#also debating making an arcane specific blog idk idk

[handsomewrites]

a fist and not a plan ch.1

So maybe Jayce is a bit impulsive, but it's never spiraled like this before. Curiosity killed the cat, but thankfully it only got Jayce's ass kicked.

Modern AU Jailco. They both get a little horny about a fistfight.

TAGLIST: T RATED; Jayce/Silco; Fistfights; light violence; implied crime; idiots to lovers;

part 2 | part 3 | part 4

read on ao3 here

~~~

“Please don’t hover.”

Jayce blinks, surprised, and steps back. He isn't trying to hover, really, but he's a little excited that Viktor has finally taken him up on the offer to be gym buddies.

Well, taken him up on the offer is maybe less accurate than, say, Viktor’s doctor suggested a gym membership to use the equipment as a part of his physical therapy exercises, and Jayce insisted on coming along.

Close enough.

“Sorry,” Jayce answers, shaking his head. “I’ll just, uh. Be over here, if you need anything.”

Viktor inclines his head a fraction in a way he’s come to recognize as a thank you. At least, he’s fairly confident that’s accurate. Viktor’s a hard guy to read. Jayce plucks a pair of decently sized dumbbells from the rack and sits on the bench adjacent to Viktor’s, trying not to watch his friend from the corner of his eye.

It’s not that he doesn’t think Viktor can handle it -- Viktor can handle anything, really. He’s seen Viktor handle a hell of a lot more than anyone ever expected of him. But the gym is one of the places Jayce considers his domain, along with the forge and the lab. And, like the forge and the lab, he’s keenly aware that a lot of people hurt themselves at the gym when they don’t know what they’re doing.

Not that Viktor doesn’t know what he’s doing, of course! He has instructions from his doctor, presumably. But he’s never really seen anyone use free weights the way Viktor is currently, holding a small one in his hands while he does some sort of twisty thing with his back.

He sets the weight down between his legs with a huff of exertion, not looking up at Jayce before he speaks again. “I can feel you staring at me still.”

“Sorry! Sorry. I just... worry.” Jayce sets his own dumbbells down, a little flustered. Viktor smiles a little, in a way that’s tired, but fond.

“I know, Jayce. Can you come take this?”

Jayce hops up, nearly tripping over his own weights to take the metal disk from Viktor’s hands. He gets another head-incline before Viktor stands, using one of his arms for balance until he can retrieve his cane.

“Alright. Fifteen minutes on the bike, and then I can be done with this for a while.”

Jayce isn’t sure why a stationary bike would be recommended for a guy with a bad leg, but it’s low-impact, so maybe it’s a good way to build strength?

“Do you think I can handle that much without supervision?” Viktor’s tone is teasing, and Jayce huffs a little.

“I know you can handle it, I just... want to help.”

“I know, Jayce.” Viktor very kindly does not say you can help by going away. “Can you get me a drink from the front? One of those electrolyte things.”

Part of him knows he’s being given a task so he stops fretting, but he’s grateful for it. “Sure thing, Vik.”

---

Jayce takes his time buying his friend an overpriced purple sports drink from the front desk. This isn’t his usual gym, so he doesn’t know anyone he could stop and chat with. He usually works out at the university’s gym, but Viktor had said it’s for actual athletic people and full of meatheads like you, Jayce, so they’d gotten memberships to the discount gym down the road, instead. It isn’t a bad gym at all. There are people here who clearly know what they’re doing, mixed in about equal parts with middle aged moms, people who made new years’ resolutions to get in shape, and sedentary office workers that need something to get the blood flowing.

He gives the girl behind the counter a polite thanks, turning on his heel to trot back across the gym. His head is in the clouds a bit, and he’s paying more attention to the weird remixed pop song playing in the background than he is to where his big feet are landing. So, of course, he gets one of those big feet caught under a barbell someone had sat on the ground while taking a break. And, of course, because he can never go down without taking one or two casualties with him, he collides headlong into someone stepping down from the treadmills nearby.

“Shit,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, somewhere between falling and landing. Then, “shit,” again, once he realizes he’s landed on top of another person. Before he can push himself up, though, they’re shoving at his chest, pushing him off with arguably more force than necessary.

“OAF,” is the first thing the stranger says to him -- or, more accurately, spits at him, bristled like a cat. It’s a man, older than he is and considerably scrawnier, with a patch over one eye. There’s a scar under the patch, partially covered by makeup, but sweat has done a number on that. The other eye is glaring at him as the man scrambles to his feet, huffily brushing off his clothes like Jayce soiled them, somehow. Standing at his full height, the man has a powerful air about him, and he looks down at Jayce like he’s an inch tall.

It’s maybe... a little attractive. To some people. Maybe.

“Sorry,” Jayce says honestly, standing with a wince. He skidded his knee on the rubber flooring, which will be sore, but it didn’t scrape. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m fine,” the man snaps, voice dripping with contempt, and all Jayce’s regret slips away. “I know you may not have many to spare, but please at least attempt to leave a brain cell free to watch where you’re going.” The more he speaks, the more Jayce can feel any desire he has to be polite leak out the soles of his shoes.

