Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jayce didn’t yell.

He didn’t even raise his voice. That was the part Marcus couldn’t stomach - not the disappointment, not even the shame - but the calm.

It was easier when men barked orders. When they punched walls or spat threats. But Jayce stood behind that ornate desk like he’d been born to it, and said, “I went myself.”

Three words. No explanation. Just the death sentence.

Marcus didn’t speak. Not yet. He watched the way Jayce aligned the papers on his desk with the edge of the wood. Not a hair out of place. Everything ordered.

Unlike the Lanes. Unlike the operation.

Jayce looked up. “You said it was cleared.”

Marcus’s throat dried. “It was supposed to be. I was told- ”

“You were told?” Jayce echoed. His brow twitched - not furrowed, not arched. Just a twitch. A flicker of disbelief.

“I thought- ”

“No. You didn’t think,” Jayce said. “You hoped I wouldn’t check.”

He stepped around the desk. Not fast. Deliberate. Each step muffled against the rug.

Jayce came to stand in front of him. Taller, broader than Marcus remembered. Or maybe it was just the way the light hit him now — golden, filtered through the stained glass behind.

“You compromised city safety,” Jayce said quietly. “You lied to me. And you let it happen under my name.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Marcus began, but he heard himself. Pathetic. He swallowed hard. “Please. Councilman. Let me make it right.”

Jayce’s eyes didn’t soften.

“I can’t go to the Council like this,” he said suddenly, glancing down. “My shoes. I can’t represent Piltover looking like I crawled out of the Lanes.”

Marcus blinked. There’s nothing on them, he wanted to say. You changed them yourself. But he said nothing.

Marcus’s stomach turned.

He wasn’t stupid. He’d seen Jayce arrive - those boots had been gleaming then, not a speck of grime on them. He’d changed them after coming back from the Lanes. Which meant-

Jayce’s gaze cut back to him. “Since you’re responsible for the state I’m in, you’ll clean them.”

The silence burned.

“I-I can get a cloth-”

“No, that would be a waste of my time to wait. You have everything you need here.”

It hit like a slap. No change in tone. No malice. Just... cold bureaucracy.

Marcus felt sick.

You’re going to do it, Marcus realized. You're going to get on your knees and you’re going to lick his boots in a spotless council office with whitewashed walls and a clean rug and perfectly still air, because that’s the only kind of mercy you get in this city.

So he sank.

It was almost familiar, the motion. Knees against polished marble. He'd done worse in alleys. In backrooms, to prove himself. To stay alive. But here - it was different. Ritualized. No violence. No looming threat.

Just Jayce. Standing still. Watching.

The leather was cold when his tongue touched it. Smooth. Tasted like polish and dust and… nothing.

They were clean.

It was a performance - for both of them.

Why does that make it worse?

Or… better?

He felt it - unwelcome and slow - the tightening in his gut. That sick, strange stir of heat at the base of his spine. Disgusting. But it pulsed anyway. A spark of something unspoken. The shame, the control, the intimacy of silence.

He didn’t dare let it show.

Jayce didn’t move. Didn’t mock him. Didn’t say anything. Just stood with his hands clasped behind his back like this was protocol.

Marcus's thoughts spiraled.

Silco was worse.
Silco spat when you knelt.
Silco had blood on his boots.

But this was different..

He hated how quiet it was. Hated how much easier it was to submit here than in the filth.

Is that what makes you hard, Marcus? That it's sanitary? That no one's watching? Or is it the fact he says nothing at all?

He pressed his tongue to the edge of the boot one last time and forced himself to breathe.

When he pulled back, something in him ached.

Shame. Mostly.

But not only.

---

Jayce, watching, felt something twist in his chest.

It hadn’t been planned. He hadn’t known he’d say it until the words left his mouth. The moment he’d looked down and seen Marcus flinch from the silence - from him - he’d realized something.

He could make him obey.

And Marcus did. Without protest. No bluster. No excuses.

Jayce swallowed.

He was hard.

Not fully. Not aggressively. But aware. A tension low in his stomach. Like power moving through his body and finding nowhere else to go.

What am I doing? he thought, heart racing behind his professional mask.

He’d never done anything like this. Had never thought about it — not like this. With Viktor, things were always soft, reciprocal, anchored in care and Viktor always stood his own ground firmly, So Jayce never pressed too far. Never took when not given.

But this—

Jayce looked down at the older man, still on his knees, and felt that heat twist into something confusing.

There was nothing tender about this. Nothing romantic. Just a quiet, clinical humiliation.

And yet.

