Archive of Our Own

Jayce stares into his glass, the amber liquid in it trembling in tandem with his shaking hand.

The taste of the Ionian whiskey has long turned bitter— maybe it was never sweet to begin with. He doesn't remember. He drinks as though his alcohol is medicine, without pleasure, intent on the result.

How did it come to this? He doesn't understand.

Or maybe he does.

He's a piece of shit, simple as that.

He laughs, the hollow sound ricocheting off the equally empty walls of the lab.

He presses his forehead against his palm, the room spinning ever so slightly around him. His mind, wanders, of its own volition, back to memories he’s tried to bury beneath endless work.

Disparate images from nearly a decade ago flickers through his mind: Viktor coming to his room, pleading, with burning eyes, for him to testify on his behalf. Viktor's research had been stolen, claimed by a professor high up in the Academy's ranks. Jayce could still see the desperation in his friend's face, the faith that Jayce would do the right thing.

But Jayce had refused.

They were just students. The brightest, most promising, talented students Piltover has ever seen, sure, but students nonetheless. What good would testifying have done? The professor was simply too powerful, too well-connected. Even if Viktor managed to prove the research was his own, it wouldn't have mattered. The man would make sure they paid for it— cut their funding, ruin their names, burn every door down before it could swing open.

"Just let it go, man," Jayce had said. “He’ll remember your work. It’ll come back to you someday.”

He had told himself it was pragmatism. Forbearance. Something Viktor didn't understand— this was simply how the world worked.

But the truth is— the truth he can't drown, no matter how much he drinks, is that he was a coward.

Of course, they'd argued. It was far from the first argument they've had.

But all their past quarrels had been just that—disagreements, never real divisions. Uproars over theories, rows over equations. They’d mock each other’s logic in crude imitations of the other’s voice, new ideas catching faster than their tempers.

And sometimes— sometimes, the tension would build with every scathing word. The air would thicken, charge; a storm waiting to commence. The look in one of their eyes would shift, and suddenly one of them would be seizing the other by the collar, slamming him back against the worktable, lab safety be damned. Their mouths would crash together, tongues meeting like the next line in their ongoing contretemps— still irritated beyond belief, yet hopelessly drawn to the brilliance that made them clash in the first place.

And sometimes, it didn’t stop there— especially if they’d been under the influence of a whiskey or two. Bare skin against the table, ragged, breathless moans that could surely be heard even from beyond the lab. Of course, neither of them talked about it the next day, pretending as if nothing had ever happened.

This time, however, was different.

Viktor had seen through him instantly. Called him what he was— a scared, slimy coward who cared about nothing but self-preservation.

And Jayce, blind with rage and shame, had lashed out. Said things he shouldn't have. Called Viktor naïve, said he was too dim to understand the nuances of Piltover.

And worst of all, he’d thrown the words sump rat at him like an insult.

He still hears the silence that followed.

Viktor didn't say anything. He simply turned, and left.

They grew distant after that. Viktor stopped seeking him out. His seat in the lecture halls remained empty for weeks, and then for good.

It wasn't until months later that Jayce heard from a lecturer that Viktor had gone back to the Undercity.

Jayce forced the guilt threatening to bubble up his throat back down, burying it beneath the litany of excuses he'd used a million times. So he'd said some harsh things. So what? If that was all it took for Viktor to walk away from everything, then he really was too soft. A few insults and he'd given up his entire life? That wasn't on Jayce.

And, losing that research wouldn't have gotten Viktor expelled. No one had forced him to go.

No, Viktor could have stayed. The bastard chose to leave.

It. Wasn't. Jayce's. Fault.

At the same time, Jayce reaped the rewards of his silence. His betraya— forbearance— came laden with opportunity. He shook hands with the same men who had stolen Viktor’s work, smiled for them, worshipped the ground on which they walked, played the grateful protégé.

And in time, they rewarded him—with connections, with funding, with every door that had once been closed to him. With their backing, he made his one great discovery that shook the entirety of Piltover: the Hextech crystal, radiant, blinding, overturning everything they had once believed about magic.

And…

The room tilts again, the drink sloshing over his fingers. He stares at the amber drops pooling on the table, watching them glint under the light— the colour agonisingly reminiscent of Viktor’s eyes.

Jayce downs his drink in one go, then pours himself a second, a third.

Viktor's face swarms Jayce's thoughts. Both the one he remembers, human and sharp-eyed; and the other, undecipherable beneath metal.

He sees it as clear as day, even now. The first time he had seen it. The night Viktor had come to him after the Hextech crystal had made Jayce famous.

A metal mask obscured his entire face, swallowing the contours Jayce once knew as well as the back of his own palm. His once-slender frame was reforged with metal— they stood nearly eye to eye now. Even his voice had become something else entirely: metallic, hollow, bereft of all human cadence.

Viktor had stood before him that night in an echo of the past, a haunting mirror of the night he’d once pleaded for Jayce’s help.

Jayce had been too stunned to speak, frozen in shock as Viktor began to talk in a distorted voice that chilled Jayce to the bone. He told Jayce that his discovery—the Hextech crystal—was the final key to his research. That he had, at last, found a way to save humanity from themselves.

He had even smiled— or at least, Jayce thinks he had; there’d been a curve in his voice— and said he was glad. Glad that, despite Jayce’s past ignorance, it seemed he still cared in some capacity for humanity. He spoke of evolution, of transcendence, of relieving humanity of the hindrances they were born with, the limits their bodies imposed on them. And the crystal Jayce had discovered was the key.

He said they could all be “gloriously evolved.”

And Jayce… Jayce had looked at him and seen nothing but madness.

How could he have not? Nothing of the man he once knew was left. The idealist, to Jayce at the time, was gone, replaced by a thing that was covered in more metal than skin.

He remembered the terror that had gripped him then, the disbelief souring into disgust and guilt. He'd told himself Viktor had finally broken, succumbed to the rejection, the exhaustion, the rage that came along with chasing a dream that was simply out of anyone's reach.

Yes, that had to be it. The Viktor he'd begrudgingly admired had collapsed somewhere along the way, and this monstrosity had crawled out in his place, obsessed with perfection, determined to force the world into what he saw fit.

And Jayce had a part in it. Addled by hatred— for himself as much as for what Viktor had become— he’d screamed at the man, told him to crawl back to whatever gutter he’d emerged from and to never come back.

Jayce still feels the impact of the blow that followed sometimes. Whatever augmentations Viktor had performed on himself must have amplified his strength tenfold. In a flash, his fist had connected with Jayce’s jaw with such force that the world simply snapped out of existence.

When Jayce came to, the crystals were gone.

Jayce had gone straight to the Enforcers, and told them everything as he saw it. Told them Viktor was dangerous, unhinged, a threat to Piltover.

And they had listened.

Within a week, Viktor was branded a criminal. The newspapers called him the mad scientist from Zaun, the Machine Herald. They branded him an abomination, a cautionary tale should ambition outpace morality.

And Jayce— dear, brave, loyal Jayce— became the Defender of Piltover. The solitary bulwark against depravity, the golden hero against the monster he’d once called his partner.

The Council wasted no time. They handed him the assignment with empty smiles and barren sympathy. No one better suited, they'd said. No one who understands him as you do. The one who has suffered most. The one who knows him best.

And just like that, he was elevated to the ranks of a Councillor, his image polished until it practically shone. Overnight, he became not just the symbol of Piltover’s innovation, but their golden emblem of order and righteousness.

From then on, the city saw a hero. The Council saw a tool. Jayce saw a version of himself he’d spent his whole life trying to become.

