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The walk isn’t quite as sobering as he thought it’d be. Though he’s not quite sure he’d make it through the door if it had been. What weakens his stomach lining fortifies his nerves enough to survive another night of this.
The decor is tasteful, albeit over the top. All of the carved gourds make him cringe. He thinks of all the meals that could’ve been made with them.
Instead their deflated, rotting carcasses will be tossed unceremoniously into the trash.
He pushes the crumpled invitation for the Hallows Eve Masquerade into the hands of some door lackey and makes his way inside. Bracing himself to be swarmed, he quickly recalls that no one knows it’s him. Perhaps he may escape the evening unscathed by sycophants and the spurious mob of Piltover’s elite.
Tonight, he’s not the Defender. He’s just another reveller in a mask, looking to escape the burden of his personhood for a few hours.
He looks around at the masked faces - rats, snakes, swine - seems appropriate. The irony of the evening is that these masks pale in comparison to the ones they wear every day. The one he wears every day.
He pushes through the crowd. Hot bodies cling to him like taffy. The air is thick with perfume and cigarette smoke. He holds his breath until he makes his way past the worst of it.
He makes space for himself at the bar and awaits the bartenders attention. He scans the room, trying to disseminate who is who in the crowd. He finds it tedious and returns to staring longingly at the rows of glass bottles stacked behind the bar.
He fiddles with the tail peaking out from beneath his red waist coat. Golden fur with black spots. A leopard, ostentatious as ever. The mask really is a work of art too. Embedded with crystal whiskers and hand-punched fur and mesh screens shielding his eyes from view. The gloves are making his palms sweat. The metal claws embedded in the knuckles prick at the meat of his fingers.
A bartender pours a drink and is called away by one of their cohorts. Jayce swipes the bottle and heads for the balcony. On the way there, he relieves a server of one flute of champagne.
Hands full, elbows out, he works his way across the ballroom floor. His jointed tail sways behind him.
A flash of familiar blue has his head torquing to the right. His heart leaps up into his mouth, he swallows hard, restoring it to its rightful position.
The night wears on, he makes small talk with a few people here and there. Mostly though, he sits back and watches. He regularly feels like he’s on the outside looking in, a sad kid with big blue eyes on the wrong side of the glass. It used to make him sad. Tonight, he doesn’t feel anything at all.
The stranger who seems intent on haunting his evening passes by him again, closer this time. A blue cloak floating on an unseen breeze, revealing the swishing of a fluffy silver fox tail.
The mask has beautiful pointed features, a cunning expression on its face. Sculpted entirely in finely welded slivers of metal with two citrine coloured gems for eyes that glitter in the candlelight.
He doesn’t mean to stare, but it feels like those yellow eyes are watching him. Even though the mask isn’t even orientated in his direction.
Now he’s not only drunk, but drunk and paranoid.
He heads back to the bar, glad for his disguise that shields him from shame. He surely would've been scolded by now for having so much to drink.
He leans heavy against the polished bartop, dragging his fingers through the wet rings left on the wood. It irritates him more than it should. That they can’t even be bothered to use the proffered coasters and cocktail napkins.
Instead they let their drinks slosh from the confines of the fine crystal and turn the surface into a sticky mess for someone else to clean.
He feels a tug on the back of his trousers.
He sways as he turns to look, the fox-faced stranger is inspecting his tail.
“Whater’ you doing?” Jayce feels a bit embarrassed, he sounds drunker than he feels. He thinks?
The stranger tilts his vulpine head and shrugs. He turns and walks brusquely away. As if he were not expecting to get caught.
Jayce swears the air smells like machine oil and ozone.
He implores himself to get a grip. There’s no way he would be caught dead in a place like this. Let alone be caught alive, and in a costume. No, he doesn’t wear masks for fun. That’s for fucking sure.
The evening wears on, and Jayce acknowledges that he could just leave. He has barely spoken to anyone, they don’t even know he’s here.
However, he can't help but be curious about the silver fox that seems intent on playing with him tonight. He soon realizes it might even be considered flirtatious. He drowns the nauseous pit that forms in his stomach at the idea of sleeping with a stranger with more liquor.
The other attendees are shameless now. In various states of undress, snuff boxes no longer hidden in secret pockets. Shimmering vials of violet make themselves known.
