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It’s the eighth night in June, and about an hour into their nightly routine, Jayce and Viktor stand side-by-side in their shared bathroom. Regardless of all the things Viktor can find to complain about Piltovian design, he loves the long counter that sports two sinks, just so that they don’t have to fight over who gets to use what when. Especially considering Jayce uses his sink for a good twenty minutes straight, most nights, which would greatly increase Viktor’s time in this cursed bathroom.
It’s a good bathroom. He’s just sore. And tired.
Jayce spits, and Viktor pulls his face into a disgusted grimace; promptly, he earns a playful shove at his shoulder. There’s barely any force behind it, which is clearly a feat—-Viktor unashamedly stares at the contoured muscles of Jayce’s bicep. Ahem.
“You did that literally three minutes ago, ” Jayce bitches, all humour to his tone as his face splits into a wide grin. Viktor rolls his eyes, fond, incisors showing where his lips pull into a similar smile.
“I did it less… eh, grossly.”
“‘Less grossly’? We did the same thing,” he bemoans, taking his turn to roll his eyes. He plops his toothbrush into his respective cup and begins running his hands through his hair as if to style it. Viktor has no idea why he does this—-they’re getting ready for bed, not a party. It’s a common occurrence, and whilst he still questions it in his mind, he’s stopped voicing his confusion out loud. Jayce never opts for a straight answer, always grumbling something-or-other that Viktor can never decipher, or just sighs and decides not to pry further. There’s no use arguing with him, especially when he moves onto his equivalent of applying a full face of makeup before showering.
Again, a habit Viktor doesn’t understand. Pointedly, he leans down, pushes his face into the sink, and begins half heartedly drowning himself. Jayce sighs, grabs him by the back of his nightshirt and pulls him up, throwing a washcloth at him after he’s met with the soppiest look Viktor can manage.
“At least use a cleanser, or a-a moisturizer, ” he tries to reason, rubbing circles into his own cheeks with some white cream Viktor can’t even begin to pronounce.
“Are you calling me dirty? ” Viktor accuses, letting his voice flood with shock, face dropping as if wounded. Jayce stammers, and Viktor gasps. “Gods, you’re calling me dry!”
“Viktor—-”
“I can’t believe this. My own husband is accusing me of being dry, ” Viktor cries, covering his face with his hands. “Don’t look at me. My cracking skin might give you nightmares.”
“Oh my God—- stop it, ” Jayce laughs, washing the many, many creams off with a damp washcloth. Then, he grabs hold of Viktor, gathering both wrists in one hand and pulling them away from his face. Viktor has no way to defend himself against Jayce’s next assault—-mostly because he’s too stunned to speak, eyes wide like dinner plates at the blatant debauchery—-of peppering kisses all over his face. Viktor snaps out of it, laughing, trying half-heartedly to nudge Jayce away with his shoulder.
“You’re going to make your face dirty again.”
“You—- shut up, Viktor, you know that’s not what I meant!”
Viktor laughs, dislodges himself, and makes his hurried escape from the bathroom. Jayce sighs, loudly, obnoxiously, and the sink turns on again. From Viktor’s place in the hallway, he can only assume Jayce has decided he should be the one to drown next.
He doesn’t bother checking, flopping down on their shared bed and thinking to himself: twenty minutes, then I’ll call an ambulance.
When Jayce finally saunters into the bedroom carrying a glass bottle of water and a pill tray, Viktor looks up from where he’s equipped himself with his Kindle to witness his arrival. He stares at him for a second, sniffs, and then lays the tablet begrudgingly against his legs. He reaches out for the tray, waiting for Jayce to pour some of the bottle’s contents into a little glass cup. He thinks the container is useless, ultimately stupid, when Jayce could just fill a cup with water in the first place. Or, alternatively, bring him just a regular bottle of it. Instead, Jayce insists it’s practical, that he can fill it and leave it on his bedside for late night dry mouth spells. Viktor rolls his eyes every time.
“Thought you died,” Viktor says loosely as Jayce hands him the little cup, taking an experimental sip. Then, he throws his head back with a mouthful of pills, slurping water obnoxiously to punctuate. He does it on purpose. To annoy Jayce. Specifically as punishment for making him use the stupid little glass cup.
“Wow, thanks for mourning me, V,” Jayce deadpans, serving him a look as he takes the (empty, pointedly) cup back from Viktor and places it on top of the glass bottle. The stupid thing doesn’t even seal! Pointless.
“I did. For about three minutes. Then, I picked up the book, and forgot why I was crying,” Viktor replies, immediately engrossed in said book as he picks it back up. The book is a fucking tablet, because Prissy-Pants can’t be arsed to read an actual book. Figures.
