Archive of Our Own ^beta

Viktor was very rarely one to complain, always holding his tongue at the right moments and refraining from speaking out of turn, a lifetime of excessive repercussions teaching him that his true thoughts were almost always best left unsaid. Life with Jayce had slowly been changing his previous impositions, strict guidelines he had spent so long learning suddenly becoming null and void, useless artefacts of an existence slowly fading from circumstance to memory, but occasionally the skills his past had forced upon him came in handy.

Self imposed rules became most useful at the crux of each week when a day would arrive where the rations ran low, cupboards beginning to bare, and the contents in jars getting lower until all that remained were dregs and the most avoided foodstuffs, resulting in the least fulfilling meals possible. Jayce would cook something lacklustre with all the passion of a young lover, adding as many spices and herbs as possible to substitute for the glaring lack of flavour, and Viktor would sit at the reinforced dining table and grimace his way through what was often a watery, tasteless broth, swirling like a steaming earl grey tea, deceivingly aromatic. Tonight was one of those nights where running his foot up and down the splintering wood of his chair leg and feeling it catch against the softness of his sock was more preferable than meeting his dad’s gaze, worried that his face would betray his discontent.

Jayce sighed through his nose, lips pressing against his teeth as he forced himself to swallow another mouthful, watching out of the corner of his eye as Viktor’s actions mirrored his own. The boy was twirling his spoon around the dark liquid, a forlorn look on his face that swiftly disappeared when he saw Jayce staring, replaced with an indebted contentment even when he winced as the broth coated his tongue.

“You don’t need to finish that, Viki. I know it’s terrible.” A strange sort of gruffness twined through Jayce’s words, as if he were a bit embarrassed.

He took a long gulp of ale, probably to mask the taste, and Viktor’s eyes widened, small lines appearing on his forehead as his eyebrows rose.

“No! It’s not terrible. It’s just not great, either. But that’s okay; I’ve had much worse.” He rushed out, shoving another overflowing spoonful down his gullet and muffling a small sound of displeasure.
Viktor would never complain about his dad’s cooking—not to his face or behind his back—but he could at least admit to himself that some nights, the concoctions Jayce brewed up were things most people would class as inedible. Still, it was important to him to never seem ungrateful. Jayce had saved his life, and it would take more than a few shudder-worthy meals to ever make him insult the man.
There had been many nights as a child where Viktor had not earned the privilege to eat at all, evenings that were not that far from where he was now, sitting in a kitchen with the man he loved, being cooked for and held and appreciated. It was easy to forget that Jayce was now a permanent fixture in his life. Not his boss, but his father. A strange mix of a paramour and a parent that he would struggle to put into words if anyone were to ask.
Viktor had requested alcohol too, something to dampen the watery nothingness of the steaming broth, but Jayce was adamantly immovable on the topic of Viktor drinking in any capacity. The conversations elapsed in the same fashion a few times every month. First a tentative request, then an outright refusal, evolving into an age-old stubbornness that it seemed Jayce would never abandon. Boundary pushing pleas of ‘But Dad, I’m an adult now’ met with that same placating reply—‘Well, you’ll always be my little boy.’ And if Dad didn’t want him drinking, then who was Viktor to deny him that?
The Distinguished Innovators competition had an afterparty that Viktor attended simply to support Ekko and Powder, who had infuriatingly come in at second place. The venue had been teeming with people, loud young adults shoving against one another to try and find their friends, knocking against his shoulder so harshly that Viktor had almost lost his balance more than once. There had been an abundance of alcohol too, all of which he resolutely ignored in favour of keeping his promise to Jayce that he would not touch the stuff. He returned home that night sober, letting Jayce unhinge his jaw, proud when the only thing his dad smelt on his breath was the mint of his gum. It had taken some convincing; a torch flashed into his eyes, and some heavy leaning on his cane as he forced his legs to walk in a perfectly straight line, but the look on Jayce’s face had been worth all the effort. He had given Viktor a satisfied nod, pushed his hair from his forehead and caressed his temple with a tender reverence, like he was beautifully virginal and innocent.