The music grows louder and more obtrusive. He feels like his skull will split at any moment. Air, he needs it now.
He slices through the crowd like a blade, far more coordinated than he should be considering his level of intoxication.
He reaches for an ornate door handle but it turns as he reaches out, the door swings wide. His arm drops uselessly as he stares at the figure on the other side of it. It’s his fox friend. Clearly still intent on taunting him.
Jayce tries to shove past him but the man is solid. He only lets Jayce pass when he allows it, unwilling to be pushed aside.
Their heels clack against the marble, the echoes follow them as they make their way to a set of French doors that lead to another balcony. A safe haven from the festivities that Jayce had hoped to indulge in alone.
He pushes them open and gulps the cool night air like water. He almost yanks that cursed mask off his face before remembering his precious anonymity.
He instead staggers forward and drapes his arms over the balcony.
“So, are you just going to follow me around all night or what?” Jayce doesn’t have to turn around to know that the stranger is wordlessly shrugging. Seemingly even more intent than Jayce on concealing his identity, he won’t even speak.
Jayce reaches a hand inside his coat, fumbling with the button of the inner pocket. He finally threads the button through the opening and reaches inside. He can already tell the flask is empty just by the weight of it. A familiar sensation that breeds sadness and anger in equal measure.
Great, now he’s stuck out here with some weirdo and he doesn’t even have a drink to distract himself with.
The stranger presses some hidden mechanism on his mask and strips of the metal fold away, revealing a strong chin and a curved, sensual mouth. Gears are turning in the back of Jayce’s mind, but he sticks an iron rod in them and jams them up.
He always does this. Gets drunk, and sees Viktor. Everywhere. The specter of his presence haunting Jayce, refusing to be exorcised.
A gloved hand produces a cigarette and a lighter. Smoke curls around the pointed mask like steam from a vent.
The fox steps closer, raises the cigarette in offering. Jayce attempts to pluck it from his hand but the fox pulls it away.
Jayce wants to know what he’s playing at. But he can’t help his natural curiosity. He wants to see how this shakes out. It’s a break from the monotony he didn’t know he needed.
He tilts his mask up a fraction. Enough to expose his mouth. The stranger holds the cigarette up, the pads of his gloved fingertips press against Jayce’s lips.
A bolt of arousal strikes like lightning. Has it really been that long since someone he’s been touched?
Jayce exhales the smoke from kiss-shaped lips in big O’s that halo the fox’s downturned head.
The fox smiles, revealing sharp canine teeth and two rows of perfectly imperfect teeth. Jayce wonders what they would feel like pressing into the meat of his neck.
The fox brings the cigarette back to his own lips, taking an indulgent drag. He leans forward and Jayce opens seemingly on instinct. The stranger releases the smoke that he greedily inhales. There’s a thrill knowing what was inside this man is now inside him.
The cherry of the cigarette reaches the filter, the fox snuffs it out on the railing and tosses it in a flower pot. Jayce can’t be bothered to judge.
He reaches a hand up and touches the sculpted snout of the fox. It’s warm to the touch. Not what he expected.
He realizes that they’re standing inches apart now. He’s sure the man can hear his heart jack hammering in his chest.
He shouldn’t be doing this. But he wants - he just wants to be touched like he means something to someone. Even if all he means to them is a warm but forgettable hole.
Kissing would be the standard fare, however he doesn’t think he could manage with the masks in the way. Instead, he brings the strangers’ left hand to his mouth and bites down on the gloved fingertips, angling to remove it.
The fox wrenches his hand away and Jayce nearly staggers back.
He’s held fast as that arm wraps around his waist. The right hand of the fox is offered instead. He tries not to think on the implications as he pulls the glove off with his teeth and drops it to the ground.
Whereas the mask was warm, his fingers are ice cold. It feels refreshing as he slips them into his mouth and works them with his tongue like he would a cock. He wants to prove that he can be useful.
The stranger presses them in deeper, sliding against the rear of his tongue and making him gag. The fox pulls back but Jayce grops his hand and thrusts them in further.
Until tears stream down his face and drip out from beneath the mask and on to his crimson lapels.
The stranger withdraws his fingers and inspects them. Spreads them apart, as Jayce’s saliva runs down the length of them and connects them in shiny strands. He pushes them past his own lips to clean them. Jayce can’t help but whimper at the sight.
