Chapter Text
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Viktor
Pickpocketing was something of a natural skill Viktor had picked up over the years. Surprisingly being the deans assistant meant his paychecks didn’t stretch very far after rent, bills, and travel fees. Not to mention his appointments with Singed in Zaun.
In many ways he was doing a service to the poor unsuspecting Pilties who came woebegottenly unprepared for the deft fingers that awaited them in the tram system. There were far worse hands that could’ve been deep in their pockets afterall. It was a necessary lesson for some in order to be more careful. At least that's what he told himself so the guilt didn't eat him alive.
He unclasped his scent bracer from his wrist, the banding would only seek to snag unnecessarily on fabric and drag his motions. It was a risk but one he willingly took everytime.
Viktor knew the tram routes well enough. The lapses in time where darkness sheltered the passengers long enough to discreetly duck in and out without being seen. And if he was? Well who would blame an unbalanced cripple for falling on an unsteady train?
His silhouette was large, not many from Zaun had such a build and the few who did — well he was familiar with his adoptive father’s build. No one could be mistaken for the Hound afterall.
The Pilities first mistake was thinking a simple cloak was enough to hide his marble cut features, golden skin, and coifed hair. The second was the preference for a tight fit. How unfortunate that he could see precisely what he tried desperately to hide. Professionally tailored clothes were a luxury. Hell, Babette was adroit with a needle but even years of her practiced hand was nothing in comparison to the hidden stitching of this Pilties coat. He came from money and wouldn’t miss what he was hiding.
The overhead lights flickered as the weaved in and out of the mining caverns that had long since been cleared and restructured to make way for transport. Viktor counted down the seconds in his mind, waiting to strike and claim his prize.
He knew that on some level he should feel guilt for such things. That this man was wholly unaware of what was coming but, not to judge a book by its cover… The man could miss a meal and it go unnoticed. The same couldn’t be said for himself anymore.
The doctors treatments were… brutal. It left him weak and drained most days, and needing time to recoup. He told himself that he was fortunate enough to know Singed, to be able to take on the experimental treatments to rid himself of the Gray, but after so many years doubt was creeping in now. Even so, he could not stop — the change it would wrought within him could be 'quite upending' as Singed put. This week he had carefully timed his appointment to not interfere with what he marked as his heat, yet it no longer came — the treatments staving off the effects.
He was to begin as a lab researcher alongside others this week too. And Janna the extra money it would bring it would greatly help but he did not want to just be an assistant. This was his chance to outshine his Piltover colleagues and stand at the forefront — no matter how much they didn’t wish to see it happen.
The tram was cast in darkness. He felt the man before him shift unevenly, not used to the car's movements. Perfect. He knew over the rustling of clothing, groans of defeat from those trying to read their morning papers, and other public noises that he wasn't to be heard. Yet he could feel his joints grinding over one another, the shimmer making his senses heightened. It was almost audible, a soft creaking like little hinges. Viktor maneuvered his fingers between the silky fabric of the man's cloak. The man had checked seventeen times that whatever was in his pocket was still there, while on the tram, at this point he was merely advertising.
His fingers found purchase on a small intricate case, metal, intricately carved, but before he could lift it away a hand clasped over his wrist. Over his bare scent gland.
He stopped breathing, his heart thudded painfully in his chest. The warmth of the mans hand pressed into him like coals from a furnace. And then…
He felt it. He felt the light pulse within his veins. The man — whether he intended to or not — had scented him.
He wrenched his hand and turned away just as the tunnel let in the light again. He stared down at his wrist, the small sheen of the strangers scent had quickly faded with his body heat. As if imbued in hot water he watched as his veins darkened, and the skin around his gland turned a dull lustery purple just beneath the surface.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
He could already smell it even amongst the heavy air of the Zaunish tram, intermingled with everyone’s unhindered aromas — not heavily minimized by stuffy Piltover suppressants. His own scent was blending already. He’d never even been marked before!
His breath shook as he finally let himself inhale. His scent was still prominent. Fresh ink, honeyed tea leaves, and lavender. But now something deeper was etched into it. Cedar. Heated metal. And Cinnamon.
Singed had told him to avoid… such activities during the day of administering. What was going to happen to him? Would the Shimmer treatments really change him so much that a single wrist scenting would put him at risk?
The tram stopped letting everyone out. And in the deluge of people exiting, Viktor did not even get the man’s name, let alone secondary sex. He couldn't even follow after him in the throng of people — too stunned and his leg making him slow today.
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Jayce
Of course Jayce would get pickpocketed. Stupid.
What he didn’t account for was grabbing the assailants wrist and… well. He dragged a hand down his face.
His rut had just ended. Technically short by a day thanks to the Undercity clinic he visited. Nothing, not even his own cycle, was going to stand in his way of the second chance Councillor Medarda gave him. He couldn’t believe that he was still allowed to continue his research, albeit heavily surveilled under a team of fellow scientists.
Still, he hadn’t meant to scent someone. However finding a hand elbow deep in his pockets wasn’t something he planned either. He hoped it would just be a minor inconvenience for the other person. Even if they intended to rob him. It might not even be viable. The odds of it being an omega that tried to rob him were slim afterall. What were the chances?
He had needed the brief respite. Being cooped up in his childhood home was… well usually he didn’t mind it come solstice or other holidays, but with the absence of his apartment after the accident and what his mother had said…
“He’s not in his right mind. He’s not well! Please just let him come home, I will be responsible for him.”
Even after all these years, and his education, she still treated him like a child. And what hurt more is that a complete stranger had more faith in his work than his own mother.
So yes. It might’ve started out as petchulant going to the Undercity for a few days to control his rut and gather supplies, but he welcomed the freedom. Just not the handsy citizens.
He sighed. He was walking right into danger afterall. He had to be more careful, and that started by keeping the crystals on him instead of in his lab. He was not about to have anything stolen from him again. Hell, Cait had even promised to help him find the thieves responsible. She always did like mysteries and solving problems, but he couldn’t let his closest friend get into trouble from it all.
The further his feet took him from the trams the less his mind lingered on the stranger. He was well on his way to making history and he wasn’t about to let a couple of thieves get in his way.