Archive of Our Own ^beta

There's always a moment, when the initial pain subsides, when we start to miss the person who caused it. 

Whatever the reasons, betrayal, abandonment, cruelty, indifference, the more you loved, the heavier the loss will be. 

It's like a hole, or rather, like a fine, precise wound made by a knife blade, whose edges throb painfully as blood rushes to the surface. It makes you feel guilty, you call yourself a coward, weak, you try to think about everything that has happened to avoid this new way of suffering, but it's there. The loss settles in the back of our throats, weighs on our lungs, makes our arms heavy and freezes the palms of our empty hands. It darkens the most beautiful moments, makes the nights too quiet and smiles difficult to wear. It will make us lie, avoid, seek at all costs, in anything, an escape. 

It is the soul calling out for what has been torn from it, without caring whether it is good for us. 

Things that suffer are selfish.

It had started like many other times: Jayce had just destroyed one of Viktor's storage facilities. A mission ordered by the Council without them listening to him. It was a stupid idea, really. Trying to stop Viktor by depriving him of materials was a strategy that had failed for five years — why would it work now? The Mechanical Herald had enough contacts and sympathisers throughout Zaun that it would serve more to improve his image as a vigilante unjustly harassed by the Pilties than anything else.

And of course, he had retaliated immediately. Viktor couldn't stand to lose the upper hand in any field. Replacing half his body with augmentations hadn't changed that. The following night, he decided to break into his workshop to steal it, perhaps to replace what Jayce had burned to ashes. It must have been easier for him, too. Viktor knew the place well, since Jayce had never bothered to move anywhere else: he had stayed in the workspace they had shared for almost ten years. 

Or he wanted to piss him off. 

The thing was, he was half expecting it, and he was in his forge when the first burglar alarm went off. Despite the fatigue in his arms and back, he grabbed the Mercury Hammer as if it weighed nothing. It took him only a few moments to run through the darkness to the sounds of breaking glass and crumpling metal. And yet, that was enough: he was already boiling with rage when he saw the tall figure leaning over his desk. He knew he was wearing only a leather apron, facing a Viktor who was just as angry and, above all, protected by full armour, but it didn't matter. Without slowing down, he swung the Hammer in a wide arc in front of him and fired a warning shot over the Herald's head. Yes, he had aimed at that bloody Hexclaw and missed, but no one needed to know that. Viktor turned around too, but he didn't have time to retaliate because Jayce, already in front of him, swung a backhand with the Atlas Gantlet he had just hastily put on. He was knocked flat on his back onto the desk, his body making a heavy thud on the wood. This was immediately followed by the sharp, threatening sound of the laser charging above his head, splashing Jayce with orange light. He squinted and moved just in time, still feeling the burning beam trace a line of pain across his shoulder, close to his neck. He was used to burns, but this one hurt like hell. He threw himself at Viktor to avoid another shot, suddenly wrapping his bare hand around his neck. He had just enough time to place his other hand, palm down, at the base of his mask, bending his thick fingers as far as possible to grip the upper edge securely, the blue crystal pressing against the pale skin barely visible beneath. All he needed was pressure in the right place and he could overload the crystal so that it released a burst of energy powerful enough to blow holes in concrete: a small upgrade for Vi that he had just installed on her Gauntlets. He immediately felt Hexclaw's claws wrap around his neck, and saw out of the corner of his eye that Viktor had just sprung a blade from his metal forearm, as long as a machete and as sharp as a scalpel, before he brought his arm down on him and plunged it slightly into his back, just below the ribs, at just the right angle to pierce his heart. Knowing that Viktor had become an excellent surgeon as well as an engineer with highly questionable moral boundaries was worth all the threats. 

An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. As usual. 

Jayce gasped, his breathing strangely loud in the sudden silence, as he tensed under the icy prick. He was slumped between Viktor's stiff legs, who avoided moving at all. He must have already recognised the blue stone warming against his face and analysed the situation, just as Jayce had just realised: they really were in danger of killing each other this time.

Oh, they fought regularly, hurling insults and painful truths at each other. But the blows and words were meant to hurt, not to kill. They hated what the other had become, hated how their relationship had changed so horribly, how their ideas and dreams were fading away. But ending it all for good? No. And not over something stupid like this, during a frankly terrible fight in the semi-darkness of their old workshop. 

This completely dampened Jayce's anger. He looked up at Viktor and noticed that he could see his eyes through the slits in his ridiculous mask, even though the Gauntlet covered almost his entire right side. He must have reduced their reflectivity to compensate for the lack of light in the workshop. He had increased them, of course, but their colour, somewhere between honey and the golden light of late afternoon, was still the same. Jayce had drowned so often in that gaze that seeing it up close again made him feel like he was going back in time. 

And suddenly, memories of the first time they had made love right there, on that desk, came flooding back to him.

Viktor's cane bouncing on the floor, the rustling of their cotton shirts, the click of his belt buckle hastily undone. The edge of the desk digging into his thighs, the sheets of paper covered with their writing jumbled together, the tools they abruptly pushed aside around them. His brown hands, already damaged by the forge, on Viktor's frail waist, the beauty spots, so black against his pale skin, forming constellations that he couldn't help but caress with his thumb. Viktor's voice changed, his accent heavier when he moans and asks, his smile trembling a little, his confidence abandoning him, the desire to please and give squeezing his throat until it hurts. He leans forward, pushes, and they can lose themselves in each other as strongly as they confront each other, as deeply as they understand and respect each other. 

