Work Text:
Jayce couldn't find peace in sleep. His body kept shifting, searching for comfort despite the perfect temperature of the room, despite the expensive mattress, despite the warm presence curled against his back. His mind refused to quiet, thoughts circling like restless birds—concerns about tomorrow's presentation, lingering doubts about his latest project, and beneath it all, the still-tender wonder of having Viktor here, in his bed, breathing softly against his neck.
It wasn't their first night together. Not even their tenth. Yet Jayce still found himself marveling at it, stealing glances over his shoulder at Viktor's sleeping form. In slumber, Viktor's features softened—the sharp intensity that usually commanded respect in their shared lab now melted into something vulnerable. His dark lashes rested against pale cheeks, lips slightly parted, one arm draped protectively over Jayce's waist.
Viktor carried something heavy these days. Jayce had noticed the slight furrow in his brow that hadn't been there months ago, the way he sometimes stared beyond his work, lost in thoughts he wouldn't share. Even now, in sleep, Viktor's hand occasionally twitched against Jayce's stomach, as if reaching for something just beyond grasp.
Hours passed this way—Jayce drifting between shallow sleep and alert awareness, hyperconscious of every point where their bodies connected, every soft exhale against his skin. The night slowly surrendered to dawn, and Jayce watched as gray light crept through the blinds, painting stripes across the rumpled sheets.
When Jayce fully woke, his heart was beating a steady rhythm against his ribs—not racing, but deliberate, as if each pulse were a small acknowledgment of the miracle beside him. Viktor had shifted in the night, his chest now pressed firmly against Jayce's back, one leg threaded between Jayce's own. Even through their thin sleep clothes, the heat of Viktor's body was a tangible presence, seeping into Jayce's skin like a promise.
Jayce inhaled deeply, letting Viktor's scent fill his lungs—clean soap and something uniquely him, a hint of metal and mint that Jayce had come to associate with safety. Viktor's arm remained heavy across Jayce's waist, the weight of it both anchoring and exhilarating. The skin of Viktor's forearm was warm against Jayce's fingers as he carefully traced the blue veins visible beneath.
Had anyone told Jayce years ago that he would find himself here, heart full and breath catching at the simple presence of Viktor beside him, he might have laughed in disbelief. Viktor had always seemed untouchable—brilliant, focused, reserved. Not cold, never that, but contained in a way that made Jayce feel scattered in comparison. Yet here Viktor was, his breath warm against Jayce's shoulder, his body curved protectively around Jayce's as if even in sleep he sought to shield him.
Jayce shifted slightly, leaning back to rest against Viktor's shoulder, allowing himself to be enveloped more fully in that warmth. Something in his chest tightened, then expanded—a feeling too big to name, though "love" seemed too small a word for the vastness of it. He felt simultaneously safe and terrified, held and exposed, as if Viktor's proximity both sheltered him and laid him bare.
In the quiet of early morning, Jayce turned carefully within the circle of Viktor's arms, wanting to see him—to properly look at him without the self-consciousness that daylight and wakefulness often brought. Viktor didn't stir beyond a slight mumble, his arm adjusting instinctively to maintain contact as Jayce repositioned himself.
Now face to face, Jayce could study Viktor with the attention he deserved but rarely received. Everyone saw Viktor the scientist, Viktor the innovator, Viktor with his stern concentration and uncompromising standards. Few were privileged to see this Viktor—soft with sleep, dark hair mussed against the pillow, lips slightly parted, the usual tension absent from his jaw.
Jayce lifted a hesitant hand, his fingertips hovering just above Viktor's skin before making contact. Gently, he traced the sharp line of Viktor's collarbone, feeling the smooth skin and subtle strength beneath. His touch was feather-light, both reverent and tentative, as if Viktor were something precious that might disappear under too firm a touch.
I still can't believe you're here, Jayce thought, his fingers continuing their careful exploration. With me.
He studied the sweep of Viktor's eyelashes—so dark against his fair complexion, casting the faintest shadows on his cheeks. Those eyes, when open, could cut through pretense with surgical precision, could evaluate complex formulas in seconds, could make Jayce feel simultaneously seen and stripped bare. Closed now in sleep, they gave Viktor's face a vulnerability that made Jayce's chest ache.