The man steps back a bit, guiding Jayce to lean against the railing. It’s a dizzying height. The lights of the city both above and below blend into a dazzling array of colour.
The fox reaches around his torso and finds the waist of his trousers. He slips them beneath, smearing saliva across Jayce’s abdomen.
Two cool fingers frame his fat clit, practiced, as though the fox had known what he would find below the belt.
They slide back and forth, tugging his foreskin over the head just like Jayce likes.
“Fuck, feels so good.” Jayce whines, he can’t help but buck up into it. If he wasn’t so drunk he would’ve cum already. He’s grateful he can last even a semi-respectable amount of time.
The fox’s fingers dip lower, collecting the moisture pooling at the slit, spreading it over the head of his cock. He continues teasing his hole with his fingers and stroking the length of Jayce’s cock with his thumb. Jayce’s thighs begin to shake as he reaches his peak.
The stranger wraps an arm across his chest as he works him through it. He cums so hard that he can feel the way his cock thumps and pulses against the man’s fingers.
Jayce doesn’t realize he's crying until the man is shushing him softly.
The fox’s warm breath ghosts across his skin, he shivers, though he feels fever hot.
Jayce reaches behind him and fumbles with the fox’s belt, the fox shushes him again and gently guides his hand away.
There is rustling fabric and the sound of zipper teeth, and Jayce feels a solid weight against his back. The gloved hand reaches around and pushes his trousers down to his knees.
Cool air kisses his cunt and his legs begin to tremble anew.
He spreads his legs, as much as he’s able, but not as much as he wants to. The thick head of the fox’s cock bullies its way between his thighs.
Jayce shifts his hips back in search of friction. He’s already cum once but he’s feeling greedy and wouldn’t dare waste such an opportunity.
Nobody knows the Defender is the one getting bent over a railing and fucked sloppy by a stranger. He can distance himself from his own identity and pretend that what he’s doing doesn’t make him sick.
The stranger continues to tease, the passage is now slick with pre and the persistent drooling of his cunt. The fox pushes his thick cock in between the contours of his folds but pulls away when Jayce angles himself to be penetrated.
“Please, just fuck me already.” Jayce pleads.
Jayce cringes at how desperate he sounds. But he is desperate, he wants to be fucked so hard he forgets his name.
Finally the stranger lines himself up and Jayce tenses at the intrusion. It’s been a while. A very long while.
It stings at first, feels like he’s being torn open. Maybe it’s what he deserves.
The fox must sense his discomfort. He slows, reaching around Jayce’s hip to tease his cock. He jolts, still sensitive. Eventually he adjusts and it starts to feel good.
Really good.
“Move, please.” Jayce whimpers. The stranger obliges with slow, deep, indulgent thrusts.
“Fuck, that’s it. Feels so - so good.” It’s hard to speak, the man’s cock is so deep it feels like it’s taking up space in his chest cavity.
It feels so good, but it doesn’t feel right.
“Wait.”
The fox stills.
Jayce shuffles and turns himself around. He leads the stranger to the wall, lest he be pushed over the edge of the balcony by overzealous fucking. He doesn’t want his shame to be immortalized on the front page of the Piltover Gazette; Defender, Found Deceased with his Pants Down.
The stranger tugs at his trousers until at least one of his legs is free. He throws his leg over the man’s narrow hips and is surprised when an arm wraps around his thigh and he’s hoisted up against the wall.
He’s grateful the tails of the coat protect his backside from the scraping of the bricks.
He wraps his other leg around the stranger’s waist, relying on his support completely. It makes him feel small, delicate, in a way that he likes.
The stranger shifts and his cock slips back inside, to the hilt in one smooth motion. Jayce cries out as a sudden gush of fluid splatters against the ground.
“Fuck.” Is all Jayce can say before he tries to bounce in earnest. He realizes in that moment how powerless he is.
As if the fox can read his mind, he smiles again, and pins him hard against the wall and drills into Jayce with a power his narrow hips shouldn’t possess.
“I want - I want -“ Jayce wants.
He wants to be kissed. He wants fingers threaded through his. He wants words of endearment whispered breathlessly into his ear. He wants devotion and proclamations of love. He wants - he wants everything that Viktor will never give him. So he settles for this.
