Chapter Text
It’s almost eight o’clock at night when Jayce hears the familiar, soft rapt of knuckles brushing against his bedroom door. He nearly misses it over the sound of his video game, which is currently showcasing a prolonged cutscene of K.K Slider shredding on the acoustic guitar, but the sharp creak of the old door hinges are enough to catch his attention.
“Mijo, can I come in for a moment?” Ximena stands there nervously in Jayce’s doorway, already dressed in her scrubs for work, purse dangling off of her left shoulder. He can tell by the way she fidgets with the door handle that she’s about to ask him for a favor but feels guilty about it. “I know you only got home from school about an hour ago, and you’re probably tired and just want to relax —”
Jayce suppresses an eye roll. He hates when she gets like this; incapable of being straightforward with him because she never knows when or how to admit that she needs help. She’s an independent woman, of course, because she kind of has to be. But the outcome of always having to take matters into her own hands has left her with control issues, even if she refuses to admit it.
“Mama, it’s fine. What’s wrong?”
Ximena steps forward and closes the door gently behind her before lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your brother is being a nightmare.”
Jayce quickly pauses his game before barking out a surprised laugh. “What?”
“Shh!” Ximena walks further into the room with hurried steps, raising a finger to her lips. “I don’t want him to hear! He’ll think we’re taking about him.”
“We are taking about him,” Jayce replies with a smirk, sitting up straighter in his desk chair as Ximena settles on the edge of his bed. He’s relieved when she doesn’t mention anything about the state of it; blankets rumpled, sheets bunched, pillows astray. He continues the current topic at hand to hopefully keep her from noticing. “So, why’s he being a nightmare?”
The straps of Ximena’s purse slide slowly down her arm as she heaves a deep sigh and turns her head to stare at the wall. “Viktor won’t talk to me, but something’s wrong,” she starts. “He skipped school yesterday and the day before without even asking me.”
Jayce raises an eyebrow in shock. That’s very … unlike Viktor. Ever since they took him in six years ago, going to school was something the boy had greatly looked forward to.
The poor thing was only eleven years old when his own mother, one of Ximena’s many hospice patients, eventually lost her battle with breast cancer. Ximena had taken one look at the tears streaming down Viktor’s pale face and folded.
Maybe it was because she already knew Viktor well enough from his daily hospital visits (she always placed an extra cherry flavored jello on his mom’s meal tray, never the orange one) or maybe it was because she simply felt pity for the boy (she watched with sad eyes as Viktor spoke in soft whispers to his mother’s comatose body of spending the night on an old neighbor’s couch). Maybe it was the simple fate of timing with her own loss — Just two months prior, her own husband had passed in a terrible work related accident, leaving her and Jayce behind with no warning.
Whatever it was, anyone could see plain as day that it was a perfect fit. The Talis family had more than enough love to go around, something of which poor, sweet little Viktor was lacking severely. It didn’t take long for Jayce and Viktor to get acquainted — Jayce had always wanted a younger sibling (being an only child, and all) and Viktor had always dreamed of having a big brother. A match made in heaven, really. Despite the seven year age gap, many of their interests actually aligned, surprisingly enough. Their mutual love for science and the unknown had brought the pair even closer. The two are practically attached at the hip, even now.
And even when Jayce got into the Academy last fall, he still made it a point to find time for his little brother. They texted each other at least once every single day, a phone call on every weekend. So, yeah, Jayce is shocked — it’s not like he hadn’t been talking to Viktor this entire week, so ... If something really were wrong, why wouldn’t he at least text Jayce about it?
“He’s been locked up in his room all day long blasting techno music. For hours, Jayce! And he has such an attitude with me this past week,” she pauses to scoff. “I can barely get a word out of him. And on top of that, I can’t get him to stop eating all of the sweets in the house. I had to hide a box of truffles on the top shelf of your closet last week.”
Jayce smiles fondly. That sounds just a little bit more like Viktor, for sure. “I think that’s probably just his body getting used to the T, Mama,” Jayce replies with a sympathetic shrug.