Since then Viktor pushed the topic less. He would always ask because he felt he had to, as though being eighteen meant that he must aspire to some level of rebelliousness, but deep in his soul there was little desire to break the rules. Not now that the one enforcing them was so pleased when he fell in line. Not when doing as he was told earned him sensual touches and whispering arms around his waist and everything he had ever yearned for, all packed into one dashingly handsome man, rugged and searingly possessive in a way Viktor had never thought possible in regards to him.

Jayce stood abruptly, pulling Viktor from his thoughts and taking his half-full bowl to the sink.

“We’ll visit the market in the morning, stock up on everything we need. Maybe get some lunch as well, hm?”

Viktor nodded, eyes glued to the back of Jayce’s head, where his hair was the thickest and the easiest to tangle his fingers through when he cried on Jayce’s cock.

“Okay.”

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The next morning he woke feeling excessively hungry, his stomach tying itself in knots and begging for food. He hadn’t been able to finish the prior night's meal—jumping at the opportunity to discard it as soon as he saw Jayce do the same with his—and yet now he found himself regretting that decision, feeling feeble and weak before the day had even begun.

Jayce’s arms were wrapped tightly around his middle, the rough hair on his face scratchy and immovable against the nape of Viktor’s neck, where he dotted feathery kisses just consistent enough to wake his son up. Every inch of bare skin he touched burnt with the sweet reminder of all things precious; sacred little gems of passion rolled in fur and foam and everything soft, waiting to be nurtured and fulfilled each day. When his dad tightened his grip and thrust lazily against the space between his thighs, it wasn’t just a sexual act but a promise that he still desired Viktor. Still wanted to push into his wet heat and own him.

“Mornin’. Did you sleep well?” Viktor reached down to squeeze his dad’s forearm, pushing back against him to weasel his way further into the man’s embrace.

Jayce huffed against his skin, warmth spreading from the area and heating Viktor’s neck like a soft exhale against glass on a rainy day.

Viktor loved moments like these, where he was pinned in place and held so tenderly by his father, a man built of rippling muscle layered with fat, so strong and undeniably masculine that it made his head spin. When Jayce went to the forge Viktor would silently celebrate, willing away the hours while he cleaned or tweaked new projects, waiting patiently for the man to walk through the front door smelling of grease and sweat, layers of grime from the hard day’s work marking his bronze skin.

He would make an effort to intercept his dad on the way to the shower, stopping him before he could wash away the heady scent of manual labour, falling ungracefully to his knees (a decision he always regretted later when the ache would give way to a tangible pain and Jayce would massage his legs reverently, telling him off for making the same mistake again), and mouthing messily at his clothed crotch with his wrists held obediently behind his back.

“Not too badly, my love. I always sleep well with you next to me.” Jayce’s voice was surprisingly clear, like he must have been awake for some time. “What about you?”

Viktor stretched against him and let his joints pop into place, a litany of loud cracks echoing around the small space and bouncing between them, a noise he knew Jayce hated—both in general and because it reminded him of Viktor’s poor health—but stomached for his son’s sake.

“Hmf—okay, but I-” A stifled yawn broke through, severing his thoughts. “I ache a lot.”

“I’m not surprised. You kick like a mule in your sleep.” Jayce chuckled and loosened his grip, bringing his own arms above his head and squeezing his eyes shut while he stretched.

Viktor was startled by that. He had no idea, but Jayce must be perturbed if he was going so far as to bring it up, and the thought of hurting his dad—accidentally or not—was a particularly upsetting prospect. Jayce surely wouldn’t want to sleep in the same bed as Viktor if the boy was kicking him all night, disturbing his well earned sleep and striking his own bad leg. He sat up stiffly and turned to Jayce, eyes downturned and regretful.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. Please don’t make me go to the guest room. I’ll stop, I promise…” Figuring out how he’d stop was an afterthought; what mattered was keeping the man happy.

Jayce’s eyes opened confusedly before his brow curved inward in concern, sitting himself up as well so that he could drape one hand across Viktor’s shoulder while the other rubbed soothing circles against his bare chest.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Vik, you know I’d never kick you out of your own bed, baby. It’s alright, Dad’s not mad at you. You couldn’t kick hard enough to hurt him anyway, hm?”

