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bringthekaos · 2 years ago

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Ok but after getting home from the gala he needs extra kissies from Viktor 🥺🥺🥺 he is just so tired of playing pretty boy for research money

So sorry this one took so long to answer, but this one is just too good, it deserved a ficlet too!! (This is in reference to this ask about Crystal Rose Jayce.)

Fic is not explicit, but it is suggestive as feck.

Crystal Veneer

Jayce didn’t mean to take his anger out on the door to the lab—the concussive bang echoing through the wide-open space like a gunshot as he kicked it inward with so much force it slammed into the wall and dented it. But the stress of the evening had just been building and building and building like a flame with infinite fuels, and he just had to let it out.

Galas. Parties. Schmoozing with the most conceited and stuck-up bureaucrats Piltover had to offer, and all just so his research could continue. It was a vicious circle, an Ouroboros of depressing proportions—have idea, need funding, kiss asses, get funding, execute idea, repeat ad nauseam. There was no getting ahead of it either, because there was never enough—he’d always end up supplementing the funds with his own when he inevitably depleted it all in the process. So there was never excess, never a little bit to put away to kickstart the next project.

And he was fairly certain they all wanted it that way—the idea of him having free rein with his own time and research scared them. They didn’t want to be left behind. So instead they kept him on an ever-tightening leash so that they could all slap their names next to his on anything and everything he invented. So that no idea was singular, nothing belonged to him—in the end, everything he made belonged to his investors. He was just a veneer on top so that it would sell.

He grumbled to himself as he bit at the middle finger of his left glove, ripping it off with his teeth and tossing it onto his desk as the evening played out in his head—the fake smiles, the rigid posture he’d had to hold that now had his shoulder blades burning. The scattered conversations and gossip about him, as if he wasn’t standing right there. Calling him ‘Golden Boy’ and ‘Defender’ and ‘Man of Progress’ in tones that suggested he was nothing more than that—their little trophy they could hold up high when they needed something to brag about. So many monikers, and yet he was fairly certain some of them had forgotten his actual name at this point.

It was a heavy, raucous clang, clang, clang like rotary chains that startled Jayce from his brooding. The sound echoed from the far corner of the lab, eerie and haunting, and he frantically spun around to meet it—raising the Mercury Hammer and yanking on the trigger to open the hammerhead and charge it.

The source of the sound was immediately clear as the azure glow of the hammer illuminated the space—Viktor, the Machine Herald himself, dramatically clapping his metal hands together and meandering in from the shadows.

“Bravo, Defender,” he drawled, punctuating it with one more slow, metallic clap of his hands. “I’ve seen whores give more convincing performances.”

Jayce released a long, annoyed sigh; letting the hammer droop in his hold as he rolled his eyes and turned back to face his desk. He didn’t typically turn his back on Viktor, especially when he didn’t yet know what kind of mood his old friend was in, but… after the night he’d had? He would honestly welcome the Hexclaw blow to his spine. At least he would finally feel something, even if it was for target practice.

“The fuck do you want, V? I’m really not in the mood,” he snapped, unceremoniously tossing the hammer down to thunder onto the floor. He wouldn’t typically do that either, relinquish his only weapon, but he couldn’t bear its weight anymore. He’d been carrying it all night; just another prop for the partygoers to ogle. A prop held by a prop—bit on the nose, if you asked him. But then again… no one typically did.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Viktor deadpanned back, and Jayce could hear the reverb of those metal boot heels hitting stone as he took a few steps closer. “You got your funding, didn’t you? That’s what matters—so you had to prance around like a pretty peacock for their enjoyment to get it… mm. Let’s face it, you’ve always been good at that part, haven’t you Defender?”

Defender… defender, defender… pretty boy, Golden Boy. Dance for them, boy, it’s why you’re here.

Rage built at the base of his throat, making it feel like he’d swallowed molten glass. His chest went tight and his hands balled into fists so hard that his fingernails curled into the oak surface of the desk. Pain shot through his jaw as he viciously ground his teeth, but it wasn’t enough to bite back the scream,

“Can just one fucking person call me by my goddamn name?!”

And before he’d even registered moving, he had grabbed the bottle of liquor before him (it was a gift from Camille—she knew he hated these funding galas, so she’d sent it over as a pre-game gift… complete with red velvet bow) and flung it ferociously against the nearest wall. The spray of liquor and shattered glass rained down onto his desk and clothes alike, and the sharp chill of it was enough to douse his anger with regret.

That was a gift, she was just being nice—why do you always take your anger out on the wrong people? Punish the wrong people? Maybe they’re all right to write you off, disregard any usefulness you may have in exchange for displaying you like a trophy. At least you can’t hurt anyone if you just shut up and smile…

“Oh, Jayce…”

The maelstrom in his brain all came to a screeching halt—Viktor’s voice, now calm and coaxing and so achingly smooth as it cascaded over the sharp edges of Jayce’s anger that it was smothered altogether.

