Chapter Text
"I can still see the whiteboard when I close my eyes," Jayce mumbles. "They should make them in dark mode."
"Chalkboards," Viktor says.
"I'm— listen. You're being so fucking mean to me right now."
Viktor's brain feels bruised. It's unfortunate, because that's the one part of him that normally doesn't feel bruised, but he's been pushing it with energy drinks from the vending machine and sub-4 hour nights of sleep for too long— this will be one of them; 2 AM has already come and gone and they haven't even glanced at the lab door. He re-wore the same pair of slacks three times this week. He is greasy. Even Jayce, who usually looks more lively than Viktor even when he's dead tired, has began to take on a gray pallor under his stubble. His voice is rough from alternating periods of overuse and disuse.
Physical exhaustion aside, Viktor knows that they both live for these late nights. One year and some change after their authorization, they're finally watching Hextech take its first steps out of the lab. They're being courted primarily by logistics and manufacturing firms, which means scaling their initial battery designs to fit 20-ton machinery without blowing a hole in the plate glass wall of the Piltover Dynamics building. In another two weeks, Jayce will charm whatever executives they're scheduled to pitch to first, but right now, they're still frantically turning puzzle pieces, trying to make their crane arm lift an empty storage pallet without it twitching like a dying scorpion. They've been repeating the same sequence for three hours, and Viktor is starting to personify the damn thing.
"I am normally not one to say this, but are we hitting the wall?"
Jayce sighs and crushes the heels of his palms into his eye sockets in a way that can't be comfortable.
"No, no, I feel like we're right there. I might have another hour or so in me, I just gotta refresh my brain." He gets up out of his chair, stretches his arms up and back until the hem of his polo rides up, and goes to start a new pot of coffee. "Need to think about literally anything that isn't related to Hextech."
"Ah. Something truly novel."
"I'm capable, thank you very much," he says, looking like he's trying to convince himself more than Viktor. "Do you, uh. Have hobbies?"
Viktor snorts.
"Dude, I'm trying," Jayce huffs.
Despite having spent most of their waking hours together over the past year, they talk surprisingly little about their personal lives. Jayce knows his blood type from an unfortunate midday trip to urgent care, but not what he does in his spare time.
Viktor has an incomplete framework of Jayce's life as well— granted, he volunteers more information about himself than Viktor, but that bar is millimeters off the ground. He currently lives with his mother, who seems motherly in a way that he associates more with Pine Sol commercials than real life. He catches her tinny voice through Jayce's phone as he leaves— "I put a jacket in your car, it's getting cold next week, mijo." Mijo has the body heat of a furnace, but a fleece pullover makes its way onto the back of Viktor's desk chair. He collects other crumbs: Jayce tutored Dean Kiramman's daughter to work his way through undergrad, and they're still close. He likes to run before work to keep his anxiety in check, although he hasn't been keeping that habit up for the past week of crunch time.
Notably, he hasn't mentioned any serious romantic relationships. Nary a date, even. He could be religious, or have a stick up his ass, or simply consider himself married to his work, in the way that Viktor does.
"Well, not at the moment, as you know. I have a Super 8 camera that I use once in a blue moon. And up through grad school, I ran several TTRPGs."
"Oh! Like, uh," Jayce says, staring lasers into the empty air in front of him, "Dungeons and Dragons, right?"
"Among others, yes. I was a bit of a perpetual game master, but I didn't mind."
"Like you were the one who came up with the quests? That's really cool. I think I would've enjoyed it, but Holy Cross already had it banned before my time. And even when I moved to public school, I didn't really have friends like that."
Viktor's lip quirks up. "Your high school buddies weren't the adventuring party type?"
"They didn't exist, so by a technicality, yeah," Jayce says. His tone is light, flippant even, but his expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.
The idea of an awkward, friendless adolescent Jayce is heart-wrenching, but with closer examination, not that surprising. It's a glowing gold thread woven through every aspect of his demeanor— Jayce aches for approval in the way that only grows from deep loneliness. Viktor has not been Jayce, but he has been an object of pity many times, and he does not want to inflict the experience on anyone else willingly.
"It's never too late to try," he murmurs instead. "I do miss it, but it's a time consuming hobby. I had one homebrew campaign that I ran for two years or so. It was my baby."
Jayce raises his eyebrows and whistles. "Shit. That's two theses back to back."
"It was quite involved." An understatement. The allure of math and conversation with rules was a balm to his chapped social skills, so most of his interactions at the time were mediated by dice. "You'll never believe this, but I can be a bit of a control freak with my creative projects."
Jayce giggles deliriously. "You? Oh dude, never."
Their work has expanded in scale enough to necessitate lab assistants, if they could keep them for more than a week at a time. Sky's the exception— she grew up in the same apartment building as Viktor, a series of nicotine-stained closets in Entresol. He happily wrote her letter of recommendation himself when she applied at PD. For anyone else, Viktor's note organization system proves near incomprehensible, which is a high barrier to entry; and neither of them really care to explain their peculiar workflow to anyone new. A few interns back, they started a graveyard of lanyards thumb-tacked to the wall.
"Oh, it was serious. I bought a voice modulator for one of my boss fights."
"Viktor!" he gasps, scandalized. "And you haven't told me before this?"
Viktor laughs. "What, do you want me to bring it for one of your pitches?"
"Oh my god, yes. And I want you to tell me about the guy you bought a voice modulator for. Sandwich?"
"Please," Viktor responds, and Jayce bends to scrounge through the mini fridge beneath his desk, emerging with two packaged sausage and egg biscuits. Appropriate enough. They're technically closer to breakfast than dinner now, anyways.
"I had my party investigate a… commune, I would call it, that sprung up in a previously abandoned mining colony between villages," he continues. "A healer and his followers trying to start a new settlement dedicated to peace and progress. I called him the Herald."
