[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
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
(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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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)]
no subject
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.]