Viktor's lips were slightly chapped—he always forgot to hydrate properly when working—yet still somehow perfect. Jayce remembered their first kiss, how he'd expected Viktor to be controlled and methodical even in this, and how surprised he'd been by the hunger, the barely restrained need that had risen between them. Now, watching those lips form the barest suggestion of a smile in sleep, Jayce felt heat rise to his cheeks.
His fingers drifted lower, tracing the hollow at the base of Viktor's throat where his pulse beat, steady and strong. Jayce watched, fascinated, as Viktor's chest rose and fell with each breath, the rhythm of it hypnotic. There was a small freckle just below his left collarbone that Jayce had never noticed before—a tiny detail that suddenly seemed monumentally important, a secret only he knew.
Viktor had always seemed so impenetrable, so self-contained. Yet here he was, vulnerable in sleep, his body responding to Jayce's touch with small, unconscious shifts—leaning slightly into the contact, breath occasionally catching before settling back into its steady rhythm. It made Jayce's heart flutter to think that even in sleep, some part of Viktor recognized and welcomed his touch.
The room was growing brighter now, morning asserting itself through the blinds. Jayce's fingers trembled slightly as they traced the line of Viktor's jaw, a mix of adoration and nervousness making his touch unsteady. He wanted to tell Viktor everything—how much he admired him, how deeply he cared, how terrifying and wonderful it was to be here with him—but the words always tangled in his throat, emerging, when they did at all, as fragments of what he truly meant.
Viktor stirred slightly, his breathing pattern shifting. Jayce froze, his hand hovering just above Viktor's cheek, caught between the desire to continue his exploration and the fear of breaking this perfect, quiet moment. Viktor didn't wake fully, but his arm tightened around Jayce's waist, drawing him closer as if even in sleep he sensed Jayce's silent adoration and answered it in the only way he could.
Viktor drifted slowly toward consciousness, aware first of warmth and weight against him, then of gentle touches against his skin. Before opening his eyes, he cataloged these sensations: the press of another body against his own, the subtle scent of Jayce's shampoo, the tentative brush of fingertips across his collarbones. Each element registered as safety, as home, as the rarest kind of peace.
When he finally allowed his eyes to open, the sight that greeted him made something in his chest constrict. Jayce was watching him with such naked affection it was almost difficult to bear—cheeks flushed pink, eyes wide and tender, lower lip caught between his teeth in that way that always betrayed his nervousness. Jayce's hand hovered just above Viktor's face, as if he'd been caught in an act he wasn't sure was permitted.
Viktor smiled, the expression coming easier than it would have with anyone else. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Jayce's flush deepened. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Instead of answering with words, Viktor reached up, took Jayce's suspended hand, and guided it back to his face, pressing those hesitant fingers against his cheek. Permission granted. Encouragement offered. He watched relief and pleasure flicker across Jayce's expressive features.
With deliberate slowness, Viktor wrapped his arms more securely around Jayce, drawing him closer until there was no space between them—chest to chest, legs entangled, Jayce's head tucked perfectly beneath Viktor's chin. He felt Jayce's initial tension, then the gradual surrender as his body melted against Viktor's own, trusting and pliant.
Viktor ran his hand up Jayce's spine, feeling each vertebra beneath his thin t-shirt, marveling at the intricate architecture of him. Jayce had always been motion and energy, ideas bursting forth like solar flares, hands gesturing enthusiastically as he spoke. To have him here, still and quiet in Viktor's arms, felt like being entrusted with something infinitely precious.
"You're thinking very loudly," Viktor murmured into Jayce's hair, his hand continuing its gentle path up and down Jayce's back.
Jayce huffed a soft laugh against Viktor's throat. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize. I'm simply curious what thoughts keep you so restless."
Viktor felt rather than saw Jayce's smile against his skin. Then Jayce's hand moved, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, tracing patterns across Viktor's shoulder and chest. The touch was grounding, pulling Viktor fully into this moment, this room, this shared warmth.
Shifting slightly, Viktor brushed Jayce's hair back from his forehead—it was growing longer these days, often falling into his eyes when he worked. The strands were soft between Viktor's fingers, and he indulged himself by carding through them repeatedly, each stroke seeming to unwind some tension from Jayce's frame.