"And they end up fighting the peace and progress guy? He sounds great."
"Well, that's the ethical quandary. His followers usually disappear from the villages after physical injury or a period of great mental duress. They do seek him out and give him their consent to heal them magically, but his source of power consumes something inherently human inside the recipient when he does it. A perpetual state of bliss in exchange for their personhood."
"Oh. That's… hmm." Jayce pauses, watching the microwave rotate. "Extra complicated if they were already in distress. So the question is if they could willingly give up their free will."
Viktor snorts. "I know some people who would give an enthusiastic yes to that offer."
They haven't discussed sex at any great length, but it's far from the first time that Viktor has thrown out an off-color joke. This one isn't even particularly vulgar, just a low effort suggestive drawl— still, Jayce makes it too fun to resist. Viktor gets the sense that he grew up sheltered; there's always a pause before his words land and Jayce's eyes widen, sputtering laughter like it's being ripped out of him.
This reaction is somewhat different— disproportionate, even, for one of Viktor's bigger reaches. A flush resurfaces on Jayce's pallid cheeks. Viktor watches his bloodshot eyes shoot back into focus, gears clearly turning behind them.
"Who?" asks Jayce, a little bewildered.
"Jayce, you're a smart man. Surely you can connect the dots on the erotic appeal of mind control."
"Oh," he says, giggling nervously. "I'm— yeah. I thought you were about to spill some dungeon stories. Like, whips and chains, medieval torture stuff."
"Who said I wasn't?" Viktor asks, schooling his features into grave seriousness. Whips and chains sounds endearingly foreign in Jayce's voice. A cartoon damsel tied up on train tracks.
Jayce opens his mouth, and looks like he might break into hives, so he relents.
"I was, ah. Speaking in hypotheticals. Not about anybody in particular," Viktor clarifies, squeezing his eyes shut because he can already tell how fucking lame he sounds while the words are still coming out. Thank god, Jayce's back is to him right now, as he reaches for the dish shelf in the supply closet. "And no medieval torture devices. It is hard to find an iron maiden on a budget."
The porcelain almost slips out of Jayce's hand before he fumbles for it, saving one of his ridiculous science mugs from becoming another casualty of this conversation, along with his dignity.
He whips back around with owlish eyes. "If that is your thing it's totally fine, I didn't mean to, like, shame you—"
"I'm fucking with you, Jayce."
"For sure. For sure."
Jayce flashes him another easy, gap-toothed smile, but he still looks a little haunted, spaced out in a different way than earlier. God damn it, Viktor made things weird. This is firmly past the acceptable bounds of bro talk.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Viktor says.
"Huh? No, man, you're all good! Seriously. You just caught me off guard a little," he says.
The microwave trills before Viktor can wedge his foot any deeper into his mouth. He listens to the idle clatter of Jayce moving plates for another fifteen seconds.
"He was a warlock that was slowly corrupted by his own arcane power," he offers. "The Herald, that is. So by the end of the campaign, for the actual fight, he evolved into a huge, magic-rotted metal construct. Hence the modulator."
"Oh, sick. So the decomposition affects organic and non-organic material?"
Jayce drenches his sandwich in hot sauce without him having to ask, and brings two mugs back to the table: three creams and four sugars for Viktor, black for himself.
-
Two weeks later, Jayce puts on a magic show, just as expected.
Viktor considers their pitch meetings a necessary evil. He never had the taste for shopping his research around, or to sing the praises of his own work at any job, frankly. He hates the artifice— his findings should stand on their merits without spinning them for profit. Team presentations with Jayce aren't quite so uniquely awful, though. Viktor gets to sit pretty, run the slides, and do Q&A. And besides, Jayce is so genuinely enthusiastic about Hextech that it bleeds out of him, so the whole room is swept into the frenzy of possibility. He glances at him, barely noticeable, whenever he crushes a line that they ran together. Did I do good? Am I good?
One would never know that Jayce dry heaved into the bathroom sink a mere half hour before. His hair is perfectly gelled, eyebrows trimmed and five o'clock shadow beaten into submission. Viktor, though, knows where to find the signs of his suppressed antsiness— he tugs on the starched cuffs of his red dress shirt behind his back, twisting his cuff links like he's tightening a lug.
Viktor learns that for a man of reason, Jayce is rather superstitious. At least, he clings tight to certain rituals; takes comfort in the surety of small details. Viktor dragged himself back from the brink of corpsehood with a fresh haircut and his designated Conference Outfit— a decent charcoal wool suit, thrifted and tailored, with a black button up— and Jayce looked like a kicked puppy. He knows his fashion sense isn't exactly cutting-edge, but damn.
"Is it that bad?" Viktor asked, exasperated.
Jayce at least tries to school his features, which he sucks at. "No, not at all. I just— it's on me, I should have asked what you were wearing so we could match."
Viktor leveled him with a stare. His brain conjures images of Piltie influencers wrangling their sticky children into Mommy & Me sundresses for brunch. "So we could match?"
"Yeah V, because we're partners," Jayce said, tooth-rottingly earnest. "To really drive home that we're a united front. There's research behind it, that it makes group presentations more effective. Actually—"
His eyes lit up, and he wrestled his tie loose, pushing it into Viktor's hands. "You take this. I have a shirt in the same color, I can run home and get it."
"Jayce, that really isn't necessary," he said, but Jayce was already power-walking through the doorframe.
He waved a dismissive hand. "It's a ten minute drive, it's nothing. It'll make me feel better."
So Viktor has a piece of Jayce wrapped around his neck in a clean half-Windsor, and admittedly, it makes him feel better too.