Loved.

Piltover put out wanted posters for the Machine Herald. The broadcasts called Viktor a madman, accused him of unethical experiments, and urged citizens to report any sighting to the authorities.

The first time they met again, it was in one of the Academy’s darkened laboratories. Viktor had broken in— caught mid-act, his gloved hands rifling through drawers, stealing what Jayce assumed was more material for his depraved experiments.

“The great Defender of Piltover,” Viktor had sneered. “I should’ve known you’d sell your soul for slivers of recognition. Still begging like a whore for validation, just like back then, when you moaned under me like a cheap prostitute.”

“Big fucking words for someone crawling through vents like a rat a few seconds ago,” Jayce growled back.

And then, the fight commenced.

Viktor moved first, and Jayce barely had time to raise his hammer before a blow landed squarely on his jaw. Jayce retaliated in kind, swinging his fist against the other man's temple.

They truly did know each other too well. Jayce feinted left; Viktor anticipated it, dodging before Jayce even struck. Viktor shifted his balance for a lunge, and Jayce braced a full second before it came. It was as if they were dancing a twisted sort of waltz, built on years of grudging adoration, now corrupted into something bitter and cruel.

Instruments splintered, glass shattering into pieces. The very ground shook as Viktor's laser carved molten lines into the wall behind Jayce, while Jayce's hammer sent shockwaves through the air.

In the midst of the chaos, Viktor disappeared. One moment he was locked against Jayce’s hammer; the next he was already retreating into the shadows, cloak flapping behind him as alarms blared around them.

It didn't end there, of course.

Many such fights followed, and their battles quickly became Piltover's favourite spectacle— grand, exciting, enticing. A shining hero with his signature hammer. A metal monstrosity from the Undercity. The city loved every explosion, every clash.

Traitor! Viktor would roar, his voice thundering through the metallic distortion of his augmentations. Hypocrite! Puppet! Piltie lapdog of the Council!

And Jayce would shout back, hammer blazing with searing light.

“Unnatural freak! Metal scraps pretending to be a man!”

Whatever slivers of the bond they once shared were burned away in those exchanges. The old trust, the easy laughter, the debates that stretched late into the night with the only mind and soul that had ever rivalled his own— gone, replaced by venom and hatred.

In another fight, one of dozens, maybe hundreds— it happened.

Jayce fired a blast point-blank through the haze of smoke towards the silhouette of Viktor—

And the mask split cleanly down the middle.

It fell in two halves, clattering across the scorched floor with tiny clinks, sounds too small for the enormity of what it revealed.

Jayce froze as if physically restrained. He had believed that the mask was Viktor now, that he had truly discarded every human part of himself, and the man he once knew no longer had a face left to show.

But now, Viktor's old face stared back at him. Older, more lined, sclera blackened by whatever augmentations he’d embraced. But the contours remained.

And the eyes, amber.

Jayce's breath caught infinitesimally, and his hammer lowered without his permission, arm weakening as though Viktor had knocked the strength out of him with a single glance.

But Viktor didn't take the chance to strike.

He simply rose from the decimated pavement and walked away in silence, the remnants of his mask crunching under his feet, leaving Jayce standing alone with a thundering in his chest he told himself was merely shock.

Later that same night found Jayce in a pub. Crammed up alongside dockside developments where many Piltovans lived in neat designer apartments, the Undercity oozed with poverty and deprivation.

The Iron Maiden was a large, low-slung, green-painted pub. The interior was no-nonsense and utilitarian, the closest to those in Piltover Jayce could find in this hole, with a selection of wooden clocks on a cement-coloured wall and a lividly patterned piece of red carpet the only gesture to anything as frivolous as decoration.

It served the type of alcohol Jayce desperately needed after the fight: strong, cheap, and absolutely nothing like the delicate, overpriced spirits of Piltover. The kind that scorched all the way down his throat and into his stomach.

And, more importantly, it was far from the eyes of anyone who might recognise him. The Defender of Tomorrow couldn’t be seen drinking himself to pieces in Piltover.

The pub was empty except for one little old man in the corner and a cheery serving girl, who addressed her only other customer as ‘Rudy’, the two deep in conversation.

“Oh, everything’s been going great, Rudy,” the girl quipped. “I was terrified me mum wouldn’t make it, but the Herald really knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?”

Jayce went still.

“Ah, Viktor, eh?” Rudy replied with a chuckle. “He’s a good lad. Had trouble with my back the other day, and he offered to take a look, no questions, no coin. Good as new now. No idea how he manages it.”

“Who.”

Jayce didn’t even feel himself move. One moment he was at the counter and the next, he was standing at Rudy’s table. His vision's blurry, the world swaying beneath his feet, but there's a desperate burning in his chest—wanting, aching—but for what, he doesn't know.

The two seemed taken aback. Even dressed in borrowed Zaunite fashion, Jayce probably still reeked of Piltover.

"Uh… the Herald,” the girl replied carefully. “The Machine Herald. He’s been curing people, y'know, diseases, injuries, stuff like that. Things are bad down here, so, you know… everyone’s grateful.”

“And he—” Jayce swayed, catching himself with a loud slam of his hand against the table. The girl jumped. “That’s all? That’s all he does? No fucked up experiments on people? No talk of—of a glorious evolution, or whatever—?”

“Evolu— Oh, that," the girl said. “He does mention it a fair bit, yeah. Says 'suffering is inherent to the human nature' or something like that, and we’ve all seen the augments he’s done to himself. But no—he never forces it on anyone else. He only does that sort of thing if someone’s right at death’s door and asks for it. Otherwise it’s just… regular treatment. New tech he came up with himself.”

“Right, right—the Hextech crystals!” Rudys said, perking up. “Couldn’t stop talking about ’em last time. Went on and on about how they worked and what a marvellous creation it was—proper excited, he was. Fixed my back with ’em too! Shot some kind of energy beam into my bones and sorted out whatever was wrong. Don’t ask me how—too old to make sense of any of it—but it worked like a charm.”

Jayce stared at them, the room suddenly too hot, too bright.

Fuck.

“Well, thanks,” he muttered, flicking a gold coin toward the girl before stumbling away. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“Hey, you want to see him?" She called after him. "The Herald?”

“No,” Jayce said. “No, I don’t think I will.”

He staggered back to his apartment— he couldn’t recall how —and headed straight for the bathroom.

Ramming the plug into the hole, he filled the sink with cold water, took a deep breath and completely submerged his throbbing head. Displaced water slopped over his feet, but he ignored it for the relief of ten seconds of icy, blind stillness.

Rising, he stared into the spotted mirror over the sink, and the reflection staring back at him was not handsome. His usually meticulously styled hair were sopping wet, plastered to his forehead. Dried blood clung to the cut on his lip, while another gash split his left brow.

But it was his eyes that startled him the most.

They weren’t hazel anymore. They hadn’t been for some time. The blue had deepened and spread, overtaking the last of their warmth.

Hextech had seeped into him, ate at him the way stress and guilt and pride had— unnoticeably, gradually, and then all at once.

He looked nothing like the boy who partnered with Viktor the year he entered the Academy.

He laughed hollowly, the sound ricocheting off the tiles.

Viktor had only changed his body.

Jayce was the one who changed everything else.

The loyal hero. The golden Councillor. The so-called Defender of Piltover.

The man who had sold his faith, his love, his conscience for status and admiration. He’d called Viktor selfish, unhinged, mad— when all along, it had been Jayce who couldn’t see past himself.

