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Victor can’t sleep.
He’s no stranger to tossing and turning at night. There’s the nightmares, for one. Horrid, almost painful things. Vivid images that stay with him long after he awakens, making it impossible to shut his eyes without that terrible fear setting in.
He should probably talk to a psychiatrist. But the idea of telling a stranger about his trauma is enough to make him physically recoil.
Then, there’s the ideas. Regrettably, Victor seems to get all of his best ideas right when he’s about to go to sleep, and is then forced to reckon between writing them down and disrupting his routine, or going to sleep and risk forgetting them come morning.
Tonight, however, he’s being kept awake by something else: Richards.
Not his physical presence, of course. The idea of him, the very essence of Reed Richards, is managing to irritate him enough that he can’t rest, despite not having seen the man in… four years? Five? He’s not sure. The years since his expulsion have blurred together to the point where he barely even remembers what that damned college looks like.
He remembers Reed, though. How irritating he was. How he always seemed to want to be better than Victor, to prove him wrong. His obsession with shoving his nose into other people’s business.
His hands even manage to piss Victor off. Long, elegant fingers, soft palms… he’s clearly never had to work a day in his life.
And it showed, with how casually he would suggest getting dinner at some fancy restaurant while they brainstorm; as if money was no object to him.
His stupid hair, that neatness that just screams “rich boy.” His stupid eyes, the pitying looks he was constantly giving Victor when he would so much as mention how Latveria had been then. Those stupid dimples on his stupid face when he’d give that big, stupid smile.
That insufferable voice. “Victor, come sit with me! Bounce ideas off each other, you know?”
As if they were friends.
Disgusting.
Still, there’s a part of Victor’s mind that can’t quite let go of him. Worse yet, he’s not sure why.
His intellect, maybe. Richards hadn’t been on the same level as him, but he’d been much closer than most of their peers. A shame, really. If he hadn’t been so insufferable, they could have done great things together.
“Richards…” Victor grumbles under his breath, rolling onto his side.
Something flutters off of the bedside table and onto the floor, making a soft, barely noticeable whoosh as it descends.
Victor turns back around, peering over the edge of the bed.
A single piece of paper. One of his notes that he’d forgotten to put away, perhaps?
Mentally scolding himself for being unorganized, he plucks the paper off the ground and glares at it as if it had personally offended him.
Not a note, he realizes, but a photo.
He’s looking at the back of it, but he can see where the white border gives into colour.
Victor squints at the text, written in the top right corner, with green pen.
It’s a date. Nov. 16 1993.
The American way of writing it.
He flips the paper over, a mix of indecipherable emotions forming inside of him.
It’s a photo of him. And Richards. They’re smiling. Both of them, Reed with that ridiculous grin and Victor with a much more subtle tilt in the corners of his lips.
His hand starts to shake. He should get rid of it.
Instead, he brings a finger up and traces the swoop of Reed’s hair.
Reed’s got an arm slung over Victor’s shoulders. His other hand is pointing proudly at a device that Victor is holding, one he can’t even remember the purpose of anymore.
Reed’s words to him that day echo in the back of his mind: “Come on, we need a picture! You did amazing!”
Susan Storm had taken that photo. Reed had gotten it copied, giving one to Victor and keeping the other for himself.
There’s text on the bottom, in the same green pen as the date on the back.
Lab partners 4 life <3
It’s cheesy. It’s stupid. It’s wrong. It shouldn’t make him tear up.
But it does.
“Stupid Richards,” he whispers, though the biting heat he had attempted to inject into his words didn’t come through.
His thoughts begin to wander in a different direction. Reed’s smile goes from stupid to adorable before he can even process what the hell he’s feeling.
He can feel the ghost of those hands on his arms, even now.
He misses it, just like he misses the sensation of Reed’s breath on his neck…
Victor jolts up to a sitting position, realizing what’s happening but not being able to stop it.
He remembers the feeling of Reed’s lips on his. How their hands had seemed to fit perfectly together. How Reed liked to embrace him and bury his face in his neck.
The photo falls from his hand and back onto the floor.
Reed’s hands sliding under Victor’s shirt, touching every inch of skin he could reach. Reed’s little gasps whenever Victor would bite his neck…
Victor’s hips twitch involuntarily.
Damn it all, he’s getting horny. Over Reed Richards.
It does make sense, on some level. The last time he’d had sex (years ago now) had been with Reed, and he hadn’t really found time for pleasure since then.
And Reed had looked so pretty… covered in hickies, clenching around his strap…
Victor shoves his hand into his pyjama pants, embarrassment creeping up inside despite him being alone. He’s wet, he discovers, just from thinking about Reed.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
Victor experimentally rubs his dick, and his hips buck without him telling them to.
He sighs softly, closing his eyes as more lewd images of Reed begin to fill his mind.
He can hear Reed’s moans in his head, ahs and don’t stops filling his ears despite the quiet of his bedroom.
He starts rubbing again, spreading his legs apart. With his other hand he awkwardly manoeuvres out of his pants, tossing them off to the side somewhere.
Reed had watched him masturbate, once. His brown eyes were wide the whole time, locked on Victor’s fingers as he hesitantly rubbed his clit, moaning aloud when Victor finally came.
“You’re beautiful,” Reed had whispered, pressing kisses against his (then still very sensitive) chest, “So beautiful. You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.”
Victor himself moans as he thinks about Reed bringing his hands up and squeezing, gently, almost reverently, at Victor’s breasts.
He can’t do that anymore, even if he were here. But the memory of it makes Victor crave the sensation anyway.
“Reed,” he mumbles, “Reed, f-fuck…”
“Victor!” the Reed in his memories cries out, “Yes, yes, right there - ah - don’t stop, ohmigod…”
Victor whimpers, his fingers briefly teasing his entrance before he brings them back up to his t-dick.
“Ah…” he manages, “Reed… Reed… I want you…”
He sets a quick pace, wanting to get this over with. He has enough rationality left to be ashamed of himself, at least.
He tries to empty his mind, to simply focus on his own release, but the images (fantasies? memories?) remain persistent.
Victor pries his eyes open. He’s practically dripping against his own fingers. Humiliating.
The thought of Reed’s lips around his dick makes him moan again.
Until he’d met Reed, he hadn’t even realized it was possible for anyone to enjoy eating pussy the way Reed did.
Does he still have that same enthusiasm? The thought of it - and the image of Reed’s head between his legs - makes his dick twitch.
“Cum in my mouth,” he’d said, tone sultry, “I really want you to… please, Victor…”
And Victor had obliged. He couldn’t help himself. Reed was so pretty and so damn good with his tongue that it felt impossible not to.
He’s getting close, he realizes, tilting his head back and moaning loudly, too desperate to care if anyone could hear him.
Reed bouncing on his strap, drool running down his chin as he rambled semi-coherently about how he’s about to cum…
That pushes Victor over the edge. He shouts Reed’s name as he lifts his hips, squirting onto his expensive blanket.
His whole body shakes as he relaxes back into the bed.
The phenomenon known commonly as “post-nut clarity” hits far sooner than Victor had anticipated. He puts his clean hand against his face and groans.
Part of him still aches for more, and he finds himself eyeing his cell phone.
“Absolutely not,” he hisses, pinching his arm.
The slight pain brings him fully back to reality, and he can feel fatigue finally beginning to set in.
First, though, he needs a bath.