” the man breathed, sounding completely in awe – his voice reverent, “You’re so tight, and so wet for me.”
Jayce’s other hand moved upwards, thumb brushing away the tears that spilled unbidden from Viktor’s eyes. He made no comment as he brought the digit to his own mouth, licking away the salty wetness, seeming to know that they were tears of pleasured overwhelm. The hand moved back and settled on Viktor’s head – nails gently scratching circles into the sensitive scalp below. The sensation sent goosebumps downwards, and Viktor didn’t know how to cope with the joy ringing throughout his entire body.
Viktor could feel another sensation, to the side of his waist, one that grew steadily as Jayce continued. The man’s dick was hard, caged in the tight prison of the trousers he was still wearing and yet the man made no move to free it, to release the pressure. His hands remained, solely focussed on satisfying Viktor’s needs. He didn’t even rock against him, hips stone-still in place, making no effort to seek any pleasure for himself – despite the rising tension Viktor could feel simmering beneath the man’s skin.
The fingers in his cunt started moving, short and sharps thrusts that allowed the man’s thumb to return to his dick. It circled, matching the rhythm of the movement inside him and he could feel the wave build and build, so close to breaking.
“Go on Viktor, let it all go.”
And he did.
The wave crested and crashed, hard and fast and pleasure rippled throughout his entire being. His cunt spasmed around the man’s fingers, unwilling to release them still and his legs and thighs shook uncontrollably. He could feel the puddle forming on the sheets, the wetness spreading and soaking the fabric beneath him and despite the guilt he knew he should feel about ruining Jayce’s bedding, the pleasure was so strong that he couldn’t find it in him to care.
“Good boy,” Jayce murmured into his ear, continuing the actions with both hands, “Let it go sweet boy – you’re safe, I’ve got you.”
The second orgasm took Viktor completely by surprising, the praise allowing it to roar its head a second time and he fully broke down, turning his head to sob in the man’s hand. Jayce didn’t stop, only moved closer – his body soaking Viktor’s in a comforting warmth and he continued whispering sweet praise into his ear.
He continued until Viktor’s body stopped, falling limp onto the sheets - still aside from the occasional spasms that ripped through him. Jayce withdrew his fingers slowly and pulled the duvet back up to cover Viktor’s heaving chest. He could feel the mess beneath him, sheets sodden with his slick, still dripping from his soaked thighs and cunt. Jayce didn’t seem to care, he simply kissed his forehead before pressing against it with his own.
“Well done, all better now,” he whispered, “That’s my good boy.”
Time lost all meaning as they both lay there, breathing each other’s air. Viktor’s body felt… different. The tension that normally held his limbs together had dissolved, leaving his body loose and limp. The absence of the tightness – the pain – made him feel high, like he was floating away – lightened in ecstasy. Something deep inside uncurled, as if he was finally able to relax.
Jayce said nothing, he simply moved his arms to wrap around his body – holding it together and making him feel safe, not imprisoned. They lay there a little while longer, till Viktor couldn’t ignore the wetness slowly cooling between his thighs. He wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, nor was he embarrassed – never, around Jayce at least – but he could feel it drying to his skin, thick and sticky.
Jayce sighed, then moved his head down to kiss, just kiss, his neck. Softly but deep, his lips almost worshipping the delicate skin below.
“Stay here. I’ll take care of you,” he said as he rolled out from under the covers, keeping the warmth in. Viktor listened closely, first to the soft pad of footsteps across the wooden floor, then the rush of the tap as it was turned on. The sound of fabric being dunked, then wrung out followed, and then the open and close of a wooden drawer – closer now. Still laid out across the bed, Viktor’s vision was limited so he only saw the man return when he appeared next to the bed, holding a damp flannel in one hand and some type of clothing in the other. When the man placed the items on the bedside table, the light from the lamp revealed some pyjamas that looked clean and soft with age. Viktor found himself wondering who they’d belonged to. The man’s ex-wife? His… daughter?
The man said nothing, no orders to compel him to action. He simply knelt, reached his arms under the duvet and carefully pulled Viktor closer to the edge. One arm escaped, only to pick up the flannel and return, cleaning him up slowly, reverently even – as if the task was some sort of privilege, an honour even. The man was thorough as he wiped away Viktor’s mess, leaving no crevice untouched and Viktor sighed at the sensation of the warm, damp cloth being dragged across his thighs, his ass, his folds.
At some point he whimpered, and the man paused, and Viktor panicked – unable to find the words to explain that it wasn’t from pain, not exactly at least. It was from the agony of how good it all was, how raw it felt to be treated this kindly. Once he’d managed to collect himself, he exhaled, and the man seemed to understand what he’d being trying to say without speaking.
Once he’d finished, both hands moved to undress him, surprisingly gentle despite working blind underneath the covers. The soiled clothes were pulled out from under the covers, only for Jayce’s hands to return – armed with the clean pyjama set – and Viktor was slowly eased in the soft cotton T-shirt and shorts.
Once he’d settled back down into the sheets, Jayce stood up and leaned forward to tuck him back in. He kissed Viktor’s forehead softly before he whispered, “Good boy, V, you did so well for me tonight,” and Viktor felt his chest contract, a feeling he couldn’t name building within his heart.
As Jayce left the room, he paused only briefly in the doorway and said, softly, “Goodnight, baby boy,” before gently shutting the door, leaving Viktor alone in the room.
Viktor tried to stay awake, tried to make sense of what had just happened, but he was exhausted and his resistance lasted less than a minute as he fell into a dreamless sleep, the best he’d had in years.
Viktor awoke to the smell of food permeating his room – eggs and toast if his nose wasn’t mistake. He lay still for a moment, limbs heavy yet pain free, his breath slow and heavy. He grabbed his stick and wandered towards Jayce, almost magnetically drawn to the man. He paused when he reached the living room, curious to see what kind of books Jayce lined with walls with.
Hundreds of books, all covering various disciplines of science surrounded him – even a few he recognised from his own studies a couple of years ago. His hand rose, as if to touch, but paused as he finally got a hold of himself.
“You can if you want,” a deep voice, rough from recent sleep, intoned from somewhere behind him. When Viktor turned towards the source, he saw Jayce stood – leant against a doorframe. Barefoot, dressed only in a simple T-shirt and boxers. “Read them, I mean. I take it you're interested in science then?”
Viktor nodded, mouth sightly agape and he struggled to find the words to respond.
“That wasn’t an order, sweetheart, you can take some time to think if you want,” Jayce walked forward, offering his hand, “Come and sit, breakfast’s nearly ready and your tea is on the table waiting.”