Before. Before, he trusted him with his eyes closed. He loved him, he admired him, he was sure they would always work together with the same vision. A kind of paradise for a scientist, but he was so... Young? Stupidly in love, above all. He hadn't seen the danger in Viktor's illness. He hadn't understood how much the weakness and promise of death had marked his mind as well as his limbs. 

There were dangerous things beneath the surface. Regrets, ‘what-ifs’, heavy reproaches and truths he wasn't ready to unearth. So he clung to the memories of Viktor's body beneath him, the warmth of his mouth, when everything was wonderful, dizzying, when hope sparkled in his stomach every time they were side by side and when it was so simple between them.

He knew exactly when Viktor noticed he was starting to get hard. It wasn't the first time this had happened to him, but usually he wasn't literally lying right up against the other guy's groin. A little hastily, Jayce thought he should have smiled, one of those shit-eating grins he knew Viktor hated, and said something stupid like, 'The weakness of the flesh, eh?’

But it stuck in his throat, because all he had to do was forget the blade in his back for just a second to find that joy again. No, just the memory of it, its ghost. But damn it, what he wouldn't give to have it, even if it was only...

Viktor moved. Just slightly, he let his right heel fall back to the ground, a small movement that could have been just a way to relieve an uncomfortable position. But he was the bloody Machine Herald, and Jayce was sure that, after suffering so much with his legs, he had rebuilt his joints so that they would never betray him again.

A test? Was he checking to see if...? Oh. Oh, Janna. Jayce felt a familiar length pressing against his own. Maybe he remembered that afternoon too. Jayce had to take a deep breath, his heart had decided to race to supply his lower body, and the rest of him was struggling to keep up.

It was stupid. Really stupid. He risked coming out of this with more scars. But he was too drunk on bittersweet memories, need and adrenaline to think about it for long. He tightened his grip on Viktor's mask, just in case he was wrong, and tried a hip thrust to the side. A simple touch, a proposition that made them both shiver a little. 

Viktor said nothing. But he didn't pull away either.

Okay. Message received. 

After that, things happened very quickly. Jayce kept his hands where they were, but he let his face fall against Viktor's shoulder and began to move against him as if he wanted to push through him. Viktor moved the blade in his back just enough to let him do so, while his other hand—the human one, warm and bony, another memory that stirred his heart—reached around and grabbed his hip above his trousers as if to pull him closer. The friction was too strong, they would be sore afterwards, and they were bruising each other, but it felt good. He could smell Viktor in the coat he wore over his armour, mixed with the smell of oil, steel, disinfectant, and it made his head spin. Viktor. His name repeated itself over and over inside him, along with “Yesyesyesyes” and “Don't let go” and “Fuck, I missed this”, which he had to hold back with all his strength by biting the inside of his mouth. 

His body was denser, heavier than he remembered, but it was familiar nonetheless: in more than five years of fighting and hand-to-hand combat, he had had time to learn it all over again. He didn't want to think any further, especially not to remember him before, too thin, too pale, his magnificent gaze, so intelligent and determined, lighting up his angular face. He closed his eyes and picked up the pace. No. Concentrate, or you'll remember other things. You could see the look on his face when you had to speak out against him and vote for his expulsion, for example. Do you really want to see him break down in front of you again, oh, very modestly, as always, but his eyes, Janna, his eyes... No, no, you don't want that. You're too selfish for that, aren't you? You just want his warmth one more time.

Jayce groaned, pleasure and grief like a vice gripping his chest. In response, Viktor cruelly dug his fingers into his hip to hold him tighter. That tipped him over the edge, and he felt himself coming in long, brutal strokes. He kept moving, a little slower at first, then picking up the pace again, despite the irritation that began to set in as soon as the endorphins wore off. He wanted to make Viktor come, and he didn't care if he had to sit with his legs spread apart for several days afterwards. He wanted the fabulous Herald to come in his trousers like a fucking teenager, because he was ashamed of how quickly he'd come himself, yes, but also because he was simply dying to make it happen.

Of course, the mask ruined everything, but Viktor hadn't taken it off in front of him since his exile. He might even have believed that it replaced his face, had he not spotted with some relief the fastenings in the metal frame around Viktor's neck and temples. He sought his gaze. But he had closed his eyes, and Jayce had the impression that he was trying hard to stop himself from moaning. Damn, the urge to kiss him growing in his stomach... The urge to fall to his knees and... If only he could, once again, make him say his name like before... But he couldn't forget the blade, the Gantlet, the past. Impossible. He closed his eyes too, just to hear his ventilation valves quiver more clearly, to feel his hard body against his a little longer. A few seconds later, Viktor shuddered, tensed more and more, and finally came too, almost silently. Jayce drank in his pleasure, his eyelids clenched, then slowed down and finally stopped gently. He could feel the heat radiating from his chest against his sweat-covered skin, and he knew that two or three things had overheated inside, from the way the steam began to blow its warm breath into his face.

Shit.

Now he was sore all over, his burn was throbbing again, and his cock was already reproaching him for his stupidity. 

The Hexclaw detached itself from his neck. In the same movement, Viktor let his arms fall, his warm hand leaving his hip, the other sliding the blade down his back. Both a threat and an opening, a 'I'm letting you go', yes, but not without missing the opportunity to cut him on the way. Jayce arched his back slightly under the scratch, growling softly. He had already carefully removed his fingers from Viktor's mask, and of course released the pressure on the stone. But he did not move away, despite the sudden tension in Viktor's body that screamed at him to, despite the shame of admitting so clearly that... That he didn't want to let go. 

No. Not yet, please. Now it's as if you left yesterday. Actually, no, it's worse, because I'm not as angry, as disappointed anymore. Not enough.

"Vikt..."

