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Jayce watches him. The gentle rise and fall of his chest. The softness of his features in sleep. No worry shaping the lines of his face, each studied as the strokes of a pencil. Etched in his mind, painted in memory. Vivid as oil, soft as pastel. A sigh escapes, contented. Warm as the tickle of Viktor’s breath against his neck. He thinks of all their nights together like this, Viktor held in his arms. The familiar weight of his body. The tangle of pillows and blankets and limbs. Aches and qualms left until morning, tended to in the softness of cotton and skin.
And then he remembers those other nights. Nights he did not bear witness to, seen only through reflection.
Those nights where nothing touched the pain. Not medicine nor heat. Not cold nor salts. When movement pulsed as static and thoughts screamed as nothing, caught in molasses. When all Jayce could do was sit next to him, cradle him, fingers carding through his hair as he cried. Itching to do more. To do something. To take it away. To gather all of Viktor’s pain, the fire of each burning nerve, and let it engulf him instead. But then a hand would emerge, searching, held in an instant. And he was reminded.
Remembering words spoken to him the first time he was graced with such vulnerability. Honoured and terrified all at once.
“Being here is all I need of you, Jayce.”
So he was. So he is. So he will be for the rest of their lives.
Pushing aside the thoughts of nights Viktor spent alone. In pain. In silence. Teeth gritted, jaw clenched. Muscles cramping, twisting. Holding back, crying out. No one to hear it. He remembered when he first pictured it, the morning after a bad night. Viktor had awoken brighter, stirring with the sound of Jayce’s sniffling. He looked so concerned, so gentle. Cupping Jayce’s face and caressing the apple of his cheek, thumbing away a stray tear. Jayce spilled his thoughts as the waters of a dam, breaking under the gaze of amber eyes honeyed by the morning sun.
Viktor looked at him with surprise, then something soft, unreadable. An apology sat on Jayce’s tongue, parted his lips. Who was he to get upset over pain that wasn’t his to feel, to carry? The words, the worries, were kissed away. Met with a smile, lopsided and weary with the sleep that lingered. Beckoned them both back beneath the blankets. Love in the lacing of fingers and lasting of touch. Jayce learned many things from that night, that morning. And from all the days that came after.
Loving Viktor was like breathing. Constant, natural as instinct. Steady, unwavering and always. Hitching, moments of misstep. Held, stubbornness eventually resolved. Deep, passion flowing as the oxygen of blood through his veins.
Loving Viktor was like the ocean. Fathoms to explore, the crashing of waves as pleasure cried from the sea of sheets. Light glimmering on the water’s surface, shining as his smile, his eyes. Tides ebbing and flowing, knowing that distance did not mean the absence of love.