Viktor nodded, sweet relief coursing through his veins as he folded against Jayce, curling himself as far into the man’s warmth as possible. He wished he could crawl inside of Jayce’s chest and make a home for himself there, bloody and beating and so safe from everyone he’d ever known. From all the nights of hunger and poking box springs, from mean words and trips to churches, praying for miracles. His dad was a miracle, wasn’t he? A mirage sent from above for all of Viktor’s misfortunes. Maybe Jayce was his guardian angel, put on a path that was always meant to collide with Viktor’s own, whether he had been sixteen or sixty-three, and Jayce would live forever because he had to. By the time Viktor turned forty (if he even made it so far), Jayce wouldn’t have aged a day; not because he was different or special, but because Viktor had asked him not to, and his dad would always do as Viktor asked.

“That’s it, just relax and Dad’ll take care of you. We don’t have much in for breakfast, so how about I make some tea?” Viktor nodded along shyly. “You want it in bed, baby? Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

Jayce kissed the top of his head dutifully, and Viktor watched the shape of his heavy back walk down the hall and into the bathroom before continuing on down the stairs. He still wasn’t sure what he had done to earn such a serene level of doting, but as far as Viktor was concerned, his dad was faultless, kind in every sense of the word, and patient where others would be forceful.

The first time Jayce’s wandering fingers had breached the confines of his waistband, Viktor had been hunched over the table, blueprints below him while his mind buzzed with unanswered equations. He had not been an innocent party either, parading himself around in as little clothes as feasibly possible, but despite his eagerness, Viktor had folded when Jayce finally pursued him past rough fondling, blubbering about how he had never been touched before, scared of turning Jayce off. His dad had been shockingly understanding, telling Viktor that it was better that way; that other men wouldn’t be gentle with him like Jayce would. Other men would hurt him, make him tear, and only care about themselves. Not like Jayce, who promised to show Viktor just how good pleasure could be.

‘Nobody knows a boy better than his father,’ Jayce had said, and Viktor agreed. It made sense that the person who knew him most intimately in every other walk of life would also understand his sexual needs the best as well. He only wished that the bond ran deeper, that blood related them as well as just documents and paper. Viktor wanted to worship Jayce’s cock with the knowledge that it made him—heavy against his cheek as he burrowed his face impossibly closer, serving his creator in real life as opposed to fantasy.

The tea was perfect, brought to Viktor on a tray with a few fresh pieces of fruit picked from the garden and a small vase with a pretty purple flower; something he could never remember the name of but which grew in a tub by the back door. Viktor had once tried to bring Jayce breakfast in bed—on fathers day no less—but had regrettably been unable to traverse the stairs with both his hands occupied and had instead opted to show his affection in a different, more personal way, laughing madly when his dad later stepped on the pancakes abandoned on the bottom step.

Jayce always looked at Viktor as if he hung the stars, but if anything he thought he was more like the moon, skin smooth and pale, mottled with the traces of a thousand lilting caresses, moles a constellation against a backdrop of porcelain. Jayce had often stared into space in recent days—when the air was cool and bushes rustled with curious young creatures—wondering if the moon had ever chosen a favourite. A person who gazed lovingly for longer than the rest, who searched the clouded night sky and prayed for a glimpse of white. If Viktor were the moon, Jayce would undoubtedly be that chosen one, for how could he avert his eyes from the ever-evolving enchanter that was his son?

“Thank you, Daddy,” a name reserved for when Viktor was feeling especially sweet and wanted Jayce to know it. “You didn’t need to bring it up; I could’ve come down.”

“That’s alright, baby. You know Dad likes to take care of you. You’re gonna eat that and take your medication, and then we’ll go to the market, okay? We’ve got food to get, and if you’re good, I'll buy you a treat.” Jayce’s hand bunched in the hair on the nape of Viktor’s neck, angling his head so he could steal a quick peck against his cheek.

He always ended up buying Viktor something. Whether it be some mechanical junk that his son saw a use for or a new book he had been aching to read, Viktor’s pool of possessions had grown from a handful of old clothes and a fractured cane, to a room's worth of gadgets and reading material. Trinkets that caught his eye in antique shops and a professional photo taken of him and Jayce, sitting pride of place on his bedside table. The guest room was overrun with gifts, and still he was given more; Jayce more willing to build a house extension than forgo buying him presents.

