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cursedwretch · 13 days ago

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What Lurks Beneath - Chapter 4

Viktor x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 7343 Words (oops); Rating 18+ MDNI

AO3 | Prev

CW: Some minor spice ahead! Pubic displays of affection, mentions of female anatomy, a smidge of soft dom!Viktor

I despise short-notice meetups. It’s my mantra as I fiddle with the buttons of my blouse, dread curling in my stomach while I change from my standard uniform into an outfit more bar appropriate. Shucking on my coat, I jog downstairs and out my door. I curl in on myself immediately, drawing my coat tight against the chilled air currently snaking its way down my spine. I would bail entirely there wasn’t the sole, simple reason I agreed to go in the first place:

Some monster inside me has grown used to Viktor’s sporadic presence in my life, and I find myself eager for the easy way out of this... void. I really should apologize. And I have tried. I just happen to chicken out. Repeatedly. Which is exactly how I found myself invited to this event in the first place earlier today.

I stand, hovering down the hall from the Hextech labs, trying to will my stubborn feet to move forward. Eyes affixed to the door. It’s Nathan greeting me that breaks the paralytic making its way through my bones.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Nathan’s voice is leading, full of a promise I opt to ignore in favor of his next words, “Jayce will be there, Alisa—“

He rattles off more names, though I’ve stopped listening. I let him go on, watching the door at the end of the hall. It cracks open.

“Sure,” I interrupt.

His eyebrows fly up, “really? Great. I’ll pick you up?”

“I’ll meet you there,” my answering smile is tight-lipped. I hope the subtext is clear enough. He nods, opening his mouth to speak.

“Great, see you!” I turn on my heels, straining to maintain a dignified pace despite every muscle in my body wanting to bolt. Right then, right there.

It’s not a matter of pride. Honestly.

I just don’t want to face that again—that palpable disappointment. It makes my chest ache, a hollow and rotten sink worming its way through my heart. A tad overdramatic? Fine. Yes.

It had only been a few days. Still, Viktor strikes me as the kind of man with walls so high, any perceived slight would result in another being rebuilt and reinforced. Brick after brick until the only option left is to take a bulldozer to his heart just to get back to where you started.

Either way.

I truly, truly hate last minute events.

The bar itself is chock full, with a long, mostly empty table sitting towards the back. A touch out of place, considering the standing-room-only atmosphere throughout. I cringe as I make my way there.

Viktor is the first I spot—seated with his back to the entrance beside Jayce and a woman I distinctly recall being his date at the gala a short while ago. Jealously rears its ugly head, burning and wriggling a hole through my heart. I smile weakly at them as I follow Nathan, taking a seat toward the center, my back to the wall.

The rest of the party grows steadily as people filter in. Filled with strangers, and a few familiar faces peppered between. Sky, who shared a few of my ecology classes during my time as a student. A few colleagues from my department. Pupils of Heimerdinger’s.

I sip at my drink, watching the liquid swirl inside the glass as I listen to the conversations surrounding me. Content with eavesdropping, I stay quiet. Viktor does the same, though I avoid looking his way at all costs.

To my dismay, I can’t stay a voyeur forever.

“I hear you’re researching a restoration project? In the trenches?” It’s Nathan who asks, finally turning my way.

I shift in my seat, clearing my throat as I correct, “yes, in the Undercity.”

There’s a scoff at the other end of the table, though I don’t catch who it’s from as I take a deep swig from my drink. I can feel Viktor’s eyes on me, boring little holes along my skin. I don’t dare look over.

“Interesting,” Nathan leans in, “all hypothetical then?”

“Good luck cleaning up after the sump trash,” the same person mumbled from down the table. This time, I’m able to pick him out as he stares my way with a cruel grin. The man has a shock of white hair, and is quite over adorned, even for Piltover. Gold stacks of jewelry hang off of his fingers, long nails tipped in the very same. Not someone who works with his hands then. His eyes hold a challenging glint.

I take it, narrowing my own. I distantly recognize him as one of the sons of a merchant house, though I can’t recall the name. Relatively unimportant, then. And clearly not involved with the academy. Someone’s plus one.

Likely Nathan’s, judging by the familiar look he gives him: eyebrows raised, lips tight, a silent broadcast of ‘shut up’ across the table.

“No,” I cast one last cold glare in the direction before returning to Nathan, “I plan on following through.”

I give in, daring a glance towards the other end of the table. Jayce is bouncing between Viktor and I—expression oozing with concern. He sends a curt nod my way before he places a touch to Viktor’s arm, touch lingering there as he stands. Viktor swallows. He scratches his fork against the small plate before him.

