Chapter Text
There’s a club underground in the center of the city. Vik discovered it before she fully discovered herself. It wasn’t her usual scene, the loud thumping bass, microphone feedback, and ruckus amounts of audience participation. But there were ramps and an elevator to get her to the basement. Even when she snuck in, people looked her in the eye. They stood by her, shoulder to shoulder, and if they did, on rare occasions glance at her with any extra consideration, it wasn’t because of her cane or her uneven gate. If anything, it was her glowingly pale skin that had her sticking out like a sore thumb.
Slowly, after years standing in the back of the crowd watching the most beautiful men and women she’d ever seen strut their way down a different kind of runway; hips swaying; hair and braids brushing their backsides; dancing and posing like their lives depended on it (and sometimes, they did) she grew the courage to try it herself, to pull a skirt up over her narrow hips, to paint her nails a different color.
For the first time, she started to like the person she saw in the mirror. She began to feel like herself.
Over the years, Vik grew into herself and her body. She designed elaborate costumes and prosthetics. She won. 10’s across the board, again and again. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t move as swiftly as the rest of the competition, or if she leaned on arm crutches. She was welcome, celebrated, and believed in.
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗
Vik sits on one end of the long judges' table, right beside Mel Medarda, the mother of the house of Noxus. Mel fans herself pointedly, keen green eyes narrowed and ready for the competition to begin. The metallic, shimmering look she dons is nearly blinding in the harsh show lights, as warm as the sun. Beside her are three other judges, each awaiting the first round of competition.
Vik is clad in teal body paint and hardly anything else: leather pants that fit her like a second skin; sharp armor and decals that curve across her ribcage beneath her exposed, petite breasts. She's cold, but that's what she's known for, isn't it? Like a machine, they used to tease. Does she feel anything?
She isn't the harshest judge on the committee, not quite. “Representing the house of Zaun,” the MC purrs into his mic as he motions with his hands. The audience cheers and whistles, waving their hats in the air. It accompanies a flutter of movement, women fanning themselves and men crossing their arms, or shaking their asses.
“I'm not expecting to be impressed tonight,” Mel admits.
Vik’s maroon-colored hood obscures much of her face; she’s always leaned into the enigmatic persona they dubbed her with, and it’s more fun if she's at least a little villainous.
Deathsworn, she’s named the look. To which Mel smiles, “A bit intimidating, don’t you think?”
Tonight’s categories are as follows: Realness, Face, Body, and Sex Siren. Vik, having performed mainly in Runway and Fashion herself, is looking forward to the competition with more hope than her council counterpart displays. Mel is looking for proteges, with several already taken under her wing, whereas Vik is in this for the artistry itself, for innovation. For that spark that happened to change the course of her entire life.
(And, if she were fully honest with herself, she’s in it for a good time.)
There are, of course, subcategories for each segment of the show. Those who wish to walk must do so according to their identity or gender. Butch Queen represents gay men, and Femme Queen for trans women. There are also categories open for all, in which anyone may participate.
The contestants for Body are scantily clad, those walking Face like to get up close and personal. Mel has gained legendary status for both. Viktor awards 10s where they’re earned, and then comes the Realness competition. The theme is School Boy, which is, crucially and unfortunately, exactly her type. Perhaps a remnant from her days as a Dean’s assistant.
She loves the clean-cut, prim and proper presentation. The tailored clothes. Cherubic skin. A present all wrapped up with a scholarship ribbon.
“Contestant number seven!”
He pushes his way through the crowd and out onto the walkway, though they separate willingly as soon as they see him. Like an Adonis among mortals, he carries himself like he knows it. Cut straight from Michelangelo’s stone. He’s tall, taller than most. Broad shoulders and an unbelievable trim waist. His jaw is square, but his face is still boyishly soft around the edges. Eyes a warm hazel beneath a set of thick, dark brows and what looks to be a real scar slicing through one of them.
He is handsome, and Vik couldn't clock him if she tried.
Some 10s are already up before he makes it down the runway, playing up the handsome but friendly popular boy, his letterman jacket a perfect fit for the theme, he's even got a football under his arm. He'd be the star quarterback if he wanted to be. He'd be the student body president. The boy who would make Vik strip her dick raw, picturing him on his knees.