Viktor was embarrassed to admit that there were a fair few toys as well. Model houses and play boats he had spent hours staring at through shop windows, wishing to somehow own them one day and not have to share the grimy old sock puppets and rattling trains the orphanage had, watching as the other children singled him out and refused his pleas to join in. Viktor couldn’t ‘keep up’, as they liked to put it. But Jayce had gone out of his way to not only find those toys he mentioned but to source actual models from his childhood, scouring Zaun for collectors and offering higher prices than he would ever admit to out loud.

It was always worth it to see his face, eyes brightening in a recently slumbered childish wonder until they filled with tears, so indescribably happy that he could never contain the shriek of joy at finally having his hands on the toys he’d so desperately hungered for not all that long ago. He’d spend the rest of those days curiously quiet, sitting on the floor taking screws out and inspecting the craftsmanship of each piece, thoroughly content when Jayce ruffled his hair and sat behind him, asking questions and resting his chin on his son’s shoulder.

Some days Viktor would ask Jayce to play with him. Never anything particularly imaginative, but he enjoyed the cathartic motions of furnishing the inside of the dollhouse or playing spinning tops in silence, soaking in the emotions he hadn't got to experience when he needed to the most. Jayce was good at handling him when he became quiet, talking out into the air softly and leading what they did next, nudging Viktor in whichever direction he deemed suitable until he came back to himself, needing comfort to ebb away the gruelling bashfulness from where he sat on his dad’s lap. Jayce had never asked where Viktor’s mind went on those afternoons, but he could tell the boy felt at ease as he hummed around the tip of his thumb and rested his head against his knees. So long as Viktor was happy, Jayce would sit on the hard floor all day.

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The market was bustling, as always seemed to be the case; short people carrying towering armfuls of crates and housewives dragging their grumbling husbands through the intricate weaving of the gaps between booths, all plugged up with people.

Viktor couldn’t say he was a fan of the market, not when it was a little too loud for his sensitive hearing and the cobbled walkways made his cane land unevenly on the floor, but there was comfort in the knowledge that Jayce didn’t enjoy it all that much either and never stayed longer than what was necessary.

Being with his father made going out exponentially easier; Jayce always fell into step with Viktor, even when the boy could see his long legs itching to take longer strides. He liked to keep a possessive hand somewhere on his person, usually resting it softly against the small of Viktor’s back or the hollow junction where his shoulder met his neck. He would steer them both in whichever direction he wanted to go, shielding Viktor and carving a path through the crowd for them to walk through.

Sometimes he imagined that the parting sea of people were teary eyed guests at a beautifully ornate wedding, where he could stroll down the middle with all the time in the world and appreciate the flowing bouquets streaming from pedestals like spraying waterfalls, basking in the golden light through a stained glass window. And would Jayce walk him down the aisle? Or would he stand under a nuptial bower, beaming with a pride so loud the gaps in his teeth showed? No, Viktor couldn’t do it alone. He’d want to lean on Jayce just the same as always, putting more weight on him than on his cane. Realistically Viktor didn’t know enough people for there to be a proper congregation—realistically one couldn’t marry their own father—but he could dream anyway.

Jayce bartered heartily with the shopkeepers, his pleasant reputation doing wonders for his wallet until their basket was mostly full, weighing down the crook of Viktor’s arm with delicious foods and the fresh aromas of Piltover-grown produce (his father only ever bought the best). The man had been particularly risky, stealing obscene touches and groping him as if there weren't hundreds of other people around. Jayce wasn't usually one for public displays, inwardly conscious of the fact that his and Viktor’s deviations were markedly illegal, but he seemed to go through phases of insatiability, where he couldn’t help but take the risks of public exposure. His fingers travelled lower, until they grasped the small mound of Viktor’s ass and squeezed the flesh through his trousers, linen bunching beneath his palm.

“Hey Talis!” A voice rang through the street, rapidly approaching from behind, and still Jayce’s grip didn’t falter. Viktor wondered if he heard at all. “Talis! How have you… been?”