Somewhere along the way, between ambition and fear, applause and pressure— he'd lost thread of himself. Not just the youth in his face, not just his once-hazel eyes— but his choices, his mind, the compass he’d once held so tightly.

He remembered the younger version of himself, the one who genuinely wanted to help people, who believed the world could be better. The kid who had marched into the Academy starry-eyed and stubborn, mesmerised instantly by Viktor’s sharp tongue and even sharper mind, and his impossible dreams, confident that together, they could make anything come true.

But over the years, he’d lost him. He’d grown quick to assume corruption, ready to condemn, because he could no longer imagine anyone doing good without wanting something in return.

Because he no longer could.

And now the man in the mirror looked more altered than Viktor ever was.

But, there was no going back now. Piltover had already painted the story, and the machine was already in motion. Jayce— coward that he was— kept playing along.

After that night, however, he couldn’t bring himself to hurt Viktor anymore. When they fought, Jayce kept up the façade— swinging the hammer with full force, sending blasts of energy tearing through empty air a full foot beside Viktor so the crowd would hoot and holler. He made a show of it, all flashy lights and loud noise, never once landing a hit on Viktor.

He'd let Viktor strike him instead. Took the hits he could've dodged, let his skin split and the pain bloom— and welcomed it.

It was penance.

It was the only thing he could still give.

They fought again today— Viktor caught once more rifling through the Academy archives. It was a well-worn path, metal clashing against light, Viktor hurling insult after insult at him like always.

A laser tore through Jayce’s shoulder, and some part of him wished it had gone straight through his heart and spared him the rest. Viktor guffawed at the sight, shouting that Piltover had finally fattened him up so much he'd grown too slow to dodge such a simple strike.

Jayce closed his eyes and braced himself for the end. He'd expected Viktor to seize his advantage and finish what he started.

But he didn't, and instead scurried away into the shadows as if something was chasing him. He hadn't even bothered to take the parchment he'd come for.

Jayce was left on the floor, breath coming in uneven bursts, staring blindly at the sky. Eventually, he forced himself upright, and limped back to his apartment alone.

He knows there are whispers in Piltover now. That the Defender of Piltover is losing his edge. Losing his grip.

He finds he can’t bring himself to care.

The admiration feels hollow. The title feels like a joke. What's left is a dull, persisting self-loathing that has found its lodgings in his chest and refuses to leave.

And this is how he finds himself, alone, drowning in a bottle of Ionian whiskey tonight.

He wants to drown the impulses, crackling like electrical charges, to go and find Viktor, to— what, he doesn't really know either. He has not eaten since this morning, and it had been a long time since he has consumed so much alcohol in one sitting. It took him barely an hour of steady, solitary, determined whiskey consumption to become properly drunk.

He staggers back to his bedroom and collapses onto the bed, his mind still crowded with flashes of amber and light. Exhausted as Jayce is, it still takes a while for him to fall asleep, and when he does, Viktor weaves in and out of every dream, gorgeous, vituperative and haunted.

Jayce's eyes snap open.

At first, he blames the insomnia— he's been waking at the slightest of sounds lately, and sleep only ever comes easily when he's drunk enough not to fight it. But the sense that something's off doesn't go away. Instead, there's a flash of light, followed by the unmistakable sound of footfalls.

Jayce squints. In the dimness of the room, he barely makes out a hooded figure moving slowly toward him.

His heart lurches. He makes a grab for his hammer he keeps within reach even in sleep and forces himself upright, catching himself on the nightstand as the room tilts violently beneath his feet.

“Who’s there?” he slurs as he fumbles for the light switch. “I’m telling you—I’m armed!”

The figure steps forth as the lights turn on, and the hammer nearly slips from Jayce’s grasp.

No.

No, that can’t be.

“Viktor?” he breathes.

But it isn’t. It can’t be. The man standing before him looks like Viktor from before his augmentations, and yet they are worlds apart. He’s older—decades older— with streaks of silver in his hair that fall to his shoulders. His eyes are a myriad of colours, tinged with pink and turquoise, though they flash amber for a brief moment when they meet Jayce’s gaze. He wears a white hood, a wooden staff resting in his hand.

"Jayce," the man says, his voice gentle, simply oozing with affection—and Jayce shivers. He even sounds like Viktor from all those years ago.

But Viktor had never spoken to him like that.

“Who the hell are you?” Jayce growls.

The man tilts his head.

"Have we not met in this timeline? Strange. I went to great lengths to prevent such a convergence from occurring. We should have found each other in every viable permutation. But to answer your question— I am Viktor."

“Like hell you are," Jayce snarls. "For starters, you don’t even have the age right—you look about thirty years older than him. And second, the bastard’s gone full metal monk on me. Doesn’t have an inch of skin left 'part from his face. So I’ll ask one more time—who the fuck are you, and why are you pretending to be him?”

The stranger studies him silently, expression placid. Then, he steps closer, lifting a bony hand.

“Hey,” Jayce warns, backing up a half-step, “what are you—”

The man presses his fingertips lightly to Jayce’s forehead, and sinks in.

The world explodes.

Jayce's mind floods with light— raw, blinding, impossible light— and then with memories. His memories.

Viktor's bright laugh echoing in the lab. The nights they spent shoulder to shoulder, bent over half-finished projects. The terrible fights they had. The heat and pleasure they shared, the bitterness and agony they inflicted on each other. Every word, every moment, every betrayal plays out all at once.

Then, just as suddenly, it’s gone. Jayce collapses to the floor, gasping, his whole body shuddering.

"Ah," the stranger hums, almost to himself. “I see. This timeline is quite different from the others. No looming threat of the Arcane unravelling the world. No great cataclysm. Though it seems that peace came at the expense of… our relationship.”

“What the—," Jayce grits out, still clutching at the floor for balance "What the hell— are you talking about?”

The old man looks at him, a fond smile spreading across his face.

"So much regret," he murmurs. "So much love buried under guilt. You hide it well, but not from me. Never from me.”

Jayce opens his mouth to protest, but the older man kneels down, hands rising to cradle his face.

Jayce must still be intoxicated. This isn’t his partner— can’t be. He doesn’t even know what kind of creature is wearing Viktor’s face. And yet, he leans into the touch involuntarily, eyes fluttering shut as he gives in to it, to the warmth he’s imagined for so long.

“Do not fret,” the man says softly. “I can fix that."

The man's fingers brush along Jayce's cheek, then moves lower, caressing the bandages Jayce has hastily wrapped around the wound in his shoulder. Something crackles softly against his skin, strange and arcane.

Jayce lets out a shaky sigh, relief spreading through him before he can stop it.

The touch feels wrong. Unfamiliar. But it is warm. Warm, in a way that Viktor's metal hands no longer are. The comfort at being cradled so gently by someone with Viktor's face comes too easily, easing the terrible ache he's carried for far too long.

"Oh," the man coos gently. "You've missed your Viktor, haven't you?"

"So much," Jayce whispers, his voice cracking. "So, so much."

"But you haven't been very kind to him, have you?"

The words lodge into Jayce's heart like slivers of glass. Everything rushes in at once, every refusal, every accusation, every fight where he chose pride over faith. His chest tightens, and the sound that escapes his throat is ugly. He folds forward, hand rising to grasp at the one on his cheek, grief tearing free of the meticulous restraints he's kept in place for years.

"No," Jayce says, tears spilling down his face as the word leaves him. "No, I haven't."

The man leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Jayce’s mouth, his thumb brushing away the tears tenderly, lovingly. Jayce's breath hitches at the gentleness of it.

