after his forced work leave (stemmed from a horrid accident with a loose hammer, a skittish clydesdale and his leg), a dark time and months where he'd considered ending everything from the chronic pain, financial failure and miscarried expectations in having the simple family business thrive— jayce found strength to get up and try again. one more time.
maybe it was his mother, who wouldn't be able to carry the name to fruition by herself. not only would jayce leave behind a disaster for her emotionally, she'd de wracked in debt. he was an only child, his father retired and sick. maybe it was also the inkling of hope in this grey, dreary world that urged him to relearn how to walk, pick up his hammer and forge the shoes champion jumpers won competitions with.
it's nothing flashy nor prized, but his parents always said their humble work was dignified. that was true enough. no shoe, no horse, but no one really thought that when a treasured stud was worth more than a house. jayce had bigger plans, sustaining himself with dreams that could almost seem impossible to achieve. sketches of special shoes that would heal injured hooves, even legs, and save the beautiful life behind the money and prestige. but . . . what else did he have? what else would give his life worth and greater meaning? sometimes he feels like anger alone is keeping him alive— he refuses to be a worthless grain in the sand. he needs to accomplish something.
the manor that wishes to hire him is the biggest one he's seen. he'll have his own quarters, food and drink, somewhere to sleep. in turn they want exclusivity and all his focus on the horses. they must be fed, groomed, turned out, with stalls mucked. they'll all be shoed down to the individual gate with the talis eye, and on top of that, paid handsomely.
it's enough to start paying all that debt and getting out of it in a few years, if he can keep their interest. he plans on it. jayce has already put the thought to truth: it's not going to be the trainers' work getting the horses to win. it's going to be his work. he'll been seen for it. he has to.
jayce's arrives with little on his back: two changes of clothes at most, a book to write in, his apron and tools. he's given the house's uniform, toured around the stables and where he'd be staying. work started on the same day. this family believed in him for something, so he's going to work until he's gotten every single thing down and finished.
he's being talked about, already, and sad to say other house employees don't have many good things to say to begin with. a scruffy, too quiet disabled man. would he even be able to pick up a horse leg? he cares more about the horse's names than the hour they should be groomed and ready for the riders. they don't give him a week before he's sent away. ]
What had once been a refuge from a provincial life of dinner parties and horse races was now a cramped and noisy bore. He looked back on his younger self, when he’d arrived with wide eyes and wider dreams, as childish—in the several years since, he’d not found a single soul that could satisfy his hunger. While other men (and some women) of his age and stature were seeking company in brothels and bars, Viktor had toured colleges and laboratories in search of mental stimulation. His peers—if they could be considered as such—gorged themselves on gossip while Viktor built towers of scientific articles in foreign languages he learned but would never get the chance to speak.
His own accent wavered the longer he stayed wrapped in the international, eclectic waters of the port city, stayed away from his parents’ lectures at him to stop dreaming and start acting. He knew why they did it, but really came to understand it with a few more years under his belt; they wanted him to continue their legacy rather than create one of his own. Perhaps they were right, too, for no matter how long Viktor lived in the city, he never once found the intellectual partner he yearned for.
It didn’t help that, year after year, the world around him remained grey and colorless in such stark contrast to his technicolored dreams.
So Viktor returned home, riding up the main drive of his family’s estate on a horse worth more than the average man’s yearly salary. He would send for his effects later—his restless nature meant that, once he’d made his mind up, he could not sit still a moment longer in his well-furnished and yet empty-feeling apartment.
Time stood still out here in the countryside. Trees grew taller and their leaves changed color—so he was told, as he could only distinguish the changes in tone—yet the world always looked the same as when he was a little boy. The wildflowers filled the air with the same sweet perfumes, the birds sang their songs until the cry of a fox silenced them, and the humidity clung to his skin beneath the riding suit that hugged his body in well-tailored fashion. Life had always been this, so vivid in all senses other than what he could see with open eyes.
It was a surprise to the staff when he walked in through the main doors, even more-so when he announced his intention to stay. They hurried into action freshening up his room as he went straight to his father’s study, greeting him and then asking after his mother to do the same. It didn’t take more than a day to hear of the new stable hand, one that his father saw promise in despite all of his employees whispering the opposite. ]
Talis. [ He tastes the name’s flavor, letting it sit on his tongue that was already falling back into old, accented habits. It rang a small bell in his mind, perhaps from reading it somewhere. ] I think it’s time to meet this new stable boy. Bring him to the library.
[ it took a bit of adjusting to get the forge organized to jayce's tastes, but once he's done with that, it's to work. each horse has a stride, and none of them are perfect. jayce creates a lot of craft ahead of him that he probably wouldn't finish in a day, of which he doesn't actually have to do— but to be different, to stand out, he does. every single horse in this stable is going to need a repair trim. the ones that don't or can't because of a prior cut too short has him mumbling and complaining under his breath— who the hell trimmed this horse? and this one? what the hell kind of shoe was it wearing? an assistant, young and taut, only listens, nods, and does what he's told when jayce asks him to walk the horse in varying speeds.
no wonder it was reported as stubborn, lately— the fit was uncomfortable. detrimental, if it was worn for too long. jayce spends all afternoon taking notes on a single chestnut coated mare's gate by the name of Riosilitta. well, whatever "chestnut" is. all he sees is grey.
removing her fit already eases her posture, but doesn't fix the uneven slant in her hooves. she'll need custom shoes for that, each one different than the last to accommodate a specific leg. and it's there that jayce begins to shape them. the forge is hot and the clanking of molten metal is relentless. when a staff member visits to escort jayce to the young master, she calls him uncouth for working without a shirt on. the audacity!
he has his obvious reasons, but that goes more or less ignored. i'm busy, he'll grunt, and continue on with his work. he's not about to give what he thinks is a snobby child his undivided attention for play time when he's busy. if the boss didn't order it, too bad.
but she insists, annoyingly so, says something or other about it being of poor taste, especially if it fell to the ears of the mother and father. the young master was just as important around these parts.