It’s awkward and his mask presses against his nose and makes it hard to breath, but the fox is kissing him. Nipping at his lower lip with those shiny white canines. Sucking on the tip of his tongue and swallowing down his whimpers.
Jayce’s hands work their way beneath thick, convoluted layers of fabric. Once he reaches the tailored black dress shirt beneath the cape and coat, he hooks a finger through the space between buttons and pulls, before his fox can stop him.
A bespeckled sternum bisected with the vertical slash of pale scar tissue. A frustrated growl. Metal biting into his skin as a third appendage materializes and pins his hands above his head.
The gloved hand moves at an impossible speed, tearing Jayce’s cravat off and yanking the collar of his shirt aside until his neck is exposed.
“Don’t stop.” Jayce means it like an order, but it comes out weak, a pathetic mewl lost in the sound of his own gasping and weeping.
The fox fucks into him harder, his tailbone aches from being pounded against the brick wall.
Jayce’s cunt clenches and spasms as he soaks the front of the fox’s trousers.
The fox growls and buries his face into Jayce’s neck. His rhythm becomes erratic, Jayce swears he can feel the telltale pulse of the fox’s impending orgasm in his abused cunt, tightening instinctively against at the intrusion.
Jayce cries out as the gloved hand reaches between them to rub roughly at his clit. He’s powerless to stop despite the overwhelming sensitivity. His hands are pinned to the wall, and his legs dangle uselessly from the fox’s hips.
The fox clamps his jaw down on Jayce’s neck, splitting his skin. Jayce gushes once more around the fox’s cock. It runs down his still-clothed leg and runs inside his boot.
Jayce is incoherent, but the fox infers his plea, pressing in deep enough that he feels it in his lungs. The fox’s cock throbs as he spills inside of Jayce.
Spend seeps out around the man’s cock and drips down the back of Jayce’s thighs. Were his hands free he would run a finger through it just to have a taste.
Jayce swears he slips away for a moment, he comes to as he’s lowered to the ground. His quivering thighs and cramped calves struggle to support his frame.
The fox’s mask is righted once again, the panels of metal exposing his mouth have returned to their original configuration.
Once Jayce is steady on his feet, the fox releases him and backs away, he swears he can infer an expression on that stationary face.
Fear, or something akin to it, that makes his gut twist. Or maybe he’s projecting.
Jayce attempts to fix his clothes. There’s naught to be done about the stains. Hopefully the attendees are too inebriated to notice.
Jayce realizes - as the cold wind whips through his hair - that his mask must have fallen off at some point. His heart seizes in his chest, his stomach turns.
He does not want to vomit in front of the man who just fucked his remaining sense of self worth out of his body.
His fists clench at his sides as he searches for something to say.
For the courage to acknowledge the truth.
He turns to the balcony, peering over the edge, letting the night air sober his thoughts and help him find his words.
The scuff of his boot shocks like an air raid siren. He turns to see the fox making his way to the door.
“Wait -“
The fox pauses.
“Viktor, please. Don’t go.”
The words make him wince. Vulnerability feels like a foreign and malicious parasite, one he’s tried to rid himself of over the years.
Jayce staggers forward on shaking legs. Arms reach for him and hold him steady.
“There are so many things I wish to say to you. To ask you. But not right now. Viktor, please, just stay.”
He doesn’t mean stay, on that balcony, at this fetid excuse for a celebration.
He means stay, in my life, with me.
Viktor releases a breath he’d been holding since Jayce called his name.
“I couldn’t leave even if I tried, and I have tried, Jayce. Even when we fight, my shadow dances with yours behind my back. You are inevitable, even against my will.”
“What could possibly have you conceding to the inevitable?” Jayce teases, his laughter defies the gravity of the moment, though the tears running down his cheeks confirm it.
“You, Jayce. In the end, the answer is always you.”
Viktor unfastens his cape and drapes it around Jayce’s trembling shoulders.
“For your dignity.” Viktor snarks with a grin, gesturing at Jayce’s soiled garments.
“What dignity? I’m walking out of here with you, aren’t I?” Jayce returns with a lopsided smirk.
“Come Defender, before the nonpareil of Piltover see you in such a state - and the one who did it to you.”
Jayce thinks that in fact, he wouldn’t really mind after all.