They remained this way for uncounted minutes, breathing together, exchanging small touches that spoke volumes. Viktor traced lazy circles on Jayce's forearm, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingertips. Jayce's hand settled over Viktor's heart, as if measuring each beat, ensuring its continued rhythm.
The world beyond this bed—with its demands and deadlines, its complexities and controversies—seemed impossibly distant. Here was only this: two bodies creating a small universe of warmth and trust, a refuge built of skin and breath and silent understanding.
Viktor felt Jayce's breathing deepen and slow, the last of his nervous energy dissipating under Viktor's steady touch. It struck him then, with surprising force, how completely Jayce trusted him—enough to show this vulnerability, this need, this softness that the brilliant, confident Jayce Talis rarely allowed the world to see.
"What are you thinking about?" Viktor finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate peace they'd created.
Jayce was quiet for so long that Viktor wondered if he'd fallen back asleep. Then came his reply, muffled against Viktor's chest: "How calm you always are."
Viktor couldn't help the short, surprised laugh that escaped him. "I'm many things, Jayce. Calm isn't typically among them."
Jayce pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Viktor's eyes. "But you are. Not—not emotionless," he hurried to add, "but centered. Like you have this core that never wavers, no matter what's happening around you." His fingers traced the line of Viktor's jaw, touch reverent. "I've always admired that about you."
The words sent an unexpected wave of emotion through Viktor. How could Jayce—brilliant, dynamic, charismatic Jayce—admire something in him? Jayce, who could charm anyone, whose mind worked at dazzling speeds, who filled rooms with his presence without even trying?
"I'm not as steady as you think," Viktor admitted, the confession easier in this liminal morning space. "Most days I'm just... containing. Compartmentalizing."
Jayce's eyes softened. "I know. That's what makes it even more impressive." His hand settled against Viktor's cheek, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. "You carry so much, and you never let it.. crush you."
Viktor turned his face slightly, pressing a small kiss against Jayce's palm. "It would be much heavier without you," he said quietly, the words feeling raw and true as they left his mouth.
A smile bloomed across Jayce's face—not his public smile, bright and confident, but his private one, soft and a little wondering. "Really?"
"Really," Viktor confirmed. He hesitated, then added, "Your energy, your... optimism. It balances me." These weren't things Viktor found easy to articulate, this exchange of strengths and weaknesses between them, but here in the gentle morning light, the words came more freely than usual.
Jayce's eyes crinkled at the corners. "We make a good team."
"We always have," Viktor agreed, "even when we were arguing."
"Especially when we were arguing," Jayce laughed, and the sound of it warmed Viktor from within.
They fell silent again, but it was a comfortable quiet, filled with small movements—Viktor's fingers tracing patterns on Jayce's lower back, Jayce's thumb rubbing absently against Viktor's shoulder.
"I worry sometimes," Jayce said after a while, his voice so low Viktor had to strain to hear it, "that I'm too much. Too loud, too scattered, too... everything." He wasn't looking at Viktor now, his gaze fixed somewhere around Viktor's collarbone. "That eventually you'll get tired of it. Of me."
The admission struck Viktor with physical force. That Jayce—who shone so brightly, who drew people to him like moths to flame—could harbor such doubts seemed impossible. Yet Viktor recognized the vulnerability in the confession, the courage it took to voice such fears.
"Jayce," he said, cupping Jayce's face and gently tilting it up until their eyes met. "You are exactly as much as you should be. Not too anything." He searched for the right words, wanting to be precise, to leave no room for doubt. "Your mind, your enthusiasm, your... brightness. These aren't things to be tolerated. They're things I—" he swallowed hard, "—things I cherish."
Jayce's eyes widened, a flush spreading across his cheeks. Viktor knew he was sparing with such declarations, which perhaps made this one all the more meaningful.
"Even when I talk too much? When I leave messes everywhere? When I get so excited about a new idea that I wake you up at three in the morning?" Jayce asked, a hint of humor returning to his voice.
Viktor's lips curved into a smile. "Even then. Perhaps especially then."
Jayce ducked his head, but not before Viktor caught the pleased expression that crossed his face. "And I—" he began, then paused, gathering courage. "I love how focused you get. How you notice details everyone else misses. How you're actually funny, in this really dry way most people don't catch." His voice grew softer. "How safe you make me feel."
