Recurrences, Recurrences

The first thing Jayce registers is warmth.

Naturally, there are different kinds of warmth—Jayce acquainted himself with all kinds.

Not like the prickly, stifling heat of an overworked forge, or the slightly humid, blinding warmth of the sun, but something softer, gentler. 

A blanket? Where did a blanket come from? 

Jayce forces his eyes open, blinking away stars as he raises his head from where it drooped, somewhere in the night, onto the edge of Viktor’s bed. The blanket in question is draped carelessly over his shoulders, pooling around his legs, a little uneven. 

Jayce feels sleep pulling him back. It’s so soft and warm. 

He tugs on the blanket, making a lumpy little pillow with the excess as he sets his head back down. Maybe five more minutes. 

The next thing Jayce registers is the distinct smell of tea. Not just any tea, something like earl grey or one of the fancy teas. His mind is slow to put a name to it, still tangled in the threads of sleep. 

It smells good, and Jayce is happy to doze off with it wafting through the air. 

“Still sleepy?” A voice whispers. 

“Mm,” Jayce mumbles, nuzzling his face into the soft blanket. 

Wait.

“Wha—?” 

The infirmary isn’t silent, but it’s peaceful. No panicked voices. No alarms. Just— 

Jayce blinks himself awake, head still heavy with exhaustion. The soft rustling of fabric and the faint clink of porcelain hurries his awakening. The world is slow to sharpen around him, as he rubs his eyes impatiently to hurry it up. 

When it does, the sight before him knocks the breath from his lungs.

Viktor is awake.

Not just awake—sitting up. 

Sitting up and… drinking tea.

Tea?

Tea.

Tea.

Tea!

Propped against a mound of pillows, legs tucked under a thin topsheet, hands reaching to set a cup of tea down on the bedside table, is Viktor. 

He’s still thin, still too pale, but he’s sitting up and talking. That was him talking, right? Jayce rubs his eyes, squints, then reaches out to touch the man’s face. 

“Uh—” the man says, as Jayce runs his hand over his cheekbone, down to his jaw. He really is awake.

He looks… surprisingly strong, given the circumstances. There is a quiet strength in the way he holds himself. The golden glow of morning light filters through the window, illuminating his features, and for a moment, Jayce forgets how to breathe.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Viktor says. “Or do you think you died?”

“That’s the first thing you say to me?” Jayce groans, rubbing the exhaustion from his face.

“The first thing I said was asking if you would like to lie down to sleep,” Viktor explains patiently, folding his hands elegantly on his lap. “You mumbled that you love me then told me to leave you alone again.” Amusement tinges the man’s voice. 

“I did?” Jayce blinks. “Oh, by the gods. I’m so sorry, Viktor.” 

It feels unreal, the way he’s talking to Real Viktor and Real Viktor is just sitting up and talking and everything seems so… so normal.

“You must have been tired. It’s been three days,” Viktor adds, studying the man. 

“Three—Three days?” Jayce looks around for a clock, but it only says it’s about eight in the morning. “ Days ? Are you serious?” 

“Yes. The doctors thought you needed to be admitted, too. I just said you needed to sleep, and then you got cold, so—” Viktor waves his hand vaguely at the direction of the soft blanket pooling around Jayce.

He finally gets a look at the blanket. The same pristine white-and-gold decor of the rest of the hospital. That, and Viktor’s form being barely covered by a topsheet—

“Viktor,” He whispers. “You really didn’t have to.”

“You were cold. I just tried to make you a little more comfortable. The doctor thought you had a fever.” 

Jayce was terrified of the cold. Once, when a coldfront from the northern lands had come in, Jayce had refused to leave his forge, keeping a roaring flame going as he worked and worked and worked. Only when Viktor had reluctantly drifted in, carrying a warm flask of tea and a heavy coat, had Jayce been reluctantly coaxed out and into his rooms.

Jayce, instinctively, touches his own forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t… Right?” 

Viktor picks up the cup of tea, takes a deliberate sip. “No. But they would have kicked you out if you were perfectly fine. So be grateful I said you were and let you snore in my general vicinity all night.”

Jayce blinks. “I don’t snore.”

“You absolutely do.” Viktor sets his cup down on his lap, fingers lightly tracing the rim. “Is this how you want our very last conversation to go? You disagreeing with me—and wrongly?” 

Viktor chuckles, his voice gentler than his usual sharp-edged tone. It’s warm, familiar, and gods—Jayce had nearly forgotten what it was like to hear Viktor laugh. Little Viktor only liked to mock and tease.

Jayce huffs, feeling Viktor’s eyes on him as he stretches. The blanket pools around his waist, and there's a darker patch on the hospital bed sheets where he was busy drooling. “Well, thanks.”

