She's fine. She keeps asking after you, actually, and I can never give her enough details to satisfy her.
[Said not dismissively, but in the vague sort of way children think about their parents: she's fine, she's doing well, she's living in far more comfort nowadays. Although, and he huffs out a laugh, glancing over at the wall.]
I think she thinks I use you and the lab as an excuse nowadays, actually. That I have some secret girlfriend.
[Ha ha what a silly thought. He flips the device over in his hand again and again, swift and easy.]
[Does Jayce hear himself, like, when he speaks? Does he, at all? Viktor makes a noise that's definitely a surprised kind of half-chuckle and mostly just a silent thing his shoulders do for a moment. Proof, Jayce says, and Viktor's imagination runs completely away with him for a solid few seconds—
Well, Mrs. Talis is a sweet woman, she'll understand whatever nonsense her darling son winds up telling her. That this is true is briefly terrifying, but Viktor is enduring.]
Yes — you do that. Tell her that I am doing well.
[And— god, stop that, that piece of equipment is brand new? Viktor reaches over to just... take it away, after one of those flips. Stop.]
Could you do me a favor and boil some water? [Please and thank you; he's using the Now, Actually voice, previously reserved for science experiments. In a different, so casual and so unconcerned tone, he offers:] It's not an unreasonable guess. You do have plenty of admirers.
[Hey don't take it? And yet there it goes anyway, and ah, yes, he knows that tone. He's disobeyed that tone once or twice, and it never really ends well. So yes, he’s rising up off the counter, slipping past Viktor to reach the sink. The kitchen is small enough that it's not really necessary for him to put his hand on Viktor's lower back, but maybe it’s just nice to feel that point of connection. And, incidentally, to note just how much of Viktor’s back his hand covers.]
I mean, yes, but . . .
[Arrogant af but also, he does know what he looks like, it's not a wild idea, let's not pretend at false modesty. But still: yes, but, as he pulls a slight face and throws on the tap.]
No one that holds my attention. Or that's more interesting than our projects. She has to know that by now.
[That's not to say he hasn't enjoyed himself on those dates, but there was nothing that really kept his attention. Two dates, three, and then he'd politely break it off, because what was a night in a bar compared to talking shop with Viktor?]
. . . you do too, you know.
[Well, Sky, anyway, but she's particularly fervent. And him too, but that's something he'll keep to himself. Anyway: water in pot, pot on stove, stove lit. He's Helping.]
[Jayce was bad, this is his now? Them's the breaks. Viktor's shoulders shift minutely at the feel of Jayce's hand against his back; familiar now and yet still thrilling in the simplest way each time, and warm here in his somewhat chilly apartment. Speaking of things that are nice, again, huh.
He feels another private thrill when Jayce says our, when their lab is placed higher than any other pursuits he might have, and ah - no, it's not a private thrill at all, he looks incredibly pleased at the shoutout to the projects. Yes, good man; that's the spirit. Even if he weren't, ah — even if he did not, say... even if there were no other admirations at play here, call it, Viktor would be smug about the importance of their work.
Still: he straightens up slightly to look around at Jayce, brow furrowed as if he genuinely does not know what he's talking about for a second — but oh, yes:]
Ah; Miss Young. She is... a nice girl. [And he can never say this in front of her, because the way it pulls at the corner of his mouth and how he glances meaningfully away at the wall are the facial expression manifestation of a womp womp. Sky is a person who exists and is helpful at times? Those are things that Viktor considers true, certainly.
Ahem. Well. He's going to keep pretending he doesn't notice the way Sky looks at him when she drops off reports, for everyone's sake. Out of politeness to the poor girl and for himself, so he does not have to explain to an assistant that she is very sweet but her chances are below zero. Imagine the workplace discomfort after that. He could never.
But he makes this face about it, so Jayce will understand, at least. Somewhat. Then, more amused:]
No one is badgering me about my prospects, besides. In that regard, I am far luckier than you.
[It's maybe a little mean, the way he chuckles at that face. It's not really at Sky, it's just— well, yes, that about sums it up, that sort of awkward grimace, doesn't it? It has for years now. And really, the truth is this: Jayce doesn't feel any sense of overt relief, because the thought that Viktor might place some person above them (above him) is, hm, impossible? It's the same way he isn't relieved when the sun rises every morning; that's just how it works. They are partners, and that's really the start and finish of it.
Not that he really thinks all that coherently. But that's more or less the summation of the warmth in his chest, the pleased little yes good, all is right within the world feeling, intensified by the look of clear pleasure on Viktor's face. He likes prioritizing their work— or, no. He likes prioritizing him, an underscoring of the strength of their bond.
And then Viktor talks about prospects and it's Jayce's turn to pull a face. But you know what—]
Well! Far be it for me to hoard all the bad luck.
[It's easy, the way he moves. One hand on Viktor's shoulder, and of course that brings him up close behind him; it'd be harder not to be pressed up against him in this tiny kitchen. His voice is pitched a little lower, the grin evident there, as he murmurs near his ear.]
[Oh, and there he is; doing this thing he's done before, at the lab, when the breathless wonder of an experiment gone right sneaks into his voice the same way his shit-eating grin (Viktor does not even have to turn his head to know) comes through in his tone now. A hand on Viktor's shoulder, that pleasant buzz of awareness; Jayce, there, close, a burning ember radiating just the precisely correct amount of warmth, as long as Viktor minds himself. As long as Viktor doesn't knock the scale and spoil the whole thing.