reluctantly and pissed to be interrupted, jayce wipes the sweat and excess soot off of him, fits his uniform top which . . . is already dirty and reeks of horse and ash, before he limps along with his escort. he looks nowhere appropriate to enter the manor— his bangs stick to his temples and there are smudges of grit on his nose and cheek. his permanent brace clicks along with his step, which makes him heard like a bull wearing a cowbell.
in front of the library. augh, he's so annoyed. what does he want, to be read to? aren't there people for that? why me? jayce would have to settle with he asked for you, specifically. following a knock, the woman opens the grand, tall doors into the atheneum and announces their arrival.
jayce steps in only when told, not sure what to expect, and not exactly the friendliest of faces. he's searching for . . . a bratty kid, and does not find one. ]
[ Focused on a sheaf of papers in his hands, Viktor doesn’t look up immediately when he hears the library doors open. Eyes skimming a paragraph, his thin fingers reach blindly for a pencil to make a quick note before he gets distracted. ]
Thank you for making time to meet me, Mr. Talis. I’ll be with you in a moment. [ Scribbling down a few words, and then circling a promising schematic of gears, Viktor sets down both papers and pencil to push back his chair. His leg twinges as he stands, still stiff from the ride home a few days prior, and he leans a hand against the solid wood surface of the desk to help negotiate his weight around its corner. ]
Forgive me for the late introduction. [ He finally lifts his gaze, and though he hadn’t had any preconceived notions about what the new farrier might look like, he’s surprised nonetheless. The fact that this man is naturally scruffy, the soot of a forge still clinging to his clothes, might have displeased Viktor’s parents while having the opposite effect on their son; impressing his employers with pomp and circumstance doesn’t seem to be a priority for this young Mr. Talis.
Stepping closer, limp more prominent than he would have liked it to be while giving a first impression, he offers a hand in greeting. ] I’m Viktor.
[ jayce is caught off guard, to say the least. any miffed kinks in his stressed features relax, his guard comes undone. maybe it was the other man's polite greeting and lack of any, ah . . . well, snobbish sneering or anything. he walks with a limp, a little more to equally prominent to his own without support. viktor even extends his hand, to which, jayce's gaze flits between his eyes and his sooty, callous palms, which he's sure couldn't have gone unnoticed.
hesitant, jayce extends his own slowly, gives a bit of a gesture as if to say, "it's dirty", and leaves actually taking the shake to viktor if he chooses. he's about ready to give up, seeming a touch abashed. which is strange, he doesn’t really care about that. now? he's suddenly hyper aware he smells (and looks) like smoke and horse shit in a room that wafed lilac and lemon shavings. ]
I was, uh— in the middle of something.
[ an unspoken "sorry", if viktor's hand is now printed with the shadow of hard work, fire and dusty iron. so absolutely rough, in contrast. ]
[ it's been a few months, and the projects have been coming along wonderfully. this partnership was the best thing to happen to jayce— he feels more at ease, more enthusiastic to do something as simple as wake up and start the day again, all under the pretense that latsr, after work, he'd get to babble the night away with viktor, pitching ideas and coming up with even greater, bolder technology. they had some ways to go, still. it's only recently that riosilitta has excelled in her march and fully recovered for sport. the rest of the herd are well on their way to near perfectly clipped hooved with little to no accidents.
things were going, well, fantastically. but one idea led to another, and jayce noticed, quite early on in their friendship, that viktor would improve his wellbeing drastically if he had a brace of his own, custom fit. the accommodation could make standing more comfortable, even walking a little more bearable when faced with chronic aches. jayce brainstormed support, weight removal, mobility and pain relief into a single, multipart design. he was even incredibly sneaky in getting viktor's measurements!
now, during the last month is where things likely started to get . . . odd, for viktor. jayce wouldn't object to their usual meeting hours, but he would begin to claim fatigue and ask to rest early.
every day.
some days, he would say he's backed up with some work he needs to do. never said what, and he'd always avoid the details. if viktor didn't know any better, yes. it was beginning to feel too frequent. even jayce knew that— he just hopes to god viktor would understand when he's finished.
it's only on a fine day, that jayce finally asks if viktor could pass by the stables at dusk. with urgency. with importance!
[ For the first time since his childhood, Viktor feels mentally stimulated at home. He looks forward to his time spent with Jayce in the stables, either riding newly-shoed horses or talking across a table covered in notes and half-drunk coffee. He didn't even mind when they started to talk about things other than work, sharing details about themselves and joking just as much as they shared formulas and diagrams. Viktor enjoyed Jayce's company in both capacities, so it was the first time since his childhood that Viktor felt he had a friend at home.
Possibly even something more than a friend. Not that he would ever admit to it, both because he wouldn't want to jeopardize their partnership and also because of the little snag of them both being men.
That second concern came to mind more and more as Jayce suddenly became tired earlier most nights, and then every night, and then busy some afternoons as well. It was a reminder that he was free to have a life outside of work, although that was often his excuse—it was entirely possible that he was busy dating someone and was trying to keep his partnership with Viktor more professional by not discussing romance.
Still, Viktor couldn't help but... miss their time together and, if he would be honest with himself, miss Jayce himself. That was probably why he rushed to see him when he was sent for, leaning heavily on his cane by the time he reached the stables. ]
Jayce? Is everything alright? Ethan said you were quite urgent about your request.
[ jayce heard the clips of viktor's cane on the ground first, and that in itself made his heart rush round like a carrossel. he ambles out from the tack room to meet him there halfway because— he too, missed viktor, his presence and ideas, his clever mind and sharp tongue that would either make him laugh or flush with humble embarrassment. it does a little of both at this moment, meeting his friend outside with a broad smile and a near relieved curl of the bridge of his brows. ]
Viktor! No, I— I mean, yes, [ the horses notice viktor's approach, causing a domino effect of whinnies and nickers of greeting between the grading of hay and flatbed teeth. it gives jayce an extra moment to restart before he stumbles on himself more; the thrum in his core keeps dancing. breathe in, wait for the silence, ] —I want to show you something.