It keeps him grounded through the Q&A period, which granted, is pretty rudimentary. Yes, they have a large enough supply of hexium to support full-scale prototypes. No, they do not have an exact ETA for the synthetic compound, but with their generous support, they could accelerate their tests. No, the reaction does not generate enough heat to endanger their current chip designs. Refer to slide 8. A symptom of inviting the c-suite instead of their in-house engineers, who will have to suffer through bullshit AI note summaries after lunch today.
The promise of being early adopters to the next Era of Innovation proves to be an enticing drug. Sure, their adapter design will be used for plastics manufacturing now, Jayce says, but this is just the first step. In a decade, Hextech has the potential to change transportation, improve medical outcomes, redefine the power grid. Of course, he still jingles the keys of a ridiculous five year ROI, which make the suits murmur gleefully amongst themselves. Their pockets will be lined, certainly, but more importantly— they'll be able to say they were the first to buy into magic.
Mel Medarda, COO of Piltover Dynamics, quietly holds court from the other end of the conference table.
Even four years into her tenure at PD, seeing Mel in the flesh feels unreal— like witnessing a statue that came to life and hopped off its pedestal. Medarda is the name that launched a thousand thinkpieces. Famously, she was set to inherit her mother's majority stake in Noxus Industries— a weapons manufacturer with a higher net worth than god— before she severed ties and set out on her own. Whether she insisted on building her own legacy or was cut off varies by source. She descended on Silicon Valley like an angel in the aftermath of the dot com bubble, and made a generational run consulting for future Fortune 500 companies.
Jezebel lauded her and her white linen blazers as Girlboss Icons circa 2014; before a wave of backlash emerged over dark money's grip on the tech industry, followed by a wave of counter-backlash about how sending her death threats on twitter might be more rooted in misogyny than leftist praxis. The point is, she's been a fixture in the industry as long as Viktor has been here, and she probably will be after he's gone. It's public knowledge that she and her mother still don't talk. Viktor read Mel's debut Forbes article years before they met.
She does not strictly need to be here for this pitch, but Hextech suits her venture capital palette, and she loves being present for a win. Mel excels at wrapping a silk scarf around capital-B Business Engagements, at making eight-figure investments feel like a playful bet between friends. Viktor caught snippets of her verbally massaging the CEO as the suits begin to shuffle out of the room.
"You fly out in June, then? Oh, that'll be lovely! Do make sure to try Ladino while you're there. It can be a bit of a pain to get in, but just tell me what day, and I'll give Antony a call. No, I insist, please."
Viktor sits behind the safety blanket of his laptop, forcing as pleasant of an expression as he can. Now that his wind-up doll duties are done, he itches to do something with his hands again. Jayce's dress shoe taptaptaps against the carpeted floor.
"This is a very promising start," Mel says, turning back to them. "Assuming your next pitches go comparably, you'll have some real negotiating power once you start seeing contracts."
Jayce crumples the second that the last one disappears down the hall. "Jesus. My face hurts from smiling."
Mel takes them out to some trendy rooftop place for a celebratory dinner. Viktor still feels like an intruder on the rare occasions he ends up somewhere so conspicuously expensive, but he does appreciate the weird little appetizers— mochi cheddar hush puppies are a knockout — and the tastefully dimmed orb lighting over the bar. The last vestiges of summer grant them a late, temperate sunset, so they get a bird's eye view of Piltover as it lights up in the dying twilight. The spectacle makes him feel especially voyeuristic from their sleek chrome nest. Welcome to the future. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.
Viktor rarely indulges in alcohol anymore, but he has a couple glasses of a nice, full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon that makes him pleasantly toasty and sentimental about the brotherhood of man. It stains his tongue to match his Talis red tie and Jayce's Talis red shirt— an internal brand.
In this state, the illuminated city below settles into one gentle, hypnotic blur. The height doesn't scare him, but the reduced scale of everything below does unsettle him. If he closes one eye and holds out his thumb over the skyline, he can blot tens of thousands of lives from his view. The Pilt spans the width of his nail. If he could locate the block, he could easily cover his own crummy apartment, or the even crummier block across the river where he grew up.
If he starts thinking about it, he won't stop. Under the blanket of wine and prolonged exhaustion, he lets the cadence of Mel and Jayce's voices wash over him, and tries not to feel guilty.
-
Viktor mashes his keys and his shoulder into his front door after a ride share he doesn't remember calling. His ancient Volvo remains penned in the PD garage, but that is a problem for Tomorrow Viktor. Right now, his objective is trying to navigate to his bedroom without having to turn on any living room lights. This involves using several pieces of estate sale furniture as temporary mobility aids and hoping he doesn't knock any dishes or unopened mail to the floor.
A white, warbling blur interrupts his trajectory. He consoles Rio as she winds in figure eights around his legs— really, does she not know that she's going to kill her father like that?— and gives her a can of wet food for her trouble. His suit lands haphazardly over the chair in the corner of his room, which is really more for clothing storage than anything else. Hard brace off, fabric brace on, balm into the angry red marks that dominate his leg. Then, finally, he can take his night meds and crawl back into the womb, where he can indulge in his favorite vice: an absinthe-quality string of orgasms.
Perhaps he is also guilty of taking comfort in ritual. Three years post-metoidioplasty, he has made an art and a science out of jacking off, honed through countless hours of practical study. He ran the gamut of toys and aids available to him: strokers, wands, bullet vibes, pumps, several mediums of pornography and erotica— quick hits of dopamine and hours of delirious edging that settle over him like a fleece blanket. If he's still paying the medical bills, he's going to get his goddamn money's worth.
Tonight, he has the time and patience to work himself up slowly. He unearths an old reliable companion: an egg vibrator that he keeps on low against the side of his cock, just enough extra stimulation to jazz things up a little. He lets his free hand and his mind wander aimlessly towards stimulation.