Some part of him was satisfied. Not with the act. But with the obedience. The reversal. The justice - even if it was dirty.

Even if it made him something he didn't quite want to acknowledge.

---

Marcus, still kneeling, tasted leather and humiliation. When he finished, he sat back on his heels, head bowed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For not reporting it.”

Jayce didn’t answer. Just turned, adjusted his cuffs, took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket and dried his shoes with it. Didn't even pretend to care for the work Marcus just did.

Before leaving, he paused.

“You’ll remember this, Sheriff,” he said. “The next time you think about lying to me.”

Marcus nodded once, eyes still down.

“I already do.”

---

Marcus slammed the apartment door harder than he meant to. The noise echoed. It was dark inside - his daughter sleeping in her room.

His hands trembled slightly as he shrugged off his coat. His fingers caught in the sleeve. He cursed under his breath, yanked it free, and let the coat drop to the floor.

Boots still on.

Still hard.

He stood in the middle of his kitchen for a full minute, unmoving, staring at the wall like it might blink first.

Then, slowly, he reached for the buckle of his belt.

His erection strained beneath it - had been pressing uncomfortably against the front of his pants since he left Jayce’s office, since the slow grind of his tongue against leather, since the taste of cold polish and control sat heavy on his tongue like ash.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t dare. Saying it would make it real.

But the arousal wasn’t going anywhere. It pulsed - angry, confused, needy.

He unzipped, hand already wrapping around himself, breath shallow.

He didn’t mean to fantasize.

But it came uninvited - detailed, vivid, true in some corner of him he couldn’t avoid anymore.

---

Jayce would stand there, arms folded.

Same voice. Same authority.

“You’re disgusting, Marcus.”

No raised tone. No cruelty.

Just truth.

Marcus would nod. Wouldn’t argue.

Jayce would unbuckle his own belt like it was nothing - like it was just the next step in a process. Like he had the plan, and Marcus was only there to serve it.

“You want to be useful?” he’d ask. “Get on the desk.”

And Marcus would obey. Without a word. Because it would be right.

He could see it all.

Jayce behind him, clothes still on, holding Marcus’s hips in place like handling evidence. Pressing in slowly, deliberately. Marcus bent forward over the desk where he'd once signed disciplinary forms.

No kissing. No gentleness. Just the cold, clinical rhythm of punishment, a lesson, doled out as silently and effectively as Piltover’s political deals.

Marcus would bite his fist. Try not to make noise. Try not to beg.

But Jayce would notice.

He’d lean close, breath warm against Marcus’s neck, and say low:

“Keep quiet. This isn’t for you.”

Marcus would nod. Would stay still. Would take it.

And maybe - maybe - he’d finally feel clean again.

---

He came with a muffled grunt, hand tight around himself, back arched like he was still bent over Jayce’s desk.

The silence afterward was brutal.

No afterglow. No peace.

Just the lingering awareness that his cock was softening and his guilt was not.

He staggered backward into the wall, chest heaving, shame dripping from his skin like sweat.

He slid down the wall and sat there, pants half-down, unable to look at his own reflection in the dark window.

This was worse than anything Silco had ever made him do.

Because at least with Silco, he hadn’t wanted it.

Jayce hadn’t hurt him. Hadn’t manipulated him. Hadn’t so much as touched him.

And Marcus had still crumbled.

And fucking loved it.

Chapter Text

Jayce shut the apartment door with more force than intended.

He stood in the hallway, keys still in hand, breathing too fast for how quiet everything was. Viktor’s coat was still hanging on the hook. The smell of chamomile and old paper lingered in the air - a smell Jayce had always associated with calm. But he felt anything but.

“Jayce?” Viktor’s voice called from the other room, followed by the soft shuffle of his cane. “You’re back late. Did the city fall while I was napping?”

Jayce didn’t answer right away. He hung his coat up too carefully. He kicked his shoes off too fast, like they were burning him. He stood staring at the wall for too long.

Viktor poked his head around the doorframe and saw him - stiff, pale, eyes too wide.

“I’m home,” he called back, trying to sound normal. It came out hoarse.

Viktor peeked around the corner, eyes squinting slightly in the lamplight. “Are you alright?”

Jayce nodded automatically. Then shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

He stepped out of his shoes too quickly, kicked one aside. His hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting.

Viktor’s brow furrowed. “Did something happen?”

Jayce finally looked up. “I think I did something really messed up.”

Viktor said nothing, but the softness in his face - the sudden stillness - told Jayce to keep going.

Jayce swallowed. “It’s Marcus.”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “He hurt you?”