“You won’t get funding,” comes another voice: Nysa Virellian. A former classmate of mine. Her words are measured and sure, naturally. Her family, owners and operators of a prominent trading fleet, have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo.

“I may. With the right angle,” I shrug.

Jayce heads to the other end of the long table, hand clapping down on the man from earlier’s shoulder. He speaks in low, hushed voice. I can tell by the receiver’s gulp, face flaring bright red, that it isn’t pleasant. With a harsh pat to their back he’s standing, coolly returning to his seat.

Emboldened, I continue, “it affects us too, you know.”

Another scoff.

I arch my brow, pointing to the picked over pastries scattering the table. “We use fish for fertilizer, you know. Degrading habitat mean less fish. Less fish, less wheat. Less cakes to stuff your face with.”

The table grows quiet. Admittedly, I’m being a bit preachy. But my fuse is short, and I don’t particularly feel like putting up with being picked over by near-strangers tonight like a carcass slaughtered for their entertainment alone.

“Not exactly a compelling argument. The are other sources for both wheat and fertilizer—we are a trade hub, after all,” Nysa brushes me off.

I sigh, deep and ragged.

Nathan pats my hand above the table as he speaks, “keep at it, you’re just getting back into the swing of things.”

Patronizing bastard.

Rage, white hot simmers up my throat, threatening to bubble out. It’d be too easy to turn that acid his way, he’d make such a large target for a few choice words. Too insecure, too advantageous. I swallow. I pull my hand away instead, placating him with a tight smile.

Leave it, my heart chants. And so, I do, taking the awkward lull as an opportunity to drain the dredges from my glass.

There’s that warmth again.

I glance up to find Viktor staring my way, eyes burning into mine with an otherwise blank face. I shift, holding his gaze, as the conversation picks up around us. Thankfully, they shift away to lighter topics. One thing is certain: no one in Piltover wants to talk about the Undercity for long. Jayce’s voice cuts our spell, sending us scattering to find fresh focuses as he previews the progress they’ve made with their research.

I wait. Until enough time passes to not be horribly obvious, I take the first opportunity available to slip away, eager to rid my lungs of the stagnant, perfumed air of the bar.

The alley provides just that. Cool, crisp. Dim but warmly lit, incandescent lights providing a warm glow throughout.

Clean.

So, shocking clean.

I’ve never noticed how clean our alleys were prior to my trips with Viktor. Until I saw how easy it is for a city to slip into disrepair and filth when the lack the basic resources for survival. Who sweeps a damned alley when survival means clawing your way through earth itself. Hopeful to find a something of worth for us up above. My stomach turns at the thought, signing. There are many things I haven’t noticed, it seems.

I close my eyes, arms wrapping my coat tighter to my skin. I’m debating leaving entirely as the door behind me cracks open. Footsteps let me know another has joined me.

I feel, more than see, Viktor step into my periphery.

“I have been meaning to talk to you,” he starts.

I swallow, sighing as I look to where the alley meets the street, away from him, “I don’t have the heart for any more debates tonight, Viktor.”

“Mh? No, no. That is not my intention.”

I turn towards him, taking him in.

His arms are crossed, expression guarded. Walls up. I note his cane—rested gently against the brick wall. Still feeling uncharacteristically stubborn, I wait. Let him be the first to speak.

“You were right,” he acquiesces. His mouth pulls into a little grimace that lets me know exactly how rarely he says those words. He continues, “I have no right to dictate where you can go.”

I blink. My own words escape me in an easy exhale, “at least we’re guilty of the same sin.”

His eyes crease, warm.

“For what it’s worth,” I frown, “I’m sorry, too, Viktor.”

His gaze falls away, fixating on something over my shoulder in the distance. I wonder if that was the wrong thing to say as he worries at his lip with his teeth.

“It is,” his voice is gentle as he trails off to find the right word, “unpleasant to be underestimated.”

He casts a glance back towards the bar door. My reply comes out in a hum, nothing more to add. He’s right. Uncomfortable doesn’t cover the half of how it feels. As I let the last of my guilt fester under my skin, he half-shuffles in place.

Another cold wind brushes past my neck, bringing a tantalizing, tempting little thought to the forefront of my mind. The drink giving me just enough confidence to follow through. “Speaking of research,” I smirk despite myself, “I’m heading back to the academy. Want to hear the latest?”

He nods, eyes positively alight. “Yes, although, perhaps, I was hoping—would you like to see our prototype?”

“Viktor, of course,” I laugh.