Viktor felt his throat tighten with emotion. "Safe?"
"Like I can be all of me. The good parts and the messy parts. And you'll still..." Jayce gestured vaguely between them, "want this. Want me."
Viktor pulled Jayce closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Always," he promised, the word hanging in the air between them, simple and absolute.
The room was fully bright now, sunlight streaming through the blinds and painting golden stripes across the bed. Neither of them made any move to rise, to begin the day, to break this perfect bubble of warmth and honesty they'd created.
Jayce's fingers were intertwined with Viktor's, their joined hands resting on the small space of mattress between them. With his free hand, Jayce traced the line of Viktor's collarbone, his touch no longer hesitant but assured, claiming the right to this intimacy.
"You have a scar here," Jayce murmured, his finger following a thin white line just below Viktor's left shoulder. "I never noticed before."
Viktor glanced down. "Chemistry experiment gone wrong. I was sixteen."
"Always the scientist," Jayce said with a soft smile. His fingertips moved to another mark, a small, irregular patch of skin near Viktor's ribs. "And this one?"
"Less interesting. Kitchen accident."
Jayce's exploration continued, finding each small mark, each imperfection that Viktor had always seen as flaws. Yet under Jayce's attentive fingers, these blemishes became something else—a history, a map, points of connection.
"You're beautiful," Jayce said suddenly, the words tumbling out as if he couldn't contain them any longer. His cheeks colored immediately, but he didn't look away, didn't try to retract the declaration.
Viktor felt warmth spread through his chest, an unfamiliar but welcome feeling. He was not accustomed to such compliments, had never particularly sought them, had certainly never applied the word "beautiful" to himself. Yet hearing it from Jayce—earnest, heartfelt—made him see himself differently, if only for a moment.
Instead of deflecting or dismissing, Viktor leaned forward, pressing his lips to Jayce's in a slow, deliberate kiss. He felt Jayce's initial surprise, then his eager response, fingers tightening around Viktor's, free hand coming up to cup the back of Viktor's neck.
When they parted, Jayce's eyes remained closed for a moment, his expression one of such contentment that Viktor couldn't resist pressing another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"We should get up," Viktor said eventually, though he made no move to do so. "You have that presentation."
Jayce groaned softly. "Don't remind me."
Viktor squeezed their still-joined hands. "You'll be brilliant. You always are."
"Will you be there?" Jayce asked, a touch of vulnerability returning to his voice.
"Front row," Viktor promised. Then, more softly: "I wouldn't miss it."
Jayce beamed at him, then reluctantly began to disentangle himself. Before he could move too far, Viktor caught him, pulling him back down.
"A few more minutes," Viktor murmured. "The world can wait."
Jayce settled back willingly, his body curving against Viktor's as if designed to fit there. He rested his head on Viktor's chest, ear pressed over his heart. "A few more minutes," he agreed, his voice warm with contentment.
Viktor wrapped his arms around Jayce, one hand stroking slowly up and down his spine. He felt Jayce gradually growing heavier against him, tension leaving his body as he drifted toward sleep once more.
"Rest," Viktor whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Jayce's head. "I'll wake you when it's time."
Jayce mumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep, trusting Viktor to keep watch, to keep him safe, to ensure he didn't miss his obligations.
Viktor watched as the sunlight strengthened, turning Jayce's hair to bronze where it caught the light. Outside, the world was waking—traffic sounds increasing, birds calling, the day beginning its inevitable progression. But here, in this small sanctuary they'd created, time seemed to slow, to stretch, to offer them this gift of peace and connection.
Viktor's own eyes grew heavy, the comfort of Jayce's weight against him, the rhythm of their synchronized breathing lulling him back toward sleep. For once, he didn't fight it, didn't immediately start cataloging the day's tasks and challenges. Instead, he allowed himself this moment of perfect contentment, this precious ordinary miracle of holding and being held.
As sleep reclaimed him, Viktor's last thought was how fitting it was, this wordless communication between them—this exchange of touch and trust, this silent promise of presence. They had always been better at showing than telling, at building than explaining. And what they were building together, day by day, moment by moment, was something neither of them could have designed alone—something stronger, more resilient, and infinitely more beautiful for the combination of their different natures.
In the growing light of morning, they slept, curled together like quotation marks, enclosing between them all that needed saying.