He flashes Mel a strikingly white canine tooth, pausing, barely noticeably when it comes turn for him to show off for Vik. Contestant number seven doesn’t stumble, but his phony grin does. He angles his head downward, wets his lips with his tongue, and does what makes the audience lose their mind: bats his eyes.
She throws up the sign.
10.
10.
10.
He moves on.
To no one’s surprise, except seemingly his own, he wins the competition and beams as a sparkly tiara is placed on his head. The emcee croons his name into the mic, “Our winner, contestant number seven, Mr. Jayce Talis!”
The liveliest members of the crowd wane soon after the competition, but others stay to mingle and take photographs. Vik gathers her cane and prepares herself to leave for the night. Only moments later, a hand shoots through the closing doors of the elevator she finds herself singularly occupying.
None other than Jayce Talis squeezes his way through just before the doors even fully open again, his ass catching in the slim margin, which she finds mildly funny and somewhat unfair. The metal box shakes with his weight. He takes one step, then another, and lands awkwardly beside her.
“Sorry,” he says, rushing. “Didn't wanna wait for it to come back down again.”
She regards him quietly. Up close and alone, she can smell the cologne he’s wearing. Something expensive and complex. Heated. Spicy.
She sniffs. “This is fine.”
“Your, uh, makeup? Did it take long to apply?”
The doors close, and he suddenly seems to remember to press the button for the ground floor, which he reaches for and finds has already been selected. That little sparkly tiara looks small in his hand.
“Yes,” she answers plainly. “It did.” The whole thing is a bit like sharing an elevator with a child who can't stand still and wants to press all of the buttons to see them light up; only it's her he wants to see glowing, not the lights.
He reaches out to touch without asking, then stops himself when she gives off a sudden energy like a creature that might bite. Lips pursed into a displeased, thin line. It's practiced; she is not one to fuck with. But something tells her he’s different from the usual suspects.
Jayce hesitates, his inner kicked puppy cowering in the face of her snarl, tail between his legs. “Sorry, can I?”
His earnestness (like a schoolboy, she thinks) has her reconsidering. “Go ahead. It will all be removed soon, anyway.”
As the elevator rises, he traces the length of her forearm curiously. Some of the glittery blue highlight comes off on his fingertips, but she did a good enough job setting the powder that it doesn't entirely wipe off. “Wow. You’re like a canvas.”
Usually, Vik is prepared for whatever remark may come her way, and candid enough to respond accordingly. Jayce's touch, though, knocks her off-kilter. He's gentle, as if touching a most precious thing.
“I suppose…” She has always seen her body as something to improve and to modify, not something to paint. But Jayce looks at her like Michelangelo must have looked at the bare ceilings of the Sistine Chapel. He's calculating, she can see it, so much going on behind those eyes.
“I've heard a lot about you, miss.”
“Miss?”
Just like that, the elevator dings, and they reach the ground floor, a large lobby with chandeliers and high ceilings that leads out to the streets of Piltover.
“I'm not your—”
“My what?”
With a tsk, she passes the doormen, and still Jayce follows, right at her side. She clutches her cloak with her left hand, stepping to the curb to flag down a taxi. That's when something warm and soft suddenly covers her shoulders, much thicker than the fabric of her costume.
“You look cold,” Jayce says, straightening his letterman jacket so that it rests correctly over her frame.
She tenses.
This closeness, the hopeful look in his eyes. He's hitting on her, that's what this is.
“Is this because I gave you a ten?” she asks, leaning on her crutch to look at him.
“This is because I think you're stunning.”
Vik scoffs. “Flattery will only get you so far. If that’s all you've got, go and bother Ms. Medarda...”
He feigns injury, a hand over his heart. “Jeez. Ouch. You really are like they say.”
“Are you drunk?” She blinks at him incredulously.
“Nope, just…not as good at this as I thought.”
“A bit egoistical, don't you think?”
He grins in a way that makes his ears lift, and like a lightbulb has suddenly gone off inside of her head, she wonders if he's sensitive, if he cries easily, what he looks like when he—
“I just wanted to ask for your number.”