Someone really should be paying attention to the water on the stove. Or to the knife in Viktor's hand, moving automatically to chop the next mysterious vegetable (for the record, it's garlic). Someone ought to.]
I don't know; retirement? [He shrugs, keenly aware of how his shoulder presses into Jayce's hand, the heat of his fingers through Viktor's thin shirt—] I have not dabbled as much as an ordinary person.
[It might have embarrassed him when he was younger; disabled in the undercity and more or less insignificant when he first arrived topside — years ago, not dabbling served him as a kind of shield. Now, well — credit him this: he has tried? He's made attempts, and either his overtures are too obscure or politely end after dinner, no hard feelings, you know? It bothers him... less, lately.
He knows why; he isn't a fool. He'd rather spend hours failing at an experiment with Jayce than an hour meeting new people, and that's fine? That's been working out for him, as it were. Jayce's hand is even on his shoulder, and he braces a hand on the counter as he looks back:]
If someone happened to come along in the nick of time, well — who can say.
[He'd been prepared to tease more, honestly. Or even to ask a question to further it: what does dabbling mean, tell me who, things that would have the cadence of a light tone, but that he really did want to know. His thumb strokes against Viktor's shoulder, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt (they're always so thin), and it's good, it's fine—
And then Viktor turns, catching his eye, and it's very much not fine. Not bad, not bad, no, no, but ah, something, his breath catching, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. Why? He doesn't know (but he does, sort of); he barely has time to understand, because in the next instant Viktor is speaking.]
What kind of someone?
[It's an innocuous question, except no, it isn't. He feels as though the universe is suddenly holding its breath; as though somehow the earth has shifted its axis by just a degree. Not bad at all, but still: different, and he doesn't dare glance away.]
You know my type, [he says, his hand still on Viktor's shoulder, and wonders what he hopes will happen next.] So what's yours?
[Honestly, that's not how this works; just because Jayce's dalliances are more frequent and obvious than Viktor's history doesn't mean he has to share; they're partners, but isn't that- wouldn't that, mmph...
Well, Viktor doesn't know. His lips part to speak and he says nothing, looking up at Jayce near close enough to count his ridiculous eyelashes, grip tightening a fraction on the edge of his kitchen counter. This isn't part of the, ah, the plan — the plan was dinner, not answering this kind of personal question before the food is even cooked.
He's imagined the moment, you see: he's run through scenario after scenario and deemed most of them improbable, at best. It's been... fine. It's been alright, like this. For a dizzying moment Viktor wonders if he should close the door himself, be content enough with being a partner — he knows without words that Jayce would always, always put him above all else, after all. Is that enough?
More terrifying, is there a last chance? Would he know it if there were?]
Tall, [he hears himself saying, and he feels his mouth forming a smirk completely without his input. Tall, that's what he's apparently giving, a perfectly innocent and not innocent at all response.
He turns in place, lamenting briefly the loss of Jayce touching his shoulder, but relishing instead the closeness facing him. It's more comfortable, alright; he can twist his spine all the way around for only so long, so now this, meal preparation momentarily on pause.]
With a towering intellect to match, of course. I'm very particular.
[But also with the jawline of a living god, as a bonus.]
[So that's how this is going to go, hm? But then again: of course it is. When has Viktor ever shirked? He's not the time to blush and stutter, at least not when it comes to those times when it's just them. He's never once backed down, never one hesitated to call Jayce out, never once made himself smaller.
Tall, he says, and Jayce can feel something in the pit of his stomach jerk as he aims that smirk up at him. Oh, that smirk shouldn't be allowed, and yet he takes a half-step closer, crowding him lightly against the counter.]
Tall, [he echoes, and reaches blindly, turning the knob on the stove off. It'd be just their luck that they burn down Viktor's apartment while they do this, this . . . whatever it is. Flirtation. Seduction. Terrifying, wonderful plunge, something that leaves him equal parts nervous and intrigued, his heart in his throat and all of him in delighted disbelief this is actually truly happening.]
Tall and intelligent, got it.
Any other requirements I should know about?
[And here, now, a thing he's been dreaming of doing: he runs his hand lightly down the curve of his waist, fingers dancing lightly, til he comes to a stop at the top of his hip. It's a swift movement, but oh, he has every intention of repeating it soon. He's fixated on— well, actually, he's fixated a lot on a great deal of Viktor, hands and smirk and hair and eyes, but the trimness of his waist is definitely up there. Could he actually wrap his hands around Viktor's waist? Ah, probably not completely, but also: probably pretty damn close, and the idea shouldn't thrill him as much as it does.
Add to the list: how his hip feels encircled by Jayce's hand. His thumb strokes almost idly, settling into a soothing rhythm.]
[Ah; conscientious of him. Viktor was going to make this whole meal, but he supposes it can wait. Jayce crowds him against the counter and his breath catches in the good way, the exhilarating way; the moment of suspense before one of their projects is tested for the first time, although, ah- one day, he'll figure out how to relate to things without involving the lab, but never mind it now. Jayce is massive, he'll think about this instead; he can't even see the stove around Jayce's shoulders.
Absently he reaches behind to move that vegetable knife somewhere he won't lean on it during — during this new thing that commands all of his attention, whatever one might call it. An inevitability, in Viktor's opinion, although he's only formed this opinion in the seconds after it seems to be working.
Now, first, before everyone of his synapses fries at the sensation of Jayce's hand somewhere that isn't his shoulder:]
Against my better judgment: ego.