A man saddled up beside them, dressed humbly with a stark white beard that reached past his neck, a few inches shorter than Jayce and many pounds heavier. Viktor recognised him as Stan Trowler, a local carpenter and someone Jayce worked with from time to time when a commission required both skill sets. He was held in high regard, someone who had influence in the small community and, more importantly, someone who was now staring at Jayce’s hand, his words falling into quiet obscurity by the end of his sentence. His father’s touch retreated when Jayce’s conscience was woken with a start, guiltily worming its way into his own pocket and canyoning a gap between them.

Trowler scowled lightly, his face pinching together in distaste when he turned to Viktor. “Have you been enjoying living with Mister Talis, Viktor? I do hope he’s been just as supportive as he humbly tells us he has.”

That was a new concept. Had Jayce been bragging about how good of a father he was? Viktor couldn’t imagine his dad being anything but modest, sure that Mister Trowler must’ve been exaggerating for the sake of conversation, and yet still he looked worryingly stern. Jayce chuckled in a way Viktor knew to be false, simply made to ease the tension he was feeling. Maybe it was true then, but Jayce really was a wonderful parent, and if telling other people about his paternal triumphs was how he patted himself on the back, then Viktor wouldn’t judge him; how could he when he himself constantly sang the man's praise?

“Yes, sir, I love living with Dad. He’s very kind, as I'm sure you can imagine. I haven’t wanted for anything.” Mister Trowler nodded along suspiciously, eyeing Jayce in that way adults do when they’re trying to converse subtly without alerting a child. But Viktor wasn’t a child and he most definitely wasn’t stupid; Trowler was criticising Jayce.

“I’m sure.” The harsh lines of his face twitched with concern. “Talis here has told me all about your projects. As far as I'm aware they sound very… promising. If you ever need any advice on subject matter involving carpentry, please don’t hesitate to stop by. I can always get you some help.”

Trowler nodded in their direction—a curt acknowledgement of their existence—and turned, starting in the direction he had come from when Jayce tried to interrupt and speak. The basket felt heavy on Viktor’s arm and so he passed it to Jayce, who steered them in the direction of home without any further words. Viktor was a little nervous, worried that his dad might blame him in some way and dole out his first ever real punishment. The care homes had been generous in subjecting children to abuse under the guise of discipline, which mostly consisted of being caned or losing meal privileges. And what if his father decided that would be an appropriate retribution? Viktor had barely eaten since last night, and maybe Jayce wanted to teach him a lesson in gratitude. He had thrown away his meal after all.

By the time they made it back, Viktor’s eyes were streaming, scared of however Jayce’s wrath may present itself. He carried the basket to the kitchen, dutifully unpacking everything while Viktor waited in the small lobby, uneasy with the silence, suddenly feeling very young again. He wanted Jayce to hug him and tell him everything would be okay, that Trowler was only being judgemental because he didn’t understand, and that he would keep his mouth shut for the sake of their reputations.

He lost himself in thought, fingers trailing up until they sat in his mouth and acted as soothers. He struggled to breathe through his nose, small sniffles escaping him every other second until he could no longer hold back the sobs threatening to break through. Jayce was by his side instantly, picking him up and carrying him up the stairs toward the bedroom where he settled them both on the bed, Viktor tucked far into his chest, cane forgotten downstairs.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart; it’s okay. You don’t need to be scared so long as Dad has you, hm?” He stroked Viktor's back, catching against his jutting spine through his shirt. His voice was so low and warm, every word vibrating through their bodies with a satisfying hum.

Viktor squeezed him tightly. “What if he tells someone?”

“Then we’ll deal with it. We’ll be alright, baby. All we need is each other.”

His son didn’t look convinced, and it bothered Jayce to no end to know that Viktor didn’t believe he could protect them from this, just like he had protected them from everything else. Jayce had rescued him from those awful orphanages and given him a place to work and sleep. Stayed up until the early hours of the morning scribbling down blueprints for Viktor’s projects while the boy slept in his lap. Had bought as many toys for Viktor as he could just so he could relive a childhood he never got to experience and let go of all his inhibitions for a while. Jayce had taken Viktor’s virginity when his son had begun displaying deviant tendencies so that he wouldn’t end up getting hurt by some overenthusiastic jerk. Of course he would be able to handle any stupid rumour that Trowler decided to start—if it ever came to it.