Viktor only started his testosterone shots about five and a half months ago. No doctor within a fifty mile radius was willing to prescribe T to any patient under seventeen, for some dumb fucking reason, (Jayce nearly blew up the goddamn building in response to their refusal) but now, the wait was finally over. Viktor had waited so long and worked so hard to get where he is today. Now the poor guy’s undergoing a lot of new, exciting changes; voice cracking, limbs growing leaner, the odd chest hair growing in every now and then. Viktor even gave a name to the first little curl of brown hair that popped up around month four — Bartholomew. Bart for short.
Jayce hums, tapping his fingers along the desk in deep thought. “For the most part, it just sounds like he’s being a normal, grumpy teenage boy.”
Ximena lets out another deep breath. Her eyes appear glassy when she looks up at Jayce. “I hear him crying at night.”
“What?” Jayce’s heart instantly drops to his stomach. Crying, he’s crying? About what? Why don’t I know? To think that Viktor has been hurting, all alone, with no one he’s willing to confide in … It stings, maybe a little bit more than it should. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”
Come to think of it — how come Viktor hadn’t said anything earlier? The only welcome home Jayce had received from the boy was in the form of a brief text message, reading, ‘hey :| heard u talking downstairs. i’ll say hi later. homework.’ Jayce had felt a bit sad about Viktor’s blatant lack of enthusiasm, but he’d only been gone for a couple of weeks, to be fair. It’s alright if Viktor doesn’t miss him as much as Jayce misses him. He’ll get over it.
“You’ve been working extra shifts, mijo. I just didn’t want to bother you. And you had that one important test coming up,” Ximena waves a hand in the air dismissively. “You needed to focus on your studies, okay? So I’m telling you now. Stop pouting.”
Jayce sighs and drags a hand down his face in blatant anguish. “I’m just …” he sighs again. “I just wish I was here, that’s all.”
“I know,” Ximena whispers, reaching out with a warm hand to place on Jayce’s knee. “You’re here now. So please talk to him while I’m at work, okay? Figure out what’s going on with him and then report back to me if it’s something serious.”
Jayce nods reluctantly, his mind still reeling at the mental image of Viktor crying himself to sleep. Fuck. “Okay,” he nods again. “Okay, I’ll do my best.”
Ximena gives Jayce a wry smile and pats his knee twice before standing and making her way to the door. She gives her son one last backwards glance before stepping into the hallway. “Buena suerte, mi amor.”
Jayce sits patiently at his desk until he hears the front door close behind her. As soon as the lock clicks into place, he’s up on his feet and nervously climbing the stairs.
___
Jayce takes a deep, steadying breath before placing the tip of his fingernail against Viktor’s bedroom door and scratching lightly at the wood. Viktor hates loud, sudden noises with a burning passion, always has — unless, of course, those noises are coming out of a speaker. And as long as that speaker is playing his favorite songs. Fortunately, Viktor seems to be taking a break from his music marathon long enough to hear Jayce’s quiet call. A deep, aggravated sigh meets Jayce’s ears first, then a slight creak in the wood flooring.
“Yes?” Viktor’s voice, now noticeably lower by about an octave and clearly very annoyed, responds from the other side of the door.
Jayce can’t help but smile at the sound of Viktor’s accent; the way it’s still prevalent after all these years, how he still tends to drag out all of his A’s, O’s, and S’s. Even though it’s something that Viktor has tried to shake, Jayce secretly (maybe even selfishly) hopes that the boy will never fully grow out of it — that Viktor will always be able to keep that one small piece of his mother with him, wherever he goes.
It reminds Jayce of how much he used to hate the quarter sized gap in between his own two front teeth, especially back when he was a kid. It had been a really big insecurity of Jayce’s for a long, long time — or from ages five to seventeen, at the very least. It wasn’t until after his father passed that he properly learned to appreciate such a gift; the blazing similarity between Jayce and his Papa is always sure to stand out, forever undeniable. There’s a glimpse of him that flashes through the room every single time Jayce smiles in the mirror. It comforts his soul, knowing that their resemblance is something that no one can take away from him. Not even death itself.