"No, don't," Jayce whispers. "I don't— I don't deserve this—"

"Shh, my love, it's okay," the man says. "You are very different from my Jayces, that's true, but it pains me to see a Jayce and a Viktor separated, no matter the variance between us. I will help you."

"…Help?"

"Indeed," the man says, a faint smile curving his lips. "I will make you into the perfect Jayce. Deserving of a Viktor. Doesn’t that sound nice, pet?"

The pleasant fogginess in Jayce's mind shatters instantly. He jerks away from the man's touch, heart juddering in his ears.

“What— Fuck— What did you just do to me?” he snarls. “Who the fuck are you? Stay the fuck—”

The man clicks his tongue.

"Tetchy, tetchy," he murmurs, already closing the distance again as though Jayce's fury is nothing more than a child's tantrum. "It is little wonder you and your Viktor have walked such diverging paths. But that can be fixed."

Jayce backs away, but the man continues stalking towards him.

"We’ll remedy this, hm? Shape you into the perfect partner for him. Someone he won’t be able to look away from. Someone he’ll have no choice but to cherish.”

With a roar, Jayce swings his hammer with everything he has, fury and fear coalescing into one.

The stranger merely lifts his staff, and deflects it effortlessly. The impact rings through the room, but the man doesn’t even flinch. Jayce stumbles back, stunned.

Wiry as he seems, this Viktor is powerful. Far more powerful than the Viktor Jayce knows, the one who literally rebuilt himself with steel.

The man steps forward and seizes Jayce by the throat, lifting him half off the ground with frightening ease. Jayce's eyes roll back into his skull as his vision swims, and the hammer slips from his grasp, clanging uselessly to the ground.

Before he can recover, the man raises his other hand.

Jayce shakes his head frantically, but it makes no difference. Long, bony fingers press to his forehead then push, sinking in down the the knuckle.

Pleasure like nothing Jayce has ever known before detonates behind his eyes. His jaw slackens without his consent, a broken moan coaxed from his throat as his entire body shakes and spasms under the onslaught of pure ecstasy.

“You’ve always been far too brash,” the man murmurs in Jayce’s ear. “Let’s correct that first. That defiance of yours.”

Jayce struggles weakly in the man's grip, another whine tearing from his throat as his body refuses to obey him. His limbs feel distant, unresponsive, as if they were no longer his.

“You prefer obedience,” the man continues. “You listen when your partner speaks. You don’t argue. You don’t resist.”

"Fuh—Fuck you, fucking bitch— Stop preten—"

Another spurt of pleasure erupts through Jayce, forcing his retort into another wanton moan. The man clicks his tongue in faint disapproval.

“That isn’t how a pet speaks,” he says mildly. “Try again.”

The ecstasy crashes through Jayce's every limb, so overwhelming it strips away what little strength he has left. His coherency scatters, fear and anger dissolving into something dull and malleable.

He sags in the man’s embrace as the grip on his neck loosens, his breath coming in shuddering bursts.

“I listen.” Jayce breathes out. “I don't argue. I don't resist.”

The man hums, satisfied. His hand lifts in a facsimile of cradling the back of Jayce’s head, and his fingers sink in once more.

"Good," the man whispers. "You are beginning to understand. If you want your Viktor to truly love you, you must be able to give him more. Pleasure, beyond anything he's ever known. That is your purpose now: to receive, and to give. Nothing else matters. Nothing else will make him stay."

The fingers in Jayce's head twist, sending another jolt of pleasure up his spine. He feels his dick throb with how hard he is.

"Let’s reshape that body of yours, shall we?" The man coos. "Mold it into something made purely for pleasure. Flawless, obedient, and incapable of craving anything else."

"Wuh—"

Before Jayce can fully grasp what's happening, the fingers in his mind slip away. Something guides him to his own bed, and he falls back onto it without resistance.

With a single wave of the man's hand, Jayce's garments vanish.

The man climbs onto the bed and kneels over Jayce, a serene smile dancing on his lips as he looks down at him. The man reaches out, and his thumb grazes Jayce’s perky nipple.

Jayce's head tips back as a soft moan slips from his lips.

"Mmm… such a delicious reaction," the man says. "But we can make it even more irresistible, can’t we? Shape them just right— so when your partner sees them, he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll have no choice but to worship them… to drown them in pleasure."

The man's fingers find the nubs, and pinch. At his touch, a crackling light sparks to life, and a sigil begins to etch itself into the flesh. The glow spreads until two identical symbols take shape— twisted hearts, each with a perky nipple marked at the centre.

"There," the man murmurs. "Now, the more they're touched… the larger, the needier, the more achingly sensitive they’ll become. Let’s see how far we can push you, shall we?”

With that, the man leans in and seals his lips around Jayce’s right nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a slow, sensual suck.

A bolt of electric pleasure tears through Jayce's entire body. His fists tighten in the man's hair, and his body spasms under the barrage of ecstasy the man subjects him to— tongue licking, teeth grazing, lips sucking— each action seemingly tailored to draw out the maximum amount of pleasure in Jayce. Jayce fights the urge to pull him closer, even as his legs instinctively begin to wrap around him.

A low, amused laugh rumbles from the man’s chest as he reaches up, fingers gliding over to tease Jayce’s other nipple.

Jayce keens, the sound breathy and high, as the waves of sensation continue to roll through him. The man flicks, pinches, and sucks with terrifying precision, every movement submerging Jayce deeper into the throes of pleasure.

It’s too much. Too good. Nothing in his life has ever come close. His mind reels, drowning in ecstasy, as wanton moans slip freely from his parted mouth. He writhes and squirms in the man's firm hold, unable— or unwilling— to escape.

When the man finally deigns to leave his nipples alone, Jayce is already a twitching mess against the bed. His chest arches upward instinctively, as if chasing the fading pleasure, desperate for just one more touch.

“They look wonderful now, Jayce," the man says, snapping Jayce out of his trance. "Wouldn’t you like to see for yourself?”

Jayce whimpers and glances down.

He freezes.

His areola has swollen to nearly three times its original size, flushed a vivid pink and slick with spit, glistening under the light of the strange, heart-shaped sigils still framing them. His nipples jut out unnaturally long, standing a full inch in the air, shamelessly erect and impossibly erotic.

The man smiles as if satisfied with his handiwork, then leans down and blows softly across one tender peak.

Jayce's back arches off the bed with a high moan. The sensation is mind numbing, his nipples now so sensitive, they eclipse the throbbing heat of his dick.

"Perfect," the man purrs. "He surely won't be able to resist you now. But we’re not finished yet, are we? Let’s make the rest of you just as irresistible. Open your legs for me, little one. Be obedient… you want to be perfect for Viktor, don’t you? You want to be his, mind, body and soul.”

Jayce's mind fogs over once more, submerged in the overwhelming need to please, please, please. At the command, his legs fall open willingly, presenting his puckered hole for the old m— no, for Viktor to see.

“Hm. A little underprepared,” Viktor muses. “Hardly worthy of your partner’s attention as you are.”

He runs a hand along Jayce's bare ass, rubbing circles into his flank.

“Let’s correct that. I’ll make you self-lubricating… and plump this needy little hole into something he won’t be able to stay out of, yes?”

Without waiting for Jayce's response, the man slowly raises a finger to his lips.

“Now… open your mouth and suck, Jayce. Be useful.”

Without hesitation, Jayce parts his mouth, and the finger slips past his lips. He begins to suck eagerly, tongue swirling around the digit, feeling something metallic and bitter bloom across his tongue. His cheeks hollow with every motion, eyes fluttering half-shut as he feels a heat build in his belly.