[ The way Jayce says his name makes Viktor's heart ache a little. He's always so enthusiastic, but then again, he's also the kind of man to enthusiastically say a mathematical formula aloud. Don't read into it, Viktor reminds himself, Having a partner like Jayce is more than I've dreamed of. It's enough.
Now that he's seen that Jayce isn't injured or upset, Viktor calms enough to greet the horses that stick their faces out of their stales. Patting necks and rubbing noses, he listens to Jayce's excited fumbling. ]
Oh? Aren't you full of surprises. Where would you like me?
[ they're working on something; in between the construction of the hexgates, and it's some of the best years of jayce's life. with his new partner, friend, even a bit more than that— what jayce has found in viktor, he has not found anywhere else. he excitedly rushes to and from the forge for new materials, anything that viktor would ask to be made for project a or b, and it was his command to fulfill and then bring them together in the lab. work was tiring, but never has he been so stimulated.
a ripple happens, somewhere, space and time distorts, rips a tear in its continuem and spits someone out on a drizzling night in piltover. hexgate construction has paused until dawn, and it is there, alone in gaping chambers that jayce finds himself after months surviving in that dreaded ravine.
this might've been a bit too far back.
this jayce does what he thinks is the safest possible stop: take the elevators up and sneak through dark hallways into the lab. he only hopes . . . there's no one there, right now. ]
[There are many in Piltover who would find Viktor to be no one indeed, but against this Jayce's hope, he is at least a presence in the otherwise empty lab. A constant presence these days actually, finding neither peace of mind nor body anywhere else -- only distraction in the glow of their experiments and the complexities of his calculations. A man nearly consumed.
This night though had been particularly restless, so much so that almost nothing could pull Viktor away from his current fascination, save the fact his own tumultuous upbringing always puts him on high alert for danger.
(When one grows up in the Undercity, one never quite loses the heightened sense of one's surroundings; especially when something approaches in the cover of darkness.)
Viktor tenses when he realizes he is not alone, but the momentary rise in his shoulders drops when he then realizes who has joined him.]
Jayce. I thought you had retired for the night...
[What starts out as a teasing tone sputters out as he turns just in time to see a paradox of who he was expecting. (Perhaps he had been a little preemptive in dropping his guard.) The man before him is both Jayce and not. Familiar, yet a stranger. A comfort and a threat all in one.
The other man really does look like shit.
Viktor's grip tightens on the wrench he's holding, as if his slight, crippled form could actually do anything should the scene turns hostile. His eyes boldly flit up the other man's form, forever calculating, before he scoffs. There are a million thoughts running through his mind right now, but per usual, the one with the most potency is -- of course -- curiosity.]
[ of all the people— of course it's viktor. id it were himself he had half, or maybe even the entirety of his mind to knock him out. now, there is no fleeing from the drop in his heart that makes his eyes widen, eclipse and sting. jayce releases the rod of his hammer and lifts his trembling hands to quell the startled squeeze around the wrench viktor holds. the way the moonlight from their singular lab window lights his frame as he steps forward for transparency was bound to make it all clear, and at the same time even more confusing. ]
Viktor, [ his voice trembles just as much as his injured leg beneath his own weight, atrophied and now an active complainer during locomotion. it's something he'll have to deal with, now. ] —It's still me.
[ he wants to explain, but where does he start? and should he?
he must swallow the raw desire to hug him, to press their foreheads together without being met with cold cavern walls or a dusty chalkboard. that is viktor. that is his, slightly younger viktor, still healthy and alive. ]
[The defensive wrench drops as Jayce relaxes his hammer. Viktor's defenses do not. The immediate threat seems to have passed, but this is not the Jayce that Viktor knows; confirmed by the man's very own words. Who he is...what he is though, remains to be seen. Viktor sets the wrench down on his work table, (there's not much he could do with it anyways,) then turns to face the other man with a familiar gaze.
Perhaps Viktor should be more cautious with this almost-stranger, but he is first and foremost a scientist. His eyes again rake over the other man's form, doing what he does best -- inventorying and assessing, cataloging everything he knows to be Jayce Talis and all that things that are inherently...wrong? Different. His gaze lingers on that injured leg the longest, and he lets out a soft, audible exhale. It's a sore point. Of all the things he wishes for them to have in common, this is certainly not one of them.
Although, maybe it's not quite the same thing. Injuries can heal. Disease, malnutrition, afflictions do not. The graduation from cane to crutch has been humbling in every sense. It's with no fluidity of movement that Viktor takes a few hobbled steps forward, although he ultimately comes to rest against his crutch with another deep exhale.]
[ jayce stays up in his quarters after parting ways with his partner for the night. he's been up just . . . replaying the moments they had, the plenty of times viktor had laughed or when his eyes twinkled or the way his eyebrows would kink when he was upset, the turn of his lips down in a frown or the clever simper he'd dawn. the moles on his face. he noticed another on his neck last night. how many constellations did he have? what color were his eyes? were the curls in his hair as soft as they looked? what did he smell like from up close?
would he keep looking his way?
his lips . . . he wished he could—
jayce had started the header of his journal entry describing the brace's success. before he knew it, he'd filled out pages of his notebook only with sketches of viktor. just viktor, moments with viktor in his mind's eye. he begins studying the greyscale pieces, smiling to himself in boyish infatuation page after page. he's thirty-two years old, and his stomach sommersaults like a teenager's. the space between his legs burn with wanting. he—
jayce rests his head on his desk, and runs his hands through his hair in quiet bliss and biting agony.
because he is absolutely smitten, and they're worlds apart. men, separated by wealth and class. and work. what does he do? what does he do when faced with this, but so enamored, pulled by a connection so deep— that he cannot fathom ignoring it? he'll lose his mind. he feels like he'll lose the piece of himself that he's been searching for all of these years.
jayce presses his forehead against a bust sketch and ends up smudging the pencil strokes that bring viktor's hair to life. he's lovesick, and at the same time it brings him completing joy, it also scares him. again: what is he to do?