He needed Viktor to know that there was nothing in Zaun or beyond that could keep them apart, and if one day he faced the ultimate judgement of his actions, then he would drop everything and leave with Viktor, wherever he wanted to go.

“I’m sorry for crying Daddy. I’m just scared. I don’t want to lose you.” Viktor whimpered sadly, imagining a world where he never met Jayce at all.

“Don’t apologise, Viki. Daddy loves you so much. You’re just overwhelmed, cariño, that’s all. Now breathe in and out when I do, okay?” Jayce rocked them gently from side to side, exaggerating his breathing to encourage Viktor to do the same. “You can’t help it, can you, sweet thing? You’re too little to understand.”

Viktor nodded wordlessly and burrowed closer to his dad. Jayce liked to baby him—said it made up for all the lost time he never got to experience when Viktor was a child—but more than anything he knew that when in that cottony state of mind, Viktor was impressionable and easily influenced. It was a useful tool to calm him down and help Jayce make him forget about whatever was upsetting him, something he had used to his advantage more than once. It was all for Viktor’s sake; Jayce would never weaponise such a vulnerable part of his son’s existence, but his pliancy was a well received bonus when Jayce’s slacks tented and his mind filled with a familiar haze of its own.

“Why don’t you let Daddy show you how much he loves you?” He laid Viktor down on his back, slotting his torso between his son’s parted legs and rucked up his shirt, exposing his small tits.

Viktor had always counted himself extremely lucky for the fact that he hadn’t developed much of a chest, instead being left with just slightly puffy nipples, small enough to wear shirts with nothing underneath. Jayce lathed his tongue against them, pulling gently with his teeth until both were sharply pointed forward, glistening with a layer of saliva and bright red. He loved to pay attention to them, switching rapidly from one to the other and sucking with a dedicated fervour. It was a silent fantasy of his to one day work his son to orgasm simply from playing with his pert chest, but he knew that would require a good amount of training, something he didn’t have the patience for most days.

His heavy hips weighed Viktor down, pinning him in place as he began kissing down his torso, paying extra attention to the tiny pocket of fat the boy had gained on his lower stomach, a shining trophy for all of Jayce’s efforts to keep him well fed. Viktor had been so tiny when Jayce met him; thin wrists and bony, awkward angles that the man had been so instantly attracted to. Viktor—then just an employee—would offer small smiles and greetings when he entered the forge, innocent and charming, and all Jayce wanted to do was shove him face first into the ground and take him. Or expose himself and make Viktor’s inexperienced throat choke around his cock. It had been hard to keep himself in line, but playing the long game was evidently the only way he could ever own the boy.

Viktor reached downwards, shoving his hands into his waistband and shuffling out of his clothes, dripping and eager, his underwear a wet mess.

“Please Daddy, I’m ready. I want you inside me.” His cheeks darkened at the admonition, desire just barely outweighing diffidence.

“You need my cock so bad, don’t you baby? Can’t help but beg for your father to fuck your pretty pussy and fill you up, keep you swollen and leaking.” Jayce cooed, pulling his pants down roughly and sighing when his dick slapped against his stomach. He rutted against Viktor’s clit, spreading his precum messily around the boy's pubic mound. “Maybe I should cum like this and leave you waiting. Bet you could get off from that anyway.”

Viktor cried out at the thought, thighs quivering as his dad rutted against him, his length sliding in silky pulls, balls slapping against his hole with every pistoning thrust. Coherent thoughts were escaping him; he wanted to be possessed entirely with a wedding band on his finger and a collar around his neck, maybe even shackles binding his ankles. It didn’t matter what it was—if Jayce was willing to give, Viktor would always take.

“Please don’t be mean, I promise to be good, just- give it to me.”

Jayce grasped his hips and flipped him so his chest pressed into the mattress, hips held high enough that his knees only brushed the bed.

“You’re always good.” He murmured, finally letting his leaking head pop into the tight ring of muscles.

The glide in was easy; with Viktor wet enough to put up no resistance, Jayce quickly bottomed out. He leant forward and wrapped an arm around his son’s chest, his twisted spine pressed against solid, rippling muscle and Viktor sighed, feeling his dad so deep inside him, covering him so wholly with his large frame. People like Trowler would never understand this: the precious bond between a father and son whose souls twined so deeply that the mesh of their flesh may as well fuse together. Jayce sank his teeth into the nape of Viktor’s neck in one swift bite, pushing his head down with a grunt and winding the boy as he fucked harder into his sloppy hole.