“No—no, nothing like that.” Jayce ran a hand down his face. “He lied about something. And I caught it. I was furious, but I didn’t yell. I didn’t file a report. I didn’t… I didn’t do what I’m supposed to do.”

Viktor blinked. “Okay…”

“I made him get on his knees and clean my boots. With his tongue.”

Viktor’s eyebrows rose. “…Oh.”

Jayce braced himself for judgment.

But instead Viktor just stared a second longer, then gave a soft, surprised laugh.

“That’s it?” he said. “You scared me. I thought you were going to say you accidentally sanctioned a massacre.”

Jayce looked gutted. “Vik—”

“No, no, I’m sorry.” Viktor held up both hands. “I shouldn’t joke. I just—Jayce, I grew up in the Lanes. ‘Really messed up’ has a much higher bar where I’m from. You’re going to have to be more specific if you want me to gasp and faint.”

Jayce stared. “You’re not horrified?”

Viktor cocked his head. “Should I be?”

“I made him do it, Viktor.”

“Did he say no?”

Jayce hesitated. “No.”

“Then…” Viktor shrugged gently. “Maybe he wanted it.”

Jayce sat down hard on the couch, hands trembling. “He was hard when he left.”

Viktor gave another quiet laugh - softer this time. “And now you’re the one falling apart.”

Jayce buried his face in his hands. “Don’t. Don’t make fun of me right now. I can’t- I can’t deal with that. I feel like I’ve gone insane. Like something in me broke.”

That sobered Viktor immediately.

He crossed the room and sat beside him, the humor melting off his face. “Okay. No joking.”

Jayce lifted his head. His eyes were wet. “I feel like I cheated on you.”

Viktor blinked. “You didn’t.”

“I humiliated another man and I liked it. I keep thinking about it. I- I want to keep thinking about it, and it makes me sick. What kind of person does that make me?”

Viktor reached out and touched his arm. “It makes you human.”

“I don’t want this to be who I am,” Jayce whispered.

“Who do you think you are?” Viktor asked softly.

“I don’t know anymore,” Jayce said. “Before today, I didn’t even think I had it in me. I thought… I don’t know. That I was a good man. That I’d never want to hurt someone.”

“And now?”

Jayce looked at him, eyes glassy. “Now I’m scared I want to again.”

Viktor was quiet for a moment. Then:

“…Can I tell you something?”

Jayce nodded.

“I’ve seen you try to be a good man every day I’ve known you. I’ve seen you make mistakes, and I’ve seen you own up to them. What happened today… maybe it was the new power you have over him, maybe it was payback. But maybe it was just a kink. And you’re allowed to have those, Jayce.”

Jayce let out a shaky breath. “You’re not upset?”

“I’m a little jealous I wasn’t the one who got to bring this out of you,” Viktor said, gently. “But mostly I’m glad you’re telling me. That means you trust me more than you’re afraid of me.”

Jayce laughed - a broken, grateful thing. “I do.”

Viktor smiled faintly. “Then believe me when I say this doesn’t change anything. Except maybe… I’d like to hear some more of those depraved thoughts you’ve been beating yourself up for.”

Jayce leaned into him like a man finally letting himself rest. “Can you just- can you tell me again I’m not a bad person?”

Viktor placed a kiss on his hairline.

“You’re not a bad person, Jayce,” he murmured. “You’re just figuring yourself out. And I love you for it.”

---

The apartment was quiet now, save for the soft rustle of the sheets as Jayce leaned heavily against Viktor’s chest. His breath had slowed, but not fully calmed. His hands were still clenched.

“I didn’t even…” Jayce started, voice hoarse. “I was hard, Vik. When he left. I didn’t even touch myself. I just sat there. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I still don’t.”

Viktor stroked his hair gently. “You were overwhelmed.”

“I still am.”

Viktor kissed his temple. “Then let me help.”

Jayce hesitated. “I don’t want to ruin this with something this strange.”

Viktor pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “You’re not going to ruin anything. You’ve trusted me with worse.”

That made Jayce give a breath of laughter, faint and watery. “That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be. It’s just true.”

Jayce was quiet for a long moment, then admitted, voice low:
“I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d made him stay.”

Viktor raised a brow. “And what would’ve happened?”

Jayce swallowed. “I would’ve told him to get back on his knees. Not for my shoes this time.”

A beat.

“I would’ve made him suck me off in that goddamn office.”

Viktor didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Instead, he pulled Jayce closer, his voice like velvet. “Did you want him?”

Jayce’s breath hitched. “Not like that. just wanted… to be the one giving the orders for once. And he gave me that. Like I’d earned it. Like I could do anything to him and he’d say thank you.”