it is a question that would not be answered tonight. he refrains from touching the roused heat at the base of his pelvis, feeling shame to taint their partnership he wouldn't dare lose, and instead forces himself to curve sideways. he soon exhausts himself and dreams, and it's wild— he and viktor conduct magical experiments together. they eventually achieve success, floating in a magical space of blue, although he wouldn't know how to point it out as such.
runic symbols ripple around them. jayce laughs with childlike youth, pokes a loose cog in the air— and viktor, with a smile he's never seen before, catches it in mid-flight. it's wondrous. it's . . . fun. it's beautiful.
he does his work in the morning, during the day— and waits for the evening with an invite in the works. he doesn't stop thinking. he never stops thinking. as he waits, jayce ends up journaling earlier in the night, resting on one of the benches with two horses tacked up in their stalls. he writes about his dream and it's odd vividness, along with drawing viktor's grinning, sweet face.
[Unbeknownst to them both, Viktor spends his evening in similar fashion of lustful wanting. He doesn't have the artistic skills of Jayce, but he takes to his own journal to write down everything they had discovered and disclosed over the course of the afternoon. His writing is messy and frantic, hand struggling to keep up with his mind as he painstakingly recreates every memory and scribbles more questions in the margins.
Titanium vendors and pricing? Statistical data on monochromatic color blindness? Hobbies / activities in free time? Single.
The final note feels stupid to include, because there's no way that Viktor would be able to forget the admission nor the way it framed every touch between them, ever smile that wrinkled the corners of Jayce's eyes and flashed the gap in his front teeth. Viktor can't describe the way it had made him feel to thread his arm through Jayce's and walk together, nor the selfless kindness that he'd shown with his gift to Viktor.
Sighing and wishing, for once, that he had more of a knack for at least one of the humanities, Viktor sets down his pencil and leans back in his chair. It's late into the night, or perhaps early into the morning, when he wakes with a crick in his back and the realization that he needs to remove the brace in order to remove his pants.
He should have ask Jayce to help with both.
He shakes his head and focuses instead on hobbling to bed, stiff from falling asleep sitting up and the exercise of the day. Luckily, the brace is incredibly clever, as is Viktor, and he's able to figure out the removal process from having watched Jayce put it on. Setting it aside gently, he collapses into bed and dreams. He dreams of Jayce, looking younger and almost like a stranger compared to his gruff, bearded self that Viktor knows. The dream is in color, but when Viktor wakes, he can't recall what anything had looked like other than the warmth of Jayce's smile. ]
What am I going to do about all this?
[ The first thing is sigh, and then get out of bed. He's just putting the brace back on, freshly washed and clothed, when he receives the invitation from Jayce. It's a little silly, considering they've spent time together almost daily since Jayce's arrival, but the formality of it sparks Viktor's interest—not that he would ever decline.
He bids his time until the evening in the library, writing more notes and seeking out some information on eye structures. He's never been all that interested in seeing color, but maybe he's never had something worth looking at until recently.
Leaving everything strewn on his desk, he sets out for the stables a little early so he can further test the brace, walking the long way around before wandering in through one of the big open doors. ] Jayce?
[ jayce has never jumped out of his skin so fast. ]
Viktor—
[ startled and fumbling his notebook, it only barely misses a fall to the ground before he snatches it between his knees. his pencil doesn't have the same luck, and he scrambles. it's not that he was doing anything wrong, he was only indulging in his hobbies, creating in his space. but. he was probably so focused and now so accutely aware of his embarrassing obsession that he's almost certain viktor would be weary about so many drawings of him.
jayce had been expecting to welcome him from the his front— not behind. ]
I— I didn't see you, [ he sputters, attempting to pocket his book and failing to remember that he's wearing what one may consider to be presentable clothes. snug, dark slacks and a clean, plain (white, probably) top. the notebook doesn't fit in these pockets, so he has to make do with the sheepish realization, glancing sideways and downward, that he's just rubbing it against his thigh. ]
[ It startles Viktor to see Jayce react so strongly, a smirk immediately pulling at the corner of his lips. ]
Were you not expecting me?
[ The trick with his notebook was impressive, drawing Viktor's attention to his knees and then up to where his thick thighs press together. Viktor had hoped to leave indecent thoughts behind him in his bedroom, but it couldn't help the way such a pose made his mouth water. He would have to be truly blind not to appreciate the musculature of Jayce's body, but he also likes to see it in more... vulnerable positions.
Moving closer to stand a step away from Jayce's feet, Viktor looks down at him and takes a guilty moment to admire his dark eyelashes and—trimmed beard? He looks like he's made effort to clean up, and Viktor had somehow missed the fact that his beautiful thighs were wrapped in slacks rather than the thicker pants that he usually wore for work. His shirt was what Viktor could only guess to be white since it was such a lighter tone than the others Jayce was often wearing, clean of smudges and stains. ]
You look nice. Is there another occasion I'm missing? [ Though he's teasing about the fact that Jayce had given him such a generous gift the day earlier, Viktor is already trying to think of a way to return the gesture. ]
[ after their first date, jayce has made it a habit in asking viktor to sneak off for plenty more midnight promenades— but in a shifty, dreadfully romantic way. during the day, on the clock in the stables, he'd slip smoldering gazes. if he were in the forge, his shirt was sure to be gone, and his musculature a bit more flexed than rested. in viktor's presence, no matter the distance— he'd make his appeal in the little gestures, dangerously toying with the limits of publicly appropriate— but never breaching them. it's always when he thinks no one is looking. it's always when jayce's colleagues have their backs turned.
it's always then, too, that jayce has begun to smuggle letters to viktor. in his gear or snug between saddlewhere when certain horses are prepared for his practice. in his pocket, when no one would notice but himself. in his hand, when he's explaining something about hooves or shoes, or the details of viktor's saddle design, passing blueprints with the letter just underneath it and a knowing gaze.
they always start similarly, charcoal fingerprints smudging the letter's body or edges. viktor, it addresses some times. my dearest partner in others.