Jayce tries not to be old about it.
“That beats the record, I guess, you only grieved me for two, last time.”
“Not my fault, actually. My show was on.”
“Yeah, well, you missed them lowering me into the ground. So, thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Jayce huffs, throwing back the duvet and the top sheet with one swift, pissy motion. Viktor sniffs again, ignoring him, reading glasses perched on his nose. The tablet is seven inches from his face and the text is enlarged to Hell and back, and yet. Jayce gets into bed, laying down on his back and finding whatever position doesn’t make his leg bitch. Then, as if Viktor was waiting for the telltale sigh of Jayce’s content, he grabs the edge of the sheet-duvet-duo and tosses it up over Jayce’s chest. The latter mumbles out a ‘ thanks ’ that Viktor just hums to.
Time passes, like that. Jayce begins his secondary routine of convincing Viktor it’s bedtime.
First, he turns off his lamp. Then, he grunts until Viktor sighs, relents, and does the same. Then, he goes back to his stupid Kindle. So, Jayce continues, shifting so his arm is under his head and props him up just enough to look inviting. Soft. Like a secondary mattress just for his husband. Ignored. So, he huffs, and begins whining, asking Viktor incessantly when he’ll be done.
“Last chapter,” he’ll say, and read on. Jayce will ask again five, then ten minutes later. Viktor insists he’s almost done, and twenty more minutes pass. “Last chapter, I swear,” mumbled again, less convincing than the first, and Jayce is getting fed up. The screen is so bright it illuminates the damn wardrobe a good ten feet away, on Jayce’s side.
“I’m pretty sure that blue light is bad for when you’re trying to go to sleep. Especially, like, I don’t know, ten minutes before,” Jayce says, casually, arm still behind his head as he lays back against the bed—-he hasn’t begun tossing and turning in a pissy way, yet, but he’s awfully close. His other arm rests on his sternum, and his eyes are closed, pointedly trying to ignore where Viktor’s searing his retinas with a Kindle.
“It’s just this last chapter,” Viktor murmurs, adjusting his reading glasses and shifting the Kindle. It is a solid five inches from his face now.
“You said that an hour ago,” Jayce sighs. Opens his eyes. Sours his expression.
“Chapter is long,” Viktor reasons, a lie, but not a bold-faced one. It’s possible Viktor missed the break, and the header, and the growing page number—-yeah, Jayce needs to put a stop to this before it gets worse.
“Baby,” he says, gently, like he’s coaxing out a frightened animal. He brings up his non-postured arm to tuck a piece of fallen hair behind Viktor’s ear. He’s really been slacking on getting it cut, lately, letting it grow out to where it touches his shoulders. Jayce likes it, but he’s afraid to admit it, fearing it could be taken the wrong way. Despite how long they’ve been together, he’s still unsure how to navigate some things with Viktor.
“Mm,” Viktor supplies intelligently in response. Jayce’s eyebrow twitches, and he frowns slightly.
“C’mon. Bedtime,” he encourages, getting a simple scoff in return. He’s about five seconds from throwing the stupid pseudo-tablet out the damn window. The window that, mind you, is still open, because Jayce forgot to close it that morning. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
“Almost done,” Viktor presses, and Jayce relents, only because he sounds like he actually means it this time. In the annoyingly bright light emanating off of the device, Jayce can see where Viktor’s eyes are growing heavy, which is always dramatic when it comes to him. His face is so expressive, especially when he’s not paying attention enough to hinder it. Jayce is maddingly in love with every little twitch and tug he doesn’t bother (or forgets) to hide.
As promised, Viktor shuts the device off and places it—-along with his reading glasses—-at his respective bedside not too long after. He stretches out, and Jayce full-on winces at every crack and snap of Viktor’s bones. A soft groan appeases him, thanking whatever God comes to mind first that this gamble hasn’t led to a broken spine just yet; a small victory for Jayce, having escaped the overhanging horror of a late-night ER visit.
“Finally?” Jayce prompts, and Viktor opens an eye to stare at him. Huffs.
“Finally,” he says, shifting to find his lying position. This will take all five of a five minutes, and Jayce knows this, because he counted, once. Not to be an asshole, but just because he was seriously curious, and there’s always time for a scientific theory.
So, Jayce doesn’t rush him, doing little more than raising his arm, or shifting his hip, or full-on scooting over on his side of the bed to accommodate. Viktor, Jayce has learned, prefers to start in the middle and work his way inward—-to Jayce’s side. Jayce doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other man actually lying, let alone sleeping, on his own side. Not that he’s complaining too much, because that always means he gets to cuddle, in the end.
Jayce will never say no to cuddling when it comes to Viktor.