Viktor hums, satisfied, as he withdraws his finger. A thin strand of spit clings between the bony digit and Jayce's parted lips, glistening, stretching, before it breaks. Without another word, he lowers his hand, pressing the wet finger to Jayce's entrance, and pushes in.

That same crackling light ignites once more, and Jayce arches off the mattress as another surge of pleasure wracks him. He clenches down on the digit involuntarily, keening as the sensation spikes—yet he needs more. It's as if his nerve endings have been rewired, completely rewritten to crave the pleasure.

Viktor moves his finger in and out, striking Jayce's prostate with every other thrust, and Jayce moans freely at every glide, every curl. Thought becomes a distant concept, everything narrowing to the tidal waves of ecstasy he's floating in.

The man studies him, lips drawing up in a tender smile.

"Coming along nicely," the man purrs. "You're finally becoming what you were always meant to be. Look at you, so eager, so obedient. Your hole clings to my touch, it knows this is it's only purpose now.”

The man sinks another finger into Jayce's eager hole and twists. Jayce yelps at the intrusion, but it quickly melts into a breathy moan as Viktor presses hard against his prostate once more.

"This is the path to being loved, Jayce. Not that useless pride you once clung to. Not the broken shell of a man who pushed everyone away, least of all the one you claimed to admire."

“No… no… Viktor…” Jayce breathes out in a trembling voice. Images of Viktor— his Viktor— swim behind his eyelids. The disappointment, the anger, the hurt in those amber eyes.

"He doesn't want your defiance, Jayce. He wants something soft, something pleasing, something that won't turn its back on him when he needs you."

“'M sorry… I shouldn’t have… Vik—”

"But we're correcting that, hm? Now, you will be. A pet. A prize. Nothing more… and certainly nothing less. Let go of who you were, Jayce. That version of you was weak—bitter, arrogant, pitiful. It's no wonder he couldn’t stand you. But this… this, he will cherish."

Jayce shudders as the fingers press deeper against his prostate, every thrust and whispered word sending waves of pleasure crashing through him.

"When you see your partner," the man continues. "You’ll kneel where you belong, at his feet, and he’ll finally see something worth loving. Not the broken man you were… but the perfect little pet I’ve shaped for him."

Jayce moans, long and loud, and the last threads of his resistance snap, leaving only a overwhelming flood of need and desire in their place.

Viktor sinks his digits all the way down to the knuckle, and when Jayce comes, it strikes through him like a sky full of fireworks. His body locks up, seized by a pleasure so unbelievably intense, every pulse like an explosion shooting through his every limb. It's fierce, chaotic, like the worst of their fights. Every spasm from the aftershocks is a memory, a burst of guilt, of everything he's never bothered to say and everything he still so desperately wants.

And in this storm of light and pleasure, he gives in completely— undone, and remade.

Fuck. Fuck him. Fuck if the bastard dies. Better if he dies. He's not fucking bleeding out over that stupid fucking graze.

It wasn't even supposed to hit. The Defender has dodged that identical strike a thousand times over the past few years. Viktor's even fired it with a full second of delay, just so the man could move.

But he didn't, the slow bastard, and the laser tore a hole straight through his shoulder.

For a split second, Viktor could only stare. Then the reflexes had kicked in, insults spilling from his mouth on instinct, and he left hurriedly before he could catch himself rushing over to the man to see if he's actually hurt.

Viktor curses as he finds himself crossing the bridge between the Undercity and Piltover, making his way to the Defender's apartment.

He just doesn't want to actually kill anyone. Even if it's his nemesis. He’s just going to check that the idiot isn’t bleeding out on the floor somewhere and that he’s still breathing. And then he’ll leave. Nothing more.

Grumbling under his breath, Viktor lands on the familiar balcony—the one he knows stupidly well leads straight into the Defender’s apartment.

Not bothering with subtlety, he kicks the door down.

"Tch."

The bastard has him worried enough to cross half of Piltover just to check on him. Least he can do is to pay for the repairs of his own door.

"Defender!" Viktor shouts. "You crawl back to your dingy little hole yet?"

Silence.

An emotion he might have once called worry pulses against his ribcage, threatening to override the regulators he had installed precisely to prevent this sort of thing. He snarls, as if anger might force it back down.

“Defender!” Viktor calls again. “This isn’t funny! The laser hardly even scratched you!”

He checked before coming here. Of course he did. The Defender didn’t end up in a hospital—if he had, it would have been broadcast across Piltover within the hour. Someone saw him stumble into his apartment, bloodied but upright. He should be here.

The silence stretches, and something screams to Viktor, wrong, wrong, wrong.

Then— a sound. Faint, indistinct, coming from further within the apartment.

Viktor turns toward it at once. He strides down the short corridor, and sees light filtering out from beneath one of the doors.

He throws the door open—

And freezes in his tracks.

What the shit is going on.

For a moment, he wonders if he’s somehow ingested Shimmer without realising it. Because the sight in front of him is so outlandish, so far beyond his comprehension, he’s not sure even his wildest dreams could compete.

The Defender is completely naked, save for a blue collar around his neck, kneeling on the floor. A bushy, black, cat-like tail is attached to his backside, and a pair of matching black ears sit on his head. He’s smiling vacantly, his cheek resting against the leg of a man sitting on the bed above him.

Viktor is just about to back away, assuming he’s stumbled into one of the defender’s bizarre fetish sessions—angry at himself for even being worried in the first place, if the man’s well enough to indulge in something like this—

When he catches sight of the man’s face.

“What— Who— How—”

The features of the man sitting on the bed are unmistakable. Older, more worn, with a trace of a beard Viktor's never bothered to grow, but undeniably his own.

The other him smiles when he catches sight of Viktor.

“Well, hello,” he says. Then, he turns his gaze down, cooing sweetly at the kneeling Defender like one might to a pet. “Your partner’s here. I figured he would be. Do you want to show him how far we’ve come?”

The defender nuzzles into the man’s outstretched hand and then, to Viktor’s horror, begins to crawl toward him on all fours.

Now, Viktor isn’t one to judge people for their kinks. He tosses around the jabs during fights, sure, usually at the Defender’s expense, but there’s never been much real bite behind it.

But this. This is different. There’s something in the defender’s face, in the vacant adoration in his eyes, that makes Viktor’s skin crawl. The smile on him is completely empty, devoid of thought, of will, of all that forceful brightness Viktor had so admired even after their separation.

And then, upon closer inspection, his heart plummets even further.

The ears. The tail.

They’re real.

They aren't props nor attachments. Somehow, impossibly, they're part of him. Viktor knows augmentations; he’s spent a lifetime mastering them. And these aren't artificial.

They’re growing from the Defender’s body.

Viktor scrambles backward until his back hits the wall, chest heaving.

"What the fuck did you do to him? Who the hell are you?” he snarls at the man still seated calmly on the bed.

The man tilts his head.

“I’m you from another timeline, of course," he says, as if that explains anything at all.

Viktor stares wordlessly as the man continues, with all the nonchalance of someone commenting on the weather.

"I took a wrong turn, ended up here, and happened to cross paths with this fascinating little creature.” He gestures toward the Defender, now kneeling obediently at Viktor's feet. “He was terribly upset about the tension between the two of you, the poor thing, so I thought... why not lend a helping hand? I figured you might like him better this way, no?"

“Wha—” Viktor splutters. The words he’s just heard are so wildly incomprehensible, his system threatens to shut down entirely. His mind blanks, struggling to suppress the flood of distress signals his biological body is producing.