“Did he look humiliated?” 

Jayce shivered.

“…Yes.”

“And you liked that?”

A nod. Small. Trembling.

Viktor kissed the shell of his ear. “Tell me what you would’ve done. If you let him stay. In detail.”

Jayce’s throat was dry, but the words came - halting at first, then steadier.

“I would’ve unbuckled my belt. Told him that he missed a spot and if he wanted to walk out of that office with his badge he’ll finish this.”

Viktor’s hand drifted down, cupping Jayce gently through his boxers, palm slow and steady. Jayce gasped.

“You’re hard now,” Viktor murmured. “Just like before?”

Jayce nodded, shame thick in his chest — until Viktor leaned in and whispered:

“Good.”

Jayce exhaled shakily, hips lifting ever so slightly into the touch.

“I’d have made him keep eye contact,” he whispered. “Made him choke a little. Made him thank me after.”

Viktor rubbed him slowly, deliberately, voice like silk:

“He knows that’s what he deserves because he’s humiliated you, undermined you, ignored you, and now—now you had power over him, and you used it. You’d unzip, and he’d open his mouth right away. No questions. No hesitation. Just let you use him - a hole to fuck for your stress relief. And when you were close, you’d tell him not to spill a drop or he’d have to lick it off the floor.”

Jayce whimpered, the sound desperate and strangled. “Vik…”

“I’ve seen the way you hold back,” Viktor whispered. “You’re so used to being the good one. The righteous one. But you don’t have to be. Not with me. I want you, dirt and all”

Jayce’s head dropped onto Viktor’s shoulder, a gasp escaping him as Viktor’s hand moved more firmly now, drawing pleasure from him slowly, reverently.

Jayce’s lips parted.

“I’d make him take off his badge. Crawl on the floor for it. I’d tell him he doesn’t get to wear Piltover’s crest unless he’s earned it. I’d tie his hands behind his back and make him ask permission to speak.”

Viktor hummed. “So mean, Jayce.”

“You’d like that?”

“I’m wet just hearing it.”

Jayce came with a strangled noise, hips twitching, Viktor holding him through it, whispering gentle things now - grounding things.

When it was over, Jayce slumped against him, panting. Viktor stayed nestled into Jayce’s side, hand resting over his heart, feeling it still beating hard beneath sweat-warmed skin. Jayce was quiet, head tilted back against the pillow, lips parted, flushed and slightly dazed.

“You know,” Viktor murmured eventually, fingers trailing idle lines down Jayce’s sternum, “we don’t even need to ask. Just an invitation. He’ll show up.”

Jayce looked down at him, still breathless, but alert. “You think he’s that desperate?”

“I know he is,” Viktor said, tone casual, assured. “He humiliated himself to stay in your favor. You humiliated him further, and he came in his pants over it.”

Jayce groaned softly, arm flung over his face. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? You liked it.” Viktor's voice was soft, amused. “You like how weak he is for you. You liked watching him sink.”

Jayce rubbed his face. “God, that’s what scares me”

Viktor smiled against his skin. “So let’s do more.”

Jayce peeked through his fingers. “You’re serious?”

“I’m always serious about your pleasure.” Viktor kissed his shoulder. “He’s not my concern. But you are. And I want you to have what you want. Fully.”

Jayce shifted under him, clearly wrestling with it - not the idea of Marcus anymore, but the clarity with which he could admit he wanted to see him crawl again. “You’d just... watch?”

“Of course,” Viktor said, tone bright and unbothered. “I’ll sit back, have a drink. I’ll guide you if you want it. Whisper in your ear. Tell you how filthy he looks when he’s begging. Tell you how good you are at putting him in his place.”

Jayce shivered. “You’d say that?”

“I’d say worse. I’d remind you how often he talked over you in council meetings. How many times he dismissed your work. And I’d tell you - again and again - how satisfying it is to watch him gag on your cock.”

Jayce let out a low, strained sound. “Vik-.”

“I’ll help you plan the whole thing,” Viktor continued, warm and steady like he was talking him through a research paper. “You invite him in for another ‘disciplinary talk.’ You lock the door. You tell him he’s lucky you’re still entertaining the idea of keeping him around.”

“He’ll fold,” Jayce muttered. “I know he will. He’s already halfway there.”

“Exactly. And I’ll be there in the corner. Silent. Observing. Maybe even making notes.” Viktor smirked. “Strictly academic, of course.”

Jayce laughed, helpless, running a hand through his hair. “You’re so fucked up.”

Viktor leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You love it.”

He was right. Jayce didn’t even try to deny it.