[Maybe he was talking about some other tall and brainy partner he keeps around for when Jayce has to go to parties. Hah, but it's true anyway, Jayce has it in spades.
That settled, he doesn't melt into Jayce's touch so much as crackle to life under it, surging up only as much as his leg will allow and pulling down on Jayce's collar to make up the difference. In his many scenarios the first time he kisses Jayce is something softer, a quiet understanding in a marginally less charged moment, but as nothing has ever gone according to plan, adaptability is key and so on, this will do. The way he fits his mouth against Jayce's is decisive, not desperate; a man does not simply let other men caress his hips and not get the point.
So: a kiss, solid and certain and with a healthy dollop of Viktor's personal brand of smug victory thrown in for good measure. Swift too, if only so he doesn't overbalance, and it's pure impulse that lets him run the pad of his thumb over Jayce's lower lip when the kiss ends, studying.
[There's no hesitation, and if Jayce had room for thought right now, he might be startled by that. That he doesn't pause, doesn't balk, doesn't take a second to make sure that the transition from fantasy to reality is truly what he wants— no. Instead: yes, far more felt than thought. Yes, like straightening up from a crouch, like scratching an itch, like righting a wrong— yes, this is exactly what they're meant to do. Kissing Viktor is like slipping into water; he melts into it, tipping his head just so, returning every ounce of pressure with a surge of his own, yes.
He's not nearly done when Viktor pulls back, and the way his head jerks forward confirms that— but oh, there's his thumb, and he does choke a little. Just a little, swallowing thickly as he tries not to, ah, melt utterly under that pressure.]
You like my ego.
[He means for it to be smug, but it comes out far more softly. You like my ego, but what he means is: you like me, and what a discovery that is. What a breakthrough, and he wants nothing more than to explore it in every which way he can.
So, now: his hand snakes back, resting solidly against Viktor's lower back, just so he can pointedly yank him forward and up against Jayce. Hey, as he grins a little. They've spent, what, a whole thirty seconds not kissing, and that's far too long, so: another. Harder this time, hungrier, his tongue sweeping forward tentatively as his other hand wraps around the back of Viktor's neck. Stay here, stay just like this, and it's not nearly the most comfortable position they could be in, but you know what, Jayce will deal with a crick in his neck if it means he can keep kissing him.]
[Good, Viktor thinks; good that Jayce kisses him back, good that he melts into it like they've been kissing all along, good that... well, it was ultimately a shot in the dark, even after the touching and the brief flirtation. Good then to have all of those hypotheses confirmed in the press of Jayce's mouth, the terribly endearing way he reacts to Viktor pulling back.]
I've learned to live with it.
[That's smug, still riding the high of that first kiss and turning over some intriguing new ideas about how tenderly Jayce looks at him even as he pulls them together - with his giant hands, for fuck's sake - very intriguing. He leans into Jayce fully this time, which isn't hard to do with how thoroughly Jayce has wrapped around him, and now Viktor allows himself a delighted little shiver.
It's a little bit of everything: the quips, the hand on his neck while Jayce kisses him like the both of them are drowning, and ah— yes, he could make time in his busy schedule for this. Hah; he wriggles an arm only a little awkwardly around Jayce's shoulders, grip tight on the back of his shirt. Jayce is all heat and presence and body, a furnace in so many ways, and Viktor is pleasantly overwhelmed now. Sure as he is that this is it, this is the thing he wants the most, he's never been kissed senseless in his teeny kitchen, so!
Well! His lips part; his hold on Jayce tightens; he enjoys a blissful handful of seconds of pure feeling. Then his other hand flits down to Jayce's arm around his back, tapping the back of his wrist meaningfully a few times before, ah, indelicately whapping the countertop. Follow these incredibly good clues, tall man, he's helping them both immeasurably here.]
[Ask for what you want, he thinks of saying, but in the next instant knows damn well he won't be able to hold out. Instead: one hand on his ass, and he does squeeze, just once, fingers digging in, his eyes locked on Viktor's face just to see if it gets a response. There's a thousand things to test, Jayce thinks with giddy delight. A thousand experiments, a thousand conclusions to draw, but all of them driving towards the same conclusion: what exactly gets Viktor to react?
Up on the counter, and he's delighted to show off a little like that. He doesn't have these muscles for nothing, you know? Let him show off. It's honestly ridiculously easy to hoist Viktor up there, perched at the perfect height, and nudge his legs apart, settling between them. Another kiss, and another, and then his mouth drags down, nipping lightly at the sharp line of Viktor's jaw, pressing a kiss against his pulse. He's going to leave a mark on that pale skin (he's going to leave several marks), but at his leisure, thank you.]
Hypothesis, [he murmurs, and catches Viktor's chin, tipping his head up gently as he bites, just sharp enough to be felt.] I can get you to moan sometime over the next twenty minutes. Hm?
[This is telling, thank you, Jayce. He followed along perfectly, so there: guess what lesson Viktor has learned from experiment trial number one! The ass squeeze earns Jayce one slightly-muffled oh!, a touch sputtering and mostly delighted, squeezing Jayce's arm in time to be lifted up.
And, like, let him take a whole singular Moment to enjoy that; there was no doubt Jayce, with that physique, could lift Viktor, with his, but knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He kisses him eagerly, and now the soft chuckle bubbles up out of him, appreciative of the attention and the scruff of stubble against his neck.