***

I catch him up on my research on the walk over, fighting back the utterly childish urge to go giddy at the way he listens. Eyes wide, fervently nodding at each development. When we finally reach the lab, Viktor fishes out a key, a soft smile as he holds the door open.

Stepping through, I let myself take it all in. For once. I’ve been here before, many times, though usually only ever on quick drop-ins between meetings. I’ve never bothered to look at the details.

It’s cleaner than one would expect, a long workbench lining the wall perpendicular to the door. Well, at least left side was utterly spotless. The other had books and notes and boxes scattered atop the workbench. Not messy, just lived-in. At the center of the room held a device—near identical to the prototype showcased the year prior at the Distinguished Innovators Competition. This one, however, appears to be slightly larger, now holding slots for multiple crystals in the chamber.

“This is terrible for your eyes, Viktor,” I tease. It was dark this time of night, only a little a light filtering through the central window.

He laughs, “I believe I can survive a little dark.”

He walks towards the device, elegant fingers plucking two of the crystals out of the slot, leaving just one. They’re placed gingerly in a box atop the table.

“We have successfully localized the effects,” he explains as I join him, standing at his side, “and can, effectively, control the velocity and distance of transportation.”

He turns down one of the nobs with one hand, fiddling with a sequence of runes with the other. I lean in, watching carefully. He moves with a practiced ease. Turning towards me, he asks, “Ready?”

I let out a soft yes, and watch as the device sparks to life, pulling the very breath from my lungs.

Viktor watches with a cheeky grin. He plucks a screw from his pocket, tapping it through the air. There’s a shock of blue light, and it lands on the floor three feet ahead with a rattling clink.

“How does it work?” I step forward, rounding the device to see it from the side.

“Theoretically, the runes open a path as the very fabric of existence folds in. Letting the object slip through,” he turns the nob up a hair and I find myself feeling a little lighter. He sends another screw through, this one landing against the door with a plink.

“Wow.”

He beams, turning the machine off with a shrug. The picture of faux nonchalance. His eyes scan the blackboard across the room as he speaks, “there is still much to figure out—augmenting payloads, for example...”

I watch as he trails off, a kernel of a thought sparking behind his eyes. He staggers forward to the blackboard, scribbling corrections to the long equation across it. I follow, pulling up a chair to watch as he works.

Moments stretch into minutes and, brilliance aside, playing the voyeur to the genius can only stay entertaining for so long. As my eyes rake across his form shamelessly, my thoughts turn from vague investment to something far more interesting. The slope of his shoulders—all lean muscle with a vague indication of an angular blade, sharp and pleasing peeking from beneath his shirt. I imagine how it would feel beneath my fingertips. Better still, my lips.

I cough, sputtering. Thankfully, my reeling goes unnoticed as he mulls his problem, tapping the chalk against his mouth, a white mark left in its wake just beside his mole. Hesitant to leave, I curl up, pulling out my own notebook to work. Greedy.

We stay like this for quite some time. It’s comforting. The room silent save for the occasional hum, the rare rustle of the other shifting, both lost in thought. It isn’t until my eyelids start drooping that I decide to take my leave.

“Vik,” I yawn, “I’m going to head out.”

He comes back to his body with a hushed ah, standing a little straighter as he turns back my way. His cheeks flush. “My apologies,” he clears his throat, “I have a bad habit of losing myself.”

I shake my head, smiling as I crack the door open. “No need. It was nice, Viktor.”

As I step out he calls my name, eyes warm as he watches me go with a gentle, “goodnight.”

It becomes a ritual of ours over the next few weeks. Not every night, but most. At first, he comes to collect me, dropping by my lab after the academy halls have grown quiet.

“At the very least, come work where there is a little comfort,” he urges.

He does have a couch. One that I’m positive Jayce insisted they procure after one too many late nights spent in the lab. I don’t point out the irony. Instead, I follow.

Most nights, I find my way there on my own as the sun sets. With my journals and materials in tow, I curl up, making a little home atop that very couch.

Tonight, he sits in front of the window, the warm glow of the sun highlighting the edges of his hair, liquid gold streaming into the room. His fingers twirl at the hair behind his ear, long legs elegantly crossed—an ankle atop his braced knee.

The echo of his partner fill the room in errant scraps of paper and discarded coffee mugs, though our paths seldom cross.

“Doesn’t Jayce ever work late?” I ask.

“Eh, Jayce is usually quite good at keeping a healthy schedule.” There’s no hint of judgment or resentment there. Only a quiet understanding and that ever-present undercurrent of admiration.

My pen taps against the page.

“Did you two ever..?” I start, wincing as the words exit my mouth.