“No.” She sets her shoulders and gets into the taxi.
“Please?”
The driver asks for an address in a way that tells her he couldn't care less about the man trying to squeeze in through the door.
As she rattles it off, she suddenly remembers. “Your jacket—” She starts taking it off.
“Keep it.”
Jayce closes the door for her, and the taxi takes off.
She huffs to herself as she sinks into the seat. His jacket is still warm from his body heat, and the smell…. She inhales it thoughtfully.
He won't be an easy one to forget.
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗
Despite her convictions, Vik keeps his jacket. She wears it more often than she’d ever admit. Around the house mostly, when she's curled up with a book, or in front of the computer doing research, glasses having slid down the bridge of her nose, eyes stinging from the computer screen.
She taps her pencil idly against her chin or rubs her fingers along the T-shaped logo on the front of the jacket.
It still smells like his cologne.
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗
The first Schoolboy competition is not the last she sees of Jayce Talis. He's a rising star on the scene, charming countless judges with his pretty face and his unbelievable physique. Vik is pretty sure he isn't in it for the money, though he wins plenty of it anyway.
His smile widens, his confidence grows. Mel takes an interest in him almost immediately, showing him how to stand, how to walk, how to keep his chin held high. How to charm his way through anything and anyone. It’s Vik who remains the only one immune. Not that it's an easy thing to do.
Jayce wears his packer well. Or maybe he's post-op, she doesn't know. Nor should she really be thinking about it. What's in anyone's pants isn't the point, but she can't stop herself from wondering as he stands in front of her in his perfectly fitted trousers that show off the muscle of his quads (and his defined ass).
Tonight, Jayce is dressed in some sort of fancy academy uniform and is putting on a show just for her; most of the time, he forgets to even look at the other judges. He beelines to her spot at the table, teases the buttons of his vest, and rubs the back of his neck shyly.
10. She holds up the sign, and Jayce gives her the most manic grin, turning on his heels to walk back the way he came, waving to the audience like the golden boy he is.
One of the other judges sighs loudly, putting his head in his hands.
When it’s all over, and he’s won, Jayce comes practically prancing over to her with a gaudy gold medal around his neck. It might as well be a bright blue “Best in show” ribbon.
Vik sips at the drink in her hand, a cocktail that’s mostly just vodka, appraising him over the rim of the slippery-with-condensation glass.
“I won,” he says proudly, eyes glancing down at her body clad in a blue robe, straps keeping it attached to her body.
“Am I to be impressed by this?”
He nods.
“We all knew that you would. Hardly anyone else comes close to you, Jayce.” His name rolls off her tongue, and she swears his next exhale comes out shaky, watching her lips for the next words that she might grace him with. “You're persistent.”
“I'm not stupid, I’ve seen you looking.”
“And what does that mean?” She squints at him.
“It means if I tried to kiss you, you wouldn't stop me.”
Her lips quirk. Jayce leans forward, pausing halfway. Subtle, but enough to give her a chance to back away.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his last attempt before it’s no take-backs.
Vik beats him to it. She touches their mouths together sweetly, a tender brush of skin before he pushes forward with enough gusto for their teeth to clack.
It’s good. She likes the way he feels, not just his mouth but the entire long line of his body. His cologne is rich and ambery, something with enough spice and musk to match his physical glow.
“I have to admit something,” he says, breaking apart suddenly. “When we met for the first time, I was a little drunk.”
She can’t help but grin. “Oh?”
“I had to be, to walk and— to get the courage to talk to you.”
Vik kisses his neck, licking his pulse to make him shiver. Over his shoulder, she catches others watching Jayce from behind. He will never know how they look at him when he isn’t watching: with envy and inspiration at the same time.
“You're intimidating,” he says.
“So they say.” Jayce’s nerves are catching up to him, and she is close enough to see his Adam's apple bob in high definition. “Jayce. Kiss me.”
“Can I take you out?” he says at the same time, their words entangling the way their bodies have. Jayce looks awkward and apologetic about interrupting her.
She is going to eat him alive.
“I have a better idea.” Her finger trails down the side of his face, tracing his jaw, catching on his stubble. “Come back to mine?”