they are always a declaration of colorful feelings; short, sweet, genuine language, an overwhelming amount of yearning. who knew jayce was such a romantic? they weren't very long. a paragraph at most, separating sentences with lines. the rest of the body was art. a little unkempt, as he was, but indubitably detailed, a scene from sometime during the day when he'd seen viktor. it is viktor, down to every feature. smiles, smirks, gazes he'd exchange, more serious looks of thoughtfulness . . . the mole above his lip, under his right eye, even the one on his neck— all of them are snapshots that jayce takes to heart and brings to life in his bedroom.
it's never signed ordinarily, if one were to simply look over it. only scrutinizing eyes would be able to find the intricately hidden initials in each sketch: JT. not only that, but there is a pattern jayce is certain viktor will have the time of his life cracking: codes. placement of certain letters forming a new word that he'd have to solve.
every time, it's a location, and an hour.
this time, the cracks something different than the others.
There is beauty in imperfections, and it is everything I admire about you.
You choose the place tonight. I'll be where I always am. ]
[ Their courtship remains a secret for the time being, not out of shame but rather something held close, precious, just for them. The clearing becomes Viktor's favorite place because they can sit and talk for hours or lay in silence while charting the stars. He learns that his favorite color is hazel, the name gleaned from overhearing a conversation about Mr. Talis' lovely green eyes, both words written in the margins of his journal.
Those are the sweet parts of his love.
The not-so-sweet parts are sitting on a chair in the forge, watching sweat drip down Jayce's back and dodging between flexing muscles, the heat in Viktor's body having little to do with the fire across the room. It's running a hand over the small of Jayce's back as they dance around each other in the stable or library, lost in their science but never enough for the touches to be truly absentminded. Viktor is far from being sweet when he catches Jayce's eye across a dinner table and takes a lavish bite, sucking the fork clean and giving a moan of appreciation for the flavors.
He strikes a balance, sweetness and flirting, affection and barely-bridled lust.
The letters always put him in a softer mood. At first, it's embarrassing how Jayce draws him, talented sketches featuring all the little flaws that Viktor sees in the mirror—crooked teeth, thin lips, uneven nose. But he gets used to it from the sheer number Jayce slips him in all his cute little ways, always secret and full of a language just for them. Viktor looks forward to the little codes as much as the romantic words, and it's a surprise when they take a different meaning today.
He doesn't know what Jayce has planned, but he heads to the stables in the evening, a little earlier than usual but impatient to see what's changed this time. ]
[ coming in early meant that, when viktor arrives . . . jayce is not at the stables. the horses in all barns have been fed and turned in for the evening, munching quietly as the setting sun brightens the view of the sky's horizon line and vast expanse of clouds. he's no where to be seen, and doesn't pop up when called, so . . .
he's probably in the cottage some ways next to the main stables he situates in, where the retired stars and geldings stay, the faint drizzle of a showerhead wafting out of the smallest bathroom window. jayce is cleaning up for a date night, but since he thinks he's got some time—
he's admiring the beautifully warm colors of the sunset through the small shower window at his eye level. gold or amber, it's called. the eye color of his beloved and the time of day where it stains the greatest part of the sky. he could whistfully stand there and think about him all the while, but time was of the essence! the running water cuts, and jayce talis moves along with his plans to get ready, a smile already stupidly tugging at his lips. ]
[ Greeting the horses and slipping Mercury a sugar cube, Viktor looks around for Jayce in the usual corners of the stables. He calls his name and, when he isn't answered, wanders out the back towards the place that Jayce has made his living quarters. At first, Viktor thought that he should live in the main house with everyone else, but once he learned that the offer had been made and turned down, he'd let that sleeping dog lie.
Plus, something about Jayce staying in his own little cottage was incredibly charming.
Viktor can hear the running of water and slowly circles the cottage until he spots a window with steam coming from it. ]
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☆AR_CANE
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What had once been a refuge from a provincial life of dinner parties and horse races was now a cramped and noisy bore. He looked back on his younger self, when he’d arrived with wide eyes and wider dreams, as childish—in the several years since, he’d not found a single soul that could satisfy his hunger. While other men (and some women) of his age and stature were seeking company in brothels and bars, Viktor had toured colleges and laboratories in search of mental stimulation. His peers—if they could be considered as such—gorged themselves on gossip while Viktor built towers of scientific articles in foreign languages he learned but would never get the chance to speak.
His own accent wavered the longer he stayed wrapped in the international, eclectic waters of the port city, stayed away from his parents’ lectures at him to stop dreaming and start acting. He knew why they did it, but really came to understand it with a few more years under his belt; they wanted him to continue their legacy rather than create one of his own. Perhaps they were right, too, for no matter how long Viktor lived in the city, he never once found the intellectual partner he yearned for.
It didn’t help that, year after year, the world around him remained grey and colorless in such stark contrast to his technicolored dreams.
So Viktor returned home, riding up the main drive of his family’s estate on a horse worth more than the average man’s yearly salary. He would send for his effects later—his restless nature meant that, once he’d made his mind up, he could not sit still a moment longer in his well-furnished and yet empty-feeling apartment.
Time stood still out here in the countryside. Trees grew taller and their leaves changed color—so he was told, as he could only distinguish the changes in tone—yet the world always looked the same as when he was a little boy. The wildflowers filled the air with the same sweet perfumes, the birds sang their songs until the cry of a fox silenced them, and the humidity clung to his skin beneath the riding suit that hugged his body in well-tailored fashion. Life had always been this, so vivid in all senses other than what he could see with open eyes.
It was a surprise to the staff when he walked in through the main doors, even more-so when he announced his intention to stay. They hurried into action freshening up his room as he went straight to his father’s study, greeting him and then asking after his mother to do the same. It didn’t take more than a day to hear of the new stable hand, one that his father saw promise in despite all of his employees whispering the opposite. ]
Talis. [ He tastes the name’s flavor, letting it sit on his tongue that was already falling back into old, accented habits. It rang a small bell in his mind, perhaps from reading it somewhere. ] I think it’s time to meet this new stable boy. Bring him to the library.