Viktor straightens a little, turning to look at me. “Date? Yes,” he says, matter-of-fact.

“Didn’t work out?”

“Eh, that depends entirely on how you define ‘working out,’” he shrugs, shifting his notebook to his lap to write as we speak.

I blink at him from across the room, completely at a loss for what to say.

He continues, “eh, it was short lived. When we first started working together. We quickly discovered we wanted different things and our research was too important to risk.”

I hum, skeptical, “that’s rather rational.”

He looks up at me, eyes guarded as he speaks, “he is my partner, our relationship is not something I’d jeopardize willingly.”

Noted. It’s a fair statement but one laced with a hint of warning. I’m not sure of what, exactly.

I cross my legs, head tilting as I continue to poke the proverbial bee’s nest, “no friends with benefits, then?”

Viktor scoffs, smirking as he returns to his notes, “no, Jayce cannot handle something like that. Cleaner to stay partners.”

“And you can?” My brow arches, “handle it, I mean.”

“Yes,” he says, voice smooth and confident, not even bothering to up from the page. So he had then. Maybe does still? As if clairvoyant, his pen pauses against the page as the cogs whir in his mind, clarifying, “not that I have for quite some time.”

I chew on my lip. Interesting.

***

Our steady ritual proves to be the most productive I’ve been in my life to date. Something about the quiet warmth of another while I work, freeing my mind of that constant need to be present, on guard. Safety. I wonder if Viktor feels the same.

Still, it can only do so much. I hit a wall with my research. Humming, I tap my pen against my notes. It’s the third night I find myself stuck on this problem: Tetrachromis fluviatilis, more commonly known as Shimmercale. A clear keystone in the Pilt with a population on a steady decline. Despite more than enough food to eat. No disease present. No reason to poach them. They simply... vanish.

There’s little impact my work can have without understanding the cause.

My eyes float up to Viktor, who is hunched over the workbench once more. A half-constructed model plane lays on the table. One arm curls around his chest, fingers prodding at his shoulder as he rotates it in the socket.

A quiet wince has me standing up, walking over.

I press my hand to the nape of his neck, warm beneath my fingertips. He stills, looking up at me.

“Shh,” I coo, turning his head to face forward, as I replace the hand at his shoulder with my own.

“What are— ah,” he lets out a soft noise as my thumbs connect with his shoulder, smoothing out the knots in his muscle with a light touch. His sigh is stilted.

“This ok?” I breathe.

He nods, his voice tight, “Yes.”

I continue, pressing a little deeper, drinking in every little response. Once-taught muscles relax, turning him into putty in my hands. His neck hangs forward, giving me better access, as his breathing picks up.

I can feel the faint vibration of the hushed, rumbling groan that slips from his lips.

We both still. Just for a moment.

I let out a satisfied hum, and leans back, head tilting up until the back of his head rests against my stomach. His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded as he watches me. I press my thumb into the space where his neck and shoulder meet, and his breath hitches, arching towards my touch. Another ragged gasp is tears from his throat as I repeat the motion, my other hand dipping forward, tracing the hint of collarbone poking out from beneath his shirt. With a hungry gaze, I watch his lips. Softly parted, panting. Like a man starved, desperate for air.

Oxygen.

My hands still.

He blinks, eyebrows pinch together.

“Air,” I hiss, letting him go.

His whine is downright pained as he watches me rush to grab my notebook, bringing it over to the bench. I scramble into the chair beside him, rambling. “They’re dying out. I haven’t been able to figure out why but—it’s oxygen, Viktor.”

The confusion melts away as I speak, eyes lighting up. He leans in, his hand coming to rest along the back of my chair as he reads over my shoulder. I feel the warmth of him enveloping me. It feels right. I rifle through the pages, pausing to tap at the diagram I was searching for.

“They host a type of plankton in their gills. They convert the ammonia in the waters into air, but,” I flip through the pages of my notebook, “see, here. They thrive off of these minerals—which are in excess thanks to all the runoff. The population density rises, as does the byproducts. They’re getting oxygen poisoning.”

He blinks, worrying at his lip, “and reducing runoff would fix this?”

I nod, fervently. “Yes, although that’s rather unlikely. However, there are ways to mitigate it.”

I continue scribbling notes, feeling him watch with keen interest. The time stretches on until, eventually, his head bobs forward. Forehead hitting my shoulder and snapping up again. I turn to see him blinking away the exhaustion. As if watching me write was worth it.

I smile, “c‘mon, get up.”