He drops to his knees in front of the Defender and grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him with mounting desperation.

“Defender!” he shouts. “Giopara! Jayce!”

But the man only whimpers, eyes wide and dazed. He tilts his head, confused, and then inches forward, nuzzling his face against Viktor’s chin.

Viktor recoils and stumbles, falling to the floor with a thud. Jayce follows, and crawls onto Viktor’s chest, draping himself across him like an overgrown housecat.

And then— by Janna— he begins to purr.

“I—” Viktor chokes, staring up at the other him. “Is he even still capable of speaking? Why the fuck would you do this? Turn him back!”

“Turn him back?” the man echoes, brows lifting in mild amusement. “Why, he’s much more tolerable like this, don’t you think?”

“What kind of sick— No!” Viktor yells, fury crashing through the shock. “Make him normal! What the fuck is this?”

The man merely looks puzzled, as if Viktor’s somehow the unreasonable one in this nightmare.

“I rather thought you’d like him like this, and he's agreed himself, deep in his subconscious,” he says, his calmness infuriating Viktor more by the second. “Perhaps it’s just... too sudden for you. But of course, if you truly want him back the way he was, there’s a very simple fix. All you have to do is have sexual intercourse with him, while genuinely preferring that brute of a man he once was over what he is now. The effect is driven by your preferences, you see.”

Viktor gawks at him.

"You can't be serious. You're telling me having sex with him is the only way to turn him back?"

“Yes,” the man replies, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “It’s not the first time between the two of you, is it? And you both miss it dearly.”

"What the fuck are y—"

“Well," the man cuts him off briskly, and rises to his feet. "It would seem my involvement here has concluded. No sense in lingering longer than necessary. I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Now hold on just a second—” Viktor snarls, irritation spiking. His hexclaw snaps into place, and he fires it at the man.

But the bolt vanishes midair with a bored wave of the man's hands.

“Ah, the hexclaw," the man glances down at Viktor with idle interest. "I do miss it, occasionally. Remarkable, really—how every iteration of us converges on some variation of the same solution.

“In any case, I should return. My own Jayce has been unattended for far too long, and I find the separation quite unpleasant.” His lips draw up, but the warmth does not reach his eyes. “Do enjoy your reunion. And good day.”

And just like that, he vanishes in a sudden flash of light like he was never there to begin with.

Viktor remains where he is, flabbergasted, sprawled on the cold floor with the Defender still curled up in his arms, purring contentedly.

Right.

Dear Janna above.

Viktor taps a control located on the inside of his wrist, releasing another dose of emotion regulator into his system. The panic recedes just enough for clarity to return, and he forces himself to focus.

Assess the damage. Determine the most reasonable next course of action.

“Giopara. Jayce. Look at me,” Viktor says as he disengages his helmet. The plating retracts, exposing his human face. "Do you know who I am?"

"You're…mm…V…" Jayce slurs, and leans up to press his cheek against Viktor's cheek with what is unmistakably delight. The purring grows louder.

Viktor sighs. Still capable of human speech, at the very least. He reaches out and turns Jayce's face toward him.

Annoyingly— disgustingly— he's still handsome. Even now, with lines etched into his face by age. Even after years of fighting, after the scars Viktor himself had put there.

“What happened?” Viktor asks. “Do you remember anything from before at all, anything about yourself? Do you understand that we are— not exactly on good terms for you to be doing this?”

At that, Jayce’s ears flatten against his head, and his tail sinks low, dragging across the floor.

In any other context, it might have been comical. But now, it only makes Viktor's unease spike further. Nothing about the entire ordeal makes sense at all.

“’M sorry… V. ’M so sorry," Jayce murmurs. "I…I shuldn have said those things…’M so, so sorry…”

Viktor is rendered momentarily speechless. He shakes his head, refusing to let the words throw him off.

"What is the matter with you?” he demands at last, with difficulty. “What did that man do to you?”

Jayce giggles, and Viktor nearly jumps out of his skin at the unfamiliar sound.

"Mmmh…" Jayce sighs. "He was reallyyy nice. Did something to my head though, now it’s all fuzzy and warm. I can say it now. I loooove you, V. I love you so much.”

His voice drops, and he looks up at Viktor with big, pleading eyes.

"I’ll be good for you. Love me?”

“I—”

The sentence dies in Viktor’s throat. This isn’t what he envisioned would happen.

Sure, he's fallen, hard, for the Defender from… hell, the first time he's set sights on him. Arrogant, cocky, annoying to mitna rachnun and back— and brilliant. His mind justified arrogance, his abilities confidence. Viktor never faulted him for that. When Jayce boasts to their fellow classmates that he’s one of the smartest men in the city, Viktor knows it to be true.

And why shouldn’t Jayce say it? Viktor has never cared for false modesty. If you are exceptional, why pretend otherwise? Why shrink yourself to make others comfortable?

Even after they split paths, Viktor still kept tabs on him. The Hexcrystals were the breakthrough of the century. Try as he might, pride still seeped through his modulated voice when he ranted to anyone who'll listen to the marvel of them. Even when the Defender strutted through the city in his suit, even when they stood on opposite sides of a battlefield, all Viktor could think— especially when his emotion regulators dipped too low— was how stupidly attractive he still was.

But now all of that is gone.

There is nothing in Jayce's eyes but obedience. No fire, no defiance, not a single spark of brilliance in the blue.

Jayce's expression crumples when Viktor doesn't answer right away. His ears fold back, tail curling inward as if trying to make himself smaller.

“You… you don’t like me?” Jayce asks softly. “Not even like this?”

Like this. The question twists like a blade within Viktor's chest. As if this empty doll of a man is what Viktor might prefer.

"I'll be good," Jayce whispers, taking Viktor's silence as instruction to continue whatever he's trying to do. "Please, let me be good for you, V?"

Viktor goes rigid.

Whatever this is, whatever sick transformation has been forced on him, unsettles Viktor far more than any insult or blow ever could. He needs to turn Jayce back, now.

Jayce looks up at Viktor's expressionless face, then inches lower, his fingers fumbling at the fly of Viktor's trousers. Viktor breathes in sharply as his hand snaps out to grab at his wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses, eyes flashing.

"'M wanna be good, V…"

The emptiness in Jayce's eyes stirs a kind of unease unlike anything Viktor’s ever felt before. And yet, he cannot deny the base, biological stirrings within himself. The Defender, the man he pleasures himself to on his weakest nights, only to deny it with vehemence come morning; now stripped bare, save for the collar fastened snugly around his throat, his nipples hard, and his cock straining with need.

Viktor feels himself responding— his own cock swelling in kind, the only part of his body he has yet to alter.

He remembers the words from the other version of himself, and sighs inwardly.

Maybe it's worth a shot. If indulging in… intercourse, brings Jayce back to himself, perhaps it's the only way forward.

Viktor releases his grip, hand falling away in wordless permission. Jayce wastes no time working the fly down with eager fingers, and Viktor's cock springs free.

At the sight of it, Jayce's eyes light up and he leans in, lips parting as he takes Viktor into his mouth.

"Fu—" Viktor groans before he can stop it.

He doesn’t know if the other version of himself has done something to Jayce’s mouth too— altered it somehow, but it feels different. Warmer, tighter, and far more overwhelming than he remembers from all those years ago.

Jayce's lips slide down Viktor's length, tongue tracing every ridge and vein. He sucks and licks with a skill that can only be called obscene— probably better than even the most celebrated whores in the Undercity, Viktor thinks with mingled guilt and arousal.