(One of these he will not always appreciate, but for now.)]
What are your parameters? [Shifting his arm around Jayce to run his fingers into his hair and grip, yes, he'll wear a scarf around lab visitors, continue.] Your variables?
[And his egg timer, because they are in Viktor's kitchen, and he gropes blindly for the wind up cooking timer he knows is somewhere on this countertop with him. The timer is going to be set, this is not a joke, please appreciate his dedication to the scientific method.]
[Oh my god, they're actually doing this. What's worse: that Viktor sets this up? Or that Jayce is a little too into it, thrilling at the sudden pressure. He works best when he's got a deadline, and you know what, he really wants to be at his best right now.]
Parameters . . . I use only my hands, and I don't go in your pants.
[In your pants, that's a very important word, because that leaves him a whole host of things he could do outside of them, you know?And hey, a demonstration: he tugs Viktor right to the edge of the counter, up tight against him, just so he can buck his hips forward just once.]
And variables . . . [Hm. That grip on his hair is fantastic, and experimentally he tips his head, mouth dragging down the line of Viktor’s throat, curious to see if it’s more anchor or guide.] Mm. Subject's general preferences and, [now he nips,] inclinations guessed at, but not yet solidly confirmed.
[Viktor makes a noise, half-indignant on principle — just because he weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet doesn't mean Jayce should yank him around every time he thinks of it, but ah, and there are his hips, so never mind.
(Although, sir: that's not hands, please stay within the parameters?)
The hand in Jayce's hair tugs again, nudging him to continue with his ministrations along Viktor's neck after his very endearing experiment innuendo; guide, then, this time. Do that, while he then briefly lets go to, ah, crank it: the egg timer, hastily twisted behind Jayce's head before Viktor sets it down decisively on the counter somewhere to the left of his hip. The clock is officially ticking, babe.]
The subject understands the nature of the experiment. [And has one good leg to hook around Jayce's hip, which he does now, helpfully. Far be it from him to interrupt The Process, but:] Likewise, the subject swears not to be too hasty.
[Twenty minutes, sir. He will not be making any noise that is not Earned.]
[Twenty minutes. He can earn a moan in twenty minutes' time, he thinks, and then amends that with his usual optimistic vigor: he will do it in twenty minutes, or he'll spend the rest of the night making up for it.
His mouth drops down as bid, though he doesn't set in with his teeth right away. Instead: it's a startlingly sweet kiss he presses to the crook of Viktor's neck. He's in this to earn a moan, yes, but at the same time . . . his fantasies always center towards the romantic, you know? Things like sneaking a bottle of wine up to the rooftop and watching the airships fly by; about how Viktor might feel resting up against him, head on his shoulder and the two of them trading theories and endearments both.
Tongue next, tracing out idle patterns against warm skin.]
I thought this. About you . . . what you'd feel like. Sound like. Though, [and he huffs a little laugh, hot breath against damp skin,] a timer didn't feature into it.
[One hand pries at his shirt, tugging it free just so he can slip his hand beneath it, and— ah. Warm skin, smooth skin, and Jayce traces his fingers there, gently exploring that secret space on the small of his back. Is he tracing runes against Viktor's skin? He is! It's corny, but also: he likes it, teasing out impressions of their joined research, the thing that brought them together . . . let him have his romance.]
I think the first time was the first breakthrough. The initial stabilization. [You know, when they were flying around in the air?] You got this look in your eye like . . . like anything was possible. Like all the doors had opened and you had the key.
[Another kiss, and then he tips his head back, meeting Viktor's eyes with hazy delight.]
Afterwards . . . mm, more and more. [And what a thing: to admit it. It's not like he'd been in denial before, but it was always a dismissed thing, relegated to idle fits of fantasy and nothing more.] But that was the first time I felt like . . .
Like I wanted any bit of you that you'd allow me.
Edited (i s2g i will stop editing every tag my god) 2021-12-08 06:48 (UTC)
[Well, once again, for the record: this is a lot of work that isn't just his hands. Viktor has half a mind to reprimand him about not sticking to parameters, but ah — it's not as funny when the words are so sweet. Jayce's mouth soft and hot against his skin is more dizzying than he's willing to admit (—Jayce is the only person who touches him regularly, but not like this), and oh, but if it isn't worth taking a hammer to the scientific method. He rakes his fingers through Jayce's hair encouragingly, sliding down the back of his neck and— hah.
The timer. Listen.
Listen. He chuckles, warm and tender, turning his head briefly in a sort of - affectionate cheek-press. It's not nuzzling, Viktor doesn't nuzzle, but it's maybe close? Don't worry about it.]
You are the one who proposed twenty minutes.
[So really, it's his own fault; the timer was inevitable, although admittedly if they had done this in the lab it probably would have just been an hourglass and not a kitchen timer sure to scream at them at the most inopportune moment.
Until then: ah, and Jayce in this particular mood, looking at him with that particular expression, is something Viktor will have to commit to memory as soon as possible. It is honestly a little terrifying, the way that looking down from a great height is terrifying; a lurch in his stomach and a shot of adrenaline that have him squeezing his leg around Jayce's hip tighter without really thinking about it.]
You're giving me a speech, [he mumbles, tipping his head to kiss him in place of a speech of his own. Ah, well...] I don't have as many pretty words, but...
[But what, actually? Viktor is a scientist, not a poet; he's never had cause to dedicate time and effort to what to say during romance — his fantasies swing into companionable silence, most of the time. Still: while they're here and Jayce is pouring his heart into Viktor's lap, he will... be the poet.