He looks up at me blearily, but follows my guidance without a word, letting my lead him with a hand against his back until he’s slumping down onto the couch. His legs stretch out with an automatic yawn before tensing—face pulling into a grimace as his eyes flutter closed. I run my fingers through his hair once, watching the tension melt from his face. Greedy.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, pulling the spare blanket draped across the back of the couch over him.

***

We don’t see each other over the next few days, both buckling down on our own preparations for the symposium. It isn’t discussed. But, the tacit, unspoken understanding is there nonetheless.

On the first night of the weeklong affair, the hallways of the main building of the academy are stuffed to the brim with scholars and scientists. Posters line the edges of the halls—graphs and images, findings from just about any study one could imagine. I fight my way through the thick crowd, keen on nabbing a spot in the back of the auditorium where Jayce and Viktor are scheduled to speak.

Eventually, I succeed. Watching with bated breath as the lights dim, leaving only the stage illuminated. The crowd quiets to a dim murmur as Jayce takes the stage. It’s busier than I anticipated, the rare socialite and politician seated amongst the throngs of scientists.

They certainly brought a crowd.

Predictably, Jayce does the speaking. In fact, I can’t see Viktor at all on the stage. I frown. Eyes scanning the wings for him as Jayce recites the words Viktor had written on previous nights. There are a few modifications here and there but, predominantly, untouched. Save for one part:

Jayce’s voice booms out over the crowd, confident and steady as his walks to the prototype, his speech drawing to a close. He gives an easy smile as he says, “I present the next step in Hextech’s future.”

With a press of the button, the crowd hushes to complete silence as the air in the center of the stage electrifies. A blue glow fills the auditorium. From the podium, Jayce collects a familiar model plane—Viktor’s, from the night previous—and tosses it through.

It vanishes.

The audience murmurs, questions floating through the crowd.

It’s a voice behind us that answers. Lilting, a little uneven, but with an unexpected air of confidence. “As you can see,” he holds up the model plane, “with this, we are one step closer to becoming the center of trade across all of runeterra.”

The little magician.

He beams up at Jayce, and I laugh as the crowd absolutely loses it. Applause thunders through the room as Jayce steps down from the stage, making his way towards his partner as the poor man is quickly enveloped by dozens of scientists—undoubtedly peppering him with questions. It’s nice. Seeing him be the center of the attention for once. Judging by the warm smile touching Jayce’s eyes, he thinks so as well.

I slip through the crowd towards the exit, craning to catch Viktor’s attention through the cracks of the crowd. Somehow, I succeed, honeyed eyes shining into mine as I mouth well done. His answering glance is part proud, part petrified. Satiated, I slip out the door.

***

My own presentation, a slot secured by Heimerdinger both to my relief and chagrin, is in a much smaller auditorium on the last day of the symposium. Thank the gods. A short speech to summarize and, hopefully, intrigue investors. Terrifying nonetheless. I pick at the skin around my nails as I run over my cards for the 50th time today from the wings.

As the speaker before me finishes, I stumble forward to the podium.

It’s bizarre distilling down mountains of research into a ten-minute talk. I operate on autopilot alone. It goes by faster than I imagine, and I’m finishing the last of my well-rehearsed words. The applause is subdued as I take my leave. I’m distantly aware of Haynes fuming from his seat in the front row. Heimer is there, as well, with a satisfied look gracing his features. He’s proud, I realize. I must have done well enough, then.

I nod his way as I step down, walking along the wall of the auditorium as the next speaker takes the stage. Towards the back, I see Viktor and Jayce leaning against the wall. Jayce leans to whisper something into his partner’s ear, his right hand squarely resting on Viktor’s back. I resist the urge to fiddle with my top as I approach.

Viktor murmurs my name, “you did well.”

Jayce’s hand slides from Viktor’s back to shake mine, “you’ll have no trouble securing funding at tonight’s party.” Before I can reply, he gives Viktor an overt look, knowing and coy, as he steps back, “I’ll see you there.”

Viktor gawks back at him, annoyance written across his face clear as day.

“Thanks,” I mutter, bringing Viktor’s attention back to me.

He shifts, nodding. “Will we? See you there.“

“If I can get changed in time, yes,” I laugh. There was plenty of time. I should have just said yes. I dig the toe of my shoe into the carpet.

“Good,” his eyes slide around the room as he leans in to whisper, “we’ll introduce you to some of our investors.”

Part of me wants to deny him, say I can network just fine without the support, thank you.

“I know,” he says, ever the mind-reader, “however, you’ll do well to remember: you have an uphill battle. And, to be honest, you’ll find some of our investors less likely to be scared off by your choice of locale.”