“Jayce—” Viktor warns, voice strained.

It's been too long since he's let himself indulge like this, too long since he's felt anything beyond the callous efficiency of self-control and the dull numbness of chemical inhibitors. He’s grown used to dosing his desires into silence, not surrendering to them— especially not with the object of his desire between his legs. But now, under Jayce’s eager tongue, he’s already teetering dangerously close to climax, even with his extra dose of inhibitor.

But Jayce doesn’t heed him. He just keeps going— lips sealed tightly around his length, tongue working furiously, all the while staring up with wide, wet eyes, as if pleading for Viktor to come in his mouth.

And he does.

Viktor comes with a grunt, his hips jerking forward erratically into Jayce's mouth as his release overtakes him. Jayce moans whorishly around him, the sound vibrating deep in his throat, sending pinpricks of pleasure down Viktor's spine as he rides out his orgasm.

Jayce purrs contentedly as he swallows every last drop, savouring it like a delicacy. The sight alone makes Viktor’s vision blur, a fresh wave of arousal crashing over him.

Fuck.

When Jayce finally lets go, Viktor’s cock slips free from his mouth with a wet plop. A thin strand of spit and cum still connects them, glistening lewdly before it breaks.

Viktor breathes in once, trying to steady himself. His voice comes out rough.

“Back to yourself now?” he asks.

Jayce merely tilts his head in response, that same vacant adoration still clouding his eyes. Whatever spark of awareness Viktor was hoping for isn't there.

Viktor sighs.

Of course. He should’ve guessed a blowjob wouldn’t have qualified as sexual intercourse.

He rises to his feet, tucking himself away, then reaches down and pulls Jayce up with him.

Jayce lets out a confused squeak as he’s guided along, but he follows anyway. They make their way to the bed a few steps away, where Viktor sits down on the edge and pulls him in.

Jayce lands awkwardly on his lap, straddling him, hands braced on Viktor’s shoulders. He looks at him with wide, expectant eyes, like he’s waiting for instruction.

Viktor meets his gaze.

“You want to be good for me?” He asks.

Jayce nods eagerly, a smile spreading across his face. It is one that does not belong to the Defender.

The sight of such docility, blind devotion, only tightens the knot in Viktor's stomach. Somehow, this pliancy infuriates him more than even the worst insults Jayce has ever thrown his way.

“Then get me hard again,” Viktor growls. “And ride me.”

Jayce's face lights up instantly. He reaches down without hesitation, fingers closing around Viktor's now softened cock. Using the lingering slick of spit and come, he strokes him slowly until he's half-hard again in Jayce's hand. Then, Jayce stops, retreating just enough to hover above him.

Just as Viktor opens his mouth to question him— Jayce moves.

Dear Janna above.

With a soft gasp, Jayce presses his pecs together, creating a makeshift cleavage. Then, he guides Viktor's half-hard cock between them, rubbing it along the warm, tight channel he's made. His nipples brush against the shaft with every bob, and only then does Viktor truly notice.

Jayce's nipples have been modified, just like the rest of him, stretched into obscene, erotic peaks.

Viktor tries to hold back a whine as Jayce leans in and flicks his tongue over the tip of his cock, licking intently. He hears him moan, soft, needy sounds rising from deep in his chest, and he sees it— with every slow pump of his pecs, Jayce is teasing himself too. The tips of his fingers graze over his altered nipples in tandem, every brush matching the pace of his thrusts.

The sight is obscene. And it's working far too well.

It truly is insane how lewd Jayce looks like this.

The high and mighty Defender of Tomorrow, reduced to this: straddling Viktor’s lap, chest slick and heaving, pleasuring himself on the edges of Viktor’s arousal like the lowliest of whores. All for his approval. All for his pleasure.

But—

Viktor grunts, something in him snapping. He grabs a handful of Jayce’s hair and yanks him upward.

“That’s quite enough now,” he grits out. “Get on it.”

Jayce blinks slowly, then, without a word, he moves forward, crawling up Viktor's body with a feline sort of grace. He reaches down to guide Viktor's cock to his own puffy hole, aligning himself, then lowers his hips in one fluid motion.

Viktor inhales sharply as he watches himself disappear, inch by inch, into Jayce, swallowed to the hilt with no resistance at all, even without preparation. It shouldn't be possible, but Jayce lets out a breathy moan, as if the stretch is bliss in itself.

Viktor groans at the heat engulfing him. Jayce is wet, hot, and tight around him, clenching his cock like a vice. He thrusts up once experimentally, and Jayce's response is immediate. His head falls back with a lewd moan, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

Jayce leans forward, arms slipping around Viktor in a loose embrace. He nuzzles against Viktor’s jawline again, and Viktor feels the tremble in his thighs as he lifts himself on shaky legs until only the tip of Viktor’s cock remains inside him.

Then Jayce slams back down, hard.

Twin groans echo through the room as stars burst behind Viktor’s eyes. It’s perfect—almost too perfect. Jayce’s hole wraps around his cock like it was molded for him, engineered for no other purpose but pleasure.

With barely a second's pause, Jayce lifts himself again, and begins to ride him in earnest, rising and falling, each downward slam driving Viktor deeper into a mind-numbing pleasure.

Viktor looks up, meeting Jayce's half-lidded gaze— and there it is again.

That same empty devotion. Vacant, pliant, unquestioning. A body offering everything, a mind with no thought of his own.

All this pleasure. All this adoration. And yet.

"You're not the Jayce I want," Viktor forces out.

Jayce's head jerks up, confusion evident.

Viktor snaps his hips upward again, sinking himself to the hilt. Jayce keens, then collapses forward, boneless, draping over Viktor's chest. His breath is warm and erratic against Viktor's throat.

Viktor looks at him, one hand rising to cradle his cheek.

“I— Fuck, Defender, I don’t know what he told you, or how you came to believe I’d prefer you like this, but I don’t.”

He pauses, steeling himself. Janna above, this is exactly why he relies on regulators. This is terribly difficult to say aloud.

“I want…You. The real you. The one who talks over everyone else because he knows, his ideas deserve to be heard. The one who doesn’t care if he's being too loud or outshining someone else or for taking up space.

Viktor swallows.

“I came from the Undercity with no one believing in me. Not my teachers. Not the city. No one but myself. And then there was you. Your pride was…captivating. You showed me that faith in yourself isn't something wrong. You kept me believing I didn’t have to become smaller to survive.”

His gaze holds Jayce’s. The man has stopped his movements, looking up at him with the same mild confusion, as if the words aren't quite reaching him at all. Viktor feels a hollow sort of helplessness in his chest.

He doesn’t even know if this will work. Maybe his Jayce is already lost to him forever.

"I was…hurt, When you refused to testify on my behalf," Viktor continues. I felt betrayed. I had looked up to you—because you were fearless, because you never seemed afraid to be yourself. And suddenly you felt… small. Or worse, as though I simply wasn’t worth the risk.

“But I’ve had time to reflect, and I understand now that I shouldn’t have expected it. I would have been grateful if you had, but I shouldn’t have expected you to endanger your future for me. Not when you had nothing to do with the research, and we were merely…friends. It was awfully presumptuous of me to have expected that.”

Viktor looks at Jayce, and sees that his ears have now flattened against his head. Yet, the man says nothing. Something in Viktor gives.

He lifts a hand and places it at the back of Jayce’s head, guiding him down until Jayce’s cheek rests against his chest. He holds him there.