Ahem.]
Your ambition inspires me. I wanted to see how far you could go, and hmm — putting myself at your side for our work was not entirely for the sake of the work.
[Yes, work, that's good. Jayce traces a rune onto his spine and Viktor absently traces the same one onto the back of his neck in response, leaning their foreheads together and holding Jayce's gaze. Hey.]
I would give you anything, Jayce. Come and take it.
[I don't have as many pretty words, Viktor demurs, and then goes and says something like that, something that honestly damn near knocks him out. His mouth goes dry, his pulse thundering as something white-hot jerks in the pit of his stomach. Viktor shouldn't be allowed to say things like that; Viktor shouldn't be allowed to promise things like that, things that make Jayce want to, god, everything. Is everything an acceptable answer?
He wants to take him apart. Start with that, maybe: the image of Viktor all splayed out on his bed, cheeks flushed darkly and his eyes glinting in challenge. Pale skin and long limbs, and Jayce wants to worship every inch of him. He wants to kiss him everywhere he can, neck and chest and that hollow space beneath his ribs, biting dark marks everywhere he can, so that Viktor can't help but remember their time together . . . he wants to consume him, maybe. He wants to leave a mark, leave an impression; he wants Viktor trembling and begging, god, how many times has he imagined that, please Jayce please, he wants him so overwhelmed with pleasure he can't even form words, he can't even think, all his tensions and wariness and fear wiped clean in favor of pure pleasure . . .
Oh, yes.
It's a split second's pause, nothing more. His eyes have gone dark, his breath catching.]
Okay.
[Whew, his voice has gone a bit rough, but no matter. The hand at Viktor's back firms up, bracing there, fingers splayed out, and oh! feel how much of his back he can cover. He's never going to get over their difference in size, that's just how it is. Viktor isn't delicate by any means, but still, there's something utterly satisfying at emphasizing how easily he can move him around.
His other hand slips between the two of them, fingers settling heavily on his leg. His thumb traces along the inside of his thigh, and oh, it's a slow thing. He rubs circles there, dragging back and forth, inching upwards at his own pace. It's slow, for all that everything in him is just screaming to rush ahead— but no. He won't be clumsy and crude about this.
He will, however, be guiding Viktor into rocking up against his palm. One hand at his back and the other finally settling between his legs, his eyes locked on Viktor's all the while . . . kissing and biting is well and good, and he's assuredly going to do more of that soon. But twenty minutes and all, and he never takes to failure well.
(And listen: he isn't in his pants. He's using his hands. He's being very good and following all the rules, isn't that nice?)]
Anything here defined as . . .?
[Go on, talk dirty to him, babe. It's teasing, but also, there's something utterly fantastic about the thought of making Viktor carry on a conversation while he's falling apart. Words interspersed with breathlessly impatient whines, oh, yes, he wants to hear it.]
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no subject
[Said not dismissively, but in the vague sort of way children think about their parents: she's fine, she's doing well, she's living in far more comfort nowadays. Although, and he huffs out a laugh, glancing over at the wall.]
I think she thinks I use you and the lab as an excuse nowadays, actually. That I have some secret girlfriend.
[Ha ha what a silly thought. He flips the device over in his hand again and again, swift and easy.]
At least now I can offer tonight as proof.
no subject
Well, Mrs. Talis is a sweet woman, she'll understand whatever nonsense her darling son winds up telling her. That this is true is briefly terrifying, but Viktor is enduring.]
Yes — you do that. Tell her that I am doing well.
[And— god, stop that, that piece of equipment is brand new? Viktor reaches over to just... take it away, after one of those flips. Stop.]
Could you do me a favor and boil some water? [Please and thank you; he's using the Now, Actually voice, previously reserved for science experiments. In a different, so casual and so unconcerned tone, he offers:] It's not an unreasonable guess. You do have plenty of admirers.
no subject
I mean, yes, but . . .
[Arrogant af but also, he does know what he looks like, it's not a wild idea, let's not pretend at false modesty. But still: yes, but, as he pulls a slight face and throws on the tap.]
No one that holds my attention. Or that's more interesting than our projects. She has to know that by now.
[That's not to say he hasn't enjoyed himself on those dates, but there was nothing that really kept his attention. Two dates, three, and then he'd politely break it off, because what was a night in a bar compared to talking shop with Viktor?]
. . . you do too, you know.
[Well, Sky, anyway, but she's particularly fervent. And him too, but that's something he'll keep to himself. Anyway: water in pot, pot on stove, stove lit. He's Helping.]
no subject
He feels another private thrill when Jayce says our, when their lab is placed higher than any other pursuits he might have, and ah - no, it's not a private thrill at all, he looks incredibly pleased at the shoutout to the projects. Yes, good man; that's the spirit. Even if he weren't, ah — even if he did not, say... even if there were no other admirations at play here, call it, Viktor would be smug about the importance of their work.
Still: he straightens up slightly to look around at Jayce, brow furrowed as if he genuinely does not know what he's talking about for a second — but oh, yes:]
Ah; Miss Young. She is... a nice girl. [And he can never say this in front of her, because the way it pulls at the corner of his mouth and how he glances meaningfully away at the wall are the facial expression manifestation of a womp womp. Sky is a person who exists and is helpful at times? Those are things that Viktor considers true, certainly.