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no wonder it was reported as stubborn, lately— the fit was uncomfortable. detrimental, if it was worn for too long. jayce spends all afternoon taking notes on a single chestnut coated mare's gate by the name of Riosilitta. well, whatever "chestnut" is. all he sees is grey.
removing her fit already eases her posture, but doesn't fix the uneven slant in her hooves. she'll need custom shoes for that, each one different than the last to accommodate a specific leg. and it's there that jayce begins to shape them. the forge is hot and the clanking of molten metal is relentless. when a staff member visits to escort jayce to the young master, she calls him uncouth for working without a shirt on. the audacity!
he has his obvious reasons, but that goes more or less ignored. i'm busy, he'll grunt, and continue on with his work. he's not about to give what he thinks is a snobby child his undivided attention for play time when he's busy. if the boss didn't order it, too bad.
but she insists, annoyingly so, says something or other about it being of poor taste, especially if it fell to the ears of the mother and father. the young master was just as important around these parts.
reluctantly and pissed to be interrupted, jayce wipes the sweat and excess soot off of him, fits his uniform top which . . . is already dirty and reeks of horse and ash, before he limps along with his escort. he looks nowhere appropriate to enter the manor— his bangs stick to his temples and there are smudges of grit on his nose and cheek. his permanent brace clicks along with his step, which makes him heard like a bull wearing a cowbell.
in front of the library. augh, he's so annoyed. what does he want, to be read to? aren't there people for that? why me? jayce would have to settle with he asked for you, specifically. following a knock, the woman opens the grand, tall doors into the atheneum and announces their arrival.
jayce steps in only when told, not sure what to expect, and not exactly the friendliest of faces. he's searching for . . . a bratty kid, and does not find one. ]
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Thank you for making time to meet me, Mr. Talis. I’ll be with you in a moment. [ Scribbling down a few words, and then circling a promising schematic of gears, Viktor sets down both papers and pencil to push back his chair. His leg twinges as he stands, still stiff from the ride home a few days prior, and he leans a hand against the solid wood surface of the desk to help negotiate his weight around its corner. ]
Forgive me for the late introduction. [ He finally lifts his gaze, and though he hadn’t had any preconceived notions about what the new farrier might look like, he’s surprised nonetheless. The fact that this man is naturally scruffy, the soot of a forge still clinging to his clothes, might have displeased Viktor’s parents while having the opposite effect on their son; impressing his employers with pomp and circumstance doesn’t seem to be a priority for this young Mr. Talis.
Stepping closer, limp more prominent than he would have liked it to be while giving a first impression, he offers a hand in greeting. ] I’m Viktor.
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hesitant, jayce extends his own slowly, gives a bit of a gesture as if to say, "it's dirty", and leaves actually taking the shake to viktor if he chooses. he's about ready to give up, seeming a touch abashed. which is strange, he doesn’t really care about that. now? he's suddenly hyper aware he smells (and looks) like smoke and horse shit in a room that wafed lilac and lemon shavings. ]
I was, uh— in the middle of something.
[ an unspoken "sorry", if viktor's hand is now printed with the shadow of hard work, fire and dusty iron. so absolutely rough, in contrast. ]
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☆AR_CANE
things were going, well, fantastically. but one idea led to another, and jayce noticed, quite early on in their friendship, that viktor would improve his wellbeing drastically if he had a brace of his own, custom fit. the accommodation could make standing more comfortable, even walking a little more bearable when faced with chronic aches. jayce brainstormed support, weight removal, mobility and pain relief into a single, multipart design. he was even incredibly sneaky in getting viktor's measurements!
now, during the last month is where things likely started to get . . . odd, for viktor. jayce wouldn't object to their usual meeting hours, but he would begin to claim fatigue and ask to rest early.
every day.
some days, he would say he's backed up with some work he needs to do. never said what, and he'd always avoid the details. if viktor didn't know any better, yes. it was beginning to feel too frequent. even jayce knew that— he just hopes to god viktor would understand when he's finished.
it's only on a fine day, that jayce finally asks if viktor could pass by the stables at dusk. with urgency. with importance!
(please, don't be too mad at him, please—) ]
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Possibly even something more than a friend. Not that he would ever admit to it, both because he wouldn't want to jeopardize their partnership and also because of the little snag of them both being men.
That second concern came to mind more and more as Jayce suddenly became tired earlier most nights, and then every night, and then busy some afternoons as well. It was a reminder that he was free to have a life outside of work, although that was often his excuse—it was entirely possible that he was busy dating someone and was trying to keep his partnership with Viktor more professional by not discussing romance.
Still, Viktor couldn't help but... miss their time together and, if he would be honest with himself, miss Jayce himself. That was probably why he rushed to see him when he was sent for, leaning heavily on his cane by the time he reached the stables. ]
Jayce? Is everything alright? Ethan said you were quite urgent about your request.
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Viktor! No, I— I mean, yes, [ the horses notice viktor's approach, causing a domino effect of whinnies and nickers of greeting between the grading of hay and flatbed teeth. it gives jayce an extra moment to restart before he stumbles on himself more; the thrum in his core keeps dancing. breathe in, wait for the silence, ] —I want to show you something.
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Now that he's seen that Jayce isn't injured or upset, Viktor calms enough to greet the horses that stick their faces out of their stales. Patting necks and rubbing noses, he listens to Jayce's excited fumbling. ]
Oh? Aren't you full of surprises. Where would you like me?
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☆SYNAPSED
a ripple happens, somewhere, space and time distorts, rips a tear in its continuem and spits someone out on a drizzling night in piltover. hexgate construction has paused until dawn, and it is there, alone in gaping chambers that jayce finds himself after months surviving in that dreaded ravine.
this might've been a bit too far back.
this jayce does what he thinks is the safest possible stop: take the elevators up and sneak through dark hallways into the lab. he only hopes . . . there's no one there, right now. ]
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This night though had been particularly restless, so much so that almost nothing could pull Viktor away from his current fascination, save the fact his own tumultuous upbringing always puts him on high alert for danger.