“Wow,” he says, eyebrows raised. Then, “okay. Wow.”

“Sorry, was that too many words for you to take in at once?” The man squints at him, lilting his words with a mocking sympathy as if Jayce is a scared child. “I’ll try and keep it simple for you. Move.”

He tries to push past Jayce, but Jayce is considerably bigger, and he uses his size to block the path. “What is your problem, man? It was an accident. I apologized.”

“Oh! You apologized!” His voice gets even more condescending as he claps his hands together, leaning back a bit. “Well that changes everything! Clearly, apologizing has never not fixed everything, right? At least, for you.” His fake smile drops back to the glare it started as, and he thumps a closed fist on Jayce’s left pec. “Now, what part of move wasn’t clear?”

“The part where you didn’t say pretty please with sugar on top.” Jayce crosses his arms over his chest, maybe flexing a little to make himself look bigger. A few people have stopped, now, turning to look at the commotion.

The man’s eyebrow twitches, and Jayce counts it as a victory that he’s gotten under his skin. Then the guy reels back and stomps full-force on Jayce’s foot, with a surprisingly pointy heel, and Jayce flinches out of the way enough for him to push past.

Historically, Jayce has always spoken and acted before thinking. He’s smart, if he lets his brain have a chance to think, but instead of doing that, his hand shoots out to grab the man by whatever he can reach -- which happens to be his hair, due to the angle and how he’s slouching by -- and reel him back.

The fist hits his eye before he realizes it’s coming, and damn, the old man’s stronger than he looks. His grip loosens a bit and the guy slips free, but Jayce hooks a foot under his and sends him back down onto the floor. He twists the man’s arm behind his back, and the man literally snarls over his shoulder, which causes a weird feeling in Jayce’s stomach.

“Bastard,” he hisses through his crooked, chipped teeth, hair falling into his face as he struggles.

“Maybe don’t pick a fight with someone bigger than you,” Jayce suggests, matter-of-fact.

“In a fair fight,” he pants, “I would have you on your back.”

The man thrashes, and between his words setting Jayce off-kilter and the sudden movement, he gets his arm free. Before he can do anything with it, though, there’s a hand on the back of Jayce’s neck, and another pair of hands pulling the man from under him.

---

[Viktor - Tue 6:47]

Your childhood friend slash older brother figure is an idiot.

[Caitlin - Tue 6:47]

i assume you mean jayce

[Caitlin - Tue 6:48]

what did he do this time

[Viktor - Tue 6:50]

He insisted on coming to the gym with me. Got into a fight and got himself kicked out the very first time we set foot in the place.

[Caitlin - Tue 6:50]

lmao

[Caitlin - Tue 6:51]

hes your problem now v

[Viktor - Tue 6:53]

He can sit outside and think about what he’s done until I’m finished. I have his car keys.

[Caitlin - Tue 6:54]

maybe now youll think twice before you pick a lab partner based on hunkiness and puppy dog eyes

[Viktor - Tue 6:59]

I am not dignifying that with a response.

---

He has to sit on the curb outside for ten more minutes before he hears Viktor’s cane tap-tap-tap to a stop next to him. The other guy had stormed off immediately, shortly followed by another woman he’d seen lifting weights inside earlier. He can already feel his eye swelling a bit. He’ll need to come up with some lie to cover the black eye that sounds cooler than it really is.

“Did you have fun bringing me to the gym, Jayce?” Viktor’s dry tone makes it very clear this isn’t a question he wants an answer to, but Jayce gives him one anyway.

“He started it.”

He’s not looking up at Viktor standing over him, but he knows his friend is rolling his eyes. Dramatically. He hears shuffling as Viktor digs to the bottom of his satchel, then Jayce’s car keys are dropped into his lap.

“Come on,” Viktor says, stepping down off the curb into the parking lot. His limp is more pronounced than usual, and he’s leaning heavily on his cane, tired. “You can sulk while you drive.”

---

Jayce is no longer welcome at the discount gym down the road.

That doesn’t stop Viktor from making full use of his membership, though. Well... weekly use of his membership. Usually. Sometimes he’s too busy, of course, and skips it, but he can’t get off schedule, so he just has to wait another week to go, and... so on and so forth.

The first week after Jayce got kicked out, though, someone approaches him.

He thought he was done being hovered over, but he can feel someone standing over his shoulder, so he puts his weight down and turns to look up at them, annoyance written on his face. It’s a woman, and she’s built like -- pardon the term -- a brick shithouse. There really is no other way to describe her. She’s got a light sneer on her face, but something tells him that’s just her default expression.

“Can I help you?”

“Last week,” she starts, voice just as gruff as he expected. “You were here with someone. The guy who--”

“The idiot who got in a fistfight, yes.” Viktor rolls his eyes, habitually. He really hopes this won't become a trend. He’d paid money to use this gym, it would be a shame to have to find another because of Jayce’s impulsiveness. “I really don’t have time for--”

A piece of paper is thrust into his face. He looks at it, then up at her. She looks just as done with this as he is.

“From the idiot he got in a fistight with.”