Viktor is absent from most of his own fantasies. On his best days, he doesn't think about his body at all. It excites him to think of himself as a disembodied force, something that simply happens to his chosen subject. One of his favorites is imagining himself as an evil mage who has captured a pure of heart, beefy paladin. He uses Evard's Black Tentacles to keep him contained and sap his will, and somehow the edges of his consciousness extend with the spell so he can feel every orifice seize around him. A collection of menacing, phallic shapes; jointless and therefore incapable of joint pain.
Inevitably, his hindbrain conjures long, long legs, bent up until they press against their owner's broad, tanned shoulders. Full lips with a crooked cupid's bow, wet with spit. They wrap easily around a finger, gnawing mindlessly at the cuticle— a terrible habit, but one that has provided Viktor with ample jack-off fodder.
If he was a better or stronger man, he would abstain from objectifying his lab partner like this. Viktor isn't, though. Jayce is so painfully his type: big, clean-cut, jock-adjacent. Against all odds, happy to be around him. And Viktor spends anywhere between forty and eighty hours per week close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him, to smell his Polo cologne. Speaking of— there's the tie, still hanging guiltily over the back of his chair. If he stretches, he won't even have to completely get out of bed to grasp it.
He bundles the fabric in his fist, brushing his thumb along the textured silk. It's not even a piece of clothing that directly touches Jayce's body. Still, it does hold the silage of his cologne when Viktor brings it to his face, along with his floral detergent and the dregs of something more human underneath— the xeroxed impression of skin and stale sweat.
Viktor keeps the tie draped across his mouth and nose while he bounces from gif to audio to written erotica, waiting for something to grab him. If Jayce were still wearing it, he could wrap it around his fist and pull it like a leash. He'd gasp in surprise at first, which would quickly bleed into desire. Viktor could use it to tug him down to his knees, where he could mouth eagerly at him through his slacks, and yeah— that's making his dick chub decisively. It's a pet play night, then. Bingo.
Jayce is also brilliant, which lends most of the appeal of fucking him dumb. Viktor can imagine the way his sharp hazel eyes would glaze over as the fight bled out of him, the sheen of drool over his parted lips. The crease between his eyebrows that he gets when he's stressed out would smooth back over.
Viktor's pretty sure that Jayce is operating with OEM parts, but in this fantasy he has a cunt— that way his ass is free for a tail plug that Viktor can use for leverage as he buries himself inside Jayce. Dark brown fur that almost looks black, to match his hair. And a proper red leather collar— his puppy's favorite— with a gold tag that jingles with every thrust, knocking loose a few more brain cells each time. If lost, return to Viktor.
His thumb stills on his phone screen as a video catches his eye. The man's coloring is lighter than Jayce's, but his build is perfect. Sculpted thighs and ass presented towards the camera, covered in a downy layer of hair and mounting a folded-over pillow. He clearly worked himself up before turning on the camera; the gray pillowcase is already dark with slick as he grinds his cock into the fabric. The caption reads: "sir says good boys don't use their hands". This will do.
Viktor reaches his first climax as he thinks about robbing his intelligent, charismatic partner of human speech. There's no friction between his vibrator and his dick, not after half an hour of edging, so he wipes some of the slick off both with the hem of his t-shirt and kicks the power up. It wouldn't matter if Jayce could only yip and whine at him, because Viktor would understand exactly what he needed. His pet's swollen pussy would speak for him. Breed me, master. Knock me up with a whole litter, please?
A text notification interrupts his flow state. It's an embedded link to an Instagram reel, because Viktor adamantly refuses to make an account, and Jayce adamantly refuses to stop sending him videos. It's a devon rex perched on a frosted windowsill, sporting a woolen kitty bonnet and matching booties. He shouldn't text Jayce back with his hand shoved in his boxers. He shouldn't text Jayce at all right now, while he's loose with dopamine and sleep deprivation. It's 1:21 AM.
Viktor:
Sky knitted one of those for Rio a few years back. I will have to find a picture.
The replying text bubble pops up before he can even close his messages.
Jayce:
shit did i wake you up??
sorry i know you usually keep dnd on
Viktor does not tell Jayce that he is exempt from his Do Not Disturb list. Reluctantly, he clicks his vibrator off— this is his line in the sand, apparently. He can rub himself raw to the specter of his coworker that lives in his brain, but Real Jayce is untouchable. Real Jayce is still made of flesh and blood, with his own feelings, and the capacity to inflict shame and ruin on Viktor IRL.
Viktor:
You didn't wake me up, Jayce, don't worry.
Jayce:
ok good just making sure
Two minutes pass, nearly enough for Viktor's body to relax into his idle prodding again. And then:
thinking about your herald again
i'm starting to get the appeal lol
Viktor wished, desperately, that he had a script for this encounter.
Bullet points, at the very least, for how to respond when one's colleague brings up a risqué comment that visibly scandalized them. One that scraped a wee bit too close to Viktor's own sexual tastes, because Jayce Talis wandered a little too close to the concept of submission and Viktor's dick leapfrogged his brain.
This could be Jayce's attempt at making it less awkward, massaging his initial reaction into a new inside joke. Which means that if Viktor breaks kayfabe, it's just going to make things weirder.
He can play ball. Just two bros in a good old-fashioned heterosexual pissing match. Not that Viktor is straight. He actually isn't sure if Jayce is either, to be honest— not for lack of speculation. Viktor was dead sure for a second, the first time he saw Jayce outside of work in cuffed jeans and chelsea boots, until he learned that his best friend and impromptu stylist is a nineteen year old lesbian.
That's well beside the point. The point is that he's going to channel every measly scrap of social performance in his autistic body to achieve the win state of this interaction: bonding normal style.
Viktor:
Oh? And what appeal is that?
Jayce:
not having to make decisions lol
i thought about having to order groceries after this week and almost went postal
Viktor:
The last straw for you to turn to the dark side. I knew you had it in you all along, Talis.