“Hey, buddy, it’s me. Just wanted to come up and say hi,” Jayce starts in a cheerful tone. “Hope that’s okay.”
There’s a pause, long enough that Jayce begins to wonder if Viktor had even heard him in the first place, before the door is suddenly swung wide open. Viktor stands there in the dim lighting of his bedroom, one of Jayce’s extra large t-shirts from back in his chubby days hanging off of one shoulder. It’s so big and long on Viktor that the hem of it nearly brushes the very top of his black knee-high compression socks. His hair is a little bit longer, shaggier in the back. The permanent dark circles that take up residence underneath his honey colored eyes seem slightly darker than usual.
“Hey,” Viktor croaks, shuffling his feet from side to side. “Sorry, I meant to — I was doing some homework and got distracted,” he explains, lifting his finger to casually scratch at the side of his face like he does every single time he tells a lie. Jayce is being kind enough not to call him out on it at the moment.
“It’s okay,” Jayce smiles before reaching out to the young man with arms spread wide open. Viktor quickly steps forward into the welcome embrace and rests his slightly sweaty forehead against Jayce’s chest. “Missed you, Vik.”
“Missed you too,” comes Viktor’s muffled response, and this time there isn’t any not-so-casual scratch to his cheek when he says it. Jayce smiles even wider.
The hug only lasts for a few more seconds, though Viktor is the first one to actually break it. “Uh, come in,” he eventually mumbles, turning back to limp towards his bed.
He sits down with a soft wince as Jayce steps into the room behind him. The air in here is warm and stuffy, almost to the point of being downright uncomfortable. Jayce slowly pivots to the nearest window and props it halfway open, forever worried about Viktor’s oxygen intake and weak lungs.
“So, how’s your week been?” Jayce begins, trying not to be too obvious about his prying.
Viktor simply shrugs and tucks one leg underneath him, the other moving to lie flat on top of the blanket. “Fine.” Jayce watches with an amused smirk as Viktor proceeds to lift a hand and pick at the skin just below his ear.
“You know I can tell when you’re lying to me, right?”
Viktor doesn’t even bother to look up when he answers, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Jayce tilts his head to the side with a quiet sigh before moving closer to the bed. He gestures loosely with one hand at the mattress. “Can I sit?”
“Mm,” Viktor mumbles in response. He doesn’t exactly say yes, but he does eventually tuck one leg back underneath the other to allow Jayce some room to sit right beside him.
“Thanks.” The bed dips slightly underneath Jayce’s weight as he settles in next to Viktor. He gently nudges the boy with an elbow, trying for a playful approach. “Hey, talk to me, dude. What’s going on?”
Viktor’s cheeks turn pink at the sudden inquisition. He opens his mouth as if to speak, and for a moment, nothing comes out. Then, after taking a shaky breath, “Why — what makes you think something’s going on?”
Jayce raises an eyebrow in slight amusement. “Well, for one, you texted me saying that you were busy doing homework. But then I hear from Mama that you haven’t even been to school this week.”
Viktor’s eyes widen comedically, almost as if he’s been caught red-handed. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” Jayce continues, trying (and succeeding!) to hold back a laugh at his brother’s terrified expression. “So I know you weren’t actually up here doing homework, genius.”
Viktor turns bright red and ducks his chin, attempting to hide his face. “I —”
“I’m not mad or anything, I just wanna know what’s going on,” Jayce rushes to explain. “Is there something going on at school? Is someone bullying you?”
“What?” Viktor seems genuinely caught off guard by the question as he suddenly lifts his head to glance up at Jayce. He looks so damn tired. “No, nothing happened at school,” he bites back.
Jayce is beginning to grow frustrated, now. It’s never been a particularly easy feat to talk Viktor through his emotions, but at the moment, it’s like he’s being extra vague and elusive on purpose. He asks the question out loud before he can stop to think whether or not it’s even a helpful one to ask at all.
