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    Summary

    “I’m fine,” Viktor chokes out. His voice sounds a bit strangled, but that is fine, because he is dying; who can fault a dying man sounding a bit strained? Jayce gives him a sideways glance as he returns to his own desk, his eyes the shining color of fresh harvested honey. The sunlight through the windows in the lab makes the tired bruises under his eyes more exaggerated, but Jayce is beautiful regardless, beautiful because he is so dedicated to his work, to his cause, to this city. Viktor cannot imagine being with anyone whose attention he didn’t have to compete for with a set of well-drawn out blueprints. Or Mel Medarda’s fucking panties, his brain reminds him. Shit.
    OR: Mel has some suggestions for Jayce's wardrobe. Viktor has some opinions.
    Written for Bottom Jayce Week, Day Four: Lingerie

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