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗
He makes her feel like a teenager again. So handsome. So earnest. He follows her and holds the door open, not because she needs it, but because he would do it for anyone.
Her home is decorated with vintage items from Czechia and things she’s collected over the years, plants, including overgrown vines and alocasia that are bigger than she is. A record player sits in one corner and a small tree in the other. Her shelves are lined with books. Physics, engineering, quantum theory. Several well-earned awards glimmer even when the lights are turned off.
She starts to unclasp the buckles holding up her robe. The fabric slides down her shoulders, leaving her breasts exposed. Dusky pink nipples harden in the cool air, Jayce’s eyes are on them immediately.
It's a trap, and Jayce is a moth to a flame. When he's close enough, she reaches for his groin, feels that he isn't packing, and hums. How interesting. In place of silicone, she connects directly with soft lips and his cock, hard already.
“I’m not—”
“I know, me neither,” she comments. “Have you tested?”
“Yes, I'm— I’m good.”
“Good. How do you feel about sucking my cock?”
Her hand is still on Jayce’s groin, cupping him gently. Feeling him heat up. Her other hand stabilizes her crutch as she leans.
“Great. Amazing. Can I?”
“In a moment.”
She undresses the rest of the way right there in her living room. The fabric spills off of her skin like water until she stands in just her panties— skimpy black lace. She turns to give him a peek of her pale ass as she makes her way to the couch, setting her crutch to the side and finally giving her leg a rest.
“Is this— do you do this a lot?”
“Fuck the contestants?”
“Or just… anyone?” Jayce sinks to his knees.
“You're asking me how often I have sex?” she asks. “Does it matter?”
“No, I guess I just—”
“Jealous?”
“Maybe a little. You're gorgeous so…” She plays with his hair, letting him ramble between her legs.
“I like sex. I like… getting to know each other this way. I think it says a lot about a person, no?”
He nods while simultaneously chasing after her touch, turning this way and that to push his head into her hand.
“If you need me to tell you that you're special, I will.” At the word special, Jayce perks up, a hopeful glimmer in his eye. “Would you like that, my special boy? Will you be good for me?”
“I’ll be good for you.”
It’s a promise.
Jayce’s fingers wrap around her slim thighs. She draws in a sharp breath at the warmth of it, the rough calluses on his palms. There are scars, too, when she looks close enough at his knuckles and the backs of his hands to see them. He works with them, his most precious tools, and now they are working her skin, desperate to memorize every surface, maybe even to find their way inside her.
Carefully, he begins to work his way upward towards the swell of her thigh, the roundest, softest place, and leans forward to press a kiss there. It makes her shiver, his fresh stubble grating her peach-soft skin.
His lips are already wet.
“You’re drooling for it,” she says.
“Yeah,” he answers, dazed. “Yeah, I am. Are you gonna let me?”
She hums in consideration. “Show me how badly you want it.”
With permission, he presses his face into the crease between her groin and thigh, inhaling deeply as the softness of her body cushions against his nose. He kisses her, licks, turns his head enough to gently suck her soft, sensitive tip through the lace fabric of her panties. His lips look pretty wrapped around it, his face watery-eyed and obscene.
Jayce’s tongue teases over the salty dampness there as she leaks— drools, just like he is. The taste makes him moan, and oh, how she loves to play with the noisy ones.
His tongue swirls and rubs insistently, as if intending to dip into her slit. Surely the fabric can't feel all that nice against his taste buds, but it will only make it nicer when she finally sinks smoothly inside and fills his mouth with what he truly wants.
She purrs for him. “Good boy, get me wet.”
It takes longer for her to get hard than it used to, but Jayce is ever so patient. He would stay on his knees forever, letting her hold his chin and card her long fingers through his thick, soft locks of hair.
He whimpers again when she starts to stretch the fabric to its limits. It's painful to be trapped inside, painful how badly she wants him, but her tolerance is high.
“Use your words, darling.”
“Please,” he sighs, pulling away to kiss her thigh again. “May I take them off?”
She tuts at his pretty, gleaming eyes, so like an angel. “You may.”