“Then why does Mama hear you crying at night, Vik?”
Jayce watches as Viktor goes incredibly quiet and still. It takes at least an entire minute of radio silence before he’s seemingly comfortable enough to answer with another question of his own. “ … What did you just say?”
Jayce stares at the boy, bewildered. “I said Mama told me that she can hear you crying some —!” Before he can even make it to the next word in his sentence, Viktor’s breath is catching loudly in his throat; thick, glossy tears already welling at the very corners of his eyes. Jayce’s heart fucking burns. “Buddy, what’s wrong? Please talk to me, please?”
Viktor quickly covers his face with trembling hands and lets out a long whine that eventually ends in an even longer groan. “Fuck, I’m just — I’m fucking embarrassed!”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Jayce assures him as kindly and quickly as he can. “Not with me, you know that."
Viktor sniffles wetly into the safety of his cupped hands. He takes a deep breath before continuing on. “I’m almost positive that what Mama heard was not crying. I … I’m pretty sure she heard me doing something else,” he mumbles shakily, voice muffled against his palms.
Jayce is quiet as he tries to rack his brain for an answer, a clue, anything. His mind is going a mile a minute, never able to settle on one distinct thought — there’s just too many unknown variables involved here for him to be sure. Better to just ask.
“What did she hear you doing, baby?”
Viktor sniffles again and Jayce jumps up to grab a tissue from the teen’s nightstand. When he hands it over, Viktor gratefully accepts it with a quiet thank you. He’s not covering his face anymore, but he still refuses to meet Jayce’s gaze as he answers the question.
“I think she heard me … like, touching myself, I guess?” Viktor fidgets with both hands in his lap, keeping his eyes laser-focused and locked on his fingers as if they’re the most interesting thing in the room. “I’ve been doing that a lot, lately.”
Oh.
…
Oh.
Jayce never really imagined Viktor to be the type of guy that … masturbates often. Not that he imagined Viktor masturbating at all, really, he just never took the time to stop and consider whether his little brother spent any of his spare time jerking off or not. Viktor’s always been the quiet and reserved one, dry with his humor and quick with his wit; an intellectual with brains to spare. Sure, he makes the raunchy joke or two from time to time. But Viktor? A gooner? That was not exactly on Jayce’s Viktor Talis Bingo Card.
“I didn’t know the walls were that thin. I’m — I’m really, truly mortified. Please don’t say anything,” Viktor begs, shoulders bowing inward, neck already retreating back into his metaphorical shell.
“Vik, hey, it’s alright. Hey, I won’t say anything, okay? Don’t worry, buddy,” Jayce rushes to console the boy, his palm landing briefly along Viktor’s bony shoulder. “That’s not something Mama has to know about. I mean, I wouldn’t want to talk to her about that either,” he chuckles awkwardly. “But it’s completely normal, you know? Especially at your age. No need to be embarrassed.”
Viktor stares off to the side now, golden eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I don’t think it’s normal — how often I do it.”
Jayce tilts his head to the side, looking at his little brother in slight confusion, “And what makes you say that?” It can’t be any more excessive than what I’ve done to myself in the past, Jayce thinks. Even if Viktor’s expression may suggest otherwise.
“Well, would you say it’s normal that I need to come at least five times every single day just so I can think straight?”
If Jayce had a drink right now, he’d have choked on it. Done a spit take worthy enough for a popular sitcom, slow motion and all. Maybe even a replay or two if you’re nasty.
“Oh, wow,” Jayce responds dumbly, because his brain is extremely preoccupied with rewiring itself to understand this new version of Viktor sitting right in front of him.
Well, maybe not new, but evolved, as if Jayce had taken his eyes off the boy for one God damn second and now he’s changed at the speed of light. What used to be a small, shining star is now a fiery sun ready to collapse in on itself, and Jayce is caught directly in its path of destruction.