Ahem. Well. He's going to keep pretending he doesn't notice the way Sky looks at him when she drops off reports, for everyone's sake. Out of politeness to the poor girl and for himself, so he does not have to explain to an assistant that she is very sweet but her chances are below zero. Imagine the workplace discomfort after that. He could never.
But he makes this face about it, so Jayce will understand, at least. Somewhat. Then, more amused:]
No one is badgering me about my prospects, besides. In that regard, I am far luckier than you.
no subject
Not that he really thinks all that coherently. But that's more or less the summation of the warmth in his chest, the pleased little yes good, all is right within the world feeling, intensified by the look of clear pleasure on Viktor's face. He likes prioritizing their work— or, no. He likes prioritizing him, an underscoring of the strength of their bond.
And then Viktor talks about prospects and it's Jayce's turn to pull a face. But you know what—]
Well! Far be it for me to hoard all the bad luck.
[It's easy, the way he moves. One hand on Viktor's shoulder, and of course that brings him up close behind him; it'd be harder not to be pressed up against him in this tiny kitchen. His voice is pitched a little lower, the grin evident there, as he murmurs near his ear.]
And what are your prospects, Viktor?
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Someone really should be paying attention to the water on the stove. Or to the knife in Viktor's hand, moving automatically to chop the next mysterious vegetable (for the record, it's garlic). Someone ought to.]
I don't know; retirement? [He shrugs, keenly aware of how his shoulder presses into Jayce's hand, the heat of his fingers through Viktor's thin shirt—] I have not dabbled as much as an ordinary person.
[It might have embarrassed him when he was younger; disabled in the undercity and more or less insignificant when he first arrived topside — years ago, not dabbling served him as a kind of shield. Now, well — credit him this: he has tried? He's made attempts, and either his overtures are too obscure or politely end after dinner, no hard feelings, you know? It bothers him... less, lately.
He knows why; he isn't a fool. He'd rather spend hours failing at an experiment with Jayce than an hour meeting new people, and that's fine? That's been working out for him, as it were. Jayce's hand is even on his shoulder, and he braces a hand on the counter as he looks back:]
If someone happened to come along in the nick of time, well — who can say.
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And then Viktor turns, catching his eye, and it's very much not fine. Not bad, not bad, no, no, but ah, something, his breath catching, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. Why? He doesn't know (but he does, sort of); he barely has time to understand, because in the next instant Viktor is speaking.]
What kind of someone?
[It's an innocuous question, except no, it isn't. He feels as though the universe is suddenly holding its breath; as though somehow the earth has shifted its axis by just a degree. Not bad at all, but still: different, and he doesn't dare glance away.]
You know my type, [he says, his hand still on Viktor's shoulder, and wonders what he hopes will happen next.] So what's yours?
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Well, Viktor doesn't know. His lips part to speak and he says nothing, looking up at Jayce near close enough to count his ridiculous eyelashes, grip tightening a fraction on the edge of his kitchen counter. This isn't part of the, ah, the plan — the plan was dinner, not answering this kind of personal question before the food is even cooked.
He's imagined the moment, you see: he's run through scenario after scenario and deemed most of them improbable, at best. It's been... fine. It's been alright, like this. For a dizzying moment Viktor wonders if he should close the door himself, be content enough with being a partner — he knows without words that Jayce would always, always put him above all else, after all. Is that enough?
More terrifying, is there a last chance? Would he know it if there were?]
Tall, [he hears himself saying, and he feels his mouth forming a smirk completely without his input. Tall, that's what he's apparently giving, a perfectly innocent and not innocent at all response.
He turns in place, lamenting briefly the loss of Jayce touching his shoulder, but relishing instead the closeness facing him. It's more comfortable, alright; he can twist his spine all the way around for only so long, so now this, meal preparation momentarily on pause.]
With a towering intellect to match, of course. I'm very particular.
[But also with the jawline of a living god, as a bonus.]
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Tall, he says, and Jayce can feel something in the pit of his stomach jerk as he aims that smirk up at him. Oh, that smirk shouldn't be allowed, and yet he takes a half-step closer, crowding him lightly against the counter.]
Tall, [he echoes, and reaches blindly, turning the knob on the stove off. It'd be just their luck that they burn down Viktor's apartment while they do this, this . . . whatever it is. Flirtation. Seduction. Terrifying, wonderful plunge, something that leaves him equal parts nervous and intrigued, his heart in his throat and all of him in delighted disbelief this is actually truly happening.]
Tall and intelligent, got it.
Any other requirements I should know about?
[And here, now, a thing he's been dreaming of doing: he runs his hand lightly down the curve of his waist, fingers dancing lightly, til he comes to a stop at the top of his hip. It's a swift movement, but oh, he has every intention of repeating it soon. He's fixated on— well, actually, he's fixated a lot on a great deal of Viktor, hands and smirk and hair and eyes, but the trimness of his waist is definitely up there. Could he actually wrap his hands around Viktor's waist? Ah, probably not completely, but also: probably pretty damn close, and the idea shouldn't thrill him as much as it does.
Add to the list: how his hip feels encircled by Jayce's hand. His thumb strokes almost idly, settling into a soothing rhythm.]
Just so I know what you expect.
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Absently he reaches behind to move that vegetable knife somewhere he won't lean on it during — during this new thing that commands all of his attention, whatever one might call it. An inevitability, in Viktor's opinion, although he's only formed this opinion in the seconds after it seems to be working.
Now, first, before everyone of his synapses fries at the sensation of Jayce's hand somewhere that isn't his shoulder:]
Against my better judgment: ego.