He peels the delicate lace down her thighs, and the smooth, hairless skin is exposed to him. He kisses the base of her shaft first, and she takes him by the hair harder this time, making him wait as she sits. “Careful. Slowly, my love.”
He nods, tongue out and licking a stripe up the length. He does this once, twice, then swallows the head.
She hisses at the abrupt, wet cavern of his mouth. How sweet it is. How soft when he swallows, throat muscle tightening around her, giving her a comfortable home.
She could sit like this forever, kept nice and snug. But then he begins to move, agonizingly slowly bobbing up and down, his lips wrapped tight, suctioning all the way to the tip.
“Yes,” she exhales. “So good for me. You make me feel like I’m going to come, Jayce. Already.”
He pauses, and his eyes roll back once, to the thought of her squirting inside.
“No, no. Not yet, don’t— ah — don’t worry,” she says.
He picks up the pace, a messy, slurping sound filling the space as he swallows her again and again. He spoils her tip, pretty pink clit worshipped with his tongue, it rubs against her frenulum as if coaxing out the cum.
“Kurva,” she curses, her voice lowering.
This piques Jayce’s interest, but he doesn't deviate from the task at hand. He gets her harder than she’s been in a long time, and then she pulls him away.
“I think you've earned your reward.” Her cock twitches towards her belly when she says it. Hard, flushed, bobbing obscenely; wet and getting cold in the open air. It’s one of the things she's always liked about herself; she finds it quite pretty.
And Jayce is so lucky to taste her. Soon, he’ll know how she feels deep inside, wedging him open, filling the space that was meant for her.
“Please,” Jayce manages, drooling down his chin, lips sticky with her slick. A numbness there, from all the sucking. “God, please.”
“God?” she muses. “I like that.”
Jayce is still clothed, wrapped like a present, an offering. Just a peek of his collarbone is visible, a wrist beneath the sleeve of his uniform. She could lift his shirt and feel the stubble left behind from the trimming of his happy trail, the prickle where his pubic hair used to grow off course. She dips her fingers beneath his waistband. His abs are firm. His stomach clenches.
“Take them off. Show me how hard you are.”
He chokes on his words. “Y-yes.”
His pants are tight, even unbuttoned and unzipped; they have to be tugged over the curve of his ass. Then his erection is poking through his briefs, and she can smell his arousal even from where she's sitting.
Her cock aches to feel him.
And he longs for her, as well.
She rubs her fingers over the tip of his dick, flicking it meanly through his underwear and watching him flinch.
“Such a big cock.” She says the word the same way one would snap gum. With enough enunciation to make him shudder. “May I?”
“Please.”
Jayce stands straight with his hands behind his back as she peels his briefs down. What greets her is a glistening meal, fruit ripe for the taking. He’s wet, hairy, and so plump she curses beneath her breath. He’s going to feel incredible. The softest thing she could possibly sink her teeth into.
Her face is so close she could taste him, but—
“You’re going to let me fuck you.” It isn’t a question, it’s an observation.
“If— If you want to,” he says.
“Here?” Her finger trails the slick seam of his chubby lips, but doesn’t part them.
“Yes, V.”
“Good boy. Let us move to the bedroom.”
Though she’d bend him over and take him here, if she could.
With no particular sense of urgency, she leads down the hall to her bedroom, her heavy cock swaying between her legs as she goes. Though it used to get harder, it isn’t small by any means. Thicker than one might expect, with a prominent vein.
Jayce looks torn about leaving their clothes strewn on the floor, but he does follow.
In her bedroom, there is no need for words. He knows what to do and goes straight to the bed, lying back and then, tentatively, spreading his legs.
His cunt spreads open too, and her cock gives a needy throb at the sight of it.
The curtains are drawn. The lights are off. But Jayce Talis shines like a beacon, and she wants him.
“Darling boy, are you ready for me now?”
He bites his lip, frustration in his voice and tension in his body. “You’re a tease.”
“And here I thought I was being so subtle.” She chuckles darkly as she carefully makes her way onto the bed. He watches her patiently as she lets her crutch rest where it needs to and uses the mattress to support her balance. “Let me teach you a lesson, Jayce. If you ever happen to be so lucky as to fuck me, I want you to know exactly how to do it.”