“Yes, I know,” Viktor groans against his palms, scandalized, “It didn’t used to be this bad, I swear! Ever since I started HRT, it’s — it’s all I can fucking think about! I can’t concentrate, I can’t sleep. My grades are falling because I cannot physically keep up with my own libido, Jayce.” The boy’s voice begins to waver as if he’s seconds away from sobbing.
“I have tried to, I swear, but my body is so useless. My fingers will lock up after only a few minutes, or my arms will ache and remain sore for hours. I get intense leg cramps and my back begins to throb right when I’m about to finish … it’s fucking ridiculous! I even missed school so that I could try my best to rectify this situation, but —”
“You missed two entire days of school just so that you could stay home and masturbate?!”
Jayce is genuinely kind of impressed with Viktor, to be perfectly honest. He’s never exactly had the balls to do something like that himself growing up, no matter how badly he might have wanted to. Jayce briefly wonders if he would’ve even gotten away with it …
Probably not, considering the fact that his Mama would likely be glued to his bedside, babying him until his “fever” eventually broke. Viktor has had the liberty of enjoying a little more personal space than Jayce ever did as a teenager, mostly out of general respect for the boy’s autonomy and sometimes, even his pride.
Even so, Jayce feels happy for his little brother rather than feeling resentful about the whole ordeal.
Viktor’s expression of pure humiliation breaks Jayce from his temporary reverie just as effectively as it breaks his heart. Jayce didn’t mean to interrupt his brother like that, nor did he mean to use the tone that he did when he asked such a blatantly stupid question, but what’s done is done. Tears are already streaming underneath the sharp jut of Viktor’s chin, slowly dripping down until they soak into the thick wool fabric of his socks. The boy flushes a deep shade of red so fast it looks like it hurts, then proceeds to curl himself into a ball of gangly limbs and chestnut brown curls.
Jayce wants to die, effective immediately.
“Vik, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he begins frantically whispering into the air, silently begging God to beam a mathematic formula that can be used to invent time travel directly into his forehead. Maybe then Jayce can fix this, go back in time and make it so that the sadness Viktor’s feeling right now isn’t his fucking fault.
“I — k-knew you would think that I was a,” Viktor pauses as a loud hiccup interrupts his sentence, “A freak!” Pale arms move to wrap tightly around his torso, hands squeezing as hard as they possibly can; a slightly dangerous attempt at emotional regulation. The sobs that continue to pour out of the boy are high pitched and downright devastating, each little cry a direct punch to Jayce’s gut.
“No, that’s not true! I don’t think that about you!” Not at all, not even a little bit.
Viktor shakes his head with a small whimper, his stubborn expression laced with doubt. Whatever poisonous thoughts are racing through his mind, they seem to be far louder than Jayce’s words. “Don’t lie to me, don’t lie!”
Jayce swallows the lump in his throat. “I’m not lying, buddy, I promise,” he responds quietly, almost as if approaching a spooked horse (which isn’t very far off from his reality, if he stops to think about it).
Unfortunately, Viktor’s already begun to hyperventilate; the boy is gasping for air at a pace far too rapid to be considered normal and hurtling himself straight into a panic attack faster than either of them had anticipated. Jayce can tell by the way Viktor’s eyes are flickering rapidly across the room that he’s looking for something important. It only takes Jayce mere milliseconds to understand what Viktor needs and how he can make himself useful. He’s already mentally prepared for every single disaster, every emergency, every possible situation in the books. He knows the protocols, he knows the steps. He can do this.
“Top drawer,” Jayce mumbles to himself as he immediately launches off of the mattress and makes a direct beeline for Viktor’s nightstand. The boy’s technically close enough that he can reach it by himself, but Jayce knows that Viktor’s vision sometimes goes fuzzy or his hands grow numb, whenever he panics like this.