Viktor tightened around him, one hand travelling downwards in a desperate attempt to touch himself, quickly thwarted when Jayce grabbed his wrist and tutted. He bent his arm roughly behind his back and pinned it there, ignoring the rambling pleas of the boy below him.

“I thought you said you’d behave. You know the rules, baby. Who does this sweet cunt belong to?” Sweat ran down Jayce’s temple as he quickened the bruising pace, ignoring the aching pressure in his leg.

“It – it belongs to you! ‘S yours Daddy.” Viktor warbled. His voice reached an octave higher, travelling through the air on a trembling wire.

“That’s right—and we don’t touch what’s not ours, do we?” Viktor didn’t respond; pathetic noises punched from deep within his chest. Jayce fisted a handful of his hair and pulled, making his son's back arch further. “Dad's talking to you Viki. Do we touch what isn’t ours?”

“No! I’m sorry.” His accent was thick and needy, cheeks red from exertion, the slick motion of his dad’s cock driving him insane. “I won’t do it again.”

Jayce restrained himself from grinning. “Ha… I know you won't, baby. So eager to please Daddy, aren’t you?” His hold returned to Viktor’s hips, lifting him for leverage in such a way that relieved his leg of any pressure. “You make Daddy so proud, Vik. Now clench that cunt and come on the cock that made you.”

Viktor’s whole body seized with tension and every muscle flexed as he came untouched, eyes rolled so far back it could be mistaken for possession. The sensations rippled through him, a tight coil of pleasure snapping so hard he could see stars, as though he were no longer in their bedroom but somewhere else entirely, in a plane of bliss. Jayce had never said that before, and Viktor thinks he may have come the hardest he ever had in his life; hole massaging his dad’s length in fluttering little squeezes.

Jayce leveraged him higher until the only parts of Viktor that were touching the bed were his upper torso and head, too lost in the squelching heat to concern himself with gentility. It didn’t take him long to finish, growling out obsessive promises and muttering sick fantasies before he stilled and came, shoving himself deep and pulsating there, painting his son's canal in the most primal way possible.

He let Viktor’s hips down, softly rearranging him until he was once again laid on his back. Only then did he allow himself to pull out, revelling in the wet pop of his flagging erection coming free. He grasped the back of Viktor’s thighs, ignoring the boy's shocked gasp as he shoved his knees into his face, holding them there with one of his outstretched hands.

“Spread yourself for me, honey. Dad wants to clean you up.”

Viktor let out a small huff of excitement and Jayce watched as he tightened around nothing, the first pumps of seed beginning to trickle down his taint. He fingered lightly around his own folds before hooking both his middle fingers into himself and prying them apart, widening the cavity of his cunt until Jayce could fully see inside him. Viktor used to feel self conscious when asked to present himself so thoroughly, but after months of tender reassurance, he was no longer so embarrassed.

Jayce caught the bead of semen with his thumb and traced it up to the source, penetrating lightly to stuff it back. He leant down and licked furtively against Viktor, careful not to startle the boy as he dipped his tongue inside, lapping at his creamy walls until the thighs by his head were shaking, whimpering little huffs and sighs filling his ears until Viktor was clean, when he travelled carefully upwards and finally suctioned his lips around his son’s clit, sucking and humming with such a sudden ferocity that Viktor whined.

“Ah! Daddy I- hmph… I’m gonna cum.” Tears welled in his eyes and he bit onto his bottom lip, barely muffling the loud moan of relief when he finally came from stimulation on his clit, Jayce’s hot tongue flicking against him addictively.

He pulled away and released Viktor’s legs, wincing in sympathy when he saw how he struggled to unfold himself, crawling up the bed until he could sweep the boy up into his arms and cradle him. “You did so well, sweet thing. Daddy loves you so much Viktor, don’t ever think he doesn’t. You mean everything to me, baby.”