What would he have said, he who never knew how to say the right thing in the right way? He didn't know himself, and in any case he wouldn't know now either. Viktor had pushed him away with all the strength of an arm capable of lifting half a tonne, and as soon as he opened his mouth, he swung his fist at him. Under the force of the blow, it was he who stumbled back this time. He took a few steps backwards, dizzy, blood already gushing disgustingly onto his tongue. Fatigue was catching up with him, as was pain. Despite the danger, it took him a few long seconds to get into a fighting stance. The Atlas Gantlet suddenly seemed so heavy.

He didn't need to. Viktor rolled backwards and got up on the other side of the desk with a graceful movement. Then, with the corner of his boot, he kicked him in the legs as if the hundred-year-old wood were made of cardboard. He hit Jayce with full force, who slumped over with a grunt of surprise and pain, the old coffee cups, screws, pieces of metal and pens still on it rolling onto the floor.

That was enough for Viktor. When Jayce looked up, he was already gone. No more orange light, no more soft humming of gears, no more thumping sounds of pumps and fans regulating themselves. All he had left were the silence, his empty hands, the cuts that were still bleeding, and the bruises that were already forming on his legs and hip. 

It should have ended there. A small mistake, a simple typo in the outdated script of the Avenger, sorry, the Defender of Tomorrow against the Machine Herald – the name itself marked him out as a villain, no need to add to it. No one knew and no one needed to know. They themselves had no desire to dwell on it. So don't change the music, repeat the same almost pointless clashes, the same fights, the insults and the rest.

Try, at least. Because if the first confrontation had been a little weird, the others just seemed to be like before. Yeah, they still threw the same sarcastic remarks at each other and they fought. But up close. Closer and closer, until they came to blows. No weapons, no lasers, no gadgets that explode or create force fields: just their bare hands and bared teeth. This time, Jayce dropped the Mercury Hammer behind him and charged Viktor like a raging bull, deaf to everything else. He needed this, needed to knock him down, to feel the metal sinking into his flesh, Viktor's weight, his grunts, his attention fixed on them, on him. And Viktor, who was a specialist in technological combat at a distance, forgot his supposed superiority and all his strategies to roll on the ground with Jayce, his strength carefully measured so he could respond to his fury as an equal, his hands full of his clothes, his hair, him, above all. 

The others had to separate them with threats and shouts, with pleas and teasers. One of the little thugs who hung around Renata shot at Jayce—but missed, fortunately. Viktor narrowly escaped a spectacular arrest.

Jayce was reprimanded by the Council, gently at first, as if his enthusiasm was appreciated and noted. Caitlyn tried to help him, wanted to understand what had changed. If he put himself in danger, he put them all in danger. He knew it, promised himself not to do it again, didn't apologise, of course, but listened to everyone who asked him to be more careful with gratitude, with respect, and nodded. Yes, yes, he would be a good boy next time. Scout's honour. 

But it happened again. Once, twice, then three and four times. It was as if he forgot all his good resolutions as soon as Viktor entered his field of vision. 

The Enforcers slowly began to mistrust him on missions because he did not follow established plans, instructions, or recommendations for caution. He was criticised for his stubbornness, insubordination, and arrogance. Ha! As if that were anything new. But now that he was messing up, everything that had been tolerated with gritted teeth suddenly became major flaws. 

Vi punched him the third time, when he came back with a bullet in his thigh. She was furious, and rightly so. Loris had almost been killed pulling him back. But he could have sworn he saw a glimmer of understanding in her stern gaze. 

Caitlyn continued to press him, even though he wasn't responding to her questions and concerns. She was a good friend, and he adored her. But frankly, he would have preferred her to leave him alone on this one. He was unable to put into words what was going on. He only knew that something had been eating away at him for four months. Something that hurt more and more when he saw Viktor a few steps away from him, close, but at the same time so inaccessible that he might as well have been in another dimension. And when that happened, it all hit him at once: the loss, the bad memories, the awful, hidden fear that it might be the last time he saw him, the anger and bitterness, and he had to cling to something to keep from drowning. Feeling him under his hands, even in this brutal and painful way, calmed him for a while.

And then it wasn't enough anymore. 

Jayce had managed to locate Viktor's new laboratory. A place where he was regularly, at least according to the information brought back by the spy drone he had sent out to search for him. And he decided to go there alone at a time when he would be expected to be at home or at the forge. He told himself it was to avoid questions; he was fed up with the whispers, the disapproval and the reproaches. Yes. And it wasn't at all to be alone with him again. Besides, if his heart was pounding like that, it wasn't for that reason at all. 

He didn't even try to be subtle. Viktor was far more paranoid than he was, and even his sensors had sensors. Once he arrived at the small, isolated warehouse too close to the large landfill, he barged in like a brute, cutting through the steel door and defence robots with the Hammer's beam, and the smell of burnt cables filled the air. Stepping over the rubble in the entrance, he pushed open another door and entered what looked exactly like any doctor's waiting room.

Jayce didn't want to linger there. Seeing that, despite everything, Viktor was trying to help the Zaunites as best he could still bothered him a little. Even though he felt like he was thinking like a nine-year-old, he told himself that bad guys weren't supposed to treat the poor for free, damn it.

He went back outside and tried another one. He had barely entered the small, dark corridor when Viktor came through the door opposite. He had heard him come in—it would have been difficult not to—and had come to meet him immediately. But for once, he wasn't wearing his coat, but what looked like an old smock, the kind you wear for work. There were even burn marks on the front, and a large protective glove protruded from a pocket. The Hexclaw appeared over his shoulder, this time modulated into what looked like a soldering iron, and Jayce noticed that his augmented arm was open at the forearm, beneath the white of the hastily rolled-up sleeve. Before his eyes, Viktor ran his hand over it, and the opening closed delicately. He was also wearing a large black welder's mask, which he had pushed back over his head, trapping his hair underneath.