Jayce:
idk maybe you just made a good case
Viktor:
If you're looking for a bedtime story, you can just say so.
Jayce:
well if you're offering 👀
Viktor's chest floods with the stupid, panicky adrenaline of a deer. He feels like he used to in grad school, when he used to chug cold brew with adderall and skip breakfast. He may as well be hallucinating.
Viktor:
You're serious?
Jayce:
as a funeral
the self sustaining commune sounded really interesting! maybe we'll get some inspo for future hextech applications lol :p
shit unless that wasnt a serious offer 💀
Viktor:
It wasn't an unserious offer.
I haven't exercised my DM chops in a while, so I can't guarantee quality. But I could try my best for a solo mission. For Hextech brainstorming purposes.
Jayce:
YIPPEE
for sure for sure
but hey man don't rag on your skills like that
i'm getting a coveted viktor manuscript. that's rare stuff
Viktor tries to dredge up any details he can remember from his long-abandoned campaign doc. Or any complete sentence, really. His faculties are a bit limited after his night meds kicked in, but he might as well see where this bizarre wind takes him. He's stupidly flattered that Jayce remembered at all, much less that he took an interest in what are essentially Viktor's imaginary friends. He shouldn't be surprised— his partner is the remembering GOAT. He stores everything from birthdays to passing anecdotes to Viktor's despised textures in his exemplary dome, and retrieves those facts with startling ease.
Viktor:
In this manuscript, did you have an idea of how you encounter the Herald?
Jayce:
not that different from what u said ig?
my first thought was that i'm like
a mercenary for hire or something from one of the surrounding cities. And i was hired to investigate after people start going missing
(that was the general gist of the lore right)
Viktor:
(Yes it was)
Jayce:
so i come in at least braced for a fight
Mercenary Jayce, in Viktor's imagination, is somewhat rugged. This fantasy setting doesn't contain electric clippers, so his tidy crew cut grows out into a swoop over his forehead and curls around his ears. Maybe he has a beard— a scruffy Viggo Mortensen situation. He can work with that.
Viktor:
Alright, you come in expecting to rush into danger. You've heard the stories from your employers about a cult hidden at the base of the mountains, luring in the downtrodden and desperate. After two days' travel through the woods alone, you find signs of life. You keep a tight hold on your… did you have a weapon in mind?
Jayce:
…i was thinking a war hammer
is that lame
Even through the fog of arousal and nerves, Viktor can't help but smile. It's such a Jayce choice.
Viktor:
Not at all. Hammer it is.
You keep a tight hold on your war hammer as you approach the edge of the commune, preparing to swing if necessary. You know stories of this area as a cautionary tale. Some years ago, indentured miners found a volatile compound deep in the caverns here, which ravaged the earth around it and rendered the colony uninhabitable.
You would never know, looking at the land now. The air is sweet with honeysuckle, with new grass sprouting between the rocks. White-robed inhabitants tend to fields and work in rudimentary structures, but they don't regard you with any suspicion, much less aggression.
When he ran the campaign the first time, Viktor always imagined the commune in the springtime. A slightly unsettling pastoral scene: threadbare fabric sun-bleached white; dandelions growing out of an oil slick.
Viktor was content to just — well, tell a story, so he doesn't quite know what response to expect when the three dots pop up again. Your exposition drags. You use too many gerunds. Kill yourself.
Jayce:
do i recognize anybody i'm looking for?
Viktor:
You do, actually. A young woman that went missing from one of the surrounding villages earlier in the season. Her name is Calista, and you know her to be from a wealthy merchant family in town. Before she disappeared, her betrothed died in a hunting accident, and she tried to poison herself in her grief.
There are no signs of a struggle, but as you study her, you notice iridescent, web-like marks on the column of her throat.
She looks to be at peace.
Viktor verbally guides Jayce down the meandering paths of the foothills towards his mark, pausing for investigation whenever he deems it necessary. Notably, the townspeople work collaboratively, but they do not talk to each other. They function as cogs in an elegant machine, passing baskets and tools with no wasted economy of movement. Finding the Herald's chambers isn't difficult, because all of the development below converges towards it, an eerie orb inlaid in the mountainside itself.
Settling into the curves of narrative is more satisfying than Viktor expected. It's been so long since he wrote anything beyond a grant proposal or his own rushed notes. He used to love reading, once upon a time, before he ever dreamed of accumulating double-digit screen time on his days off. Pulp fantasy and serialized sci-fi, mostly, but whatever he could get his hands on from the Entresol Public Library. His very own teleportation rune.
Viktor:
Iridescent crystal extends a natural alcove in the mountain's face, forming a round shell. It looks like an eye watching over the rest of the settlement.
Jayce:
i walk in, holding my hammer and scanning for threats
Viktor:
The Herald is not hidden, and much like his followers, isn't positioned for an attack.
He sits suspended in the air, a web of golden light connecting him to the organic structure around him.
Beyond that, he seems to simply be a man, more or less. His limbs are discolored and webbed with the same iridescent patterns you've seen on some of the other inhabitants. His robes are a dark blue, and drape down below him until they nearly gaze the floor.
Jayce:
are there any other people in the room?
Viktor:
He appears to be alone and unguarded. He smiles benevolently down on you.
I am pleased that you found your way here, Jayce. I hope you found your welcome satisfactory.
Jayce:
how do you know my name?
Viktor:
The Evolved have the privilege of collective knowledge. In a way, you have spoken to me already.
Jayce:
so the people here have you as a permanent bug in their head, then.
Viktor:
An uncharitable name for it, but sure. I have access to their senses, as do they with mine.
I know this community's reputation proceeds itself in the villages, but I am pleased that an emissary has finally come to see what we've built with their own eyes.
New life in previously ravaged and barren fields that would otherwise be abandoned. Healing and comfort for those who would have been discarded in the same fashion. Without the interference of the old houses' interests, we have created abundance.