“I don’t want a version of you shaped by fear, or obedience, or whatever you thought I'd like. I don’t need something broken into being easier to love. I want the man who believed in himself, and, once, believed in me too.”

But the man's ears stay flat, and he refuses to look at Viktor. Viktor sighs inwardly.

"Look at me, Jayce."

"You don't tell me what to do."

Viktor nearly throws the man off him.

“You were aware this whole time?” He splutters, aghast.

“Not the whole time,” Jayce mumbles. “Just… somewhere around when you said you shouldn’t have expected me to testify on your behalf.”

“Well, then why didn’t you say anything?” Viktor snaps. “How much did you remember?”

“…Everything.” Jayce says. “I had the memories. It just felt like— I don't know how to describe it. Like it was still me, but…really, really drunk and high? And now I'm…sober?”

"So you meant everything you said?" Viktor asks. "Including the part where you… well. Professed your affection for me."

"…Yeah."

"And you remember everything I said.”

“And how awful your technique is. Fucking virgin.”

Viktor cants his hips upwards, driving his cock deeper into the Defender's hole, eliciting a surprised yelp.

“You really do run your mouth no matter the situation you’re in, don’t you, Defender?”

"Ngh—" Jayce moans, but still grinning. "Make me shut up then, Herald."

Viktor rolls his eyes.

With a swift movement, he flips their positions—pushing the Defender onto the mattress and positioning himself behind him.

"You've just woken up from a curse that turned you into a mindless sex-slave. Don't you think there are more pressing matters to address than copulation?"

"Says the man who was balls deep in me seconds ago."

"You're right," Viktor sneers. "Should've known the Defender was still a slut, desperate to be under me after all these years. And it seems the curse hasn't fully worn off, either. Guess we'll have to see this through."

He tugs at the tail still protruding from Jayce. Jayce yowls, back arching. And with a smooth motion, Viktor thrusts back into him, eliciting another long whine from the man.

"That's better," Viktor growls.

He begins to pound into the man relentlessly, pressing his own chest against Jayce's back as he drives impossibly deeper. Jayce’s moans grow higher, rising in pitch with each thrust, his entire body trembling and shaking under the rough movements.

“Whuh— Hnngh— Too hard—too fast—” Jayce gasps. "Gonna c-come—"

"Thought you said my technique was awful."

The sound of wet skin slapping against skin fills the room, loud and obscene. Viktor feels his own climax building, Jayce’s hole clenching sweetly around him each time he draws back, as if unwilling to let him go.

"It— It is—" Jayce pants. "You should d-do something about that micro-dick of yours, can hardly f-feel it, hah!"

Viktor raises a hand and brings it down hard on Jayce’s ass with a loud crack. At the same time, he jolts his hips downward, angling just right, striking deep against Jayce’s prostate.

Jayce keens, the sound high and helpless, then collapses into a string of soft, broken mewls. His eyes roll back, lips parted, body trembling as his pleasure drags him down.

"What was that again, Defender?"

Jayce whimpers, too far gone to form words, his body jolting with every thrust and humiliating word. He shudders, drool dripping down his chin freely, his fists clenching tightly at the sheets beneath him.

Viktor leans in, breath hot against Jayce’s ear.

“You like this. Don’t you? Being used. Ruined.”

Jayce sobs out something unintelligible, and then his body tightens, jerks, and he comes with a strangled cry, white ribbons splattering down on the sheets. Viktor follows right after, gripping Jayce’s hips tight as he empties inside him with a groan.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of heavy breathing. And then, Jayce’s ears and tail shimmer— then vanish.

They collapse onto the mattress together, still tangled in each other. For a moment, neither of them speak.

"Well," Viktor says at last, breaking the silence. "At least those are gone now."

"…Yeah," Jayce mumbles into the crook of his neck.

The quiet settles again. Viktor shuffles, suddenly at a loss for what to say. So, he pulls Jayce closer, holding him tighter, one hand pressing him firmly against his chest.

"If you must know…" Viktor starts. He tightens his jaw, and before he can lose his nerve, he forces the words out in a rush. "I love you too."

At this, Jayce startles, cheeks flushing a even deeper shade of crimson.

"I… I don't…" Jayce mumbles.

"What's that?" Viktor says. "Speak up, Defender. I rather thought you liked the sound of your own voice."

"Oh, shut up," Jayce snaps.

Viktor rolls his eyes, but something inside him relaxes. This sharpness, this bite is far preferable to the vacant compliance from moments ago. He prefers the man who argues with him, fights him, because that man is unmistakably, undeniably Jayce.

Jayce breathes out slowly, and when he speaks again, his voice sounds smaller.

"I am sorry, Viktor. For everything I've said. And done."

Viktor huffs.

“Don’t you think,” he says dryly, “that a more reasonable course of action, if you wanted to make amends to me, would have been to come talk to me and apologise, rather than getting yourself magicked into some sort of… sex toy?”

“Well, first of all, I had no say in the matter,” Jayce bristles. Then his voice falters. “…And I didn’t think you’d forgive me.”

"I— yes," Viktor says. "But like I said, I shouldn’t have expected you to risk everything for me. I understand that now. I—”

“It wasn’t just that,” Jayce interrupts. He finally looks up, and Viktor is surprised to see them rimmed with red. “I said things I never should have. I was arrogant. Selfish. I didn’t trust you. Not when you came to me about the Hextech crystals. I assumed the worst instead of listening.”

“About that,” Viktor says. “You were right to be… concerned. At the outset of my work, I was prepared to pursue evolution with or without consent. I believed I could eliminate human suffering entirely—that any resistance I would meet was merely the product of limited perspective. That people were too blind to recognise what was beneficial to them.”

"Then—"

"You were what stopped me."

Jayce looks up.

“I—yes. At first, I was angry," Viktor continues. "I treated you as another variable to be accounted for. An ordinary man reacting out of fear, incapable of perceiving the elegance of my design.

“But after our confrontation that day, doubt began to intrude. About my methodology. About my certainty. It may simply have been that too much time had passed since I last saw you. Seeing you again forced me to consider that not all aspects of humanity require correction. That some are… worth preserving as they are. So you were right to be afraid. I truly might have gone further— become something worse— like that…that other version of me, if you hadn’t been there to make me hesitate."

Jayce looks at him, mouth moving soundlessly.

"Well," he says at last. "I'm still sorry for…for a lot of other things."

"And so am I," Viktor replies.

There’s a brief pause. Then Jayce snorts, dragging a hand down his face.

“I can’t believe the thing that finally got us to sort this mess out is me getting turned into a half-cat… whatever the hell that was.”

Viktor's mouth twitches. “For the record, I also have a recording of the incident. One of the benefits of extensive bodily augmentation.”

“You absolutely do not.”

“Correct, I do not.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You too.”

Jayce huffs and moves closer, propping himself up on one elbow. Viktor raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

Jayce hesitates, then looks away for a moment.

“So,” Jayce says, “are we… good?”

Viktor’s answer isn’t immediate. He studies Jayce’s face instead—the familiar angles hardened by time, the stubborn set of his jaw, the brilliant, blue eyes that still search Viktor’s as if bracing for rejection.

He lifts a thumb and brushes it along Jayce’s cheek.

“Yes,” he says.

He pulls Jayce in before either of them can overthink it, the kiss gentle. Jayce responds without hesitation, a soft sound slipping from him as he leans in, hands folding behind Viktor's neck.

When Viktor finally draws back, he rests his forehead against Jayce’s, their breaths mingling in the tiny space between them.

“Welcome back.”