It was so... familiar that Jayce felt his throat tighten. How many times had he seen him like this, working?

He froze and devoured his bare face with his eyes, forgetting the Hammer in his hand, forgetting the Hexclaw that was abandoning its tool form to become the tripod claw again, its centre already lighting up. 

Viktor hadn't changed. He had the same pronounced features, the same high cheekbones, the same thin mouth, the same perpetually furrowed brow. 

Janna...

Suddenly, he no longer thought about fighting at all. 

The only thing he wanted was to sit in his laboratory and ask Viktor what he was working on, as if they were still partners and the last five years had been nothing but a nightmare. 

Realising this brought a wave of fear that felt like nausea, and he instinctively backed away, his hands suddenly clammy. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Viktor's sharp voice made him jump.

He didn't answer. They both knew Jayce had no good reason to force his way in: things were very quiet at the moment, both on the Chem-barons' side and on the Council's, and nothing had exploded between Zaun and Piltover in three weeks. If he had had a plan when he came, he had forgotten it. There was no rage left, no strength to fight in vain. He just felt tired. Really, really tired. He wanted to go home. He hunched his shoulders and took a step back. Viktor stared at him but didn't attack, and for a moment he hoped he could leave quietly. 

It was foolish, of course. 

No sooner had he turned his back than Viktor let out an angry exclamation and closed the gap between them before Jayce could open the door. He slammed him against the door with such force that all the air was knocked out of his lungs. The Hexclaw grabbed a handful of his hair and twisted his head to the side. Viktor, who was holding him with all his strength, leaned down and hissed in his ear, 'Aren't our fights enough for you? Now you have to come and provoke me for no reason, Defender?"

"Fuck, no, I just..."

The Hexclaw lifted his head by pulling his hair, before slamming him viciously against the doorframe. Jayce groaned as the pain began to throb in his cheek and eyebrow, which had taken the full brunt of the impact.

"Or are you full of yourself enough to think you can come and destroy my entrance for fun?"

Another blow, and this time Jayce distinctly felt his eyebrow split open. Viktor held him tightly, his legs pressed against his, the plates of his chest armour digging into his back, his hands gripping his wrists hard. He struggled, but Viktor seemed as unyielding as a wall. Blood was beginning to run down his face and he grimaced, the metallic smell mingling with that of the paint from the door he was pressed against and the acrid smell of burning seeping underneath. 

Stuck, like a butterfly pinned to a display sheet. He couldn't move, not without risking serious injury, and certainly not without a fight. A suffocating weariness like a wet blanket fell upon him, weighing down his limbs and head. 

Viktor's reaction would probably have made him laugh under other circumstances. He remained tense as a bow for a few seconds, then pulled on his scalp again to tilt his head back and glance at him. Perhaps he thought he had knocked him unconscious, and that was why he wasn't responding. Their eyes locked, then withdrew. 

His heart raced and his thoughts scattered. Viktor's eyes were inches from his, narrowed with questions and anger, his face close, his scent heady beneath everything else, and his warm body behind his own. Even after all this time, especially because of all this time, it still had the same power over him. 

Viktor frowned and his metallic fingers moved slightly on his left wrist, the cold curve of his index finger digging into the throbbing vein that ran just beneath the thin skin. One heartbeat, two, and his golden gaze filled with something else. "Your pupils are completely dilated..." he whispered.

Although Jayce felt exposed by this almost clinical examination, he didn't dwell on it for long. He had easily recognised the intoxicating languor in Viktor's voice.

And just as easily as that, the atmosphere changed completely.

Were they going to... Like in the workshop?

Oh, fuck, yes. Yes, please. 

Still looking into his eyes, he pushed his hands against Viktor, barely. That was enough for him to understand.

The Hexclaw let go of his hair and his head fell forward, just in time for him to catch himself and rest his forehead against the wood. Viktor took a step back and released his wrists, but immediately came back to press his pelvis against his bum, his hands eagerly searching under his uniform for his stomach. Jayce let him do it, his heart in his throat, dizzy, already breathless, trembling when Viktor's fingers, both cool and hard, warm and slender, spread across his skin. Impatient, they moved down towards his belt, but not without first clenching on his abs: Viktor had always loved them. They opened the metal buckle and tackled his fly. Jayce also felt one of the Hexclaw's claws slip into the collar of his jacket and, just as he understood why, make a sharp movement to the left to tear a good six centimetres of it. He was about to protest. That one was really classy. But then he felt Viktor's mouth on his now exposed neck, his tongue flat against his skin like warm, wet velvet, and everything he could have said ended up as an indistinct gurgle. He felt him start to suck on a thick piece of flesh and roll it around in his mouth, biting hard enough to hurt beneath the shivers, and it felt amazing. 

His hands had completely unzipped his trousers and slipped into his boxers, up the sides of his thighs, making him shudder so hard that he pressed himself against Viktor's body. The bastard was a little taller than him — Jayce was sure he'd done it on purpose when he remade his legs — and completely covered him, his neck bent to continue torturing the hickey he was giving him, his hands impatiently pulling down his clothes, the metal plates of his greaves gently tilting against his own protections as he made him spread his legs. Jayce was now twisted backwards against the door, his arse and legs bare, his trousers falling to his calves, hard enough to hurt, doing his best not to ask for anything. 