Viktor hasn't explored Hextech's potential in agriculture, but there might be something there. Another time, perhaps.
Jayce:
and you have no ulterior motives of your own. surely there's no way that connecting injured and desperate people to your life force can be exploited for your own gain
how do we know that you don't compel people here subconsciously? you can already mess with their heads. families are terrified that their sons and daughters will disappear next
Viktor has no reason to be surprised, considering that their working relationship relies on their intellectual chemistry; but Jayce is a solid scene partner. Charmingly so. Perhaps in a less busy season of life, Viktor will gift him a set of dice.
It would give him an excuse to glimpse Jayce in a casual setting, to cross the Rubicon into his civilian life. He tries to visualize Jayce in the cramped game shop where he filled out his first character sheet and played Magic on the weekends— it's a bizarre combo. Like imagining the green Power Ranger accompanying him to the bank for emotional support.
Viktor:
My only aim is to lessen the suffering of the world. I assure you that everyone who sought out healing did so willingly.
Jayce:
i can't trust that
if you drop whatever trance you have these poor people in, i'll let you go unharmed.
Ah, such bravado! He could have pulled his little knight in shining armor straight from Viktor's fantasy rolodex: loyal, righteous, corruptible.
Viktor:
Your ego blinds you, Jayce. That is not your decision to make.
Jayce:
these people have loved ones at home worrying about them. they're suffering too
even if they chose to join they aren't free to leave now
Viktor:
They simply do not wish to. Why would they, when they are at peace and provided for here?
If their friends and families joined them, if they truly sought understanding, they too would be relieved of their suffering.
You are incapable of seeing a world beyond hierarchy and conquest.
I sense pain in you, too. Please, allow me to ease it.
Jayce:
ok i swing on him
Viktor exhales a laugh. Jayce shan't roll for initiative tonight.
Viktor:
As you swing your arm back to strike, you find it ensnared by those same strings of golden light. The Herald would prefer not to, of course, but he'll do what he needs to contain you.
Allow us a moment of civility, Jayce.
He descends from his place in the center of the chamber and approaches you.
Jayce:
how close does he get?
Viktor:
Let's say six feet away.
Jayce:
i use my trapped arm as leverage to swing and kick at him
Viktor:
Okay. He snags your dominant leg in midair with the same restraints, followed by your remaining limbs. You are suspended mid-air and off-balance.
A classic brat maneuver, albeit a weak one. Viktor rolls Jayce's stated appeal between his teeth like a lozenge. Not having to make decisions. Being forced to cede control, even. He can recognize an opening when he sees one. And if he imagines Jayce trapped spread eagle for this conversation, that's his business.
Viktor:
The Herald sighs.
It is a shame that you insist on fighting. You could bring so much to the commune with your talents, if you chose to create instead of destroy.
Perhaps utility isn't what you crave, though. It's permission to stop being useful, and simply exist.
Jayce:
i don't need permission for anything from you
Viktor:
Poor soul. You don't truly understand why you're lashing out, do you?
Jayce:
because what you're doing isn't right
you can't completely remove someone's pain without making them inhuman. that's not helping them
Viktor:
If you saw somebody drowning without their knowledge, would you not try to save them, even if they thrashed against you?
Jayce:
that's completely different
you're ripping out the part of people that makes them care
Viktor:
Oh, I disagree. They've just been given the opportunity to rise past the needless struggle of daily life. They know true contentment.
Your employers, on the other hand, see you as a spare body to throw at their inconveniences. You took such a long, thankless journey to get here. You're tired, and your back aches from sleeping on a bedroll on hard ground.
When you return to town, with several unwilling passengers in tow, you'll receive… what? Enough coin to feed yourself for a few more weeks, until the next odd job?
Does living that way truly make you happy, Jayce?
Jayce:
what does that matter to you?
One of Viktor's favorite moments: the moment doubt first takes root. He imagines it growing across his poor, neglected mercenary's brain, nourishing itself on his amygdala. One-hit kills don't hold a candle to the thrill of strategic dismantlement.
Viktor:
It matters to me greatly, if it is within my capacity to provide you with a more appealing alternative.
Jayce:
nothing here will ever appeal to me.
Viktor:
Then I believe we've reached an impasse.
Nothing would please me more than to bring you peace, Jayce. But if you are so insistent on disrupting the progress we have made here, I simply cannot let you go.
Viktor has a hypothesis, and it might drive him to do something reckless.
Jayce is, frankly, a bit vain. Viktor thinks about how he compulsively fixes his hair in his laptop screen when Jayce thinks he isn't looking. How he squirms when Mel asks how her boys are doing during a check in. His glances between lines during his pitch presentation, seeking crumbs of silent affirmation.
Viktor:
Maybe there is still a path for you to join the glorious evolved.
While the Herald is not supposed to choose favorites among his followers, he is not blind to a pretty face. Perhaps you could serve the commune best as a spoil of war.
Despite what you say now, you would come to enjoy your place here. I am certain of it.
When future interlopers arrive, they'll be faced with you as a warning of what they could become. Or perhaps they'd be jealous of the Herald's trophy. What do you think?
Jayce:
I think you're sick
you can't just take whoever you want to use as your playthings
The Herald wouldn't be the type to take a spoil of war, but he's not here to protest. Viktor's meat is driving this interaction. He doesn't turn his vibrator back on, but he does trap his cock between his fingers, just to relieve some of the pressure.
His hypothesis is still nebulous, but backed with enough evidence. Viktor aims for the jugular.
Viktor:
There's no more need for your performative protests.
I saw you today, Jayce. Don't pretend you don't enjoy attention when the mood strikes you.
Deep down, you just want to be a good boy, don't you?
And then he slams his phone face-down on his sheets while he waits for another vibration. Because he is a very brave boy.