“Comfy?” Jayce asks, turning his head to the side and pressing a kiss into Viktor’s hair when he finally gets settled. Viktor lets out a soft moan into his shoulder in response, and Jayce chuckles, chest moving with the effort; the action dislodges his partner a little, who groans in annoyance. He presses another kiss to the top of his head as an apology, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.
Viktor mumbles something intelligibly, and Jayce pulls him that much closer, attempting to bury Viktor into his side. He’s not at all displeased by this, snuggling into his shoulder and curling his hand around Jayce’s pectoral, right about where his heart would be.
“What was that, sweetheart?” Jayce questions, and Viktor huffs, shifting so that his mouth isn’t covered by Jayce’s skin.
“Lower,” he instructs, and Jayce should’ve guessed that; still, he rolls his eyes, but not at all in annoyance. He was getting to that—-Viktor is endearingly impatient. Well…he supposes that it’s sometimes not endearing, but he's getting off-topic, and Viktor’s impatient huff into his shoulder is growing louder by the second. So, Jayce changes course, moving his hand down and rubbing along Viktor’s spine. He lets out a pleased noise, but it’ll only last so long.
“Yes dear,” Jayce says, his tone so sickly sweet and soft, and Viktor grows more relaxed in his hold. Jayce’s hand continues to stray further down, and down, and down, stroking across the small of his back, then along his tailbone, making its complete path to the swell of Viktor’s ass. It’s not sexual, really, the way he pets and palms, gentle with his motions. He supposes he’d call it more of a massage, working in specific movements that he knows Viktor likes, and also happens to be the only ones he approves of.
He makes sure to go up every now and then to rub and massage at Viktor’s hip, but otherwise keeps his focus on Viktor’s rear. It’s nice, really, he likes this, but it’s not for him—-even the soft, sleepy huffs and moans and sighs are not for him, as they’re breathed practically into his ear where Viktor’s wormed his way closer and nuzzles into his neck.
This isn’t the first night, and it certainly won’t be the last.
They’d discovered this part of their routine an odd eight months ago, and it has only evolved along the line further. It’s been glorious, really, if Jayce could pick a particular, striking word to describe it; there had been some frustrations along the way, but Jayce ultimately doesn’t mind. Sure, it had been difficult to ascertain the difference between this and the typical way he’d initiate a… dissimilar type of intimacy; but, eventually, he managed it enough.
Of course, that isn’t to say he’s immune, but it goes mostly ignored. Viktor has, mercifully, decided not to comment on it anymore, simply closing his eyes and letting Jayce work him to sleep. It still takes a stretch of time, and, again, while Jayce enjoys this, his wrist eventually starts to get tired. He’d said, at one point, ‘I’d like to sleep too, you know, ’ and that had set Viktor off—-in hindsight, it sounds bad, and he really did mean it as a joke, but it hadn’t landed that way. Jayce felt terrible, ridden with guilt, pawing and grabbing at Viktor’s waist the next time, begging for forgiveness. After a restless hour for both of them, Viktor caved, desiring sleep more than he desired his stint as a dealer of silent treatment.
“My sweet boy,” Jayce murmurs into Viktor’s hair, finding that talking to him doesn’t keep him awake any more than his ministrations do. That is, to say, it helps him along further, especially with Jayce’s sleep-mussed and gruff voice mumbling praise and sweet nothings. He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum of acknowledgement, using the last of his fading brain power to thumb over the exposed skin of Jayce’s pec. It’s clumsy and unfocused, but the sentiment is there, and Jayce’s heart feels full with it. He gives his crown a few more kisses, cradling Viktor in his hold while keeping up with the motions to his backside.
At some point, Jayce loses grip on himself for just a moment, pausing his hand for long enough that Viktor notices. He’d been almost asleep, responding to the growingly enticing call of dreamland when he’d been rudely locked out; he groans, blinking open his eyes blearily to look up at Jayce. He frowns, feeling a little guilty when he catches the man’s eyes are closed, so he simply drops his head back down and closes his own eyes again.
Seconds pass, then minutes, and Viktor loses track of time. But, it’s clearly stretching, and he’s wide awake, growing more frustrated with each passing moment. He’s sure it’s been somewhere around twenty minutes when he finally caves, pushing past the guilt in pursuit of relief. He feels like an addict.
“Jayce,” he mumbles, once, then lets the seconds tick. He tries again. “Jayce,” a little louder, tilting his head up to speak into the man’s jaw. He’s just shaved, so Viktor is more than pleased to meet soft, smooth skin with his lips. He cracks open an eye, then sighs. Louder then, complete with an upward nudge with his nose at Jayce’s chin: “ Jayce.”