I swallow. Right. Investors of his must have been able to make peace with his own background, though his work was much more tantalizing. A different circumstance entirely.

“You have the backing of multiple counselors,” I cock my brow at him.

“As will you,” his smirk is downright filthy as he speaks, “go, get dressed.”

I gulp.

***

The ballroom is elegant and frankly overwhelming. I blink up at the chandeliers littering the ceiling, filling the room with a warm, intimate glow. The crowd, however, is anything but intimate. So many people are stuffed in this single room I find myself asking if this really was invite only as the hosts claimed.

Nonetheless, Nathan is quick to find me. Coming stand at my side, I imagine he’s eager to use me as an excuse to rub elbows with Piltover’s finest. He presses a chaste kiss to my cheek, “your speech was good.”

“Thanks,” I say, resisting the urge to wince. I can’t say I attended his.

I fetch a glass of wine from one of the servers as they pass. Nathan’s fills the dead air, droning on about the different talks he attended, who he’s met, who might give him funding. I half-listen, scanning the room for a familiar face.

It’s not a face that I find, but a familiar mop of wavy hair instead. My breath catches as I take him in. Oh I really would like to scream. He’s traded his usual uniform for a suit: black as night and perfectly tailored. Gold piping lines the seams, highlighting just how lithe he really is. A burgundy collar pops out from beneath his jacket. He looks dark, dangerous.

The rotten, malformed part of me chants delectable.

He turns, eyes catching mine and, a moth to flame, I float forward. I’m vaguely aware Nathan is following. Judging by the way his eyes ice over as he spot my companion, Viktor is too. This won’t do. Viktor walks toward me, meeting us in the middle. Thankfully, he is in fine company, meaning Nathan quickly extricates himself from my side to chat with one of the councilors. Not even bothering to greet Viktor, who stared daggers at his retreating back.

Viktor turns towards me, eyes raking down my form before looking back towards the group. He mouth quirks down, “your date?”

“No,” I breathe, “I came alone.”

His mouth twitches, but he schools his feature into a neutral position. “I see.”

I imagine I look much like a fish out of water, mouth gaping and working to reclaim the air that seems to have left my lungs. “You look good,” I finally manage.

There’s another quirk of his lip threatening to betray him before he turns, holding his arm out. I take it. Of course I take it. He’s warm beneath my fingers.

He leans down, whispering in my ear. “I believe I promised some introductions.”

I nod, looking up at him. I brush my hair behind my ear on instinct. He lets out a short, low laugh and my heart picks up. Turning towards the group, he points against the ground with his cane—a tap to the right. My eyes follow.

I feel his breath ghost along my skin as he dips down to speak once more, voice low and dangerous, “Silas Thorne, one of our early adopters. A bit of a skeptical man; but, ultimately a fine topsider.”

I nod, taking it in. As best as possible, at least. I huff a laugh at the slip of the term topsider. An insult rarely uttered in Piltover.

“House Kiramman, as you are aware. You’ll find an ally in Cassandra,” he continues, his lips brushing my skin as he speaks, “To the left, Holloran.. Mh, not worth your time.”

My breath is drawn from my lungs as he continues rattling off names. I blink, nodding, until he peels back at last.

He looks down at me, mouth pulled into a wicked grin.

“I’ll admit, I didn’t have you pegged as so socially adept,” I say.

His eyes crease, head tilting as he shrugs. “Eh, for me, it’s a matter of survival. Or, was. Before Jayce and Hextech.”

I swallow, frowning.

So much laid bare in just a few words. Despite everything, it is far too easy to forget what he’s been through. What he’s had to tolerate to get where he is. And to say it so readily, the picture of nonchalance. As if it’s just another basic fact of life. I’m still reeling as he asks, “ready?”

My dress suddenly feels much too tight. Seams clinging against my ribs keeping the air from my lungs. I blink, looking up at Viktor as I nod, “sure.”

His hand finds the small of my back; his touch a warm, soothing balm on my stuttering heart.

He leads me to Cassandra’s side first, easily slotting into the group as he introduces us.

Her eyes light up, putting pieces of some unspoken puzzle together as she shakes my hand, “Jayce tells me have a rather interesting project. Habitat restoration of the river Pilt?”

“In the distributaries in the undercity, yes. Though I hope to renew the Pilt itself one day, perhaps.”

This seems to please her, her chin tilting up as she smiles, “your research is actionable, then.”

I nod. I’m fairly certain I look like a bobble head.

“Have you secured funding yet?”