He had surrendered, yes, and was offering himself, but he wasn't crazy enough yet to show exactly where to strike. Somewhere, he knew the fragile moment, and it was better to say nothing if he wanted it to last. And hell yes, he wanted it to last. And if his thoughts were screaming, 'Come on, come on, I need you, I need this, come on, please!', that was his problem, wasn't it?

Viktor placed his human hand on the small of his back and with the other, slid a metal finger inside him. The augmented limb was sticky with something, something that allowed him to force the ring of muscles with a delicious sting. 'Lubricant,' Jayce realised, his lips pressed together to keep from moaning. Somewhere on him, in his own augmented hand perhaps, Viktor had integrated lubricant.

Questions passed through the red fog of pleasure. He had no known lover, and bloody Jayce had spied on him long enough to know that. And he remembered very well what he thought of sex: pleasant but somewhat distracting. When he was single, Viktor was the type to give himself a little wank every week to stay focused, just as others force themselves to take supplements or do yoga. And he found it hard to believe that the Herald of the Glorious Evolution had kept this habit from his hormone-filled youth. So why did he have it, eh?

Then Viktor added a second finger, and Jayce gave up. Later. He preferred to focus on what was happening there and then. He knew how quickly things we take for granted can vanish, like water we try to hold between our fingers. He didn't want to waste a single second.

Viktor prepared him slowly, methodically. He took his time opening him up, as if he didn't want to hurt him. But Jayce wanted to feel him one more time, even if he would regret it tomorrow. He was used to it: everything Viktor did to him had hurt more or less for years, so why would this be any different?  

Viktor added a third finger, again, pushing them in gently but surely, and Jayce had to remind himself to try to breathe calmly to relax. But he wasn't relaxed at all. He didn't want to be, didn't want to wait. He tried to move towards Viktor to speed things up a little, but Viktor closed his hands around his hips and held him back with a firm grip. Jayce sighed in frustration, and because he was incapable of not trying again when told he couldn't, he pushed against him with all his strength. Viktor's augmented arms and legs hummed softly as they automatically adjusted to the necessary force, clicked once or twice, and Jayce remained in place. He was covered in goosebumps and Viktor still wasn't inside him, and he couldn't take it anymore. "Come on, V," he said, and his voice had just the right tone to evaporate the goodness of any saint. "I may be just a poor human, but I'm not fragile, you know that very well, so stop taking your time like that."

Viktor let out a sharp "Tsk" like a disgruntled teacher. But Jayce felt him unzip his trousers with his other hand, clumsily, the fabric brushing against his buttocks, the small teeth of the fly like a light scratch on his bare skin. Viktor withdrew his fingers and changed position: the soft, warm, and above all human head of his cock—a surprise, far from unpleasant—came to tap against his arse. He took hold of himself and guided himself towards Jayce's entrance. A controlled breath, a puff of warm air on his raw neck, and Viktor pushed to penetrate him.

Jayce gasped, a little pain and a lot of satisfaction, throwing his head back. It had been a long time and his body had forgotten, but it felt good because it was Viktor. It had always felt good only because it was Viktor. He wanted to grab onto something to ease the burning, but his fingers scraped against the bare wood and his arms remained empty. Nothing to grab, nothing to squeeze. He bit his lip, surprised for a second by the blood he found there. Ah, yes. He had split his eyebrow earlier. Small cuts were still bleeding profusely. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trembling slightly. 

Viktor's human hand left his hips to cup his cock. At the same moment, he gave a sharp thrust and sank in to the hilt. Jayce lost his breath for a second, his brain going blank, his forehead falling back against the door with a small thud. Viktor pulled out a little, then thrust back in with the same sharp movement. His cock slid easily in all the lubricant his fingers had left behind, and his hand moved at the same time. He did the same thing again, then let out a voice that was meant to be sarcastic but was heavy with tension: "I really like shutting you up like this."

And before Jayce, out of pure contrariness, could say something stupid, he began to move faster and more rhythmically, pressing him against the door and forcing the words down his throat with each thrust of his hips. His hand followed, firm, just enough to build the pleasure in his belly. 

Already. 

He who had fought so hard to get it now did not want it to end. Viktor against him, his hands trembling, his breath on his neck, as close as their rotten relationship would allow. Jayce wanted more. He always wanted more, always.

He closed his eyes and drowned the acidity in the sensations.

Escape. Oh, not far, just there, with the taste of blood in his mouth, his knees aching, his body heavy, Viktor's cock moving back and forth in just the right spot, making his toes curl and his mouth water. 

He held back, but not enough to stop himself from murmuring, "More, a little more, yes, yes, oh fuck yes, don't stop, it's... It's... Ah! AH!"

And he comes first again, his body full of sparks and his limbs cottony, deliciously fucked through his orgasm, more "AH!"s, and luckily nothing else, escaping him in cascades.

In response, Viktor began to curl up around himself, silent except for his heart pump, which was beating hard enough for him to hear despite his ventilator running at full speed, still in rhythm but trying to go harder, and even coming back from a first burst of articles, it was still great. Jayce did his best to stay on his feet, even though his legs would have liked to relax. He listened to Viktor enjoying himself, as he had liked to do... Before. 

Viktor had been a reserved man. Discreet, polite, with an attentive gaze, he was used to having to stoop to the level of others, which he did patiently, smiling constantly and refraining from rolling his eyes. The kind of man who never raised his voice, who seemed friendly, but who cursed you under his breath because you were wasting his time. Jayce loved getting him to lose his temper. A lot of tempers, in fact. It was only with him that Viktor had been a confident bastard who never wanted to be wrong, a work partner with cutting remarks, demanding, the kind of workaholic who regularly forgot to eat and sleep... and who, when sufficiently annoyed, had a mouth worse than a drunken sailor. And during sex, Janna... He had been as eager and curious with Jayce as he was. But he had watched Jayce love him with a hint of surprise and mistrust, as if he didn't believe it. As if, because he wasn't perfect, he didn't deserve it. Yes, because of that, he had always held back. Protected himself, even. 