[Maybe he was talking about some other tall and brainy partner he keeps around for when Jayce has to go to parties. Hah, but it's true anyway, Jayce has it in spades.
That settled, he doesn't melt into Jayce's touch so much as crackle to life under it, surging up only as much as his leg will allow and pulling down on Jayce's collar to make up the difference. In his many scenarios the first time he kisses Jayce is something softer, a quiet understanding in a marginally less charged moment, but as nothing has ever gone according to plan, adaptability is key and so on, this will do. The way he fits his mouth against Jayce's is decisive, not desperate; a man does not simply let other men caress his hips and not get the point.
So: a kiss, solid and certain and with a healthy dollop of Viktor's personal brand of smug victory thrown in for good measure. Swift too, if only so he doesn't overbalance, and it's pure impulse that lets him run the pad of his thumb over Jayce's lower lip when the kiss ends, studying.
His gaze flicks up, after — and now?]
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He's not nearly done when Viktor pulls back, and the way his head jerks forward confirms that— but oh, there's his thumb, and he does choke a little. Just a little, swallowing thickly as he tries not to, ah, melt utterly under that pressure.]
You like my ego.
[He means for it to be smug, but it comes out far more softly. You like my ego, but what he means is: you like me, and what a discovery that is. What a breakthrough, and he wants nothing more than to explore it in every which way he can.
So, now: his hand snakes back, resting solidly against Viktor's lower back, just so he can pointedly yank him forward and up against Jayce. Hey, as he grins a little. They've spent, what, a whole thirty seconds not kissing, and that's far too long, so: another. Harder this time, hungrier, his tongue sweeping forward tentatively as his other hand wraps around the back of Viktor's neck. Stay here, stay just like this, and it's not nearly the most comfortable position they could be in, but you know what, Jayce will deal with a crick in his neck if it means he can keep kissing him.]
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I've learned to live with it.
[That's smug, still riding the high of that first kiss and turning over some intriguing new ideas about how tenderly Jayce looks at him even as he pulls them together - with his giant hands, for fuck's sake - very intriguing. He leans into Jayce fully this time, which isn't hard to do with how thoroughly Jayce has wrapped around him, and now Viktor allows himself a delighted little shiver.
It's a little bit of everything: the quips, the hand on his neck while Jayce kisses him like the both of them are drowning, and ah— yes, he could make time in his busy schedule for this. Hah; he wriggles an arm only a little awkwardly around Jayce's shoulders, grip tight on the back of his shirt. Jayce is all heat and presence and body, a furnace in so many ways, and Viktor is pleasantly overwhelmed now. Sure as he is that this is it, this is the thing he wants the most, he's never been kissed senseless in his teeny kitchen, so!
Well! His lips part; his hold on Jayce tightens; he enjoys a blissful handful of seconds of pure feeling. Then his other hand flits down to Jayce's arm around his back, tapping the back of his wrist meaningfully a few times before, ah, indelicately whapping the countertop. Follow these incredibly good clues, tall man, he's helping them both immeasurably here.]
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Up on the counter, and he's delighted to show off a little like that. He doesn't have these muscles for nothing, you know? Let him show off. It's honestly ridiculously easy to hoist Viktor up there, perched at the perfect height, and nudge his legs apart, settling between them. Another kiss, and another, and then his mouth drags down, nipping lightly at the sharp line of Viktor's jaw, pressing a kiss against his pulse. He's going to leave a mark on that pale skin (he's going to leave several marks), but at his leisure, thank you.]
Hypothesis, [he murmurs, and catches Viktor's chin, tipping his head up gently as he bites, just sharp enough to be felt.] I can get you to moan sometime over the next twenty minutes. Hm?
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And, like, let him take a whole singular Moment to enjoy that; there was no doubt Jayce, with that physique, could lift Viktor, with his, but knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He kisses him eagerly, and now the soft chuckle bubbles up out of him, appreciative of the attention and the scruff of stubble against his neck.
(One of these he will not always appreciate, but for now.)]
What are your parameters? [Shifting his arm around Jayce to run his fingers into his hair and grip, yes, he'll wear a scarf around lab visitors, continue.] Your variables?
[And his egg timer, because they are in Viktor's kitchen, and he gropes blindly for the wind up cooking timer he knows is somewhere on this countertop with him. The timer is going to be set, this is not a joke, please appreciate his dedication to the scientific method.]
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Parameters . . . I use only my hands, and I don't go in your pants.
[In your pants, that's a very important word, because that leaves him a whole host of things he could do outside of them, you know?And hey, a demonstration: he tugs Viktor right to the edge of the counter, up tight against him, just so he can buck his hips forward just once.]
And variables . . . [Hm. That grip on his hair is fantastic, and experimentally he tips his head, mouth dragging down the line of Viktor’s throat, curious to see if it’s more anchor or guide.] Mm. Subject's general preferences and, [now he nips,] inclinations guessed at, but not yet solidly confirmed.
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(Although, sir: that's not hands, please stay within the parameters?)
The hand in Jayce's hair tugs again, nudging him to continue with his ministrations along Viktor's neck after his very endearing experiment innuendo; guide, then, this time. Do that, while he then briefly lets go to, ah, crank it: the egg timer, hastily twisted behind Jayce's head before Viktor sets it down decisively on the counter somewhere to the left of his hip. The clock is officially ticking, babe.]