An emergency canister of albuterol sits upright and ready in the left corner of Viktor’s nightstand like a shining beacon of hope. Jayce grabs the canister, shakes it, and hands it off to his little brother as quickly as he can. While Viktor takes the inhaler with trembling fingers, Jayce is already on the lookout for a glass of water. Spotting a half-filled cup of something on top of Viktor’s dresser, Jayce hurriedly crosses the room to grab it before turning back around to dote once more on his baby brother. But the pace of Viktor’s breathing remains erratic as he just stares down at the canister of medicine, a look of abject horror on his face. Jayce is at his side in a second.
“Vik? What’s wrong?”
Viktor shakes like a leaf as he hands the inhaler back to Jayce, who immediately begins mentally kicking himself when he finally notices the tiny black arrow pointed alllll the way to the left, facing directly at a small, black zero.
No more puffs left. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Alright, pause. Breathe. Pivot. Next step.
“Okay, shit. Okay, Vik, we’re gonna do some breathing exercises together, alright? Ah, remember, like when you were little? C’mere,” Jayce directs in a soft, controlled tone as he takes a seat on the bed and very gently maneuvers Viktor to sit on top of his thighs. Jayce carefully scoots his little brother backwards along his lap until the boy’s back is pressed flush against his broad chest. He lays a hand flat on Viktor’s stomach, fingers splayed. “Breathe in with me.”
Viktor takes a shaky breath in at the same time as Jayce, although he’s not able to hold it as long, so just he ends up coughing and spluttering, at first. Jayce doesn’t relent, only encouraging his brother to continue breathing, keep matching his pace. Eventually, Viktor’s lungs begin to copy the steady inhale and exhale of his brother’s chest, slipping into the same rhythm, following his lead.
It doesn’t take quite as long for them to regulate Viktor’s breathing as it used to, but he doesn’t exactly come out of it right away. He’s still trembling against Jayce’s chest, still letting out these little unintentional hiccups every so often, not entirely unlike a sad puppy. Jayce wants to launch himself into the sun.
“Can I hold you?” He whispers against Viktor’s ear, his hand absentmindedly rubbing small circles along the boy’s stomach.
Way back when he was younger, Viktor sometimes used to beg Jayce to rub his tummy whenever he felt so anxious that he thought he might be sick. It was so cute; Jayce didn’t even really mind the few odd times when Viktor actually did end up vomiting all over the both of them. He only helped clean the mess as if it were his own and made sure that Viktor felt better afterwards.
Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever mattered.
“If you …” The boy sniffles, a sob climbing up his throat and catching somewhere in the middle. “If you don’t think that — that I’m disgusting, anymore.”
“Oh, V,” Jayce tuts, quickly helping his brother stand so that he can hug him face to face.
To Jayce’s surprise, Viktor just … climbs right back up onto his lap and sits. He moves to straddle one of Jayce’s large thighs, at least three times the size of his own, his socked feet barely even brushing the floor. The boy then tucks his face right into the crevice of Jayce’s neck before wrapping his arms around it and holding on tight.
Jayce stills — It’s been several years since Viktor has sought comfort in anyone’s arms like this. Since he’s sat in Jayce’s lap and cried on his shoulder. His heart swells at the very notion. Jayce closes his eyes against the dam of sentimental tears which threaten to breach his waterline — an incoming tidal wave that will leave the both of them treading water until fatigue finally finishes the job.
Sometimes Jayce feels so much, so intensely, that he genuinely ends up wishing he couldn’t feel anything at all. But there are other times, times like this, where his myriad of emotions tangle seamlessly with the scent of citrus and fresh laundry, with the warmth of Viktor’s kind embrace.
Where the emotion wraps around the two of them like a thick blanket, like something tangible and unbreakable and beautiful in its entirety, something stitched with fabric woven from cherished memories, threaded along with the orchestrated strings of fate. For Jayce, loving Viktor has always felt as natural as breathing.