It comes three rounds of box breathing later.
Jayce:
(fuck)
(fuuuck oh my god)
(you can't just pull that out v)
Viktor:
(Too much?)
Jayce:
(no no dw it wasn't)
(definitely not)
Viktor:
You like being told that you're good.
It's a statement, this time. Viktor, for his many flaws, can tell when he's right. Jayce's text bubble pops up, disappears, and pops up again. Viktor flips onto his stomach, idly chasing friction against the mattress. He holds his phone next to him on the pillow like a lover's cheek.
Jayce:
…a lot
like an embarrassing amount
is it that obvious? 😅
Viktor:
There's no need to be embarrassed. It's sweet.
But no, not overly surprising. You're so attentive, so eager to please.
Is it praise in general, or being called a good boy specifically?
Jayce:
both i think
but i'm trying to think of how to put it
it's that you kind of talk down to me?
Viktor has won the lottery without buying a ticket: Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome fucks with degradation! It's also an especially touching admission of trust from Jayce. Viktor has seen his partner talked down to before, and he can get— well, pissy. He has little patience for catering to people that underestimate his work.
Viktor:
I understand what you mean. It's a break from having to present as the most competent person in the room, maybe?
Jayce:
god yes exactly
like i don't have to prove myself
Viktor:
I know. Being in control is tiring for you, isn't it?
Good boys shouldn't have to think so hard all the time.
Jayce:
mmhm
i hate how i worry about everything constantly. makes my brain hurt :(
Viktor:
You wouldn't need to make a decision ever again. You'd have no responsibilities beyond chasing your own pleasure.
It's alright to stop resisting and enjoy yourself.
Jayce:
fuck v
you have no idea what this is doing to me rn
Viktor:
Show me?
A minute passes, and then two. Lead pools in Viktor's stomach. There's still the chance that he misread and pushed his luck too far.
The video takes a few seconds to load. It's in selfie mode, in Jayce's dimly lit bedroom, the AC humming gently in the background. His phone must be propped up against a pillow, or maybe Jayce's laptop. He's sitting against his headboard, wearing an old gray sweatshirt and nothing else.
Jayce's legs are spread and bent at the knee, his feet planted on his comforter. One hand lazily strokes his cock. It's gorgeous, because of course it fucking is, heavy and rosy in his fist as he coaxes out a stream of glossy precum. He shifts his legs a little wider, and then Viktor watches as he circles two lubed fingers around the pucker of his (hairless; perfect) asshole before he presses them inside.
A surprise, but a very welcome one.
He worries his lower lip between his teeth, limiting his noises to breathy whimpers as he fucks himself on his fingers. He keeps a languid pace, deliberate and agonizing. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his eyelashes almost grazing his cheekbones. Fingers still inside himself, he leans forward to end the video, and his eyes connect straight with the camera for a second with the barest hint of a smirk.
Jayce:
does that answer the question? lol
First: a sliver of Viktor's lizard brain is online enough to relish the confirmation that Jayce is almost surely some shade of queer, if he's willing to go this far.
Second: deliriously, amid the deluge of new visual data, he notes that Jayce has really cute ankles. Biteable, even. Viktor shall be condemned to the seaside cure for hysteria.
It's a 56 second clip. He watches it through twice, mouth-breathing like a neanderthal, before he remembers that he hasn't replied.
Viktor:
You're perfect
Just as pretty of a trophy as I imagined. You look like you were made to be fucked
Jayce:
mm thank youu 🥰💕
u like it that much?
Viktor:
Anyone with eyes would, Jayce.
You're a wet dream.
Jayce puts a heart react on his message. Viktor squeezes his eyes shut briefly because he refuses to let his dick pulse at that.
Jayce:
it felt right for the vibe
its been a while since ive had time to prep and everything, i missed it
The idea of Jayce thinking about him while he stretched himself open knocks Viktor on his ass. He humps the heel of his hand now, watching that fucking video on loop, devouring the second that Jayce's wet mouth drops open as he bottoms out on his fingers. He takes them so easily. Does he have a lot of casual sex— or fuck, maybe he cruises? Viktor wouldn't have pegged Jayce as the type, but he'd be far from the first DL engineering bro in Piltover. How many times had he propped his phone up before, and fucked himself so prettily on camera for someone else?
Either Jayce has done this before, and likes being watched, or he decided to do this for the first time, for Viktor. The idea lights a vicious fire in his stomach.
Viktor:
You like hearing how good you look like this?
Jayce:
mmm yess i do
wanna be good for you
tell me what else i'm made for
A whine wrenches itself free from Viktor's throat. As much as he daydreams about defiling Jayce, he wasn't delusional enough to expect reciprocity. If he had to take a more realistic shot at Jayce's sexual proclivities before tonight, he would have guessed tasteful missionary— lights on, lots of kissing and I love yous. Perhaps cowgirl on Fridays, if he's feeling extra frisky. Viktor needs to lock the fuck in.
Viktor:
Certainly not for doing someone else's grunt work. A sweet boy like you deserves to be spoiled, constantly drunk on pleasure.
You'd be my crown jewel from the village. I'd keep you on display in my chambers, and toy with you until you leak onto my robes.
It would be a shame to leave such a perfect cock and needy hole neglected
He doesn't have a problem getting indulgent with the vision. Jayce would make a beautiful consort, oiled up and covered in fine gold chains— gold always suited him. Any robes he would be permitted to wear afterwards would be purely decorative, something flimsy that was designed to be ripped off. His subjects would freely flow through the space to present their business, and Jayce would squirm prettily over his lap while he waits for Viktor's full attention.
Jayce:
fuck vik
im leaking so much right now
i feel like im losing my mind
Viktor:
Good, Jayce. You're doing so well for me. You don't need to think about anything else, just take it.