He swallows. “Yes, miss.”
“Open your legs for me.”
He does as he’s told, pulling his legs up and open, gripping them behind the knee. Both of his holes are spread and in clear view. Vik curses again. If she was worried about staying hard before, all of those worries have disappeared. That will not be a problem.
Perhaps it is brazen of her, but she wants to have a go at him with no lube. It doesn’t look like he’ll need it. She positions a pillow where she usually does, and guides her drooling cock towards his sex. She slots between his lips easily, and he clenches his jaw.
“Relax for me,” she says, before pushing it in.
He moans when he feels her move through the entrance. As suspected, he’s aroused enough that she slides right in, past the first few inches, and deeper where he's the warmest.
“Vik,” he gasps. “Oh god, Vik!”
She bottoms out and waits for him to catch his breath and find purchase clinging to the sheets.
“Everything alright?”
“Fuck!” he grunts. “You're big, just— give me a second.”
She smirks against his neck, sure that he can feel it. In place of thrusting, she rocks her hips, shifting the angle just enough to grind against him and stimulate his cock. Just like that, she shallowly fucks him, opening him up around her until he jerks at the sensation and something hot gushes around her and leaks down her balls.
“Did you just come?”
He covers his face with his forearm, nodding as he hides from her.
She tuts. “That won't do.” Even if it's unbearably attractive. “I thought you wanted to be good for me?”
“I do,” he croaks. “I'm sorry, I do.”
“Look at me.” Her lip curls. “When you fuck me, I want you to start slow. Feel me open up around you… That's it, and when you’ve finally given me all of you—” she pulls out and sinks in to the hilt. “ —that's when I want you to kiss me.”
He's trembling beneath her, all nerves and fire-hot pleasure. She traces her fingertips, featherlight, across the hills and valleys of muscle down his front, resting on his chest just above a brown nipple.
When she kisses him, he leans in like he's ready for it. He kisses with as much enthusiasm as he does everything else, learns her mouth like he's studying for a final exam.
“I’ll want you to move, but don't. Not yet. Wait until it’s unbearable, until I start—”
Jayce tilts his greedy little cunt down on her, pressing their bodies even closer together, shifting the angle of her cock inside so that it hits him just right.
“Jayce,” she hisses, her muscles twitching as she controls her urge to go fuck him the way she’s wanted to all night, to break down this beautiful boy until he’s crying. “Do you trust me to give you what you need?”
“Yes,” he answers.
“Good. Then take me.”
The guttural sound he makes when she starts to withdraw sends shivers down her spine. His walls try to pull her back in with a wet, obscene suction, only for her to shove back inside that heavenly grip of a pussy.
She chuckles at his whimpering as she picks up speed, the shocked, broken-off sobs. The quiet, “Oh god, oh god.”
“Didn't think I had it in me, hm? Think you can keep up, štěně?”
He’s a mess already, those tight worked-for muscles in his arms pulled taught as he reaches for purchase wherever he can find it, gripping the pillows and the sheets with white-knuckled fists. How pretty he looks writhing against her blankets, arching his back, mewling every time her hips slap against his ridiculously round ass.
“God, Vik— oh fuck, I can't— You’re so deep!”
“I used to be bigger.” His cunt gushes fluid, so slippery it’s started to coat his thighs and her hips. “And you must have been a mess before, a fucking waterfall.”
He moans, and she nearly slips out of him with how greedy and sloppy her thrusts have gotten.
“Not close already, are you?” She pistons her hips to punch another low groan out of him, though this one comes out as a high whine. “Good boy. Such a good boy taking me like you are.”
Suddenly, she pulls out with a wet sound and turns him onto his stomach, so she can lie on top of him, putting less weight on her knees to fuck him prone.
Her cock rests between his ass cheeks as she realigns, grazing his asshole and teasing to push inside.
Impatient and deliriously horny, she takes her base to press insistently against the tight ring of muscle, and he shrieks. He shoves his ass back towards her needily.
“You want it here?” she whispers.
Her babbling little muse, he nods desperately. “Please, please, fuck me please—”
“Deep breath.” She’s wet enough from the slick and cream from his cunt, the head catches and pops right in. He’s open, relaxed from the orgasm, and yet so untouched. “Hahh… you are so tight here,” she sighs.