He’s awake, slurring out a ‘ huh?’ that stabs a spear directly into Viktor’s heart. He frowns, sighing dejectedly; it’s too late, he’s already woken Jayce up.
“You stopped,” Viktor murmurs petulantly, feeling like a greedy toddler that hasn’t learned that other people are people yet. Consequences, circumstances, empathy, foreign. Jayce hums in acknowledgement, seconds yawn, and then he finally seems to have comprehended what Viktor says. His hand kickstarts into motion like a lawnmower with a faulty engine, sluggish until he manages to wake himself up enough to do it proper.
“Sorry, baby,” Jayce says into his hair, so gentle and soft and apologetic that it makes Viktor’s eyes burn. He really feels so mean waking Jayce up for this, simply because he can’t fall asleep on his own—-more than anything, he hates depending on others, especially to compensate for his abilities. Even with so many years under his belt with Jayce, he still struggles. Hell, allowing the man to help him apply his testosterone gel when he couldn’t make his shaking hands work the needle had been like climbing Everest.
“You were almost asleep, huh? My bad, I know it’s gonna take you awhile now. That’s okay,” Jayce hums, honest, like there was never any room for doubt. He doesn’t mind doing this, doesn’t mind taking care of Viktor, doesn’t mind picking up whatever Viktor manages to let himself put down. He’s vulnerable, like this, and he thinks he’s growing okay with it.
“‘M sorry,” Viktor murmurs when he settles back down, accent thick and guilty. Jayce shushes him, bringing up his free hand to cup the back of his head, setting the record for how many times he can adorn Viktor’s freshly shampooed hair with kisses. He inhales the scent, comforted by it, even if he constantly makes fun of the brand Viktor uses—-’ I’m pretty sure they use that brand for horses’, ‘no they don’t, Jayce, shut up’, ‘no, really, I’m serious, I’ll Google it-’, ‘don't you dare!’.
“It’s okay, don’t be sorry,” Jayce sighs, nuzzling into the top of his head and squeezing a handful of supple, sensitive flesh. Viktor goes boneless, settling further into the curvature of Jayce’s side, making himself a home in his husband’s ribcage. Jayce removes his hand from Viktor’s head and places it atop the hand on his chest, stroking over his palm and ring finger. He thumbs over the small, plain wedding band Viktor sports, having opted for something more basic and ‘bland’ as to not have panic attacks of disastrous proportion should it get dissolved by a spilled beaker. (That would obviously never happen, but, sometimes, his poor lover is so neurotic.)
“I love you,” Viktor whispers, cheeks burning as he says it, feeling the tumultuous weight it crushes his heart with. He doesn’t say it often, much more preferring to show it, but, right now, he feels it with every fibre of his being. There’s never been any doubt that he loves Jayce, but it’s a different feeling altogether when he’s so overwhelmed with it.
“I love you too, V,” Jayce coos, sounding so endeared that Viktor really could cry. He can hear Jayce’s grin, the one that shows the gap between his front teeth, the one that he does when he’s so, so happy. “Angel. Darling. Baby. Love of my life,” Jayce rambles, kissing him with each one, and Viktor giggles sleepily, shifting his head upwards a little to return one—-just one—-to the underside of Jayce’s jaw. He hums, snuggling back closer to finally begin drifting off again, letting his brain and body relax in the complete trust of his partner’s hold. He feels warm, and safe, and like there’s no other world outside of this one.
Jayce continues to pet him until he fully falls asleep this time, still mumbling words of affirmation and affection to him all-the-while. When he’s sure that Viktor’s finally let sleep claim him, he slows, then pauses, then stops completely, closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift. It’s not as easy as the accidental first time, but he focuses on Viktor’s breathing, the soft twitches of muscles that are last to rest, the way he can feel Viktor’s heart thump-thump-thump against his side. He’s long gotten used to the man’s irregular heartbeat, sometimes too fast but mostly too slow, and it's so particular that it’s begun to grow more comforting.
Viktor doesn’t stir when Jayce finally falls asleep and begins sawing logs—-soft, at first, but it’ll gradually grow as the night passes. Thankfully, Viktor manages to sleep through it more often than not, offering up soft snores of his own; they deepen with his sleep, tilting raspy and shaky, then steadying out as his lungs manage to pull in enough oxygen.
Somehow, they both manage to sleep through the night, holding onto each-other in a cacophony that would spell nightmares for any third-party. It isn’t until light will spill through the blinds and the clock will tick 7AM and blare loud enough to wake the dead that they’ll rise; even then, it’s not a guarantee, far too often do they steal a twenty (or thirty) minutes more to bask in each other’s company.
That’s hours from now, though, so they soak up all the rest they can get until then.