And he was still holding back. Yet he was comfortable in his own skin now, confident to the point of arrogance. But he still came silently, as if expressing his pleasure made him vulnerable.

Too soon after, Viktor pulled back to withdraw without a word, and Jayce, losing his footing, half here and half in the past, felt as if he was taking something back from him.

His head buzzing, Jayce pulled up his trousers, ignoring the pain that was already blossoming in his lower body. Behind him, he heard Viktor do the same. He kept his big mouth shut, having learned his lesson from last time: not a word. They fucked in silence and afterwards, they acted as if it had never happened.

Viktor gestured for the door they had just been fucking against to open and walked away in the other direction. He barely turned around to throw over his shoulder, "Go and don't come back. Next time, I won't be so accommodating," then walked through the door and left him there, in the pale light spilling in from the street, the grey fog already caressing his bruised face.

Going home. Yeah, to his empty house and his workshop full of ghosts.

He reached out and absentmindedly picked up the Mercury Hammer. His legs carried him outside, and he walked through Zaun on autopilot, blind and deaf to his surroundings. But even the most desperate Shimmer junkies didn't approach him. His face still smeared with blood, the giant weapon on his shoulder and his blacksmith's build were enough to deter anyone who didn't recognise the Defender of Tomorrow. 

And if all that wasn't enough, the cold emptiness in his eyes promised enough pain to keep everyone out of his way. 

They stopped going for each other's throats during fights. Instead, they fucked at night, afterwards, when the bruises turned black and all the damage was repaired or bandaged. Because it was better and less frustrating than trying to kill each other with their bare hands, knowing full well that they would never cross that line.

And anyway, after the first time, the first mistake, it had been impossible to stop. 

Viktor proved to be more conciliatory than he had said he would be. Any excuse was good enough for them to turn up at each other's houses and knock each other over onto a chair, against a workbench, or down the stairs. There was no need to break down the door or smash windows to get in: one look from either of them and the other knew. If he left it open, it meant he was available that evening. When they were together for that, the rule remained the same as in the beginning: they didn't talk. They didn't need to in order to know what to do to each other, anyway. They hadn't forgotten. And they knew each other too well, more deeply than other lovers: they knew exactly what was worst about each other. But that was for the daytime. At night, it was stifled, ignored. There was no hatred during those moments, but no excuses or tenderness either. They fucked quickly and hard, sometimes making the wounds they had inflicted on each other a few hours earlier bleed, but avoiding causing any more.

And yet, it still hurt. 

Jayce blamed himself, clenching his fists and calling himself an idiot. Couldn't he enjoy himself without making himself sick? But it wasn't enough, it ended too quickly. And no matter how much he exhausted himself at the forge, at work, on missions, the nagging emptiness in his stomach wouldn't go away.

The first drink was just a comfort. With the galas and exhibitions he couldn't avoid, he had gotten into the habit of drinking whisky to keep a smile on his face. It was easy to start drinking one when he found himself alone afterwards. And then another, when the first one wore off, and another, and another. More and more often. And it went on like that for almost five more months. What did it matter, really? He was functioning. He was still functioning, damn it, and that was all that mattered to House Giopara, the self-serving bastards on the Council, and the good citizens of Piltover. He was careful to keep a clear head when he was working, maintaining his loud, egocentric facade in front of everyone, and he even managed to avoid worrying Caitlyn. Everything was fine. 

And it didn't matter if he now had to get drunk to sleep after Viktor's visits, if he now needed to drink before seeing him too. It was what he needed to numb his thoughts and memories, since they couldn't shut up and leave him alone. Another mistake, probably. But very quickly, he was unable to do without it. 

If Viktor smelt the alcohol on his breath, he just frowned once or twice. Then he didn't react, and Jayce convinced himself that he felt nothing but relief.

It could have gone on like that. But alcohol has a nasty habit of bringing to the surface everything we want to keep buried deep inside.

They had fought from a distance today. Simply because Jayce had narrowly avoided what he thought was a brick, but which turned out to be a homemade grenade that exploded too close to him, showering him with concrete splinters. One of them, the biggest one, of course, had hit him on the back of the head, and he had fallen face down before he could understand what had happened. He had been immediately dragged to the rear, behind the heavy barricades of the Enforcers, dazed and covered in dust. And before he could force his eyes to focus and convince the medic that yes, he could go back, Caitlyn and several heavily armed colleagues had managed to disperse the riot. He had returned battered and bruised, with a list of symptoms and recommendations as long as his arm, which he hastened to forget. He was fine, just a stubborn migraine in the back of his head and some pain in his neck and shoulders. He left the medication on the first shelf he came across, took a shower and decided to ease the pain in the usual way. Great excuse, right?

Night was falling. He had left the balcony door ajar—it was always unlocked—but he didn't expect to see Viktor tonight. They hadn't had a chance to talk this time, so he was sure he would spend the night working in his workshop. Jayce was now there more often than in the big house he didn't like, but which he had bought to exorcise the memories of the orphanage. So he had furnished an old storage room adjacent to the workshop with a bed, clothes and shaving kit, a small fridge and two or three cupboards that locked. At least it was a quiet place to crash, and it wasn't unpleasant to make love on a mattress from time to time.

