[ jayce hasn't realized he's huddled closer and closer to viktor until the shock of their knees and arms are too close together to allow for free movement (or any sort of shift that wouldn't jostle either of them from each other's side). it's a bit natural for jayce, to seek this sort of warmth when he's at his most soothed, to want to apply his affections onto viktor in every way his heart could've mustered and applied. none of that was truly possible until recently and . . . clasping the back of his partner's neck and pressing their heads together still left a weight across the gem crown on his forehead and his shoulders. made it run hot, and his blood bubble with quiet embarrassment at the words that fell off his lips like a dead man's eulogy.
jayce is sucking on the messy tips of his fingers by now, at least until they don't feel so . . . sloppy, not that he cares. much. his first instinct is to wipe on the top of his thigh but there's literally nothing there to really dry himself off other than a strange, dusty static of his own glamor. he follows viktor's lead to wash his hands in the dip of the fountain, flicking the lingering droplets off as he listens and drapes his gaze sideways on viktor's rosey profile. good look on you, he thinks.
something about that last part feels melancholic. jayce thinks he could understand, but not understand.
his hand curls, unfurls— before jayce felt it right to raise it over viktor's back instead of letting it hover, placing it upon his opposite shoulder. his palm is fizzy, warm, like sparkling cider and embers flaring at the tail end of fireworks. it felt right. felt especially good, like he hadn't done it in such a long while . . . well. sans the astral plane. ]
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jayce is sucking on the messy tips of his fingers by now, at least until they don't feel so . . . sloppy, not that he cares. much. his first instinct is to wipe on the top of his thigh but there's literally nothing there to really dry himself off other than a strange, dusty static of his own glamor. he follows viktor's lead to wash his hands in the dip of the fountain, flicking the lingering droplets off as he listens and drapes his gaze sideways on viktor's rosey profile. good look on you, he thinks.
something about that last part feels melancholic. jayce thinks he could understand, but not understand.
his hand curls, unfurls— before jayce felt it right to raise it over viktor's back instead of letting it hover, placing it upon his opposite shoulder. his palm is fizzy, warm, like sparkling cider and embers flaring at the tail end of fireworks. it felt right. felt especially good, like he hadn't done it in such a long while . . . well. sans the astral plane. ]
You're saying you can't, now?