(When one grows up in the Undercity, one never quite loses the heightened sense of one's surroundings; especially when something approaches in the cover of darkness.)
Viktor tenses when he realizes he is not alone, but the momentary rise in his shoulders drops when he then realizes who has joined him.]
Jayce. I thought you had retired for the night...
[What starts out as a teasing tone sputters out as he turns just in time to see a paradox of who he was expecting. (Perhaps he had been a little preemptive in dropping his guard.) The man before him is both Jayce and not. Familiar, yet a stranger. A comfort and a threat all in one.
The other man really does look like shit.
Viktor's grip tightens on the wrench he's holding, as if his slight, crippled form could actually do anything should the scene turns hostile. His eyes boldly flit up the other man's form, forever calculating, before he scoffs. There are a million thoughts running through his mind right now, but per usual, the one with the most potency is -- of course -- curiosity.]
What is this?
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Viktor, [ his voice trembles just as much as his injured leg beneath his own weight, atrophied and now an active complainer during locomotion. it's something he'll have to deal with, now. ] —It's still me.
[ he wants to explain, but where does he start? and should he?
he must swallow the raw desire to hug him, to press their foreheads together without being met with cold cavern walls or a dusty chalkboard. that is viktor. that is his, slightly younger viktor, still healthy and alive. ]
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[The defensive wrench drops as Jayce relaxes his hammer. Viktor's defenses do not. The immediate threat seems to have passed, but this is not the Jayce that Viktor knows; confirmed by the man's very own words. Who he is...what he is though, remains to be seen. Viktor sets the wrench down on his work table, (there's not much he could do with it anyways,) then turns to face the other man with a familiar gaze.
Perhaps Viktor should be more cautious with this almost-stranger, but he is first and foremost a scientist. His eyes again rake over the other man's form, doing what he does best -- inventorying and assessing, cataloging everything he knows to be Jayce Talis and all that things that are inherently...wrong? Different. His gaze lingers on that injured leg the longest, and he lets out a soft, audible exhale. It's a sore point. Of all the things he wishes for them to have in common, this is certainly not one of them.
Although, maybe it's not quite the same thing. Injuries can heal. Disease, malnutrition, afflictions do not. The graduation from cane to crutch has been humbling in every sense. It's with no fluidity of movement that Viktor takes a few hobbled steps forward, although he ultimately comes to rest against his crutch with another deep exhale.]
I think it would be best if you explained.
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☆AR_CANE
would he keep looking his way?
his lips . . . he wished he could—
jayce had started the header of his journal entry describing the brace's success. before he knew it, he'd filled out pages of his notebook only with sketches of viktor. just viktor, moments with viktor in his mind's eye. he begins studying the greyscale pieces, smiling to himself in boyish infatuation page after page. he's thirty-two years old, and his stomach sommersaults like a teenager's. the space between his legs burn with wanting. he—
jayce rests his head on his desk, and runs his hands through his hair in quiet bliss and biting agony.
because he is absolutely smitten, and they're worlds apart. men, separated by wealth and class. and work. what does he do? what does he do when faced with this, but so enamored, pulled by a connection so deep— that he cannot fathom ignoring it? he'll lose his mind. he feels like he'll lose the piece of himself that he's been searching for all of these years.
jayce presses his forehead against a bust sketch and ends up smudging the pencil strokes that bring viktor's hair to life. he's lovesick, and at the same time it brings him completing joy, it also scares him. again: what is he to do?
it is a question that would not be answered tonight. he refrains from touching the roused heat at the base of his pelvis, feeling shame to taint their partnership he wouldn't dare lose, and instead forces himself to curve sideways. he soon exhausts himself and dreams, and it's wild— he and viktor conduct magical experiments together. they eventually achieve success, floating in a magical space of blue, although he wouldn't know how to point it out as such.
runic symbols ripple around them. jayce laughs with childlike youth, pokes a loose cog in the air— and viktor, with a smile he's never seen before, catches it in mid-flight. it's wondrous. it's . . . fun. it's beautiful.
he does his work in the morning, during the day— and waits for the evening with an invite in the works. he doesn't stop thinking. he never stops thinking. as he waits, jayce ends up journaling earlier in the night, resting on one of the benches with two horses tacked up in their stalls. he writes about his dream and it's odd vividness, along with drawing viktor's grinning, sweet face.
what is he going to do . . . ]
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Titanium vendors and pricing?
Statistical data on monochromatic color blindness?
Hobbies / activities in free time?
Single.
The final note feels stupid to include, because there's no way that Viktor would be able to forget the admission nor the way it framed every touch between them, ever smile that wrinkled the corners of Jayce's eyes and flashed the gap in his front teeth. Viktor can't describe the way it had made him feel to thread his arm through Jayce's and walk together, nor the selfless kindness that he'd shown with his gift to Viktor.
Sighing and wishing, for once, that he had more of a knack for at least one of the humanities, Viktor sets down his pencil and leans back in his chair. It's late into the night, or perhaps early into the morning, when he wakes with a crick in his back and the realization that he needs to remove the brace in order to remove his pants.
He should have ask Jayce to help with both.
He shakes his head and focuses instead on hobbling to bed, stiff from falling asleep sitting up and the exercise of the day. Luckily, the brace is incredibly clever, as is Viktor, and he's able to figure out the removal process from having watched Jayce put it on. Setting it aside gently, he collapses into bed and dreams. He dreams of Jayce, looking younger and almost like a stranger compared to his gruff, bearded self that Viktor knows. The dream is in color, but when Viktor wakes, he can't recall what anything had looked like other than the warmth of Jayce's smile. ]
What am I going to do about all this?
[ The first thing is sigh, and then get out of bed. He's just putting the brace back on, freshly washed and clothed, when he receives the invitation from Jayce. It's a little silly, considering they've spent time together almost daily since Jayce's arrival, but the formality of it sparks Viktor's interest—not that he would ever decline.