Soon enough, Jayce finds himself softly rocking his knee where Viktor still sits perched upon it, leg moving up and down in a soothing manner while a warm hand rubs at the younger’s back. “Shh, it’s okay, mi amor. It’s okay … that’s it. Just breathe for me. Shh, shh,” Jayce coos at his brother in as soft of a voice as he can possibly muster, hoping that the low timbre might bring Viktor a sense of calm. “You’re doing so good.”
A loud whimper escapes from the small space between Viktor’s head and Jayce’s shoulder. Slender fingers grip tightly onto the sleeves of Jayce’s blue t-shirt, no doubt wrinkling the already worn fabric.
“Hmm,” Viktor hums grumpily back up at his older brother, an air of disagreement swirling about him, deepening the pout on his lips. He then digs his nose even further into the crevice of Jayce’s neck, as if it’s his new favorite hiding spot that he has no intention of leaving anytime soon.
“No? You don’t think you’re doing good for me?” Jayce attempts to frown as he poses the question, though it requires a great amount of effort to hide the amusement in his voice when Viktor keeps snuggling against him like a cat abandoned at the side of the road. Jayce presses a chaste kiss against Viktor’s temple. “Silly. You’re doing such a good job.”
A muffled sob from the boy below tugs at Jayce’s heartstrings. He’s flexible, sure, but fuck, his heart isn’t made of elastic. Jayce bounces his knee a little bit higher. He knows that Viktor isn’t a baby anymore, but whatever, they’re both regressing right now. Viktor squirms in his arms, whimpering like he’s in the middle of having some sort of tantrum.
“Oh, sweetheart. Shh, sweet boy,” Jayce sing-songs in Viktor’s ear, hand patting at his lower back, leg rocking underneath him. Viktor’s fingers grab even tighter onto the collar of Jayce’s t-shirt.
A wet gasp, an unmistakable moan of pleasure. “Oh, f-fuck —”
Jayce freezes in place, mid-knee bounce.
Viktor cries out, wiggling his hips.
“Wait, no, no, please don’t stop, don’t stop, not yet,” he babbles desperately against the hollow of Jayce’s throat, hips rolling back down against his thigh, body searching for that sweet friction once again. “Almost there, please,” Viktor gasps.
Jayce can feel as his stomach plummets to the center of the Earth. Suddenly, the room is one hundred thousand degrees, which is definitely — yes, definitely — the only reason why Jayce starts dripping sweat.
Jayce’s throat clicks when he swallows. “What?” He asks, hardly even able to hear himself talk over the rapid beating of his own heart.
“Please, Jayce,” Viktor says a little bit louder this time, pulling himself back slightly to look up at his older brother. His eyes are red-rimmed and sparkling with tears. “Please, I — I’m begging you. It hurts so badly. Help me, help me make the pain go away,” Viktor sobs, bottom lip jutting out and trembling just as hard as Jayce’s resolve. His skinny thighs shake uncontrollably where they bracket either side of Jayce’s leg. “Please, Jay? It hurts.”
And okay, sure, maybe there are literally a thousand different things that Jayce could hypothetically say or do to go about this that would make much more sense than giving in to Viktor’s incessant pleading, but when it comes to his baby brother, Jayce is a fucking welcome mat. Unapologetically, forever and always, the biggest pushover. One single look into those amber irises and he’s rendered a hopeless, immobile, powerless mess of a human being. Jayce would do anything, go anywhere, be anyone, if only it meant that he would get to see that fucking smile — Viktor’s wonderful, beautiful smile.
His off-white teeth, slightly stained, crooked and perfect, with a small gap in the front that matches Jayce’s own. Most admirable of all, Viktor has those sharp canines that snag on his upper lip whenever he laughs too hard, or sometimes when he chews on his pencil eraser while he studies. Every tooth, every mole, every smile line, every freckle. Jayce admires it like he’s pacing the halls of the Louvre.
So sue him.
“Please, please, I … I can’t fucking take it anymore. Please help me, Jay-ah!” This time, before Viktor’s even done begging his big brother to continue, Jayce is already back to bouncing his leg, both hands gripping tight at the young man’s small waist. Viktor’s hand briefly flails in the air before gripping onto the back of Jayce’s hair for purchase, a high-pitched yelp of surprise escaping his lips. “Oh!”