He drank two glasses, practically one after the other, and then, finally warmed up a little, he tried to figure out what was wrong with his latest calculations. But the evening was progressing and he wasn't, and when Viktor came in, he wasn't expecting it at all. The Machine Herald found him with his hair all over the place, a pencil in his mouth, loose sheets of paper and a half-empty bottle on his desk. Jayce turned abruptly when he heard his footsteps behind him, frowning, automatically grabbing the first tool he found at hand. But when he recognised Viktor's silhouette, he relaxed and dropped his improvised weapon. Something soft and warm spread through his chest and a sincere smile appeared on his lips, one that had come so easily to him before. Fatigue and alcohol had smoothed the sharp edges of their story so well that for a few wonderful moments of amnesia, he was just surprised and very happy to see him. 

But Viktor froze, suddenly stiff and hard as if Jayce had just insulted him. 

A slap would not have been more effective in bringing him back to the present. Even tipsy as he was, even with the feeling of cracking up, it was easy to pull his lips a little more to replace his smile of pleasure with a dirty ironic expression. Habit.

He opened his hands wide, shrugged his shoulders and said, "Hey, relax, V. I'm not armed." He then raised his eyebrows suggestively. "And I don't intend to hurt you tonight."

His face was twitching and he felt as fake as he felt lying like that, but it didn't matter. He didn't want Viktor to leave. He walked towards him with a confidence he didn't feel, forcing himself to keep his shitty expression. He grabbed him by the belt and pulled him towards him. Still smiling, Jayce slid one thigh between his legs. Viktor looked at him as if he were scanning him, and knowing him, that was a possibility. But he made no move to leave, Jayce noticed. Perhaps reassured that they had resumed their usual routine. He placed his hands on the cold plates of his armour, knowing exactly where to press to deactivate them and touch soft skin or artificial muscle. Still challenging him with his eyes, he let his fingers explore a body he was beginning to know better and better.  

Finally, Viktor reacted. He didn't say anything, but he was always much more reserved and silent than Jayce even now. He tipped his mask back and leaned down to bite him on the neck, as he had always liked to do. They didn't kiss anymore, but they often sucked, bit and licked each other. However, this time he really hurt him. 'Punishment,' Jayce thought, groaning in pain. But Viktor moved closer, his gloved hands closing around him, his mouth caressing the wound he had just inflicted, and Jayce let himself go. He was staying. He wouldn't be alone tonight, and maybe if they fucked enough, he could forget the icy hole in his stomach.

They stumbled to the bed, occasionally bumping into furniture and tools lying around. Jayce's shirt and trousers were quickly removed and left on the floor, but Viktor pushed him away to finish undressing himself. He took his revenge by flipping him onto his back as soon as he joined him on the mattress. He wanted him just like that, his head thrown back into the pillows while Jayce hurriedly prepared him. He kissed his chest as he did so, the part of him that was still flesh and blood like the steel that vibrated softly beneath his lips. 

He had never told him, would never tell him, because it was too bitter, but contrary to what Viktor believed, he did not hate the augmented parts of his body. How could he? His artificial legs, heart and lungs had saved his life. No, it was the rest that bothered Jayce, his stupid Glorious Evolution and everything Viktor had believed he had to tear from himself to eradicate imaginary weaknesses he could no longer bear. How far would he go? Would he replace his brain, would he install an automatic injector of that bloody suppressor in his veins so he would never feel anything again? Would he one day give up being human for good? That was it. That was what terrified him. The prospect of seeing the empty shell of the person he had loved walking and talking, knowing that he had lost him as surely as if he were dead.

Jayce bit his lip. It was silly. Making love to him wouldn't change him, but right now, he needed to bury himself inside him to have him a little longer. His heart heavy, his stomach still empty, he got up and slowly began to penetrate him. Forget the migraine, the exhaustion: he drank in the line of his jaw, his ever-moving moles, the strange beauty of his body where dark metal and skin blended together, the way he tensed beneath him as he thrust himself in to the hilt, his eyelids fluttering with each new thrust. 

And then a thought exploded in his head as he realised he was looking at Viktor as if trying to engrave him in his memory. An obvious, harsh and cruel truth that hit him like another blow to the head. 

I still have feelings for him.

Jayce staggered and lost his rhythm a little. But he had always known. He had done everything he could to avoid seeing it, to get around it, to silence it with many lies and even more truths. But he knew. Of course he knew.

His heart began to pound violently between his ribs, and he felt sweat begin to sting the stitches in his hair, the weight of Viktor's legs on his shoulders, the smell of dust and coal from his workshop with the bright intensity of the battlefield. He felt as if time had crystallised, just as it had when he saw the projectile coming towards him and had only two options: run or take the hit. You can't fight a bomb.

You don't fight that either.

Viktor always closed his eyes when they did it face to face, and this was the only time Jayce didn't regret it. He couldn't tell what he was showing at that moment, when just breathing as if nothing was happening was difficult enough.

Run away or take the hit. Take the hit again? No. It had hurt so much the first time, so even if... No.

He looked at him again. He had to force himself to resist running his hand through his slightly long brown locks and kissing him as hard as he wanted to. It would have been pointless, just spoiling the moment a little more. So Jayce closed his eyes too, and with gritted teeth and a body that felt like it weighed a ton, he leaned in and sped up, taking care to do it exactly how Viktor liked it. 

As if it would change anything afterwards or appease anyone. But Jayce had always been a selfish man. 

He didn't even try to have his own orgasm. He was too tense, too guarded. He was trying too hard to keep up the pace, to make everything perfect. A few minutes later, another thrust of his hips, one last horribly gentle caress, and Viktor finally moaned, spilling white streaks across his stomach.