The subject understands the nature of the experiment. [And has one good leg to hook around Jayce's hip, which he does now, helpfully. Far be it from him to interrupt The Process, but:] Likewise, the subject swears not to be too hasty.
[Twenty minutes, sir. He will not be making any noise that is not Earned.]
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His mouth drops down as bid, though he doesn't set in with his teeth right away. Instead: it's a startlingly sweet kiss he presses to the crook of Viktor's neck. He's in this to earn a moan, yes, but at the same time . . . his fantasies always center towards the romantic, you know? Things like sneaking a bottle of wine up to the rooftop and watching the airships fly by; about how Viktor might feel resting up against him, head on his shoulder and the two of them trading theories and endearments both.
Tongue next, tracing out idle patterns against warm skin.]
I thought this. About you . . . what you'd feel like. Sound like. Though, [and he huffs a little laugh, hot breath against damp skin,] a timer didn't feature into it.
[One hand pries at his shirt, tugging it free just so he can slip his hand beneath it, and— ah. Warm skin, smooth skin, and Jayce traces his fingers there, gently exploring that secret space on the small of his back. Is he tracing runes against Viktor's skin? He is! It's corny, but also: he likes it, teasing out impressions of their joined research, the thing that brought them together . . . let him have his romance.]
I think the first time was the first breakthrough. The initial stabilization. [You know, when they were flying around in the air?] You got this look in your eye like . . . like anything was possible. Like all the doors had opened and you had the key.
[Another kiss, and then he tips his head back, meeting Viktor's eyes with hazy delight.]
Afterwards . . . mm, more and more. [And what a thing: to admit it. It's not like he'd been in denial before, but it was always a dismissed thing, relegated to idle fits of fantasy and nothing more.] But that was the first time I felt like . . .
Like I wanted any bit of you that you'd allow me.
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The timer. Listen.
Listen. He chuckles, warm and tender, turning his head briefly in a sort of - affectionate cheek-press. It's not nuzzling, Viktor doesn't nuzzle, but it's maybe close? Don't worry about it.]
You are the one who proposed twenty minutes.
[So really, it's his own fault; the timer was inevitable, although admittedly if they had done this in the lab it probably would have just been an hourglass and not a kitchen timer sure to scream at them at the most inopportune moment.
Until then: ah, and Jayce in this particular mood, looking at him with that particular expression, is something Viktor will have to commit to memory as soon as possible. It is honestly a little terrifying, the way that looking down from a great height is terrifying; a lurch in his stomach and a shot of adrenaline that have him squeezing his leg around Jayce's hip tighter without really thinking about it.]
You're giving me a speech, [he mumbles, tipping his head to kiss him in place of a speech of his own. Ah, well...] I don't have as many pretty words, but...
[But what, actually? Viktor is a scientist, not a poet; he's never had cause to dedicate time and effort to what to say during romance — his fantasies swing into companionable silence, most of the time. Still: while they're here and Jayce is pouring his heart into Viktor's lap, he will... be the poet.
Ahem.]
Your ambition inspires me. I wanted to see how far you could go, and hmm — putting myself at your side for our work was not entirely for the sake of the work.
[Yes, work, that's good. Jayce traces a rune onto his spine and Viktor absently traces the same one onto the back of his neck in response, leaning their foreheads together and holding Jayce's gaze. Hey.]
I would give you anything, Jayce. Come and take it.
[(but not in his pants as per the rules)]
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He wants to take him apart. Start with that, maybe: the image of Viktor all splayed out on his bed, cheeks flushed darkly and his eyes glinting in challenge. Pale skin and long limbs, and Jayce wants to worship every inch of him. He wants to kiss him everywhere he can, neck and chest and that hollow space beneath his ribs, biting dark marks everywhere he can, so that Viktor can't help but remember their time together . . . he wants to consume him, maybe. He wants to leave a mark, leave an impression; he wants Viktor trembling and begging, god, how many times has he imagined that, please Jayce please, he wants him so overwhelmed with pleasure he can't even form words, he can't even think, all his tensions and wariness and fear wiped clean in favor of pure pleasure . . .
Oh, yes.
It's a split second's pause, nothing more. His eyes have gone dark, his breath catching.]
Okay.
[Whew, his voice has gone a bit rough, but no matter. The hand at Viktor's back firms up, bracing there, fingers splayed out, and oh! feel how much of his back he can cover. He's never going to get over their difference in size, that's just how it is. Viktor isn't delicate by any means, but still, there's something utterly satisfying at emphasizing how easily he can move him around.
His other hand slips between the two of them, fingers settling heavily on his leg. His thumb traces along the inside of his thigh, and oh, it's a slow thing. He rubs circles there, dragging back and forth, inching upwards at his own pace. It's slow, for all that everything in him is just screaming to rush ahead— but no. He won't be clumsy and crude about this.
He will, however, be guiding Viktor into rocking up against his palm. One hand at his back and the other finally settling between his legs, his eyes locked on Viktor's all the while . . . kissing and biting is well and good, and he's assuredly going to do more of that soon. But twenty minutes and all, and he never takes to failure well.
(And listen: he isn't in his pants. He's using his hands. He's being very good and following all the rules, isn't that nice?)]
Anything here defined as . . .?
[Go on, talk dirty to him, babe. It's teasing, but also, there's something utterly fantastic about the thought of making Viktor carry on a conversation while he's falling apart. Words interspersed with breathlessly impatient whines, oh, yes, he wants to hear it.]