Viktor watches him carefully, his gaze softening. “Did you sleep well?”

Jayce hesitates, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I think so?” 

“Three days. I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” 

Jayce glances toward Viktor, taking in the slight flush in his cheeks, the way his hands are steady around his cup. “You look… good.”

“I am good.” Viktor tilts his head, as though considering. “Or, at the very least, I am significantly less dead than usual.”

Jayce snorts. “That’s comforting.”

Viktor takes another slow sip of tea. “I am trying to be optimistic, Jayce. It is what you always preach, is it not?”

Jayce leans back, shaking his head with a small, helpless grin. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

They lapse into comfortable silence, the morning light spilling across the room in brilliant, golden waves. Viktor sets his tea aside, shifting slightly, and Jayce notices how steady his breathing is—how nice snd even now. How he no longer looks like he’s on the verge of slipping away.

Seeing him like this, there's an indescribable exhaustion that comes over Jayce. He's already slept for three days, but what about another three? Or four? 

He sets his head down on the mattress once again, gazing up at Viktor with loving, exhausted eyes. When Viktor reaches a hand out to gently stroke his hair—well, Jayce could die a happy man.

“You're like a dog,” Viktor hums, teasingly. Twirling one strand of brown around his fingers this moment, raking his fingers through the man's hair the next. “It's cute.”

“It feels nice,” Jayce yawns, inching himself closer. He lets his eyes drift closed, and Viktor continues his songless lull to sleep.

“Thank you, Jayce,” the man says. His voice is soft and gentle. “For being there for me. It must have been scary.” 

Absently, Jayce reaches out, brushing his fingers over the back of Viktor’s hand. “It was. You scared me, you know,” he says, words coming in a sleepy, slurred motion.

“I know.”

Viktor flips his hand over, lacing their fingers together, and squeezes Jayce’s hand, gentle but firm. It feels like a wonderful dream, the strength having returned to the man he so loved. His eyes open again, hazily.

“I meant what I said. I love you,” Jayce says, looking up into his golden orbs. On Viktor, the colour doesn’t look so bad.

Viktor smiles—and the room bursts into sunlight. And flowers. And warmth. And all other things wonderful and beautiful and eternal. 

“I know that, too.”

“Do you?” Jayce searches his expression, leaning forward, just slightly. A desperation to make sure Viktor knows just how much he is loved—though no words could ever truly express it. No words would ever even come close. No finery in the world would be worthy of him. Nothing, ever. 

“Yes,” Viktor promises, as a knowing smile grows on his face. “But you are more than welcome to remind me.”

Only Viktor.

Viktor hums, reaching out and grasping the front of Jayce’s shirt. With a thoughtful look, he pulls him forward, just slightly. 

Not nearly enough to force him forward, yet Jayce shifts his weight onto the bed, hypnotised. He could be commanded with a single word, a single touch—hell, a single look. 

Only Viktor.

His heart is pounding, staring into those golden, mesmerising eyes. Those eyes that knew him, that cared for him. That loved him and listened to him.

Viktor tugs gently, and Jayce easily tumbles into the warmth of the other man, emanating from the thin topsheet over the man’s legs. 

He crawls forward on the bed, one hand firmly planted on either side of the other man’s torso as Jayce is now face-to-face with the man he so loves. 

His breath catches in his throat, the sight of Viktor’s hair falling so perfectly. Framing his beautiful, godlike face.

Only Viktor. 

The man reaches out, tangling his fingers into Jayce’s hair and guiding him forward with knowing, light touches. A foot of space turns into mere inches. Centimeters. Millimeters. 

Viktor’s breath is warm as it brushes against Jayce’s lips, a silent invitation that has Jayce’s pulse hammering in his throat. 

His fingers twist in Jayce’s shirt, a lazy, languid tug, and Jayce lurches forward, his body betraying him in the most intoxicating way.

Viktor controls the space between them, teasing, keeping Jayce at the very end of a teasingly short leash. Letting the anticipation coil around them both. 

Jayce is frozen in place, guided solely by Viktor’s touch. His knees sink deeper into the mattress, arms shaking slightly with the weight of restraint. Does he want to pull away? No, definitely not. Instead—

“Please,” he says, surprised at how raspy his own voice sounds. The other man smiles, as he strokes Jayce's hair. Nothing holds him back. Viktor just knows Jayce won't move.

“You are trembling,” Viktor muses, his voice soft, smug. His fingers tighten in Jayce’s hair—just slight, but more than enough to tilt his head back. Jayce feels his neck, exposed. With just the lightest touch. 

He would die for Viktor. 

And the man would be the death of him. 