Jayce withdrew and stood up, trembling slightly, immediately getting off the bed without looking at him. It was disgusting to leave like that, but he definitely didn't want him to see his eyes now.

 Staggering, his head empty, he left the room and walked without really knowing how to his desk and sat down. He must have put on his trousers automatically, because he found himself staring at the blue fabric as he dropped his head into his hands. 

'What now?'he wondered, running his fingers through his hair, unable to calm his heart. 

Now? You already know. You just have to find the courage to do it.

He sat up, nervous and feverish, looking for something to hold on to. His gaze fell on the bottle forgotten in the corner. Before he even thought about it, he closed his hand around it and brought it to his mouth.

"Pathetic."

The word, uttered in a neutral voice behind him, hit him like a brick. "Go fuck yourself, V," he replied after taking a long sip, the shame burning him as much as the whisky. 

"I'll have to if you start fucking like that. It was so quick you didn't even come."

Jayce gave a bitter, nasty laugh. "As if you cared." He took another sip. "I made you cum. That's only why you came, isn't it?"

Viktor moved closer, and from the sound alone, Jayce could tell he had gotten dressed. Ready to leave. 

Janna... Already. 

He knew what he had to do, but the mere thought of it hurt. He tightened his grip on the bottle and curled up in his chair. He forced himself to speak as coldly as he could: "But that was the last time. It's not worth the risks I'm taking. I don't want to risk my neck with the Council for a shitty fuck every now and then."

The silence behind him was deafening. He squared his shoulders, expecting the storm to break, since, being a bastard, he had hit exactly on Viktor's old scar of rejection. As he expected, the other man took the few steps that separated them and pinning him against his desk, one elbow digging into his shoulders, the other hand behind his head and the already burning Hexclaw pressed against his neck. The muscles in his upper body began to scream, reigniting the migraine that was throbbing dully in his head.

Jayce rolled his shoulders under his hands, trying in vain to relieve the pain. "Is it a kink, crushing people's faces? It's just that it's not easy to..."

"Don't take me for a fool. If you were really so afraid for your place, you would never have spread your legs for me in my bloody hallway the first time. So answer me: why do you suddenly want to end something that you yourself initiated?"

"Wow, I didn't know you liked my cock that much, V." Every word was as acidic as bile. "But don't worry, despite your ugly mug, I'm sure you'll find someone else to fuck you."

The blow didn't even surprise him. He heard the Hexclaw charging, the burn on his neck becoming excruciating for a heartbeat, then the mechanical limb pulled away at the last second to fire into the desk, gouging a hole the size of a dinner plate just a hair's breadth from his hands spread out on the wood. The black smoke stung his nose and lungs immediately, and he coughed painfully, convulsing once or twice in Viktor's grip. 

"Next time, it'll be your fingers. Answer me. "

Jayce already had a stupid retort on the tip of his tongue. But that wasn't how he was going to get Viktor to leave, and that was the only thing he wanted right now.

At any cost. 

They had met more than fifteen years ago. They had been friends and work partners for seven years, had been together for three, and had just spent nearly six as enemies. Jayce had seen him in every situation: success, illness, decline, and triumph. He had literally lived through the best and worst with him. So of course he knew exactly how to scare him away.

"Okay. No need to burn all my spreadsheets."

He remained silent just for a moment again, as if checking the depth of a precipice to make sure it would kill him when he jumped.

"I can't go on because... Shit. Because I love you. I still love you."

After a second that felt like an eternity, Viktor let go of him and jerked back with a rustle of clothes and a metallic clang of a machine running out of control. He couldn't have moved any faster if he'd been on fire. And in a way, he probably was.

Jayce remained as he was, half sprawled across the desk. There was nothing more to say, and he knew Viktor would not answer him. Above all, he felt as if he had been split in two and had to make a great effort just to stay in his chair and breathe. So he simply closed his eyes when the French window slammed shut behind Viktor. The wood bounced back into the frame and glass tinkled on the floor. Silence fell again. 

He slowly sat up. He hadn't let go of his bottle. For a while, he stared at the charred hole in his green desk pad, his head buzzing. Strangely, the only thought that kept running through his mind was that he was going to have to throw away the desk. And then he began to feel his heart beating in the wound on his head, to notice the warm, wet sensation under his hair. Ah. That must be why his hands were shaking so much and his vision was blurring. He took a sip of whisky. By the third glass, the alcohol began to taste like water and salt in his mouth. He grimaced but continued to drink. 

That was it. It was over.

Autumn blew dead leaves and icy air through the broken window.

Viktor still hated feelings, of course. He knew that deep down, but despite everything, seeing that he seemed to want it with the same intensity, part of him wondered...

But no. There was nothing to hope for. And he hoped for nothing. He had done what had to be done. Viktor and him were... They were, to use a stupid image, like night and day. Discretion versus exuberance, cold logic versus heart and guts, the endless possibilities of augmentation versus the beauty of the human machine. Their old difference, which had crept into everything, from work to their relationship, and had ruined everything. And it still did, because deep down nothing had changed. He could keep looking for Viktor as if something inside him was calling him, but he knew. It wasn't working and it never would. 

And the worst thing was that even though he was convinced of it, the emptiness he had felt was already returning, and it promised to make the suffering of the last few months seem like a joke. He shivered and brought the bottle to his mouth again to try to escape it, just a little. He would have done anything to make it stop for good. Because that's what it meant to be human. To find yourself with a soul crying out for a name that brought nothing but bad news. 

Despite everything, a small ironic smile stretched across his lips against the glass neck.

It took that for him to understand, didn't it?

Bloody hell, you couldn't say the gods lacked a sense of humour. 

Or cruelty. 

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