Jayce isn’t quite sure just how long they sit there; Viktor riding his thigh with renewed vigor, soft hitches of breath and needy gasps muffled against Jayce’s broad shoulder. In that moment, all he knows is to please — making his favorite person in the whole wide world feel euphoric, bringing him a sense of relief, finally granting the young man release from all of his pain and suffering.
It’s clear as day when Viktor’s pleasure rapidly approaches its peak. The boy gasps in such a way, his mouth suspended wide open in a silent scream, hot and wet against the skin of Jayce’s jaw. His sharp nails scratch down the nape of his brother’s neck, leaving behind red, raised lines of irritated skin. Jayce takes the mild pain in stride, merely closing his eyes in response and letting out a groan low enough that it barely registers over the volume of Viktor’s panting.
“Fu-fuck! I’m coming, Jayce, oh God! Oh, fuck,” Viktor cries out, legs clenching tightly around his brother’s thigh. He trembles there on Jayce’s lap, unknowingly warming the fabric of his sweatpants with copious amounts of hot slick, too blissed out to even properly notice. The teen’s hips stutter in place as they eventually slow to a stop, his calf muscles twitching, surely taut and overworked from the prolonged tension.
Jayce’s bouncing knee gradually slows along with Viktor’s movements, only coming to a complete stop when his brother pulls himself away and clears his throat. He avoids direct eye contact with Jayce, much to the older brother’s dismay, before shifting his weight onto Jayce’s shoulders in an attempt to lift himself up. Viktor rises on two shaky legs, wincing quietly at the small twinge of pain that zaps throughout his bones, though it seems to leave just as quickly as it arrives, thanks to the copious amounts of dopamine now coursing through his veins.
Viktor then takes a few wobbly steps back, away from Jayce, creating an awkward, uncomfortable distance between the two of them. He stares at the ground in silence, idly picking at the hem of his sleep shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he starts after a moment of hesitation, voice barely a whisper.
“What?” Jayce blinks dumbly before finally managing to tear his eyes away from the giant stain of slick smeared across his thigh. He quickly covers it with a steady hand, keeping the wet spot out of Viktor’s sight, lest the boy become so embarrassed that he jumps out of the nearest window. Jayce’s other hand presses down against his raging erection, which he’s too preoccupied to even think about right now.
“Oh, uh, it’s — it’s okay.”
But Viktor’s already on the verge of panic once more, chest stuttering in an attempt to get his breath back under control. The boy’s beginning to spiral, a behavior that Jayce would desperately love to nip in the bud before he’s forced to pull Viktor back out of the rabbit hole. “No, I — That was so wrong of me, I really shouldn’t have done that —”
“Viktor,” Jayce calls, his tone going slightly stern in a last ditch effort at grabbing his brother’s attention. Not mean, not accusatory, but an anchor. A lifeline. “Stop. It’s alright. Breathe,” he says. Viktor sniffles and takes a deep breath as directed. “Did it make you feel better?”
Viktor looks back down at the floor and after a few seconds, nods with confidence. “Yes.”
Jayce nods back with a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good.”
Viktor shuffles his feet from side to side. “But …” he trails off, slowly lifting his head to meet Jayce’s gaze. He’s very nearly crying again, eyes puffy and lashes glistening with tears that have yet to fall. “That was just one.”
“Just one?” Jayce asks, head tilted in slight confusion. “Just one what, sweetheart?”
“Orgasm,” the young man responds, nervously pulling and plucking at his fingernails. He rubs his thighs together with an aggravated groan. “And, I can’t …”
Jayce immediately remembers Viktor’s reluctant confession from earlier; it takes five orgasms — at least — to temporarily satisfy the boy’s libido. He doesn’t even think twice about what he says next.
There’s no other way.
Not when Viktor’s looking at him like that. Not a chance.
“Okay. Lie down.”