He bids his time until the evening in the library, writing more notes and seeking out some information on eye structures. He's never been all that interested in seeing color, but maybe he's never had something worth looking at until recently.
Leaving everything strewn on his desk, he sets out for the stables a little early so he can further test the brace, walking the long way around before wandering in through one of the big open doors. ] Jayce?
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Viktor—
[ startled and fumbling his notebook, it only barely misses a fall to the ground before he snatches it between his knees. his pencil doesn't have the same luck, and he scrambles. it's not that he was doing anything wrong, he was only indulging in his hobbies, creating in his space. but. he was probably so focused and now so accutely aware of his embarrassing obsession that he's almost certain viktor would be weary about so many drawings of him.
jayce had been expecting to welcome him from the his front— not behind. ]
I— I didn't see you, [ he sputters, attempting to pocket his book and failing to remember that he's wearing what one may consider to be presentable clothes. snug, dark slacks and a clean, plain (white, probably) top. the notebook doesn't fit in these pockets, so he has to make do with the sheepish realization, glancing sideways and downward, that he's just rubbing it against his thigh. ]
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Were you not expecting me?
[ The trick with his notebook was impressive, drawing Viktor's attention to his knees and then up to where his thick thighs press together. Viktor had hoped to leave indecent thoughts behind him in his bedroom, but it couldn't help the way such a pose made his mouth water. He would have to be truly blind not to appreciate the musculature of Jayce's body, but he also likes to see it in more... vulnerable positions.
Moving closer to stand a step away from Jayce's feet, Viktor looks down at him and takes a guilty moment to admire his dark eyelashes and—trimmed beard? He looks like he's made effort to clean up, and Viktor had somehow missed the fact that his beautiful thighs were wrapped in slacks rather than the thicker pants that he usually wore for work. His shirt was what Viktor could only guess to be white since it was such a lighter tone than the others Jayce was often wearing, clean of smudges and stains. ]
You look nice. Is there another occasion I'm missing? [ Though he's teasing about the fact that Jayce had given him such a generous gift the day earlier, Viktor is already trying to think of a way to return the gesture. ]
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☆ MODIFICATION
Well, no.
But yes.
[ help ]
Just trust me on this.
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[ Offered like a boring fact of life, a "duh"-worthy comment. ]
But face-to-face delivery would be best for accuracy.
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And efficiency. Makes sense.
The lab or your place?
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I was going to head home, but I can stay at the lab.
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scooches back in here.....
WELCOME BACK OOMF......
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covers timestamp i've been here all along actually
puts my hand over your hand... we don't need no timestamps
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☆AR_CANE
it's always then, too, that jayce has begun to smuggle letters to viktor. in his gear or snug between saddlewhere when certain horses are prepared for his practice. in his pocket, when no one would notice but himself. in his hand, when he's explaining something about hooves or shoes, or the details of viktor's saddle design, passing blueprints with the letter just underneath it and a knowing gaze.
they always start similarly, charcoal fingerprints smudging the letter's body or edges. viktor, it addresses some times. my dearest partner in others.
they are always a declaration of colorful feelings; short, sweet, genuine language, an overwhelming amount of yearning. who knew jayce was such a romantic? they weren't very long. a paragraph at most, separating sentences with lines. the rest of the body was art. a little unkempt, as he was, but indubitably detailed, a scene from sometime during the day when he'd seen viktor. it is viktor, down to every feature. smiles, smirks, gazes he'd exchange, more serious looks of thoughtfulness . . . the mole above his lip, under his right eye, even the one on his neck— all of them are snapshots that jayce takes to heart and brings to life in his bedroom.
it's never signed ordinarily, if one were to simply look over it. only scrutinizing eyes would be able to find the intricately hidden initials in each sketch: JT. not only that, but there is a pattern jayce is certain viktor will have the time of his life cracking: codes. placement of certain letters forming a new word that he'd have to solve.
every time, it's a location, and an hour.
this time, the cracks something different than the others.
There is beauty in imperfections, and it is everything I admire about you.
You choose the place tonight. I'll be where I always am. ]
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Those are the sweet parts of his love.
The not-so-sweet parts are sitting on a chair in the forge, watching sweat drip down Jayce's back and dodging between flexing muscles, the heat in Viktor's body having little to do with the fire across the room. It's running a hand over the small of Jayce's back as they dance around each other in the stable or library, lost in their science but never enough for the touches to be truly absentminded. Viktor is far from being sweet when he catches Jayce's eye across a dinner table and takes a lavish bite, sucking the fork clean and giving a moan of appreciation for the flavors.
He strikes a balance, sweetness and flirting, affection and barely-bridled lust.
The letters always put him in a softer mood. At first, it's embarrassing how Jayce draws him, talented sketches featuring all the little flaws that Viktor sees in the mirror—crooked teeth, thin lips, uneven nose. But he gets used to it from the sheer number Jayce slips him in all his cute little ways, always secret and full of a language just for them. Viktor looks forward to the little codes as much as the romantic words, and it's a surprise when they take a different meaning today.
He doesn't know what Jayce has planned, but he heads to the stables in the evening, a little earlier than usual but impatient to see what's changed this time. ]
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he's probably in the cottage some ways next to the main stables he situates in, where the retired stars and geldings stay, the faint drizzle of a showerhead wafting out of the smallest bathroom window. jayce is cleaning up for a date night, but since he thinks he's got some time—
he's admiring the beautifully warm colors of the sunset through the small shower window at his eye level. gold or amber, it's called. the eye color of his beloved and the time of day where it stains the greatest part of the sky. he could whistfully stand there and think about him all the while, but time was of the essence! the running water cuts, and jayce talis moves along with his plans to get ready, a smile already stupidly tugging at his lips. ]
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Plus, something about Jayce staying in his own little cottage was incredibly charming.
Viktor can hear the running of water and slowly circles the cottage until he spots a window with steam coming from it. ]
Jayce?
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