“Nervous?” Viktor whispers. The hand on his vest releases itself, tracing a slow, teasing line down his throat.

Jayce swallows thickly, his breath hitching. “No.”

A lie. A beautiful, foolish lie.

“Excited, then.”

Viktor smiles, wise and knowing. His thumb traces along Jayce’s jawline, making the man tremble. Keeping Jayce still, Viktor leans forward and traces the line—up his throat, along his jawline and over the crest of his ear, with a skilled tongue.

Jayce's breath catches in his throat.

“Aren’t you?” Viktor whispers in his ear, more insistent this time. The man pulls away and studies him with a smile—teasingly. He knows the answer, just has too much fun to say it himself. 

Jayce is sure his entire body is burning, his weight sinking further, his hands curling against the sheets as he fights the urge to simply move .

Viktor exhales, his lips just barely brushing against Jayce’s, more suggestion than touch. The corners of his lips curve up. 

Teasing. Teasing. 

“Come here,” Viktor murmurs, and Jayce does, helpless to the command. His arms nearly give out as he presses closer, his nose brushing against Viktor’s, his lips parted. Waiting, willing, begging . 

Viktor drags this moment out like it is their last. He runs his fingers across the other man’s neck, arms, down his chest and along his jaw. Over and over again, he savours each shiver, each tremble from Jayce. With such gentle tenderness it was as if Jayce could break under him. 

He would, if Viktor so much as willed it.

Longing isn't enough to describe what Jayce is feeling. 

This warmth—no, this fiery, desperate heat. Viktor had drawn this up from nowhere, summoned it with a few skilled touches and nothing more. The most incredible, godly vision. Before him, Jayce was nothing more than a panting, whimpering mess.

Was he worthy? 

Was Jayce Tallis worthy? 

Finally, pulling just enough to make him gasp, Viktor’s mouth finally, finally meets Jayce’s.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, Viktor controlling every breathy separation, every movement, every soft sigh, every aching second between them. 

Jayce melts into it, hands curling into fists, grabbing the sheets beside Viktor’s hips. Viktor tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and Jayce follows. 

The world tilts when Viktor commands it. If it didn’t, then by all the gods above, Jayce would make it. He’s breathless, aching, Viktor’s control makes him feel utterly weightless—utterly his .

 Finally, Viktor pulls away, a thin thread of saliva connecting them, then snapping into two. 

Starved, Jayce lurches forward to gently, lovingly, desperately lick the remnants from the sitting man's chin.

“Excited,” Viktor whispers, once again. The way his golden, knowing eyes stare at Jayce, urging the man to bare himself to him. In every form. To tell Viktor all his sins and beg and beg and beg until he’s forgiven. 

To be known like this. To be commanded like this. 

This is what Jayce has waited for—wanted for so long.

Viktor smirks against his lips as he pulls Jayce in for another kiss. His fingers trace down the front of Jayce’s vest, lazily playing with the buttons.

Jayce exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against Viktor’s, his hands trembling against the sheets. He is dizzy with love, with want, with the overwhelming sensation of being known —completely, irrevocably, by Viktor.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice a soft whisper. An invitation to give in, a command wrapped in loving indulgence. Viktor’s lips ghost along Jayce’s jaw, trailing heat down his skin, pausing just long enough for Jayce to shudder. “I have you. Let me take over.”

Jayce chokes on a sound he can’t name. The promise that he can just be , that he can let go and all will be well. Slated for greatness, all people wanted was the next thing he could give them.

Viktor, here, telling him exactly how he can let go, is more than he can ask for. 

His body betrays him, a helpless shiver starting at the crown of his head, working its way down his spine. Jayce pulls away from Viktor’s touch, mouth opening in a helpless pant. Wide-eyed, dazed, and desperate. 

The other man hums approvingly, his fingers threading deeper into Jayce’s hair as he makes the man raise his gaze.

“You are trembling again,” Viktor muses, smiling as their eyes meet. “Shall I make it better?”

Jayce opens his mouth. 

No words escape. 

On all fours, facing Viktor, mouth open like a dog desperate for a drink. 

Just a taste , the slightest taste, of Viktor. Not to speak, or to be heard, but just to accept. The obedience that comes so naturally, Jayce fears it. 

He would do anything for him. Kill for him, beg for him, just be for him. Viktor could ask for the world, and Jayce would offer it without hesitation. Because there is no higher purpose than this, no greater meaning than the way Viktor holds him, owns him, knows him. 

Jayce does—he aches, he burns , but he doesn’t move, waiting, willing, a silent plea in the way his lashes flutter shut, in the way his body tilts forward, in the way he surrenders entirely to the hands that guide him.

“Good,” Viktor whispers, his breath fanning across Jayce’s lips “Now come here.”