“Jayce…”

A bone-shaking shudder went down Jayce’s spine as Viktor’s weight, Viktor’s warmth was suddenly pressed wholeheartedly to his back. And those metal hands, so sure and strong, began to slither around Jayce’s waist to sprawl over his stomach—ruching up his shirt and untucking it as they went. They soothed over his ribcage, following the lines of his finely pressed waistcoat until they were splayed out on his pecs, where they roughly pulled him back hard against Viktor’s body.

Viktor’s breath was warm and moist on the back of Jayce’s neck as those familiar lips followed his hairline and pressed a kiss there, just behind his ear.

“My Jayce…”

Jayce’s knees nearly buckled at the words, so sensually growled into his sensitive skin that he suddenly felt feverish—hot and achy, shivery and weak…

The hum of the Hexclaw caught his attention though, and for a moment he almost panicked—fuck, let my guard down, let my stupid emotions get the better of me, and now he’s got me ripe for the pulverizing…

But instead, it simply curled down and around Jayce’s front, delicately plucking the violet rose boutonnières from his lapel. It curved back then, holding the flowers out and waiting as Viktor leaned in and inhaled of them, long and slow.

“Mm…” he grunted, the sound vaguely dissatisfied, and then the Hexclaw was unceremoniously (and rather comically) tossing the flowers away.

“Window dressing,” Viktor continued, and suddenly Jayce was being spun around with force, lifted, and plopped back down onto the desk, his knees pushed wide to accommodate Viktor’s hips. Jayce yelped with surprise, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed it… Viktor’s strength, the unbridled ease with which he handled Jayce’s not-inconsiderable size. To be the focus of Viktor’s attention, to be seen and analyzed and handled. Like he was something worthy of the effort, and not just some fancy centerpiece to be ignored.

And now that he was recovering his bearings, Jayce found Viktor’s mask removed—the sound of it clattering to the floor going almost unnoticed as Jayce lost himself in those familiar glowing eyes.

“This was what I always hated about Piltover, Jayce,” Viktor positively purred Jayce’s name again, and it soothed some burning need that had been scratching at Jayce’s ribcage. Say it again… say it again and again and again, please, then maybe I won’t catch fire. Or maybe I will, but either way, just say it again…

“They always felt the need to decorate that which was objectively already perfect,” Viktor continued, one hand gripping Jayce’s wrist and bringing his one still-gloved hand up between them.

He held Jayce’s gaze with hawklike intensity as the Hexclaw came down, gently pinched at the middle finger of his glove, and pulled it off. And Jayce gulped past a monstrous frog in his throat as Viktor slowly leaned in, placing warm, velvety kisses to each finger, one by torturous one.

And once he’d finished, his hands slid down beneath the lapels of Jayce’s evening coat and slowly, sensually pushed it back and off, until the metal embellishments rang out against the desk. Before Jayce could even re-situate his arms, he found Viktor’s hands wrapped firmly around his lower back and pulling.

The movement had Jayce fully flush against Viktor’s chest, and he could do little else but whine as Viktor nuzzled into his neck again, asking, suggesting. And Jayce couldn’t comply fast enough; rolling his head back and gripping at Viktor’s armor for purchase as those lovely lips latched on once more—biting and kissing and sucking until his skin was moist and hot.

“My Jayce…”

Jayce could hardly breathe now, the intensity of this need constricting like a python around his lungs. Your Jayce, yes, yours, yours, always yours. Show me you want me, show me you need me, show me I’m not just some pretty thing you can prop up on a pedestal and ogle…

Jayce’s skull ached when the Hexclaw forced him back upright, but the pain melted away as he was met with Viktor’s lips crashing into his own. He wholly gave into it, his entire body curling into Viktor’s as those soft, supple lips sucked away all the anger and frustration.

Viktor tasted of something sweet and fruity, something familiar and nostalgic… and Jayce chuckled against Viktor’s lips when he figured it out. It was those prickly pear sweets Jayce kept in a jar on his desk, for those evenings when he needed a sugar kick to keep him going. Viktor must have raided the lab while he waited for Jayce to return from that ridiculous Crystal Rose Gala—likely polishing off half the jar, with that insatiable sweet tooth of his.

“I see someone found my stash,” Jayce cooed into Viktor’s mouth, punctuating it by taking Viktor’s lower lip and sucking it between his own.

“What can I say, I was bored,” Viktor replied, his augmented hand beginning to soothe back and forth over Jayce’s thigh, driving him to maddening distraction.

“Impatient as ever,” Jayce chided back, pecking a single quick kiss before going on, “you do have to share me…”

Viktor growled back at him, his torso angling forward so quickly that Jayce had no choice but to fall back against the desk, thighs squeezing at Viktor’s hips for stability.

Viktor prowled in over him, caging him in with those heavy metal arms and crouching low so his lips barely brushed Jayce’s.

“No. No, I don’t. I don’t share with ungrateful Pilties. If they aren’t going to appreciate you, Jayce, then I’m just going to have to keep you…”

He propped himself up with the Hexclaw then, both hands joining at Jayce’s chest to begin unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.

“…all to myself.”

Jayce lost track of time after that, all thoughts of being nothing more than a decoration obliterated by Viktor’s thorough, doting hands.

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