Jayce is a non-coherent, drooling mess beneath her. Both blissed out and grimacing as she claims his ass as hard as she had claimed his pussy. Every thrust, every squeeze of her hand is a claim.
The feeling is entirely different in his ass, tighter, with a new feel on the inside, enough for her to double over, to nearly lose her balance and her resolve.
He would like that, no doubt. But that isn't how she wants to end this.
“Jayce,” she says, suddenly as far gone as he’s been since he first touched her with the tip of his tongue. “Give me another one.”
“I can't.”
She reaches around him and finds his cock, rubbing relentlessly. “One more and I’ll come. I need it. Need to feel you.”
He whines, she feels him throb against her fingers, but has to withdraw because she knows what he needs, reaching her arm up to shove two fingers in his mouth. He latches on quickly, sucking fervently while he replaces her fingers with his own, rubbing and pinching exactly the way he needs to clamp down on her cock, and bite down on her fingers until suddenly his mouth goes entirely slack.
He’s coming.
“Oh, Jayce,” she says. “You are everything.”
His orgasm ripples through his entire body, and he gushes cum all over her bed. Vik’s voice breaks when she climaxes, spilling a clear fluid inside him. “Take it all.”
Jayce responds with a full-body shudder and a moan.
When she finally pulls out—only after the aftershocks have died down—her cock is still twitching. She bites her lip, looking down at the mess she’s made of his puffy, wet cunt, dark curls glistening with slick and the pre she’s leaked inside copiously. His hole is slightly gaped and in similar condition.
Beautiful, she thinks.
It takes time for him to float back to earth. She presses kisses to his broad shoulders until she's certain that his breathing has slowed. Only then does she leave him to go and retrieve a cloth, warm enough that it won’t be uncomfortable when she begins to wipe him down.
“You're welcome to stay,” she hums, smoothing her fingers through his hair afterwards.
He hugs the pillow he's lying on and says, “Yeah, can I?”
“Of course.” She pauses. It's not often she as ayot in her bed for so long. “What do you like, after?”
He turns his face, still bashful. “Just you. Here with me.”
“I can do that.” Vik moves to lie beside him, and he touches her leg, thoughtful as he begins to massage it. “Thank you.”
“That was really good. I hope we can do it again?”
She kisses him softly. “You are wonderful and good for me, so I don’t see why not.”
The kisses they share afterwards are softer, now that they’ve gotten the brunt of their lust out of their systems. Slow and patient, exploratory. Jayce gropes shyly at her chest, his big hands easily covering the subtle roundness of her breast. Her hand, in turn, threatens to close around his neck, just to see his eyes roll back. To play with him until he gets hard again.
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗
Vik inevitably leaves him to shower. When she comes back, hair down and bare-faced, she curls up in bed beside him without any makeup, or costume, or poise. Just her normal mole-dotted gangly body. Her men’s size 10.5 feet cold against him under the covers. Their leg hair brushing.
She joins him as nothing but herself, with her deviated septum and limp wet hair that sticks to her forehead.
Jayce takes in a quick breath and says, “I think I'm in love with you.”
And Vik, instead of scoffing or rolling her eyes or kicking him out of her bed, laughs; big, bright, and showing all of her teeth, even the snaggled one.
Jayce smiles back with all the warmth he has to offer, cheek squished against the pillow, those hazel eyes bright.
“Careful.” She leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose. “I'm falling for you, too.”
˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗
In the morning, she feeds him scrambled eggs for breakfast. She isn’t much of a cook but she can scramble eggs in a pan. Jayce asks for hot sauce, which she doesn’t own, but otherwise eats them without protest. He chews thoughtfully, and when she lowers her sugar and cream-filled coffee, he offers a weak smile in return.
“They're… good.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Just—” crunch “ —a few pieces of shell.” He pulls a small white shard from his tongue, politely hiding it in his napkin and folding it up.
She takes his plate as he finishes and places it in the sink. “Next time, you are cooking.”
He laughs as she turns to wrap her arms around his shoulders and kisses his cheek, stubbly, warm, and all hers.