Viktor often didn’t say much after sex, becoming mostly mute for a while until his brain caught up with him and rebooted itself. Jayce always made sure to spoil him in that time, earning sweet giggles of appreciation and shy little kisses against his cheek that kept him feeling strong and useful; a reason to continue waking up in the morning.

“Do you want a bath, Vik?” The boy nodded wordlessly, eyes shut but face calm and contented.

He carried his son to the bathroom, sitting him down on the counter despite the low protests he received. “It’s okay mi corazón, Daddy isn’t going anywhere. He’s just gonna run you a bath, hm? That way we can get nice and clean together. You want me to get in with you?”

Viktor nodded and gave a sound of approval, chewing on the tips of his fingers while Jayce filled the tub.

They bathed mostly in silence, squeezed unceremoniously into the tub, the thick hair on Jayce’s chest rubbing against Viktor’s bare back while he closed his arms around the boy and hummed a tune from his own childhood; one his mother used to sing when he had had a difficult day at school and needed some help to fall asleep. What would his mother think now? She had met Viktor a few times but never for very long, and despite all of Jayce’s hours of talking about the boy, she still didn’t know much about him at all.

Since Viktor had come to live with him, Jayce had seen Ximena less than ever, dropping from a weekly to a monthly visit with stupid excuses each time as to why the gap was widening. Jayce missed his mother greatly, but she would never understand his relationship with Viktor and he would rather spare her the grief of coming to figure it out on her own. It was best that the two stay away from one another as much as possible, because Jayce knew that Ximena would catch on eventually. His mother was wise, with a sharp eye for telling when her son was lying, and of course she knew all about Jayce’s past. Mistakes made again and again in the back of broom closets and in alleyways with various people all around Viktor’s age, swept under the rug in different areas of Zaun for the sake of the Talis name. Families paid off with what meagre funds they had left when reports of Jayce’s misconduct filtered in – anything to convince them not to press charges.

Well, he hadn’t done something like that in a long time (ten years at least); not since he took over the forge and suddenly had a reputation worth saving, and none had ever been serious escapades like Viktor was. None had ever been willing like Viktor, either. Everyone else had been stress relief—people to let his frustration out on for the sake of his own mental wellbeing—but his son was different. To claim that he hadn’t had those urges to begin with would be untruthful, but his dedication to Viktor had flourished into something far more meaningful, more sincere, than anything he had ever felt before. His mother would spot that instantly if she spent too long with Viktor, and perhaps she already knew to some extent, but the full realisation would break her heart, Jayce was sure.

It was why someone like Trowler was such a problem. If he decided to ring the alarm bells, to publicly admonish him, Jayce wasn’t sure that those same people from all those years ago wouldn’t catch word and decide their silence no longer had a price tag. He could handle being ridiculed for Viktor, for someone that meant everything to him, but the thought of being held responsible for the actions of his past self—spearheaded by an angry mob of assailants that had never been important to him—was nauseating. They would all be older now, too. Fully grown into their personalities and wielding confidence they had never had back then. How was Jayce to know that his life would lead him to someone like Viktor, who could bring everything crashing down without even knowing he was doing so?

Of course, his boy was worth the risk. There was nothing Jayce wouldn’t do to keep Viktor happy and safe; he would kill to keep his son away from prying eyes and ill intent. Viktor would understand Jayce’s past—would see that his father was not a bad man but had faced some troubles of his own, just like Viktor had at the orphanage—and stick by him no matter what; of that he was sure. But the biggest concern was upholding his image for the sake of his work, for if he lost that, he would no longer be able to provide Viktor with the lifestyle he deserved.

The water cooled around them, and Jayce held onto Viktor a little tighter, his own thoughts scaring him. “C’mon, let’s get you out. We can go and make some food before we look at those blueprints.”

They manoeuvred out of the bathtub and quickly dried off, Jayce running downstairs to grab Viktor’s can before his boy started to struggle too much. When he returned Viktor looked thoughtful.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hm?” Jayce traced the visual line of his son’s curling hair, savouring the delicate way the strands flicked upwards and came together in pointed tufts.

“I don’t feel like working on blueprints today. Could we maybe do something else?” He seemed unsure, as though he trusted Jayce to come up with something for him.

Jayce smiled.

“Sure thing baby, we’ll figure it out.”