“Not quite,” I chew at my lip, shifting my weight to my other foot. My shoulder brushes against Viktor’s chest. It’s steadying.

He gaze is shrewd as she asks, “tell me. Why the undercity?”

I stick to my canned argument, citing the economic benefits for Piltover—trade, fishing, health. She takes it in, with a look that says she can already read the subtext written beneath every page: to help, to do something worthwhile for the betterment of us all.

These conversations repeat throughout the night. A monotonous refrain of the same questions. How interesting, why the undercity? Who is financing? Why there? Somewhere along the evening Viktor has drifted away, standing beside Jayce as they speak with Heimerdinger. He listens to them speak, a gentle curve to his eyes as he looks down at the Yordle.

When the conversation with my last magnate of the evening has grown stale, I gracefully make my exit. Eager to join my friend’s side.

Nathan, however, stops me with a hand at my shoulder. I suppress the instinct to sigh, facing him.

“You’re the popular girl tonight,” he smirks.

My stomach turns. I give him a tight-lipped smile, “hardly.”

He presses forward, invading my space, “have I told you how gorgeous you are tonight?”

I look away as I mutter, “thanks.”

While we had dated on rare occasions, my interest in him waned as it became clear that it would never delve into anything more interesting than superficial sex and the occasional date for social events. Nothing particularly worth going back for. I thought we’d had a tacit agreement on this. However, it appears I am wrong.

I glance over to Viktor, who watches the exchange with a ferocity that was utterly rare. His upper lip curls, narrowed eyes looking at us from beneath stark brows. As his eyes land on me, they burn. Annoyance mixed with something else. My breath hitches.

Nathan, it seems, misinterprets this entirely. Catching me by the elbow, he leans in to whisper, “how about we get out of here?”

I choke.

Viktor shifts more of his weight to his cane, head tilting back as he stares.

“No,” I stutter, “I, ah.. No. Sorry.”

I don’t look back as I walk off, face flaring up. Undignified. I’ll blame the drink later, should it come up.

Like gravity, I’m pulled to Viktor’s orbit. He smirks, wicked and cruel as he glares past my shoulder as I approach. There’s a glint to his amber eyes and my mouth runs dry as he muses, “hm, I almost feel bad for him.”

I gape, floundering. Utterly thrown by this fresh side of him. I can feel the heat from his gaze as he waits for me to reply.

Nothing worthwhile comes to mind as I croak, “almost?”

His stare is knowing, but he chooses to ignore my reply. I note a flush on his skin as he sets his emptied glass down, leaning in, and I’m keenly aware that whatever his next words are, they will be my damnation.

I’m saved by Cassandra’s hand atop my shoulder. I turn, letting out a shaky exhale as I greet her once more.

Her elegant hands pass me a card as she cuts right to the heart of it, “I’d like to sponsor you,” she says, certainly not one for mincing words, “Let’s arrange some time to speak over tea. Soon.”

It’s exceptionally jarring, considering.

I feel Viktor’s chest at my back as he peers over my shoulder. A little off-kilter, and less-than-dignified. Nosy. Certainly the wine, then. I swallow, taking the card from her hands. One side holds her family emblem foiled in gold, the other a pneumatic code.

I nod, “yes, yes of course. I’ll be in touch.”

She gives another smile, nodding to Viktor as well before taking her leave.

My head thoroughly spins. Between the wine and the complete, utter whiplash of the last few minutes, it’s all far too much.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” I croak.

Viktor smirks at me in a way that screams, ‘you won’t die, you dramatic girl.’ Charitably, however, he does not voice it. Instead opting to loop his arm through mine as he speaks lowly, “let’s get some air, hm?”

I follow, clutching to his arm like my own personal lifeline. He leads me out the banquet hall, to a hall equally as grand. Tall windows line the entire exterior wall, each tucked into an alcove. To the right lays the exit. We take the left. Towards the end of the hall, he guides me into an alcove, hand sliding from my skin to unlatch the window, cracking it open.

The air is crisp, grounding. Moreso are has hands finding their way to my shoulders, thumbs drawing an idle path to sooth my stumbling pulse.

“She wants to sponsor me,” I breathe at last.

He beams down at me, “yes. I anticipate more will follow.”

I rub my face, “one is more than enough, gods, Viktor, I—“ I swallow, looking up at him, “thank you.”

His mouth parts, brows pinching. “No need, you did—“

“Viktor,” I urge, “let me give you the credit you’re due.”

That seems to strike a chord. His brows raise, and he swallows thickly. Nodding, hesitant as he whispers, “you’re welcome.”