Doesn't it feel nice, just listening to what your body needs?
Jayce:
mmm feels so good
just added a third
Viktor:
Such a good boy, stretching yourself out for me
That's what you need, isn't it? A nice big cock to fuck yourself mindless on
Fuck it. The Herald can have a monster schlong, because Viktor wants to imagine Jayce so full he's choking on it. It can be purple and ribbed for his pleasure. Reality is his bitch.
Jayce:
fuckk v god yes please
doesn't feel right just doing it by myself
Viktor:
I seem to remember you saying that you didn't need my permission for anything. That I couldn't use you as a plaything.
That's all it took, Jayce?
A few fingers and you're already begging. Poor thing, you must have been desperate
Jayce:
i don't care
i need more vik please
use me however u want
need u to fuck me like I deserve
"God, Jayce," Viktor groans, stuffing part of the tie into his mouth to ground himself. The chemicals that he's sucking out of the fabric belong to this vision— Venus as his coworker.
Viktor, in his imagination, has the luxury of contorting Jayce in ways that he does not have the muscle mass to pull off IRL. As the Herald, he would push his robes to the side and rip Jayce's traveling clothes to shreds. He fingertips would almost connect around Jayce's trim waist, so Viktor could feel the bulge of his cock as he sheaths it inside of him like a toy. Jayce's face goes slack on the first thrust, and every subsequent one makes his brain melt further. His dick would bounce untouched, leaking profusely against his stomach, but he's too cock-drunk to beg for more touch.
Viktor:
You're still fully tangled in the Herald's web when he grips you by the jaw. He traces his fingers over your face.
I'm not still not sure you want to join me, Jayce. You're certain you don't need to keep thinking it over?
Jayce's replies come back in a feverish volley.
Jayce:
pleasee please stop fucking teasing me
it feels so good when u tell me what to do
u can do whatever u want to me
i'll be good for you please i just need u to fuck me
i'm so close
Part of him would love to get mean with it, to see Jayce sob from how badly he needs to be railed. Now that he's witnessed Jayce's soft, needy interior, he wants to tug on every nerve ending; milk out every response. The possibility of seeing Jayce cum, though, is nigh incomprehensible— the holy grail that Viktor has spent many hours mentally rotating.
Viktor:
When he finally presses his fingers to your forehead, blinding euphoria overwhelms you. A pleasant haze descends on your mind. You can feel the Herald inside you, truly inside you, and know that you'll never have to be in control again. It's so much easier to obey.
Your body, though, is hypersensitive without your thoughts weighing it down. You can only ride out the pleasure as the Herald finally claims his prize. He removes your binds and spreads your legs so he can fill you the way you deserve.
There's my good boy, Jayce. You're fulfilling your purpose beautifully. Doesn't that feel better?
Jayce:
please tell me to cum?
Viktor:
Of course, sweet boy. Let me see you cum your pretty brains out.
The quick video he sends is framed tighter, only from his abdomen to his thighs. Briefly, Viktor wonders about the absence of the sweatshirt from earlier— it must be rucked up above his tits, just outside the shot. His hand chokes the base of his twitching cock, like he's desperately trying to hold on for a few seconds longer. In contrast to his painstaking restraint, he fingers himself fast and hard, the meat of his palm audibly hitting his ass. The schlick-schlick-schlick sound of Jayce's fingers bullying past his rim is downright obscene. He must have used a lot of lube.
Viktor has seen a lot of close up hole shots in his time, but this is Jayce's hole pulsing around the sturdy hands that he watches work every single day— hands that wring increasingly urgent gasps from him with every movement.
"Oh, fuck," he gasps offscreen, sounding almost pained. "Fuck, V, I'm— hah—"
After a couple of twisting, indulgent strokes, he goes off with a cry. Viktor knows immediately that this image will rule supreme in his spank bank for years, if not forever. The first few arcs of spend coat Jayce's stomach, before the rest dribbles messily over his fist. His hole pulses around his fingers like it's trying to coax them further inside, and god, Viktor wants to give it to him. He could live off the little staccato ah-ah-ahs that accompany each involuntary twitch of Jayce's hips.
He has no choice but to ride out another orgasm in tandem with Video Jayce— his dick is already tender with overstimulation, and the last shot of endorphins is a full-body affair that makes his limbs feel like they're trying to secede from his torso. He doesn't have much fluid left to give, but a final few drops of slick join their brethren in Viktor's happy trail. He needs to grab a liquid IV before he crashes.
It takes a minute for his fried nervous system to stabilize as he catches his breath. Viktor's fingers are tacky and numb, and there's drool soaked through the tie and onto his pillowcase. His eyes throb from hours of staring into his screen, his retinas stamped with text. He swipes back out from the video to their text thread.
With his cheek buried into his pillow, Viktor has no more authority to wield. He's oddly bashful now, despite not being the one to offer up a visual record of his climax. Viktor does not have a digital post-nut protocol in place. Alas, he will need to improvise further.
Viktor:
We'll call that the end of the session.
A successful one?
Jayce:
by all my metrics for sure. i mean… if it wasn't obvious enough already hahaha
you have a way with words
thank u v :)
Viktor:
I'm glad to hear that. It's mutual.
Jayce:
shit it got late fast though
srry to keep u up 😅
Viktor:
No need to apologize. I would have been awake anyways, and this was much more satisfying.
An understatement, if Viktor has ever given one. He doesn't have the mental stamina left for the thought to fully coalesce, but whatever this was shattered the possibility of a normal working relationship between them. The quiet hitches of Jayce's breath loop in his head, over and over again.
Viktor:
And this will be the first restful sleep I've gotten in weeks.
Jayce:
good lol
in that case
sweet dreams :)
Viktor:
Sweet dreams.
At 3:06 AM, he falls asleep with his phone still in his hand.