His hands find a strand of my hair, twirling it with his fingers as I so often see him do to his own as he works. There’s a far off look in his eye as he stares at the motion. He swallows, coming back to me with a slight nod of his head. An answer to some unspoken question.

“You did well,” he says at last, amber eyes glinting before falling to my mouth.

He takes a step closer.

“You did, too,” I exhale, “I never got to say.”

He lets out a gentle huff of a laugh, “I said a single line.”

He watches me carefully, looking for any sign of hesitation as he steps closer, closing the gap. He smells of tea and aluminum and him. My heart races, every nerve standing on end.

“Viktor,” I say. Not a warning, but a prayer.

One he hears.

He swallows, harsh and hard as his head dips down, pressing my back against the alcove wall. He halts, lips hovering above mine as our breath mixes in the gap between, letting out a whisper of my name. I gasp it in like air. I could subsist off my name on his lips alone.

His hand slides up from my shoulder, ghosting along my collarbone, my neck, my jaw—until my face is nestled securely within the palm of his hand. He swipes at my cheekbone with his thumb, tilting my head back.

I let out a noise—strangled and sharp and desperate. Once honeyed eyes are now blown black, fluttering closed as he dips down until I can just, just feel the warmth of his lips. I crane my head, chasing after it.

His hand at my neck holds me put. Letting out a ragged breath, pressing every inch of his body against mine. It’s not nearly enough.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for quite some time,” he muses, voice far too even for my liking.

A thumb swipes across my lower lip, and I shudder. Another shaky breath against my skin—whisky and wine and want—before he’s closing the gap. Pulling me into a kiss so searing I’m sure I’ll burn up right then and there.

I whine into his mouth, and I am rewarded with hands falling to my hips, pulling me sharply against him. My own hands tangle into the soft curls of his hair and I could cry. I tug, pulling his mouth off mine. He pants, looking down at me with wild eyes.

“As good as you imagined?” I smirk.

He groans, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of my mouth, “better.”

I gasp as he pressing another searing kiss along the bend of my jaw, stopping at the juncture. “Like honey.”

His leg slots between mine, pulling me against his thigh as he presses his lips against my ear. “I wonder where else you taste so sweet, hm?”

I whine, my fingers scrambling for purchase in his jacket and hair. Teeth nip at my ear, tongue darting out to sooth at my skin before he whispers, “you must be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

I nod, a frantic little motion. He lets out a rumbling laugh as his lips trail down my neck. I shudder with each kiss. He mouths at the juncture of my neck, and I bite back a moan, hips rolling against his thigh instinctively. Desperate for friction. His thumb is sharp against my hipbone, pulling me down harder.

“Good girl,” he smiles against my skin. His hand trails down my neck, to my collarbone, down to the edge of my neckline—gliding along the seam, finding their way back up to the strap. A calculated flick and it’s falling down my shoulder.

He chases after with his mouth, guiding my hips to roll against him as the cup of my dress slips downward. He mouths at every inch of the newly exposed skin. The crest of my breast, the soft dip between. My head swims, eyes fluttering closed. The feel of his soft hair the only thing left tethering me to this plane. A thumb brushes across my nipple, followed by his tongue. I gasp, and he stills.

My eyes blink open as I pant down at him, watching. Rapt. Judging by the sinful smile he gives me, he’s well aware the picture he paints below—wild hair tangled between my fingers, his lips wrapped around the peak of my breast.

“Quiet,” he reminds me, hand rising to press flat against my lips. I whine, grateful, nodding.

Distant laughter stops him, he lets out a sigh as he stands, chest pressing to mine. His hand rights my dress as his arm comes to rest against the wall. Propping himself up.

I roll my hips, shamelessly in search of friction.

He smirks, dipping down to whisper, “mh, you’re desperate, aren’t you? You want me to touch you right here in this hall?”

I shudder, “please.”

His laugh is low and sinful, heat coiling in my core as his fingernails rake down my thigh.

“Not here,” he purrs, “not like this.”

It’s full of promise.

A familiar voice calls our names from the other end of the hall. Heimerdinger’s. And it’s a bucket of ice water across us both. He groans against my ear before standing, leaning to grab his cane from its resting spot against the window.

“More benefactors,” he says with a lopsided grin, breath still uneven.

I let out a soft laugh as my hands glide up to fuss at his collar, smoothing it down in place beneath his jacket. His eyes are gentle as his own fingers card along my hair, righting it. He presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth, whispering, “come, let’s go.”

A/N: Viktor kinda (really) fucks, y'all. And really likes parallel play apparently lol. I'm a little proud of the somewhat dubious science in this once, tbh.

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